“How about Old Jemmy?”
“About what, sir?” inquired my father.
“Old Jemmy.”
“I don’t know anything about him further than what you know.”
Mr. Kensett struck his knee in a self-satisfactory manner.
“I have it, old man,” he exclaimed. “A bright idea has occurred to me. I have it. We will be down upon this Barlow, and take the wind out of his sails, please the pigs.”
“I only wish we could,” says my father.
“But we will. Listen, you must transmogrify old Jemmy. He’ll do well enough for a Pongo, or wild man of the woods, just arrived from Africa.
“We’ll work the oracle, and double up Barlow.”
“How’s it to be done?” says my father.