But I do not see what this green ditch-water is
to me. And I think, Joel,"----
"It's more to ye nor all yer States'-rights as I'm sick o'
hearin' of. It's carpets, an' bunnets, an' slithers of
railroad-stock, an' some colour on Margot's cheeks,--ye 'ed best
think o' that! That's what it is to ye! I'm goin' to take stock
myself. I'm glad that gell 'll git rest frum her mills an' her
Houses o' Deviltry,--she's got gumption fur a dozen women."
He went on muttering, as he gathered up his pint-pot and
bottle,--
"I'm goin' to send my Tim to college soon's the thing's in
runnin' order. Lord! what a lawyer that boy'll make!"
Mrs. Howth's brain was still muddled.
"You are better pleased than you were at Lincoln's election," she
observed, placidly.
"Lincoln be darned!" he broke out, forgetting the teachings of
Mr. Clinche. "Now, Mem, dun't ye muddle the mester's brain
t'-night wi' 't, I say. I'm goin' t' 'xperiment myself a bit."
Which he did, accordingly,--shutting himself up in the
smoke-house and burning the compound in divers sconces and
Wide-Awake torches, giving up the entire night to his diabolical
orgies.
Mrs. Howth did not tell the master; for one reason: it took a
long time for so stupendous an idea to penetrate the good lady's
brain; and for another: her motherly heart was touched by another
story than this Aladdin's lamp of Joel's wherein burned
petroleum. She watched from her window until she saw Holmes
crossing the icy road: there was a little bitterness, I confess,
in the thought that he had taken her child from her; but the
prayer that rose for them both took her whole woman's heart with
it.
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