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In all good faith he returned at night and remonstrated with Roop upon his extravagant decision, and implored him to walk the floor and think for half an hour, and see if he could not figure out some sort of modification of the verdict. Roop yielded at last and got up to walk.
"Well, my aunt, sir, when 'er fowls 'ad the roop, she gave them snuff." "Give them snuff, she did," he repeated, with relish, "every morning." "Snuff!" said Mrs. Ukridge. "Yes, ma'am. She give 'em snuff till their eyes bubbled." Mrs. Ukridge uttered a faint squeak at this vivid piece of word-painting. "And did it cure them?" asked Ukridge. "No, sir," responded the expert soothingly.
At two in the afternoon referee Roop's Court opened and Roop appeared throned among his sheriffs, the witnesses, and spectators, and wearing upon his face a solemnity so awe-inspiring that some of his fellow-conspirators had misgivings that maybe he had not comprehended, after all, that this was merely a joke.
Still looking through his glasses, he asked: "I say, Roop, what's the most appealing name that the War has given to the history of Britain Mons, or Ypres, or Coronel, or what?" "Gallipoli," I replied, knowing this was the answer he wanted. "Just so. And shall I tell you why?" "Yes, thanks. If you'll be so obliging."
I had never seen so fine a face, such perfection of features, and such a clear, dark, smooth skin. It was a finer face than Lord Byron's, whom I had seen more than once, and wanted that hellish curl of the lip; and, as to figure, he could, to look at him, at any time have eaten up his lordship stoop and roop to his breakfast.
Gentlemen, it is the verdict of this court that the plaintiff, Richard Hyde, has been deprived of his ranch by the visitation of God! And from this decision there is no appeal." Buncombe seized his cargo of law-books and plunged out of the court-room frantic with indignation. He pronounced Roop to be a miraculous fool, an inspired idiot.
They personate a woman, a white lady, a sepoy policeman, almost any character. Some are especially good at mimicking the Bengalee Baboo, or the merchant from Cabool or Afghanistan with his fruits and cloths. A favourite roop with them is to paint one half of the face like a man. Everything is complete down to moustache, the folds of the puggree, the lathee or staff, indeed to the slightest detail.
Considering that they all died of roop, and that I was going to send them back anyhow after I'd got them to hatch out a few chickens, I call that cool. I mean to say, business is business. That's what these fellows don't seem to understand. I can't afford to pay enormous sums for birds which die off quicker than I can get them in." "I shall never speak to Aunt Elizabeth again," said Mrs.
Uncle Ben's radiant face suddenly clouded. "It wouldn't be exactly the same kind o' game to me an' Roop," he said hesitatingly. "You see thar's the idea o' the school-house, ye know, and the restfulness and the quiet, and the gen'ral air o' study.
That is," he wiped his mouth meditatively, "he ez good ez allowed it in gin'ral conversation a week ago, Roop." A swift shadow of suspicion darkened the boy's brown eyes. "Is anybody else goin' with us?" he said quickly. "Not this yer trip," replied Uncle Ben complacently.
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