Uncle Abimelech seemed to have something on his mind that he would
like to get off, for his eyes wandered uneasily, and he muttered:
"Kettles."
"Throwed 'em, did she?" said Pemberton to encourage him, and Uncle
Abimelech said:
"Some," and cast his eyes and jerked his thumb vaguely upward,
toward the ceiling.
"If she throws 'em at him--Aye--" He struggled with the thought,
bringing it slowly out of dim recesses to the light. "She ought to
pour the bilin' off first. It ain't right."
Silence fell over us again. At last Captain Tom said:
"Supposing a man is loose-jointed in his mind, like Abe, or Billy
Corliss a trifle, and gets took back of the ear with something hard,
that steadies him, it's no great harm if it's warm."
"She ought to pour off the bilin'," said Uncle Abimelech uneasily.
After that we sat for a while, each taken with his own thoughts,
until Pemberton was knocking out his pipe, like one approaching the
idea of a night's rest, when there came a noise in the outer hall,
and the wind blew snow under the crack below the inner door. Some one
bounced into the room like a storm. He was a short, thickset man with
white side whiskers, and looked like an infuriated Santa Claus, for
he was covered with snow.
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