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"'T was an awful night ye chose, Janet. Wind off sea, an' howlin' like mad. Sleet an' rain minglin', an' porridge ice slammin' ont' shore! Billy had the midnight patrol, an' fore he started out, he 'ranged that we should keep one eye out toward his cottage, I happened t' be on that night, an' if we saw a light in the lean-to winder, I was t' rouse Mrs.
I guess his eyes flashed, for he come out the screen door, slammin' it after him, and stalked by me as if he was too worked up to notice anything or anybody. I did n't foller him, for his long legs git over the ground too fast for me, but thinks I, 'Mebbe I'll hev some use for my lemonade-set after all." "I hope to the land you will," responded Mrs.
Everything's a bobble; turrible to see them sticks thrashin' 'round and slammin' things." "Didn't want no assistance, did they?" "No, sir; they got the fust line 'round the foremast and come off in less'n a hour; warn't none of 'em hurted." "Is it any better outside?" "No, sir; wuss. I ain't seen nothin' like it 'long the coast for years.
You've known me a long time" an' she shut the door without slammin' it. "Oh, I don't reckon it's allus some one else's fault," I sez, after he had got through cussin' about his luck. "Am I a hard man to work for?" sez he. "You ain't," sez I. "When am I ever unjust?" sez he. "When you go off halfcock," sez I. "What is it allus about?" sez he. I thought over everything before I answered.
The ol' man couldn't think up a come-back; so in about a minute he pushed back his chair, upsettin' it an' lettin' it lay where it fell. He went up to his room, slammin' the door after him, an' Barbie got out a pony an' galloped off to the hills. But the ol' man hadn't give up his project. He opened it again, an' was mighty crafty in the way he handled it, until finally he engineered it through.
A year ago that old pavilion was standin' up straight and the old-style waiters was slammin' a week's supply of clam chowder down in front of you for a nickel and callin' you 'cully' friendly, and vice was rampant, and you got back to New York with enough change to take a car at the bridge.
"Next car!" sings out the Johnny Flip, slammin' the door. Now wa'n't that rubbin' it in? "Coises!" says I. "Deep coises!" and walks down eleven flights with a temperature that would have got me condemned by any boiler inspector in the business. The candy? That goes to one of the pie-faced maids where I lives. The nerve of that Izzy, though!
"Alfaretta!" cried Madam Sturtevant, "what does this mean?" Something of the girl's panic had seized her, also, though she tried to hide her own agitation by sternness. "My suz, Alfy Brown! What ails ye? You nigh knocked me down, slammin' the door right in my face, that way!" exclaimed Susanna, who had, fortunately, stepped within before this strange thing had happened.
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