| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 369 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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| Text |
have to stand before the Great White Throne for judgement! `And at the Last Day, when yer sees the moon turned inter Blood, you'll be cryin' hout for the mountings and the rocks to fall on yer and 'ide yer from the wrath of the Lamb!' The others laughed derisively. `I'm a Bush Baptist meself,' remarked the man on the upturned pail. This individual, Dick Wantley by name, was of what is usually termed a `rugged' cast of countenance. He reminded one strongly of an ancient gargoyle, or a dragon. Most of the hands had by now lit their pipes, but there were a few who preferred chewing their tobacco. As they smoked or chewed they expectorated upon the floor or into the fire. Wantley was one of those who preferred chewing and he had been spitting |
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