Within a month the Michigan mudkicker found her new master and the naive young pimp was stuck with a brace of howling crumb crushers.

His poem, however, is meetly enough entituled—Christ Crucified! But the Rev. William Ellis Wall is worse than [Pontius] Pilate. That wretch, as this miserable calls the Roman governor, was careful to wash his hands of all guilt in the transaction; but the Rev. William Ellis Wall holds forth triumphantly his two unhallowed and incarnadine maniples of reeking digits, boasting of the infamous achievement in a most egregious preface.

There was an unctuous quality to his voice and a description of him which she had once heard the baron use went through her mind: that pompous old clinchpoop.

He watched the little dog's antics with a humorless stare.