“Yes, a little.”
“Fetch it!”
He ran to his room overhead and brought down a bottle which was two-thirds full. She tilted it up and took a drink. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and she tucked the bottle under her shawl, saying, “It’s prime. I’ll take it along.”
Tom humbly held the door for her, and she marched out as grim and erect as a grenadier.
[CHAPTER IX.]
Tom Practises Sycophancy.
Why is it that we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a funeral? It is because we are not the person involved.—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar.
It is easy to find fault, if one has that disposition. There was once a man who, not being able to find any other fault with his coal, complained that there were too many prehistoric toads in it.—Pudd’nhead Wilson’s Calendar.