“Araby died in convulsions,” says Scenery.
“And the autymobile went to church,” says I.
“Anyway, we’re all alive,” remarks Magpie.
“Nobody but a damn’ optimist would say a thing like that,” says I. “I hope you’re satisfied, Magpie.”
“Oh, shore. It accomplished what we set out to do. We’ll have a new church and a bell in the steeple.”
I helped myself to their jug, bent myself in the shape of a chair and sat down by the fire.
“Dirty Shirt,” says I, “jist why did you and Scenery start this movement for a new church? It’s a cinch neither of you got religion.
“Self-p’tection,” says Dirty. “That church looked like a saloon. Me and Scenery got drunk and got in there by mistake.”
“Ter’ble,” says Scenery. “Ter’ble mishtake. Won’t happen ’gain, y’betcha. Goin’ to have a steeple and a bell; so she’ll look and shound like that she is. Well, here’s Merry Christmas to all and peace on earth.”
I didn’t have no gun, and my fists don’t seem to be mates; so I took another drink and went huntin’ for the horse liniment, as usual.