The enforced inaction was becoming terribly tiresome, but the cause of some whispered jests at that:
“I’ve completely wore out this here rock what I’m a lyin’ on,” commented the chap from the Pennsylvania mountains.
“Listen, fellow, this old earth right here is good enough for me. It’s a blamed sight softer than Heinie lead.”
“I wish the ‘corp’ would take a notion to get out his mouth organ and play a jig. He might charm those Jerries down there so that they couldn’t do a thing.”
“Sho! The only thing that charms them is tin-pan music and a bass drum. I expect old man Wagner is right down there with ’em now.”
“Him? He’s dead! His noise killed him long time ago.”
“No, sir; I took him prisoner last week and showed him some eats. He said the dinner horn was the prettiest music he ever heard.”
“Those fellows they call Faust and Mephistopheles, they were Huns, weren’t they?”
“Sure, but a Frog set ’em to music; that’s why it’s worth listening to.”