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But while I was goin' over all this in my mind, an' wonderin' if the cap'n ever could git us into port, along comes Andy Boyle, an' sits down beside me. `It drives me pretty nigh crazy, says he, `to think that to-morrer's Christmas, an' we've got to feed on that sloppy stuff we fished out of our stores, an' not much of it, nuther, while there's all that roast turkey an' plum-puddin' an' mince-pie a-floatin' out there just afore our eyes, an' we can't have none of it. `You hadn't oughter think so much about eatin', Andy, says I,`but if I was talkin' about them things I wouldn't leave out canned peaches.
Suddenly Mrs Yabsley looked at the clock. "Good Gawd!" she cried, "to-morrer's Sunday, an' there ain't a bite or sup in the blessed 'ouse!" In the excitement of the wedding she had forgotten her weekly shopping. It was a catastrophe. But Chook had an idea. "Cum on, blokes," he cried, "'oo'll cum down the road wi' Mother, an' 'elp carry the tucker? Blimey, I reckon it's 'er night out!"
Naw, I didn't promise ter cook hes goose," meeting the other's eyes squarely; "I'm engagin' in anotheh kind o' frenzied fee-nawnce' altogetheh. Yuh hunt yuh leetle baid an' gatheh strength fer to-morrer's stren-u-hossity. I'm goin' on night-herd mahself." Douglass wheeled sharply. "Yuh are not going to ?" Red fumbled in the pocket of his shirt.
Then Johnny: "Hevin' a good time out yer, dad?" "Yes, sonny." "To-morrer's Chrismiss, ain't it?" "Yes, Sonny. How does she feel now?" "Better rub a little furder down. Wot's Chrismiss, anyway? Wot's it all about?" "O, it's a day." This exhaustive definition was apparently satisfactory, for there was a silent interval of rubbing.
"So I 'ave 'eard," said Matilda. "You 'aven't give me no 'olidays, 'um, sence I come to yer; and it were understood, sure-ly, that I were to 'ave my day out once a month." "You shall go out to-morrow, Matilda. I haven't the slightest wish to keep you indoors against your will." "To-morrer's cook's day, 'um." "Well, then, you shall go the next day." "Thank you, 'um.
"Among other things, thar's a Chink runnin' a laundry an' a-doin' of our washin'. This yere tub-trundler's name is Lung, which, however. brands no cattle yere. "It's one afternoon when Doc Peets gets a letter from a barkeep over in Tucson sayin': Dear Doc: Thar's an esteemable lady due in Wolfville on to-morrer's stage. She's p'intin' out to run a laundry. Please back her play.
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