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Riley, James Whitcomb, 1849-1916

"Pipes O'Pan at Zekesbury"


The Major was leaning forward in the gathering dusk, and evidently
studying my own face, the expression of which, at that moment, was
very grave and solemn, I am sure. He suddenly threw himself backward
in his chair, in an uncontrollable burst of laughter. "Oh, I just
can't keep it up any longer," he exclaimed.
"Keep what up?" I queried, in a perfect maze of bewilderment and
surprise. "Keep what up?" I repeated.
"Why, all this twaddle, farce, travesty and by-play regarding Tommy!
You know I warned you, over and over, and you mustn't blame me for the
deception. I never thought you'd take it so in earnest!" and here the
jovial Major again went into convulsions of laughter.
"But I don't understand a word of it all," I cried, half frenzied with
the gnarl and tangle of the whole affair. "What 'twaddle, farce and
by-play,' is it anyhow?" And in my vexation, I found myself on my feet
and striding nervously up and down the paved walk that joined the
street with the piazza, pausing at last and confronting the Major
almost petulantly. "Please explain," I said, controlling my vexation
with an effort.
The Major arose. "Your striding up and down there reminds me that a
little stroll on the street might do us both good," he said.


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