"
"Whew, whew!" whistled Andrew McCulloch. "But they've gone!" he
says. "See here! How you going to catch 'em? How you going to set 'em
to hotel keeping when they elope off your hands? Where've they gone?
That's the point. Where've they gone?"
"Up," said Uncle Abimelech.
"Eh!"
"Connubilated," said Uncle Abimelech, pointing. "Gone up."
"Prayed over fifteen minutes," said Stevey Todd, "which I wouldn't
so state without watching the clock."
"What!" cried Andrew McCulloch. "Do you mean to say, you aided and
abetted, Mr. Pemberton--"
"Peace and connubiality was his last words," went on Stevey Todd,
following his train of thought. "Peace and connubiality, he says, and
he meant the same."
"Ain't the same!" said Uncle Abimelech.
"Do you mean to say," cried Andrew McCulloch--
"Don't throw nothin' till you pour off the bilin'," said Uncle
Abimelech uneasily. "It ain't right."
Andrew McCulloch puffed, "Whew! whew! whew!" as if blowing off the
steam of his boiling. Then he said:
"Give me some of that, hot!"
And we all fell silent again.
The kettle sang, the chimney coughed in its throat. One heard
outside the whistle of the wind, the moan of the surf far off in the
night, and the snow snapping against the windows.
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