"Ye don't s'pose, Dannie," he complained, in a righteous flash, "that
I'm able t' live forever, does ye?"
I did not, but heartily wished he might; and by this sincere
expression he was immediately mollified.
"Well," says he, his left eyelid drooping in a knowing way, his whole
round person, from his topmost bristle to his gouty wooden toe, braced
to receive the shock of my congratulation, "I've gone an' worked that
there black-an'-white young parson along! Sir Harry hisself," he
declared, "couldn't have done it no better. Nor ol' Skipper
Chesterfield, neither," says he.
'Twas a pity.
"No," he boasted, defiantly; "nor none o' them wise ol' bullies of
old!"