Oh! the belles!Summer belles!What a plentitude of heartaches their giddiness compels;How they giggle, giggle, giggle,In the sea-breeze laden night,How their victims squirm and wriggleIn an ecstasy of fright.How they hurtWhen they flirt,When with ghoulish glee they gloatOn the squirming of a fellow when they have him by the throat.Oh! the belles!Brazen belles!How they conjure, scheme and planTo entrap the summer man,The ribbon counter gentlemen who masquerade as swells.Oh! the belles!Greedy belles!How they wring, wring, wringSoda water, everything,From the pockets of those "Cash!"-exclaiming swells.Oh! the belles!Foxy belles!What a wealth of hints they flingTo compel the pleasant ring,Diamond ring!Ah! the heart engaging ringOf the golden wedding bells, bells, bells, bells, bells.Oh! the belles!
Oh! the belles!Summer belles!What a plentitude of heartaches their giddiness compels;How they giggle, giggle, giggle,In the sea-breeze laden night,How their victims squirm and wriggleIn an ecstasy of fright.
How they hurtWhen they flirt,When with ghoulish glee they gloatOn the squirming of a fellow when they have him by the throat.
Oh! the belles!Brazen belles!How they conjure, scheme and planTo entrap the summer man,The ribbon counter gentlemen who masquerade as swells.
Oh! the belles!Greedy belles!How they wring, wring, wringSoda water, everything,From the pockets of those "Cash!"-exclaiming swells.
Oh! the belles!Foxy belles!What a wealth of hints they flingTo compel the pleasant ring,Diamond ring!Ah! the heart engaging ringOf the golden wedding bells, bells, bells, bells, bells.Oh! the belles!
I spent a week or two with a friend in the suburbs last spring.
He had one little chap that greatly interested me.
He reminded me of what I must have been, for he was eternally in a peck of trouble.
Liked candy, too, and when I found that he no longer hooked lumps of sugar out of the bowl on the table, I became convinced that his cure must have been radical.
So I made an investigation.
The woodshed figured largely in the matter, too.
That brought back other tender recollections, for, do you know, we once had a woodshed.
Favorite place for an affectionate interview between father and son.
I never go past one without feeling hurt.
Frederick was inclined to be confidential, and readily admitted that his mother's solicitude concerning his state of health, and the possibility of his contracting a crop of worms from too steady a sugar diet had prompted her to a little exercise.
"She laid it on just like I was a little pig," he complained.
I saw the connection immediately.
"Just so," I said, "a ham, sugar-cured."
Bijinks buttonholed me on the way here, and I could see from his face that he was laying for me.
I've given him numerous falls from time to time, and he swore to get even.
I think he must have sat up nights, and just from curiosity I'd like to compare his gas bill with that of last month.
Good jokes come high, I tell you, and I'm really afraid poor old Bijinks will never be the same man he was before.
Success has made his hat seem too small, and presently I'll hear of him applying for my job.
But about the thing he tossed me.
Purposely he introduced the subject of the navy.
"Talking of ships," he said, soberly, "I suppose courtship might properly be considered a transport."
I told him that it was cruel to take advantage of me.
"But, sometimes," he continued, mercilessly, "it is nothing more nor less than a sort of wor—ship."
Then he artfully began to tell what wonders he had seen over in London during the time Edward was crowned king.
"Say, a coronation must be a dreadfully expensive affair," I chanced to remark, and how his eyes glittered as he drove it home, for the expected opening had come.
"Well, rather; why, the dentist charged me ten dollars just for crowning a single tooth."
That was also on me.
But Bijinks gets hold of some pretty good stories occasionally, and I expect he'll soon be working them off along with hoary chestnuts that have done duty for ages.
One I know bears the marks of newness, since the game of ping pong has only recently come into existence.
He says he knew the old fellow that said it, but I rather think he prevaricates, and must have discovered the joke in some obscure country paper.
It was in Texas it happened.
An old farmer had a girl attending school at Fort Worth, and in course of a letter home to the old folks chanced to say "I'm just in love with ping pong."
Whereupon up rose the Texan farmer in wrath and laid down the law in unmistakeable terms.
You see he had been to Fort Worth and even had his biled shirt done up at a Celestial laundry.
