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"Ah-r-r-r, but he's a reg'lar gent!" protests Swifty, fingerin' the card. "Even so, he'll keep five minutes more, won't he?" says I. "But he he's " begins Swifty, strugglin' to connect that mighty intellect of his with his tongue. "Ah, read off the name," says I. "Is it Mayor Mitchel, Doc Wilson, or who?" "It says J. B-a-y-a-r-d Ste Steele," says Swifty. "Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Lemme see. Him!
Alvin jumps up and shakes him hearty by the mitt. "Allow me to offer you a cigarette, Sir," says he. "Much obliged," says Swifty, eyin' the thin silver case with the gold linin'. "Gee! what a swell box!" "Do you fancy it?" says Alvin. "Then it is yours, with my best compliments." "Ah-r-r-r chee, no!" protests Swifty. "Please, as a favor to me," insists Alvin, pushin' the case into his hand.
"Ah-r-r-r chee!" says Swifty. "How do I know?" That's some surprisin' too; for as a rule he ain't strong on drawin' fine distinctions. If they're young and flossy dressed, he calls 'em "fluffs"; but anything over twenty-five, no matter how she's costumed, is a lady to Swifty, even a scrubwoman. So his describin' this visitor as a female party gets me curious.
The infamous wretch who has ruined me, killed his mother, and brought disgrace upon our name? Do you know that he has married a wench of no family and without a farthing, who would be honored, if I should allow her to feed my hogs? Live for HIM? live for HIM? Ah-R-R-R!" This outbreak terminated in a sound between a snarl and a bellow. The priests turned pale, but the Abbot devoutly remarked
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