Whereupon Dewey muttered an excited “B’gee.” Dewey had been so awed by his companion’s learning that he hadn’t told a story for an hour; but here the temptation was too great.
“B’gee!” he cried. “That reminds me of a story I once heard. There was a fellow had a girl by the name of Auburn. He wanted to write her a love poem, b’gee, and he didn’t know how to begin. That poem—the ‘Deserted Village’—begins:
“‘Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain.’
“So, b’gee, this fellow thought that would do first rate for a starter.
“He wrote to her:
“‘Sweet Auburn, loveliest of the plain,’ an’ b’gee, she wouldn’t speak to him for a month!”
Every one joined in the laugh that followed except the Parson; the Parson was still busily chipping rocks with his “astrology” hammer.
“I find nothing,” he remarked, hesitatingly. “But I see a most beautiful fern up in that cleft. It is a rhododendron, of the species——I cannot see it very clearly.”
“I’ll get it,” observed Texas, gayly. “I want to hear the rest of that air name. Don’t forget the first part—romeo—romeo what?”
While he was talking Texas had laid hold of the projecting cliff, and with a mighty effort swung himself up on a ledge. Then he raised himself upon his toes and stretched out to get that “rhododendron.”