"
"It's simply true! both are simply true! We were driving very slowly on
an immensely hot day in the middle of August, between Lebanon Springs
and Claverack; McTavish and I on the front seat, and Tim behind. Well!
we were creeping at a foot's pace, upon a long, steep hill, just at the
very hottest time of day; not a word had been spoken for above an hour,
for we were all tired and languid--except once, when McTavish asked for
his third tumbler, since breakfast, of Starke's Ferintosh, of which we
had three two-quart bottles in the liquor case--when suddenly, without
any sign or warning, McTavish gave a sneeze which, on my honor, was
scarcely inferior in loudness to a pistol shot! The horses started
almost off the road, I jumped about half a foot off my seat, and
positively without exaggeration, Timothy tumbled slap out of the wagon
into the road, and lay there sprawling in the dust, while Mac sat
perfectly unmoved, without a smile upon his face, looking straight
before him, exactly as if nothing had happened."
"Nonsense, Harry," exclaimed I; "that positively won't go down."
"That's an etarnal lie, now, Archer!" Tom chimed in; "leastwise I don't
know why I should say so neither, for I never saw no deviltry goin' on
yet, that didn't come as nat'ral to McTavish, as lying to a minister,
or.
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