" The Compound
seemed to be talking from half-way up her smoke-stack.
"Sure," said the irreverent Poney, under his breath. "They don't
hanker after her any in the yard."
"But, with my constitution and temperament - my work lies in Boston
- I find your outrecuidance - "
"Outer which?" said the Mogul freight. "Simple cylinders are good
enough for me."
"Perhaps I should have said faroucherie," hissed the Compound.
"I don't hold with any make of papier-mache wheel," the Mogul
insisted.
The Compound sighed pityingly, and said no more.
"Git 'em all shapes in this world, don't ye?" said Poney. "that's
Mass'chusetts all over. They half start, an' then they stick on a
dead-centre, an' blame it all on other folk's ways o' treatin' them.
Talkin' o' Boston, Comanche told me, last night, he had a hot-box
just beyond the Newtons, Friday. That was why, he says, the
Accommodation was held up. Made out no end of a tale, Comanche did."
"If I'd heard that in the shops, with my boiler out for repairs, I'd
know 't was one o' Comanche's lies," the New Jersey commuter snapped.
"Hot-box! Him! What happened was they'd put an extra car on, and
he just lay down on the grade and squealed.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294