They passed a theatre as the audience was pouring out, from under the
Hamlet spell of Booth, and Laz remarked: "Feller that preached in thar
to-night must be as long-winded as our man Fetterson; but I'll bet Old
Fetter could outswop him in a hoss trade."
"That's a theatre," Foster informed him, and after musing for a time he
said:
"Place whar they swollow knives, I reckon. Seed a feller do that at a
school-house one night, an' I thought he'd killed hisse'f, but he spit
it out jest like a stick of molasses candy. Wall, suh, I never seed as
many lanterns hung up befo'. An' I want to tell you they've got good
roads through this place. What's that feller doin' over thar with that
crowd about him?"
"Preaching," Foster answered.
"Wall, he couldn't call up mourners--the wagins would run over 'em. What
do you think of all this, Jasper?"
"Who, me?" the old man replied as if startled out of a dream, "I wasn't
thinkin' of it--didn't see it."
"I don't reckon," said Laz, "that all these folks knows we air goin' to
jail.
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