§ 207 The Final Smash
There was company at the farmhouse that evening and Mrs. Purdy, who had her share and more of New Hampshire thrift, was moved through hospitality to offer the suggestion that possibly the guests might like a glass apiece of fresh apple cider. There was unanimous endorsement of the idea. So Mr. Purdy got a china pitcher from the pantry and started for the cellar where the cider was stored.
The cellar was dark and the steps leading to it were steep. Half way down he stumbled and dropped with a resounding thump upon the brick floor six feet below, where he lay half-stunned.
Upstairs in the parlor they heard the sound of his fall. With alarm and wifely solicitude writ large upon her face Mrs. Purdy ran to the head of the cellar steps.
“Paw,” she called down, “did you break the pitcher?”
From the void below a determined voice answered her back:
“No, I didn’t, but by Judas Priest, I’m goin’ to now!”