"We're at home in conthrary elements. Ye use texts t' fight with an' I use thim to get pace of heart!"
"Are you wiser nor Mr. Holmes, an' William Brennan an' Miss McGee?" I asked. "Them's th' ones that think as I do—I mane I think as they do!"
"No, 'deed I'm not as wise as aany of thim, but standin' outside a wee bit I can see things that can't be seen inside. Forby they haave no special pathway t' God that's shut t' me, nor yer oul father nor Willie Withero!"
Sometimes Jamie took a hand. Once when he thought Anna was going to cry, in an argument, he wheeled around in his seat and delivered himself.
"I'll tell ye, Anna, that whelp needs a good argyment wi' th' tongs! Jist take thim an' hit 'im a skite on the jaw wi' thim an' I'll say, 'Amen.'"
"That's no clinch to an argyment," I said, "an thruth is thruth!"
"Aye, an' tongs is tongs! An' some o' ye young upstarts whin ye get a dickey on an' a choke-me-tight collar think yer jist ready t' sit down t' tay wi' God!"
Anna explained and gave me more credit than was due me. So Jamie ended the colloquy by the usual cap to his every climax.
"Well, what th' —— do I know about thim things, aanyway. Let's haave a good cup o' tay an' say no more about it!"
The more texts I knew the more fanatical I became. And the more of a fanatic I was the wider grew the chasm that divided me from my mother. I talked as if I knew "every saint in heaven and every divil in hell."