“Fiddlesticks!”
He turned the basket upside down. Mrs. Ulswater tipped it over.
By the sacred Bo Tree, by the antiseptic waters of Benares, what is the wisdom of the East against the logic of Susannah?
“Susannah!” I cried. Sadler and I clasped hands and danced, glorious and flamboyant, in the circular manner of a “ring-round-rosy.”
“Susannah, hosannah!” I cried, and Sadler chaunted:
“Ram Nad, you're a son of a gun, tralala,
Ram Nad, if that isn't one, tralala,
On you I don't happen to know,”
and continued, chaunting:
“You'd better quit sinning of sins, tralala,