Ferret—glorious turn out, Ferret. True Grits all alive. Pound that ice fine, Nim—no water, recollect. First-rate fellows, Ferret—go the whole—real Quods—diamonds."
"Hope you'll mend matters now, Mr. Fog, since you've got in," said Ferret. "I'm for giving every one a chance; wish you success."
"Of course you do, Ferret," replied Fog; "and so you would have wished Ag Flag success if he'd got in."
"Or Andy Grant, either," said Mrs. Ferret; "my husband's not partikler."
"You're right, Ferret—you're right!" interrupted Fog, "always go with the current—that's sound philosophy—that's my rule. Dabbs, isn't that metaphysics? Flan, don't you call that the true theory of the balance of power? Gentlemen, I submit it to you all."
"Real True-Grit doctrine," said Flan; "find out how the cat jumps—then go ahead."
"Fundamental, that," said Dabbs; "principles change, measures vary, names rise and fall, but majority is always majority."
"Bravo, Dabbs!" ejaculated Theodore Fog; "Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur cum illis—that's our True-Grit motto. The nominative case always agrees with the verb; the people are the verb, we're the nominative case. That's logic, Mrs. Ferret. Nim, how have you made out in these illustrious 'three days?'"
"Cursed sleepy," answered Nim Porter, who was now brewing the drink by pouring it from one tumbler to another; "haven't had three hours rest in the whole three nights. No right to complain though—won four bets—had two to one against Andy Grant with Tompkinson—and even against Ag with three of the New-Light Club. I knew d—d well how it was going, ever since the meeting at the Sycamore Spring. Fog, you touched them fellows that work on the Bickerbray and Meltpenny Road 'twixt wind and water."