"Here, mother," says he, bringing down his horny fist on the table till the dishes danced. "You jest write and tell Amarillis Jane that if she's goin' to fall in love with any of them blamed Fort Worth Chinamen, she can just count on bein' cut off without a cent."
Bijinks puts up a bluff about having fought in the Spanish-American war. He was enrolled but he never fought. Fact is, he got discharged for a breach of etiquette. Yes, you see he turned his back to the enemy.
Do any of you people play golf? My advice is "Don't!" But what's the use of talking?
The fascination of golf has much to answer for.
At the same time one would hardly expect it to upset the calculations of a minister.
That's just what happened when I was in old Scotland, taking in their raw atmosphere, and a few other things besides.
I often watched the reverend gentleman play, and saw how infatuated he had become with the game.
Yet he labored under a great handicap.
When he missed the ball, and performed a wonderful series of gyrations, it must have been very hard to compress his agitated feelings in such a narrow compass as:
"Tut, tut," or, "Well, well," perhaps "Oh, dear, now."
More robust language alone meets the emergency.
The last I saw of him was when he had striven with unusual fervor to knock the ball from the tee, and his face shone with exertion and indignation.
"Dear, dear, but I'll hae to gie it up—I'll hae to gie it up," he said in despair.
"Give up playing golf—that's too bad," I remarked, whereupon he hastily turned upon me and said:
"Na, na, gie up the meenistry."
Feeling in high spirits when I entered my favorite restaurant yesterday, I asked the proprietor at the desk:
"Do you serve lobsters here?"
"Why, of course we do—have a seat. Now, what'll you have," was the reply.
That man knew me for sure.
The girl who waited on me began to rattle off a list of dishes which were on the menu.
Perhaps I was partly to blame, since I had asked:
"Well, Mame, what have you got to-day?"
"Pretty nearly everything, sir—I've got calves' brains, frogs' legs, chicken liver——"
"Hold on," I said.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Nothing, only you ought to see a doctor."
Did you ever notice what singular names many of the Rhode Island towns and cities have, as well as those in the wooden nutmeg State.
Now, there's old Nantucket, for instance, once the most noted whaling center of America.
That place always fascinates me; makes me burst into song, as it were.
Let's have a bar, professor.
There once was a man from Nantucket,Who kept all his cash in a bucket;But his daughter, named Nan,Ran away with a man,And as for his bucket, Nantucket.This roused the old man from Nantucket,Who chased them as far as Pawtucket;Where he scolded Miss Nan,Thrashed soundly the man,And as for the bucket, Pawtucket.The pair followed pa to Manhasset,Where he still held the cash as an asset;But Nan and the manStole the money and ran,And as for the bucket, Manhasset.
There once was a man from Nantucket,Who kept all his cash in a bucket;But his daughter, named Nan,Ran away with a man,And as for his bucket, Nantucket.
This roused the old man from Nantucket,Who chased them as far as Pawtucket;Where he scolded Miss Nan,Thrashed soundly the man,And as for the bucket, Pawtucket.
The pair followed pa to Manhasset,Where he still held the cash as an asset;But Nan and the manStole the money and ran,And as for the bucket, Manhasset.
Well, I fancy that is quite sufficient for one time.
Talking about names, I had often wondered why Maine has so long been a prohibition State, until recently when glancing over the map the truth flashed upon me.
Surely no drunken man could ever pronounce such jaw breakers as Umbazooksus and Mattawamkeag.
I went with Jack Rackstraw looking for board the other day.
Ever try it?
Funniest game going.
Talk about studying human nature, why nothing equals what you run across in boarding houses.
There was one vinegary old maid to whom he applied who gave me a cold chill.
She was so thin, that for the life of me I couldn't help thinking of the living skeleton who lost his balance while washing at the sink, and had to be pulled out of the waste pipe.
Rackstraw allowed himself to be questioned meekly enough.
Soon she knew more about his business and his remote ancestors than I did, and I had been his friend twice ten years.
At last she stormed the fort.
I saw blood in her eye, and knew what was on tap from the way her thin lips came together.
"You say you are married?"
"Yes, yes."
"Ah! any family, Mr. Rackstraw?"
"One baby," he stammered, "would you mind that?"
"Mind it," she snapped, "what do you take me for—a nurse?"
Rackstraw didn't board there, I remark in passing.
Well, if you'd ever been a country school teacher, perhaps you wouldn't growl at things because they didn't come your way.
