"
"But, man alive, you didn't go to the church to do your swearing?"
"No," he answered. "I did it on the way down; and," he added,
enthusiastically, "I did it exceeding well."
"But why the church?" I persisted.
"I thought after what I had to say to them," said he, "that they might
need a little religious consolation."
And with that the subject was dropped.
The organ, as Carson threatened, was transferred to the hay-loft and not
to the church, and as for the two Chairmen, they have several times
expressed themselves to the effect that Carson is a very irritable, not
to say profane, person.
But I am still inclined to think him a philosopher. Under the
provocation any man of a less philosophical temperament might have
forgotten the laws of hospitality and cursed his offending guests in his
own house.
THE PLOT THAT FAILED
Among the most promising residents of Dumfries Corners some ten years
ago was a certain Mr. Richard Partington Smithers, whose brilliant debut
and equally sudden extinguishment in the field of literary endeavor have
given rise from time to time to no little discussion. He was young, very
young, indeed, at the time of his great literary success, and his
friends and neighbors prophesied great things for him. Yet nothing has
since come from his pen, and many have wondered why.
Thanks to Mr. Smithers himself I am enabled to make public the story of
his sudden withdrawal from the ranks of the immortals when on the very
threshold of the temple of fame.
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