Winona also he affected to believe an ornament of the old noblesse, a creature of maddening beauty, but without heart, so that despairing suitors slew themselves for her.

His debased fancy would at times further have it that Judge Penniman was Louis XVIII, though at this moment, observing that the ladies were preoccupied with one of his sons, he paused by the invalid and expertly from a corner of his mouth whispered the coarse words, "Hello, Old Flapdoodle!" From some remnant of sex loyalty he would not address the sufferer thus when his womenfolk could overhear, but the judge could never be sure of the jester's discretion.

Besides, Dave was from day to day earnestly tutoring the parrot to say the base words, and the judge knew that Polly, once master of them, would use no discretion whatever.

He glared at Dave Cowan in hearty but silent rage.
Dave turned from him to kneel at the feet of Winona.
"'A book of verses underneath the bow--'" he began.
Winona shuddered.

She knew what was coming; dreadful, licentious stuff from a so-called poet--far, far different from dear Tennyson, thought Winona--who sang the joys of profligacy.