"We found a contraband Irish pig in Herman Bauer's
back yard.
"Wha-a-at?" he demands.
"If the pig had been a bomb, and its tail a time-fuse," says I, "it would
have wrecked our main works. As it, is, we've had a narrow escape. But
I don't think Cecil will bother us any more. He's too good for the army,
anyway. He ought to be writin' for the movies."
CHAPTER III
TORCHY HANDS OUT A SPILL
Maybe I've indulged, now and then, in a few remarks on Auntie. But,
say, there's no danger of exhaustin' the subject--not a chance. For
she's some complicated old girl, take it from me. First off, there's
that stick-around disposition of hers. Now, I expect that just
naturally grew on her, same as my pink thatch did on me. She can't
help it; and what's the use blamin' her for it?
So, when I drop in for my reg'lar Wednesday and Sunday night calls, the
main object of the expedition being to swap a little friendly chatter
with Vee, and I find Auntie planted prominent and permanent in the
sittin'-room, why, I just grins and makes the best of it.
A patient and consistent sitter-out, Auntie is. And you know that face
of hers ain't exactly the chirky sort. Don't encourage you to get
chummy, or tip her the confidential wink, or chuck her under the chin.
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