that I were saying the same things in my proper person. I fancy this should now be plain.
"Very well, sir," I said.
"If it was me," he went on, "I wouldn't want you a little bit. But it's Her. She's got her mind made up to do the right thing and have us all be somebody, and when she makes her mind up" He hesitated and studied the ceiling for some seconds. "Believe me," he continued, "Mrs. Effie is some wildcat!"
"Yes, sir—some wildcat," I repeated.
"Believe me, Bill," he said again, quaintly addressing me by a name not my own—"believe me, she'd fight a rattlesnake and give it the first two bites."
Again let it be recalled that I put down this extraordinary speech exactly as I heard it. I thought to detect in it that grotesque exaggeration with which the Americans so distressingly embellish their humour. I mean to say, it could hardly have been meant in all seriousness. So far as my researches have extended, the rattlesnake is an invariably poisonous reptile. Fancy giving one so downright an advantage as the first two bites, or even one bite, although I believe the thing does not in fact bite at all, but does one down with its forked tongue, of which there is an excellent drawing in my little volume, "Inquire Within; 1,000 Useful Facts."
"Yes, sir," I replied, somewhat at a loss; "quite so, sir!"
"I just thought I'd wise you up beforehand."
"Thank you, sir," I said, for his intention beneath the weird jargon was somehow benevolent. "And if you'll be good enough to wait until I have taken tea to the Honourable George"
