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

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"That's fair, b'gosh!" exclaimed the man, as he started to get up.

At this point, a quiet little woman who had been sitting at his side caught him by the coat-tail and pulled him back into his seat.

"Jo-si-ah!" she whispered, shrilly, "don't yeou go up there! Yeou can't tell whut he'll be doin' to ye."

"Waal, if he tried to—ker-chew! ker-chew!—do anything that I don't like, I'll jest mop up the platform with him! Let me 'lone, Nancy!"

"Yeou set still, Josiah!"

"See here, old lady, I usually let yeou do the bossin', but I kainder guess I'll do as I darn please this—ker-chew!—time."

There seemed danger of a family row there in the front row, but Merry said:

"If I fail to satisfy you, sir, I will also refund the price of your wife's admission."

"Hear that, Nancy! Jeeminy! This is the chance to make a dollar, fer he'll hev a darn hard time satisfyin' me!"

That brought down the house. There was a roar of laughter, and, in the midst of it, the old farmer broke away and scrambled for the stage.