“Exactly; oh yes! And if ever the glorious fabric of our country’s—our country’s—our country’s—d—— it! our country’s what, Mr. Ele?”
That honorable gentleman was engaged with his own thoughts while he followed with his tongue the words of his friend, so that, perhaps a little maliciously, perhaps a little unconsciously, he went on in the same wooden tone of repetition.
“D—— it! Our country’s what, Mr. Ele?”
General Belch looked at his companion. They both smiled.
“How the old phrases sort o’ slip out, don’t they?” asked the General, squirting.
“They do,” said Mr. Ele, taking snuff.
“Well, now, don’t you see what kind of man Abel Newt is?”
“I do, indeed,” replied Ele.
“I tell you, if you fellows from the city don’t look out for yourselves, you’ll find him riding upon your shoulders. He is a smart fellow. I am very sorry for Watkins Bodley. Any family?”
“Yes—a good deal,” replied Mr. Ele, vaguely.