"I won't be long—so promise!"
"I promise!"
Waiting for no more, she sped away all lithe and vigorous grace; when she was out of sight, I lay upon my back, staring up at the rustling canopy above, became lost in thought, wondering, among other things, if I could ever possibly attain unto that mysterious virtue she had called 'game-plucked' and just precisely what it might be.
CHAPTER XIX
HOW AND WHY I FOUGHT WITH ONE GABBING DICK, A PEDDLER
"You won't be wantin' ever a broom, now?"
Starting up in no little amazement, I beheld a man who bore a bundle of brooms upon his shoulder and a pack upon his back, while round his neck dangled ribbands and laces of many colours and varieties; a smallish, grizzled, plump man with an ill-natured face.
"You won't be wantin' ever a broom?" he repeated.
"No, thank you," I answered; "though indeed I should think it was sufficiently obvious."
"Nor yet a mop?"