"The hen deceived me; nothing doing."
"Passed you on the way out. Hardly know your old friends now you've set up a machine, I reckon."
"Cut that out, Jack, and feed it to the larks. You had only ten votes to spare when you were elected and I landed seven of them for you, so don't be gay with me."
"I'm not gay; I'm tired. I'm looking for a party."
"What's your friend's name?" asked Phil, picking up a straw and chewing it.
"That would be telling. You haven't seen a man chasing over the country with a brown suit-case, have you?"
"Nope; nor with a black, pink, or green one. Where does the story begin?"
"Well, not in my county. They send all the hard jobs out to us farmers. Suppose there's anybody in this barn?"
"There was a hen; but she went off mad when I came in. You'd better go back and pose on Listening Hill again; you looked rather well there—a lone picket on an Alp watching for Napoleon's advance.
"He saw afar
The coming host, but thought the glint of arms,
Betokened milk-cans in some peasant's cart,"—