Now he was seeing his first foreign city, and to Morton,
stolidly curious beside him, he could say nothing save "Gee!"
With church-tower and swarthy dome behind dome, Liverpool lay
across the Mersey. Up through the Liverpool streets that ran
down to the river, as though through peep-holes slashed straight
back into the Middle Ages, his vision plunged, and it wandered
unchecked through each street while he hummed:
"Free, free, in Eu-ro-pee, that's _me!_"
The cattlemen were called to help unload the remaining hay.
They made a game of it. Even Satan smiled, even the Jewish
elders were lightly affable as they made pretendedly fierce
gestures at the squat patient hay-bales. Tim, the hatter,
danced a limber foolish jig upon the deck, and McGarver
bellowed, "The bon-nee bon-nee banks of Loch Lo-o-o-o-mond."
The crowd bawled: "Come on, Bill Wrenn; your turn. Hustle up
with that bale, Pete, or we'll sic Bill on you."
Bill Wrenn, standing very dignified, piped: "I'm Colonel
Armour. I own all these cattle, 'cept the Morris uns, see?
Gotta do what I say, savvy? Tim, walk on your ear.
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