I went visiting while up in the Catskills, and before the school season was over.
The teacher lived at a small hotel, and of course didn't appreciate the trials of family housekeeping, but on that particular day I can tell you she got a pretty decent insight into the tribulations of those who have to live that way.
A little girl came in late.
"See here, Sarah, you are five minutes behind time. Yesterday it was three minutes. Explain!" she said.
But Sarah didn't scare worth a cent.
She broke loose like a steam-engine and fairly paralysed us both; and it was something like this:
"Please, ma'am, the alarm-clock stopped last night, and it was so dark and foggy this morning that the girl didn't wake until late, and then, trying to get to the kitchen window in the dark, she upset some water on the kindling wood; it was the water the mackerel was soaking in, and it was on a chair, and the wood was under it, and then because the wood was wet the fire wouldn't burn, and the other wood we ordered theday before hadn't come, and the neighbor next door hadn't any either, and the girl had to go to the store for some, and she was a good while getting there, and then the storekeeper told her she needn't bring it, 'cause he would send it right around before she got back, and 'cause she didn't know him she believed him; and when she got back the wood wasn't there, and it was a long time before it came, and then it was all wet from the fog and rain, 'cause he didn't cover it up, and when we tried to start the fire again it wouldn't burn any better than the first time; and then mamma hurried over to our kind neighbor to get the use of her stove, but they were getting their breakfast and we could only use one hole at a time, and our kettles and pans wouldn't fit their stove, and we had to wait till some of theirs was cleaned, and then mamma tried to cook some oatmeal so I could hurry and get to school, and then the baker didn't come, and the girl had to go out for bread while I dressed Sally, and Johnny, and Mamie, and then the baby woke and began to cry hard, as if he was hurt, and mamma hurried upstairs to see what was the matter, and while she was finding out the oatmeal burned, andwe had to wait till the kettle could be cleaned and some more cooked, and when that was done I hurried and ate a little so I wouldn't be late to school, and I had just time to get here, but Johnny got the nose-bleed awful, and I had to wait until mamma could get through with him and wash her hands so she could write me an excuse for bein' late yesterday."
When the teacher could catch her breath, she said:
"Excused. Take your seat."
I struck a lawyer chum in the cars the other day and thought I'd interest him by talking shop.
"I hear old Judge Pennytobacco is breaking up housekeeping," I said.
"That's strange—I hardly believe that can be true. The judge is working night and day, simply overwhelmed with cases. He has no time to think of such a thing."
"What kind of cases?"
"Er—divorce cases, principally."
"That's it," I said.
"Oh!" He thought it over for a minute, then changed the conversation by remarking: "By the way, I hear you've taken to writing verses."
"Experimenting a little, that's all."
"Have you submitted any to the editor?"
"Yes, a few."
"And did the editor kick at the verses?"
"Well, he kicked all right, but not at the verses exactly. Here's one of 'em:
"He harped upon her beauty, he harped upon her grace,But she answered his proposal with a coldly cruel 'Never!'So he took a dose of poison and proceeded to a placeWhere, I venture the assertion, he will harp no more forever."
"He harped upon her beauty, he harped upon her grace,But she answered his proposal with a coldly cruel 'Never!'So he took a dose of poison and proceeded to a placeWhere, I venture the assertion, he will harp no more forever."
"This is where I get off," remarked my legal friend coldly.
"So do I," I cried, jumping up. "Let's take a turn round together."
As we sallied along we passed a meat market,the proprietor of which was standing in the doorway.
He greeted us with a pleasant nod and a good-humored "You're looking well, sir."
"There's a fellow for you," I said. "He seems to increase in girth every month. I knew him when he tipped the scales at a hundred and thirty. Perhaps you wouldn't believe it—and what do you think he weighs now?"
"Well, what does he weigh?" asked my legal friend.
"Meat."
Fortunately at that moment my friend was stopped by an angry client.
Somehow this irate gentleman seemed to think he had gotten hold of the hot end of a deal.
And sputtering with rage he didn't hesitate to call a spade by its proper name.
"I see the scoundrel in your face!" exclaimed the angry man.
"That," replied the man of law, calmly, "I consider a personal reflection."
Then he sauntered on with me, and when the other found time to figure out things more fully, I guess he was madder than ever, don't you?
