Boy Woodburn eBook

Alfred Ollivant (writer)
This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 334 pages of information about Boy Woodburn.

“It’s cash spells conwersion, Mr. Silver,” he panted.  “I’ve often seen it in others, and now I knows it for meself.  A noo-er, tru-er and bootifler h’outlook upon life, as Mr.  ’Aggard said last Sunday—­hall the houtcome o’ cash in ’and.  Yes, sir, if you wants to conwert the world, the way’s clear—­Pay cash down. That’s why these ’ere Socialists are on the grow; because they talks common-sense.  ‘It’s dollars as does it,’ they says.  ‘Give every chap a bankin’-account, and you’ll see.’  What’s Church h’up and h’answer to that?  Church says:  ’It’s all in conwersion.  Bank on conwersion.  Cash is but wrath and must that corrupts,’ says the clergy.  ‘Leave the cash to us,’ they says.  ’We’ll see to that for you, while you keeps out o’ temptation and saves your souls alive.’”

When Mrs. Woodburn told the old man the news about Joses, he received it gravely.

“Moved on, has he?” he said.  “I’m sorry.  I shall miss him.  I always misses that sort.  Shouldn’t feel at home like without some of them around.  Well, Mar, we shall all meet in the yappy yappy land, plea Gob in his goodness.”  He burst into a sort of chaunt, wagging his head, and beating time with his fist—­

          “Ho, won’t that be jiy-ful? 
          Jam for the fythe-ful.

I wouldn’t miss that meetin’, Mar, not for all the nuts on Iceland’s greasy mountains, the Psalmist made the song about.  I sees it all like in a wision.”  His eyes closed, and his hands and feet swam vaguely.  “Me and Monkey o’ the one side, and the Three J’s o’ tother, pitchin’ the tale a treat at tops of our voices.”  He opened his eyes slowly, ogled Ma, tapped her knee, winked, and ended confidentially:  “One thing, old dear.  I’ll lay they’ll give Putnam’s best same there as here.  Now then!”


Putnam’s Once More

It was Sunday morning at Putnam’s, and in Maudie’s estimation things were more comme il faut than they had been for long past.

About a fortnight since there had been trouble in the yard during the night, and after it, for some hours before he went away, the Monster-without-Manners had been subdued almost to gentlemanliness.

Then two of the fan-tails had been taken ill.  Maudie from the top of the ladder had watched their dying contortions with the cynical interest of a Roman matron criticizing the death-agonies of a gladiator in the arena.  When after staggering about the fan-tails turned over on their backs and flopped, Maudie descended from her perch and toyed with them daintily during their last moments, finally carrying their corpses up into the loft.

After that, Maudie felt queer herself, and not only from the results of a stricken conscience.  Indeed, but for the urgent and instant ministrations of Putnam’s Only Gentleman she would have followed where the good fan-tails had gone.

Thereafter, for a space of a week, there had fallen on the yard a hallowed time of peace very different from the period of oppression and irritable energy which had preceded it.  Maudie attributed the change to the absence of the Monster-without-Manners who had departed quietly with the Four-legs there was all the fuss about.

Project Gutenberg
Boy Woodburn from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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