“Yes; but this being the religious race, is of the most consequence, and usually the best runners are put into this.”
“Perhaps Swiftwing is saving himself for some other race.”
“Perhaps so.”
Inza watched the runners with great interest, but Miss Abigail soon tired of the affair.
“I can’t say that I see anything entertaining or intellectual in all this,” she sniffed.
“Yaw,” nodded Hans, who still kept near her; “I peen feexed dot vay yourself. Der race vas on der pum. You agree mit yourself about dot exactly.”
“Don’t bother to agree with me about anything!” came stiffly from the spinster. “I don’t care to have you agree with me.”
“Oh, you don’d! Vell, you reminds me uf a feller vot I knowed vonce on a time. He vas alvays disagreeing mit eferydings. He wouldn’t eat anyding vot he thought might agree mit him, und so he died der disbepsia of. You vant to look out for dot.”
With this shot Hans edged away, not liking the glare Miss Abigail gave him.
“You pet me my life she don’d got der pest uf me all der times!” he chuckled.