Where that irascible gentleman was concerned,
Uncle Adam, like Br'er Rabbit, would "trus' no mistakes."
A second later, red-faced, half-breathless, but with the light of
battle in his eyes, Doctor Geddes appeared, mounted on a ladder on
his side of the hedge.
"Who shot off that rooster?"
"_Monsieur le docteur_, the hens of you began this affray,"
explained Schmetz, politely. "They are fowls abandoned in their
morals, horrible in their habits, and shameless in their behavior.
And the husband of these wretches, Monsieur, is a bandit, a brigand,
an assassin, fit only to be guillotined. Observe, Monsieur, it
happened thus--"
"Schmetz," snapped the doctor, "shut up!--Now then, I want to know
who fired off that rooster."
"I did!" I said valiantly. "Look at my bulbs! Just look at my
bulbs!"
"Look at my stomach!" roared the doctor. "Just look at my stomach!"
"_Mon Dieu! O mon Dieu_!" cried Schmetz, dancing up and down.
"Monsieur, again I implore that you will remain calm and listen to
the voice of reason! Your hens, creatures malicious and accursed--"
"Why should I look at your horrid stomach?" said I, outraged. "I
think you had better get down off that ladder and go away!"
"Why should you? Because, you jade, you've all but driven a
twenty-pound rooster clean through it--beak, spurs and tail
feathers--that's why!" bawled the doctor.
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