rocking, rocking, now-a-days. Following on, again, is Old Tom Donaldson, Clancy, Dowd, and—Old Lady Flanagan, with “this dom thing I calls hoosband!” And lastly, Marian and old Pat Ryan from our railway station’s trunk room.
So it was just laugh, talk, “stuff,” and—
****
Oh, hum! Folks can’t stay all night, you know; so, finally, groups and pairs, drifting out, all had happy words for His Honor and Lady Gadsby; and His Honor, a word or two; for you know Gadsby can talk? So it was;—
“Good night, Nina; good luck, Old Bill! Oh! say, Bill; will that cigar blow up? Good night, Virginia; and ta-ta Patricia; and Virginia, you mind your Ma and stay down on solid ground! Aha, Clancy! You old motor-pump fan! No; that’s wrong; animal-drawn pump! Good night, Pastor Brown; so glad you put Norman in your choir. And now Old Tom and Sarah! Tom, you look as young as on that day on which you brought Sarah, just a tiny, squalling, fist-waving bunch, to this porch to ask about adoption! And I know Sarah has always had a kind, loving Dad. Paul, you young sprout! As you turn into a daddy, soon now, you’ll find that,
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