"Oh, lay down, lay down, lay down, ye misable old mop!"
It was an expression of impatience and disgust.
"What's the matter, Jim?" Mr. Benedict called.
"Here's my har," responded Jim, "actin' as if it was a piece o' woods or a hay-lot, an' there ain't no lodgin' it with nothin' short of a harricane. I've a good mind to git it shingled and san'-papered."
Then, shifting his address to the object of his care and anxiety, he went on:
"Oh, stick up, stick up, if you want to! Don't lay down on my 'count. P'rhaps ye want to see what's goin' on. P'rhaps ye're goin' to stand up with me. P'rhaps ye want to skeer somebody's hosses. If I didn't look no better nor you, I sh'd want to lay low; an', if I'd 'a slep as poor as ye did last night, I'd lop down in the fust bed o' bear's grease I could find. Hain't ye got no manners?"
This was too much for Harry, who, in his happy mood burst into the merriest laughter.
This furnished Jim with just the apology he wanted for a frolic, and rushing into the adjoining bedroom, he pulled Harry from his bed, seated him on the top of his head, and marched with him struggling and laughing about the room. After he had performed sundry acrobatic feats with him, he carried him back to his bed. Then he returned to his room, and entered seriously upon the task of arraying himself in his wedding attire. To get on his collar and neck-tie properly, he was obliged to call for Mr. Benedict's assistance.
Jim was already getting red in the face.
"What on arth folks want to tie theirselves up in this way for in hot weather, is more nor I know," he said. "How do ye s'pose them Mormons live, as is doin' this thing every three days?"