J. F. Mother Earth, and the traditions and devices of all the generations of men whom she has nourished. All that is for you, Nupkins, if you only knew it.
C. N. I still do not comprehend your apologue.
J. F. No? Well, we must put aside abstractions and get to the concrete. What’s this, citizen? (showing a spade.)
C. N. That is an instrument for effodiation.
J. F. Otherwise called a spade. Well, to use your old jargon, citizen, the sentence of this court is that you do take this instrument of effodiation, commonly called a spade, and that you do effodiate your livelihood therewith; in other words, that you do dig potatoes and other roots and worts during the pleasure of this court. And, to drop jargon, since you are so badly educated
our friend Robert Pinch—Mary’s husband—will show you how to do it. Is that agreed to, neighbours?
All. Agreed, agreed.
W. J. (rather surlily). I don’t think he will get on well. Now he knows we are not going to serve him out, he is beginning to look sour on us for being happy. You see, he will be trying some of his old lawyers’ tricks again.
J. F. Well, Bill, it won’t much matter. He can’t hurt us; so we will hope the best for him.
M. P. Should we hurt his feelings by being a little merry in his presence now?