Smart chap, that lawyer! Sometimes he works so upon the feelings of the jury that he gets his man off.
And then again a case will arise that in spite of his eloquence goes against him.
He made a miss with Sikes, and I'm thinking that fellow will meet his end shortly.
This is in Jersey, where they still hang men, you know.
I went along to see the man, for somehow I'd never set eyes on a condemned criminal, and rather thought it might round out an experience.
Sikes was a hard-looking citizen.
I fear if I had been the judge, his face alone would have sent him to the gallows.
And yet he mellowed some and even laughed.
A prison visitor was wrestling with him, no doubt meaning well, but not having much effect on so hard a case.
She tried to make his mind revert to his childhood, when he said his prayers at his mother's knee, and all that sort of thing, you know.
"My poor fellow," I heard her say, "when you contemplate your approaching doom, does not your memory revert longingly to those innocent days, and would you not enjoy once more those childish sports of the long ago?"
"Well," said Sikes, reflecting, as though his mind had indeed traveled far back into the dim past, "sure, there's one thing I'd like mighty well to do, and that is skip the rope."
My legal friend really made a powerful plea in the Sikes case, and I thought he would win out.
But there must have been one jury-man for conviction,who finally brought the other eleven obstinate men to his way of thinking.
Why, I actually felt the tears in my eyes and the accused began to look like an angel, whereas a short time before I had thought him a ruffian.
The lawyer's boy was present too, and when he went home he gave a report of the proceedings.
I had it straight from headquarters.
"It was a dandy speech, mamma—why he 'most cried himself, the prisoner wiped his eyes, some ladies had to be taken out of the room so the trial could go on, and I guess the jury felt powerfully bad too," he said.
"And how about you, son," inquired his pleased mother.
The little fellow cocked his eye and smiled.
"Oh! he can't fool me," he said.
While waiting one day in court for the case, in which I was a witness, to be called, they led a tough-looking citizen into the pen.
He was a typical burglar.
Why the burgle stood out all over him in lumps.
When I looked at him I thought how much I had to be thankful for that I didn't have to meet him under other distressing circumstances of a dark night.
In fact I figured that I was in just thirty cents.
Well, he was the last fellow you'd ever suspect of having a streak of humor in his make-up.
He objected to being called a thief.
"I've a trade, your honor."
"What is it?" demanded the judge.
"Locksmith."
"Just so; and what were you doing in the bank when the policemen took you?"
"Making a bolt for the door, sure."
But his jesting mood did not save him, and he was given another kind of job for a time.
When Rube comes to town there is a lot of fun poked at the rustic, and even gold bricks slipped into his pockets in exchange for the coveted long green.
And no doubt some of you good people know from experience that when a city man migrates to the country the farmers delight to expose his ignorance of things generally. I had an experience of that sort last summer when I engaged board for my little outfit at Farmer Wilkins'.
We arrived late in the evening and retired to our shuck mattresses very soon, being tired from the journey; so the tiller of the soil didn't have much of a chance to make my acquaintance.
Early in the morning I was abroad, and ran across Wilkins and his hired man milking the cows.
"Mornin'," said he, "come to find out whichever keow gives the buttermilk, or p'r'aps ye thoughtto be airly enough to hear the haycock crow?" and he tipped a wink at his man, who was enjoying the fun.
"Well, neither, to tell the truth, Mr. Wilkins," I remarked, "I've just been out tying a knot in a cord of wood."
Wilkins, among his other possessions, owned an uncommonly homely dog which was a source of considerable interest to my youngest.
You see we were never the proud owners of even a brindle cur, and of course Harold made friends with Rover from the very start.
Whenever the beast wanted to play he would whirl around in a circle, chasing his own tail in a comical manner that never failed to make us laugh.
That humorous tale would have been worth a small fortune if properly brought to the attention of the editor of the Sunday paper comic section.
Harold had stood and looked at the revolving beast nearly ten minutes, urging him on with sundry shouts.
Then he turned to me.
"What kind of a dog is that, pa?"
I'm no connoisseur of dogs, and was never made a judge in a bench show in my life.
I knew several breeds, but this nondescript was really beyond my ken.
At the same time it's never good policy to confess ignorance when asked a point-blank question by Young America.
"Oh," I said casually, "why, he's a—yes, a watch dog, Harold."
The boy pondered a minute, while the beast kept revolving.
