"Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides On its fair, windin' way to the sea; And dearer by f-a-a-ar----" "Now, look a-here, Alec Lloyd," broke in Hairoil Johnson, throwin' up one hand like as if to defend hisself, and givin' me a kinda scairt look, "you shut you' bazoo right this minute--and git! Whenever you begin singin' that song, I know you're a-figgerin' on how to marry somebody off to somebody else. And I just won't have you _around!_"…
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