He toppled the table over. We were together. I kept on breathing like a
hard-working bellows, as I wrestled about with him.
He seized me by the right leg and tried to lift me up, carry me out. I
pushed his head back by hooking my fingers under his nose, like a prong.
Then I grabbed him by the seat of the britches and heaved. And they
burst clean up the back like a bean pod....
Unexpectedly Hank flopped on the bench and began to shout with
laughter....
My heavy, artificial breathing, like a bellows, for the sake of
oxygenating more strength into my muscles, had struck him as being so
ludicrous, that he was in high good humour. I joined in the laughter,
struck in the same way.
"I surrender, Razorre, and I'll promise to be decent at the table--you
skinny, crazy, old poet!"
And he rumbled and thundered again with Brobdingnagian mirth.
* * * * *
Back from the lumber camp. Comparatively milder weather, but still the
farmers we passed on the road were startled by my summery attire. But by
this time the lumber-jacks and I were on terms of proven friendship ...
I had told them yarns, and had listened to their yarns, in turn ... the
stories of their lives ... and their joys and troubles....
I was reported to Spalton as having been a first-rate cook.
I went to work in the bindery again.
* * * * *
Every day seemed to bring a new "eccentric" to join our colony.
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