"Well," he observed, "from the long time it takes him to wind himself up, I guess he must be a Waterbury watch dog."
While on the way to the Grand Central Depot I had to take the seat at the rear end of an open car.
Of course as you all know the last three or four seats are generally reserved for men who must smoke or die.
Occasionally, on account of the crowded condition of the cars, a female or two finds herself tucked away between the users of the weed.
Perhaps she is accustomed to it at home and pays little attention to the puffs of pungent smoke that float around her.
I have seen cases, however, where the disgust was written in big letters on the lady's face, and she took the earliest occasion to change her seat.
Such an instance occurred that day.
I thought she was a woman with considerable temper, just from her looks, and when she spoke I was sure of it.
"Smoking on a car!" she exclaimed, as an Irishman with his short-stemmed pipe took his seat beside her.
"Oi am!" rejoined Pat, between long and determined puffs. "And av ye don't loike ut go wan up froont. These sates is resairved for smokhers."
"If you were my husband I'd give you poison," she snapped.
"Would ye, now?" Puff, puff. "Oi think av ye wor me woife"—puff, puff—"Oi'd take ut."
Hotel clerks stand in a class by themselves.
I have great admiration for the whole tribe, and am on speaking terms with quite a bunch.
But for pure nerve commend me to that chap—it was in Chattanooga where I was stopping at the time—who rung me up from the office, five stories down.
Time eleven thirty-seven at night.
I jumped out of bed, and turning on the electric light, rushed to the phone.
"Hello, 411."
"Hello."
"This George Niblo?"
"Yes."
"Gone to bed, yet?"
"Sure. Do you think I——"
"That's all right. How're you feeling?"
"All right."
"That's good. Feel equal to a hurry-up slide down the fire-escape?"
"Well, I might if I had to. Say——"
"All right; that's just how it stands. You wriggle into your clothes now,and make a record doing it. You see, the hotel's on fire, and—and—gee! Don't talk like that, Brother Niblo, there are ladies in the next room. Good-by."
You bet I made record time, and got out in pretty decent order, considering that I carried all my clothes on my arms.
I always believe that telephone saved my life, though I never could quite forgive the impudence of the clerk.
Among his other accomplishments Benson writes fancy ads, and when I dropped in on him he was hard at work getting up a unique booklet.
My curiosity forced me to examine the cover, and I saw it was intended to puff the benefits to be derived from using Madam Tussaud's Hair Restorer.
"Going to have stories between the covers?" I asked.
"Sure."
"Oh, I can imagine the kind—all about the beautiful girl whose long braid was cut off by a rascal, and who found a rich husband."
"You're away off," he remarked.
"Well then, how about the maiden who paid the mortgage on the old home by sacrificing her wonderful crop of hair, depending upon the use of this stuff for a new supply—ain't that straight?"
"Humbug," he snorted.
"Very well—tell me what brand you expect to use."
"Ghost stories, of course."
"And why ghost stories?"
"Well, I'm blessed, when you know just as much as I do they're the only genuine hair-raising stuff."
On my way to the elevated I sometimes stop in to leave an order at our grocer's.
Just this morning I found him taking an order from a new customer, who, I judged, had not been married very long.
Of course I couldn't help hearing some fragments of their delightful conversation.
I have a higher opinion of that grocer now.
He must have served his time as a court interpreter.
"You might send me a pound of paralysed sugar," she said.
"Yes'm. What else?"
"A couple of cans of condemned milk."
"Yes'm."
"And a bag of fresh salt—be sure it's quite fresh."
"That's down, ma'am—anything more you can think of?"
"Why, yes, you might send a pound of desecrated codfish."
"Nothing more, ma'am—we have just received a fresh lot of nice horseradish which I can recommend."
"Not to-day, thank you. We don't keep a horse."
When she went out that man filed the order without even a smile upon his face.
I felt like fanning myself with a washboard, although it was bitter cold outside.
While I was calling on Bob Sherlock, to talk over a little business he and myself were interested in, there was something of a commotion.
It began after my arrival.
I sat in the parlor waiting for Bob, who was dressing.
The family were in the back parlor, there being several children patterned very much after Bob.
Presently I heard signs of trouble.
Then Mrs. Bob said, a little sharply:
"Lawrence, don't be so selfish. Let your baby brother play with your marbles a little while."
