Tim stuttered
so that he made a noise when he talked like one of these gasoline
bicycles goin' by. He watched Mike sweepin' out the horse stall and he
says, 'You're a pup--pup... I say you're a pup--.' He didn't get any
further 'cause Mike went for him with the broom. Turned out later that
he was tryin' to compliment that Irishman by sayin' he was a particular
sort of feller. These folks on the stage might be sayin' most anythin',
and I wouldn't know it. But I sha'n't knock 'em down, for I like the
way it's said. When the Almighty give us music he more than made up for
makin' us subject to toothache, didn't he."
Pearson bought a copy of the libretto, and the captain followed the
performance of the next two acts with interest.
"Say, Jim," he whispered, with a broad grin, "it's a good thing this
opera idea ain't carried into real life. If you had to sing every word
you said 'twould be sort of distressin', 'specially if you was in a
hurry. A fust-rate solo when you was orderin' the crew to shorten sail
would be a high old brimstone anthem, I'll bet you. And think of the
dinner table at our boardin' house! Mrs. Van and C. Dickens both goin'
at once, and Marm Hepton serenadin' the waiter girl! Ho! ho! A cat fight
wouldn't be a circumstance.
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