"Don't you tell anybody and I'll put you on to exactly what grown-up
gentlemen say and do when they go calling on the girls," he began.
"Fire away," retorted Ross, gloomily. "Nobody will find out from me.
Dead men tell no tales. If I'm fool enough to go, I don't expect to
come out of it alive."
Abner rose, white and shaking, and thrusting three fingers into the
buttoning of his vest, extending the other hand like an orator,
proceeded to instruct the freckled, perspiring disciple at his feet.
"'Hang your hat on the rack, or give it to a servant.'" Ross nodded
intelligently. He could do that.
"'Let your legs be gracefully disposed, one hand on the knee, the
other--'"
Abner came to an unhappy pause. "I forget what a fellow does with the
other hand. Might stick it in your pocket, loudly, or expectorate on
the carpet. Indulge in little frivolity. Let a rich stream of
conversation flow.'"
Ross mentally dug within himself for sources of rich streams of
conversation. He found a dry soil. "What you goin' to talk about?" he
demanded, fretfully. "I won't go a step farther till I know what I'm
goin' to say when I get there.
Pages:
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459