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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Now, see here, Florence," he said. "You're old enough to know when people tell you to keep out of a place, why, it means they want you to stay away from there." Florence remained cold to this reasoning. "Oh, Poot!" she said. "Now, look here!" her cousin remonstrated, and went on with his argument.
A hard task he found it to wake Jacob Poot, but after pulling that young gentleman out of bed, and, with Ben's help, dragging him about the room for a while, he succeeded in arousing him.
He takes off his cap and looks about him. Better to give up with a good grace. He has made a hundred friends by that hearty, astonished laugh. Good Jacob Poot! The fine fellow is already among the spectators, gazing as eagerly as the rest. A cloud of feathery ice flies from the heels of the skaters as they "bring to" and turn at the flagstaffs.
"Hurrah for Poot!" cried all the boys as Jacob, sliding quickly to the floor, bedclothes and all, took in the state of affairs at a glance and sat heavily beside Peter on the robber's back. Oh, didn't the fellow groan then! "No use in holding him down any longer, boys," said Peter, rising, but bending as he did so to draw a pistol from the man's belt.
"Dat ish true," answered Jacob, half jumping, half tumbling down upon the framework, "dat ish vot make him sho heavy." "Made YOU so heavy, you mean, Poot?" "Ya, made you sho heavy dat ish true," said Jacob innocently as he worked himself free of the big wrapper. "Dere, now you hands it mit him, straits way, and tells him I vos much tanks for dat."
'And in case the poor old gentleman be poot in what you call stone jug, where are we to go my dear Maud to Knowl or to Elverston? You must direct. And so she disappeared, turning the key in the door as before. It was an old custom of hers, locking herself in her room, and leaving the key in the lock; and the habit prevailed, for she left it there again.
"I believe every word of it. I shall never marry a woman who would not be glad to do as much for ME." "Heaven help her!" cried Carl, turning to gaze at the speaker. "Why, Poot, three MEN couldn't do it!" "Perhaps not," said Jacob quietly, feeling that he had asked rather too much of the future Mrs. Poot. "But she must be WILLING, that is all."
"The North End Daily Oriole. It's the silliest name I ever heard for a newspaper; and I told 'em so. I told 'em what I thought of it, I guess!" "Was that the reason?" Mrs. Atwater asked. "Was it what reason, mamma?" "Was it the reason they wouldn't let you be a reporter with them?" "Poot!" Florence exclaimed airily. "I didn't want anything to do with their ole paper.
"Could anything be better than this youngster's face? He looks as if he KNOWS he deserves a whipping, but hopes Saint Nicholas may not have found him out. That's the kind of painting I like; something that tells a story." "Come, boys!" cried the captain. "Ten o'clock, time we were off!" They hastened to the canal. "Skates on! Are you ready? One, two halloo! Where's Poot?"
Poor Jacob Poot, who seemed destined to bear all the mishaps of the journey, was knocked nearly breathless by a great cheese, which a fat Dutchman was throwing to a fellow laborer, but he recovered himself, and passed on without evincing the least indignation. Ben professed great sympathy upon the occasion, but Jacob insisted that it was "notting."
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