'I'll do him up,' he says. An' so he
writes a pome to show that th' czar's letter's not on th' square.
Kipling's like me, Hinnissy. When I want to say annything lib-lous, I
stick it on to me Uncle Mike. So be Roodyard Kipling. He doesn't come
r-right out, an' say, 'Nick, ye're a liar!' but he tells about what
th' czar done to a man he knowed be th' name iv Muttons. Muttons, it
seems, Hinnissy, was wanst a hunter; an' he wint out to take a shot at
th' czar, who was dhressed up as a bear. Well, Muttons r-run him down,
an' was about to plug him, whin th' czar says, 'Hol' on,' he
says,--'hol' on there,' he says. 'Don't shoot,' he says. 'Let's talk
this over,' he says. An' Muttons, bein' a foolish man, waited till th'
czar come near him; an' thin th' czar feinted with his left, an' put
in a right hook an' pulled off Muttons's face. I tell ye 'tis so. He
jus' hauled it off th' way ye'd haul off a porous plasther,--raked off
th' whole iv Muttons's fr-ront ilivation. 'I like ye'er face,' he
says, an' took it. An' all this time, an' 'twas fifty year ago,
Muttons hasn't had a face to shave.
Pages:
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26