Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Own Company; Or, Barnstorming in the Middle West онлайн

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"You will realize, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "that I could quite as easily strike Monsieur Mazarin's head from his body. In fact, should I fail to check the descent of the sword at exactly the proper instant, I must inflict a fatal wound."

Now there was a rustling in the audience.

"Ach-ew! a-chew!" sneezed an old farmer in the front row. "Gol darn this cold!" he muttered, in a stage whisper. "I hev to sneeze ev'ry time jest at the p'int where he's doin' somethin' I want to see."

This caused a slight titter, and Frank spotted the possessor of the cold.

"I'll attend to your cold later, sir," he said. "Without doubt it is very annoying to you, but I will show you how to make it profitable. Whenever I catch cold, I retire from active life and do my best to cultivate that cold, for I find I can make more money sneezing than in any other way."

The old fellow was in a bad humor, and he promptly retorted:

"I didn't come here to be made fun of, young man! Yeou jest attend to your business, an' I'll attend to mine. Ker-chew! ker-chee-eew! ker-chee-ee-eew!"