"Feel?
horridly, of course. Bad enough, being dead, to yet speak, and tell 'em
that paper didn't represent my politics: 'd that do?"
Jim shook his head dubiously.
"What are you making such a devil of a row for, I'd like to know? it's
too hot to get excited. 'Tain't likely you know anything about Willie
Surrey."
"O ho! it is Mr. Will, then, is it? Know him,--don't I, though? Like a
book. Known him ever since he was knee-height of a grasshopper. I'd like
to have that fellow"--shaking his fist toward the floating
paper--"within arm's reach. Wouldn't I pummel him some? O no, of course
not,--not at all. Only, if he wants a sound skin, I'd advise him, as a
friend, to be scarce when I'm round, because it'd very likely be
damaged."
"You think it's all a Copperhead lie, then! I should have thought so, at
first, only I know Surrey's capable of doing any Quixotic thing if he
once gets his mind fixed on it."
"I know what I know," Jim answered, slowly folding and unfolding
Sallie's letter, which he still held in his hand. "I know all about that
young lady he's been marrying. She's young, and she's
handsome--handsome as a picture--and rich, and as good as an angel;
that's about what she is, if Sallie Howard and I know B from a bull's
foot."
"Who is Sallie Howard?" queried the Captain.
"She? O,"--very red in the face,--"she's a friend of mine, and she's
Miss Ercildoune's seamstress.
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