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Jimmie might be said to prevail. There was a fatuous tenderness in his attack and the thudding currycomb gave it spirit. Came a dramatic and equally soulful interpolation: "Whoa, dang you! You would, would you? Whoa-a-a, now!" Buck Devine still mouthed his woful whistle and Sandy Sawtelle valiantly strove for the true and just accord of his six strings. It was no place for a passive soul.
Also he doubted if he could escape a mob there, provided the news got through. For once in his life he began to doubt the wisdom of practical jokes. The boy brought the horse up skating on its heels, by throwing his full weight back on the lines and shouting pacifyingly "Whoa-a-a! Who-oa, Bill!" Jimmy leaped, out on the platform shouting, "Wait right there, son, till I get some change.
Here we come, Jinny an' me six miles in the slush up to the hub, an' Jinny with a unweaned colt at home. Whoa-a-a, there! "It's good Christmas don't come but once-t a year ain't it, Jinny? "Well, Rowton, you're what I call a pro-gressive business man, that's what you are.
"Frances 'lowed to kill me out to-day, but I lay when she sets eyes on de yaller-winged butterfly she'll 'preciate de resurrection o' de dead ef she never done it befo' in her life." Part I Time: Daylight, the day before Christmas. Place: Rowton's store, Simpkinsville. First Monologue, by Mr. Trimble: "Whoa-a-a, there, ck, ck, ck! Back, now, Jinny! Hello, Rowton!
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