"But he means to keep them always," said a voice.
"Oh, I guess not."
"I guess yes, 'cause he's swallowed three of 'em already," said Lawrence, with the positiveness of conviction.
Then the fun began.
But the baby was saved, and I strongly suspect Lawrence stretched matters to suit his convenience.
My family doctor ordered me to a warmer climate last winter.
I told him I objected to going so soon.
However, we compromised matters by deciding that North Carolina might do.
Mountain air and Mountain Dew have been known to work wonders in combination.
Now, perhaps you remember that Bill Nye had a home down in the Tar Heel State, and I was glad to know I would soon be breathing the same pine woods' air.
While the wagon was taking me to the retired home of the settler with whom I meant to camp out, it stopped before a tumble-down cabin, where there was a well of the finest water on earth.
A small boy handed up the gourd, while a girl with a shock of carroty hair stood afar off and watched.
"What's your sister's name?" I asked.
"Her name?"
"Yes—she's your sister, I suppose?"
"Yep."
"Well what do you call her?"
"Lize—we uns call her Uneasy Lize."
"That's strange. How did she come by it?"
"To school. Teacher told we uns to each git a motter an' larn it, and come to school an' say it; sister she learned 'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,' but she got so scart when she come to say it she never got no further'n 'Uneasy lies——' an' that's the name she's gone by ever since. Thankee, mister. Have another drink?"
Say, did I tell you I met Judkins on the Elevated the other morning. Judkins is the greatest bore in the country. Take that from me. Well, sirs, he started in to tell me his family history.
"You know my wife's sister Gwendolyn!" he asked.
"From Boston—yes," I murmured, prepared to grin and bear it.
"Well, she don't understand why my youngest lad condescends to associate with some boys toward whom she has taken a cordial dislike on sight.
"Now, only this morning I heard her reproaching him.
"'How can you associate with that Bink's boy? I understand he's the worst scholar in the school.'
"'Huh!' said my little chap, quick as a shot, 'don't you think I've got any gratitude, aunty—why, if it wasn't for him, Harold Bangs or me'd be at the foot of the class.'"
While we stood there awaiting a belated express, a lady came up the stairs, who immediately attracted attention from every gentleman present.
She was certainly a stunner and no mistake.
When she sailed past with the carriage of a duchess we both discovered that art had supplanted nature in giving her cheeks such a delightful glow.
This gave me an opening.
Judkins had just been asserting that women are as honest as men.
"Not in all things, my boy. A man will always put up a sign 'Look out for paint,' but did you ever know a woman to do it? Not on your sweet life."
I never realized before how forgetful sailors are as a class, until the fact was brought to my attention last summer down at the Long Island resort we patronized.
Why, they had to weigh their anchor every time they left port—you'd think they could remember the weight easy enough.
And speaking about sailors reminds me of a queer old character I once knew down at the docks.
For more than thirty years he had labored faithfully at the same job, and stepped up to be paid every Saturday night.
But at last there came a ruler "who knew not Joseph," and the order went out that the old man be discharged to make room for some younger favorite.
His son brought the sad news to him.
It seemed to stupefy the old fellow.
He went home that evening in a daze.
Of course the old woman quickly saw that something was wrong, and began to ask questions.
"No, and I'm not sick at all. They're after dischargin' me down at the docks. I've recaved me notice for next month. I knowed it would come. Sure I towld ye the furrst day I wint to worruk there I didn't think 'tw'ud be a steady job, and be jabers, I wor roight."
Some accident prevented me from attending a musicale given by a would-be friend the other evening.
When I met him later he expressed himself after the usual style, about having missed me, but I had loaded up my old blunderbuss, and gave him a corker.
"And we were sorry not to be with you, Jones, but to tell you the truth, our cook had company unexpectedly, and she needed us to fill out the card tables."
Jones never speaks to me now.
I really imagine the fellow believed what I told him, which speaks well for my veracity.
Not that it matters much anyhow, for I understand they will soon move out of our neighborhood.
My wife says the signs are infallible, since they have begun to scratch matches on the walls.
By some accident I dropped into a strange barber shop to be shaved.
And it was the most—well, atrocious skin I ever ran up against.
The tears stood in my eyes, but that barbarian kept scratching away just as though he had taken a vow not to leave an inch of cuticle on my chin.