“What in the name of heaven, parson, does she mean?”
“Mr. Isham,” said the gentleman, severely, “are you aware that you are using improper language in the presence of this young lady?”
“Explain yourself.”
“It is wrong for you to appeal to heaven on so trifling a question; it is such a near approach to profanity that the dividing line is imperceptible. I am sorry you forgot yourself, but I will overlook it this time.”
Budge was really frightened, for though the distinction was quite fine, he felt there was some justice in the position of the parson, but he bluffed it out.
“I doubt whether a jury would find me guilty, and in 77 the meantime explain the remark just made by Nellie, if you please.”
Thus cornered, the parson made a clean breast of it. Isham assumed a grave expression.
“The only criticism I can make is upon your taste in selecting a word, susceptible of a questionable meaning. You know as well as I that if this should be submitted to a jury at the Heavenly Bower this evening, the majority would sit down on you, and it would be hard work for you to escape the penalty.”
“I’m afraid it would,” responded the parson; “it was a piece of forgetfulness on my part–––”
“Which is the plea that Bidwell and Ruggles made, but it didn’t answer. However, I’ll say nothing about it, knowing you will be more careful in the future, while I shall not forget to put a bridle on my own tongue. The trouble, however,” he added with a smile, “is to make her overlook it.”