Vermont. What! With that wrastlin' angel bossing the shebang? Not for Jacob.
Moselle. Ho, ho! You are the deacon.
Vermont. I was. Now I'm only Vermont.
Moselle. And my daddy.
Vermont. Last night I wrastled again. I was thrown, and by a boy—my kid—from old Vermont.
Moselle. Your son?
Vermont. You bet.
Moselle. Oh, daddy! ain't you glad?
Vermont. Glad! Why, Mosey, he's got the angel trip, by which the parson threw me.