Читать книгу A West Point Treasure; Or, Mark Mallory's Strange Find онлайн

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The Parson stopped and gazed about him with a surprised and rather injured air. Really the rudeness of some people was amazing! Here were the two he was talking to actually leaning back in their chairs and giving vent to peals of laughter, what about he had no idea. This was really too much!

It was at least five minutes before either Mark or his companion could manage to stop long enough to explain to the puzzled geologist that he had been classifying a porcelain jug. And when they did and he realized it he sat back in his chair and gazed at them in utter consternation. He never said one word for at least a minute; he simply stared, while the idea slowly percolated through his mind. Grace Fuller, ever kind-hearted and considerate, had begun to fear that he was angry, and then suddenly the Boston scholar leaned back in his chair, opened his classic mouth, and forth therefrom came a roar of laughter that made the sentries away over by camp start in alarm.

“Ho, ho, ho!” shouted he. “Ho, ho! ha, ha! he, he! A jug! Yea, by Zeus, a jug! By the nine immortals, a jug!”