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“It’s that Jake. He’s sich an ornery animule,” explained the boy, thus shamelessly vilifying a patient and much enduring character. “Why, Billy, what has happened to make you think so?” Thus interrogated, the boy who had caught but one fleeting word of the sentence, reddened, and shuffling his feet, said he’d “often rode a wild cayuse.”.

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Ebenezer Wopp was the last silent word in patient masculinity, but his face, becoming darker with his work, would lead an onlooker to believe that sinister thoughts were struggling to find expression. “Mose, hoi’ this benighted idjit of a jint till I drive a nail in the wall to wire it up,” called Mr. Wopp, thrusting a nail between his teeth and turning his back on his wife. A grey light began to be visible through the windows. Whereupon horse blankets were pressed into service and the accusing daylight was shut out. Some of the more conservative members of the party began to think of home. Among these was Ebenezer Wopp who had not danced since the opening set. He had sat for some hours in a comatose condition, except when he was aroused for a few moments by a nudge or pinch administered by his energetic wife. Balancing her voice on a very high note she popped her head through the dining-room door to speak to her husband. He was seated at the table reading “The Family Herald.” His straggling grey locks were disordered with his mental effort and formed a frieze of irregular design on his shining forehead. Mrs. Wopp’s voice, in a moment, was safe on terra firma..