He gulped loudly as he ate, thinking it an evidence of hearty
good-fellowship. And he deliberately broke wind at the table ... then
would rap on wood and laugh....
I, on my dignity as cook, and because the others, rough as they were,
complained to me in private about this behaviour, but did not openly
speak against it because "Hank" was their employer's son. I took
exception to the good-natured "lummox's" behaviour.
One morning he was the last to climb out from over the bench at the
rough, board table....
"Hank ... wait. I want to speak to you a minute."
"Yes, Razorre, what is it?" he asked, waiting....
"Hank, the boys have delegated me to tell you that you must use better
manners than you do, at meals."
"The hell you say! and what are you going to do if I don't?"
"I--why, Hank, I hadn't thought of that ... but, since you bring up the
question, I'm going to try to stop you, if you won't stop yourself."
"--think you can?--think you're strong enough?"
"I said '_try_'!"
"Listen, Razorre," and he came over to me with lazy, good-natured
strength, "I'll pick you up, take you out, and roll you in the snow, if
you don't keep still."
"And I'll try my best to give you a good whipping," replied I, setting
my teeth hard, and glaring at him.
He started at me, grinning. I put the table between us, and began taking
deep breaths to thoroughly oxygenate my blood, so it would help me in my
forthcoming grapple with the big, over-grown giant.
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