When first I kissed Susannah.”
There was a long silence.
“Of course,” I said at last, “I might be mistaken, for though you're some stiff maybe with ancientness, still you've got weight and experience, and accident and foreordination ought to be allowed for.”
“Sure they ought. You're right, sonny. That there's a good balance of facts.”
“Allowing for all that then, still I'd like to remark that if you kiss Susannah again, I'll knock the head off you myself.”
Sadler twankled on peacefully.
“Is them sentiments genuine?” he asked, “Which I wish to inquire if they're the offspring of wrath.”
“They are!”
“Well,” he said, “it's this way. Scrapping is roses and raptures to me, but the facts don't allow it. The facts of that poem ain't in my experience but yours, which is why I'm weeping to the moon.”
“They're not in mine either.”