The curtain ort to be crape, but crape, though all right in the line of mournin’, is pretty thin for the purpose—you might see through it.
But I will jest lift up a corner on’t a few days later to show you another coffin, with the broken-hearted mother a-layin’ in it, with a broken-down old man bendin’ over it alone, waitin’ for the summons to jine ’em in another country.
One victim buried, another victim layin’ in the coffin, another victim, most to be pitied of all, a-stayin’ on here alone in a dark world a-waitin’ for the end.
Gay, light-hearted young man, havin’ a good time at college—sowin’ your wild oats—havin’ royal good fun, what do you think of the end of that night’s jollity?
Al Faizi couldn’t understand it. Sez he to me—
“His murderers will be hanged, will they not?”
“Hung!” sez I in astonishment; “oh, no! this is merely Hazin’—college fun for young gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen!” sez he. “Do gentlemen murder in your country? Why, your missionaries tell our people that if they murder they must be hanged in this world and eternally punished in the next.”
“But,” sez I, “these young gentlemen were simply havin’ a little fun!” My tone wuz as bitter as wormwood and gaul, and he see it.
“Has such a thing ever been done before in this country?” sez he.