lls it."

"Well, I can't say that I have thought much about it yet. Missis keeps
me so busy that I haven't time."

"Ah!" said Gillie, "you're wastin' of precious opportoonities, Susan.
I've bin a-studdyin' of that lingo myself, now, for three weeks--off and
on."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Susan, with an amused glance, "and what do _you_
think of it?"

"Think of it! I think it's the most outrageous stuff as ever was. The
man who first inwented it must 'ave 'ad p'ralersis o' the brain, besides
a bad cold in 'is 'ead, for most o' the enns an' gees come tumblin'
through the nose, but only git half out after all, as if the speaker was
afraid to let 'em go, lest he shouldn't git hold of 'em again. There's
that there mountain, now. They can't call it Mont Blang, with a good
strong out-an'-out bang, like a Briton would do, but they catches hold
o' the gee when it's got about as far as the bridge o' the nose, half
throttles it and shoves it right back, so that you can scarce hear it at
all. An' the best joke is, there ain't no gee in the word at all!"

"No?" said Susan, in surprise.

"No," repeated Gillie. "I've bin studdyin' the spellin' o' the words in
shop-winders an' posters, an', would you b'lieve it, they end the word
Blang with a _c_."

"You don't say so!"

"Yes I do; an' how d'ee think they spell the name o' that feller
Laycrwa?"

"I'm sure I don't know," answered Susan.

"They spells it," returned Gillie, with a solemn look, "L-e-c-r-o-i-x.
Now, if _I_ had spelt it that way, I'd have pronounced it Laycroiks.
Wouldn't you?"

"Well, yes, I think I should," said Susan.

"It seems to me," continued Gillie, "that they goes on the plan of
spellin' one way an' purnouncin' another--always takin' care to choose
the most difficult way, an' the most unnatt'ral, so that a feller has no
chance to come near it except by corkin' up one nostril tight, an'
borin' a small extra hole in the other about half-way up. If you was to
mix a sneeze with what you said, an' paid little or no attention to the
sense, p'raps it would be French--but I ain't sure. I only wish you
heard Cappen Wopper hoistin' French out of hisself as if he was a wessel
short-handed, an' every word was a heavy bale. He's werry shy about it,
is the Cappen, an' wouldn't for the world say a word if he thought any
one was near; but when he thinks he's alone with Antoine--that's our
guide, you know--he sometimes lets fly a broadside o' French that
well-ni