A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court HTML version
agreeable enough, for I was full of matter for reflection, and wanted to give it a chance to
work. I wanted to try and think out how it was that rational or even half-rational men
could ever have learned to wear armor, considering its inconveniences; and how they had
managed to keep up such a fashion for generations when it was plain that what I had
suffered to-day they had had to suffer all the days of their lives. I wanted to think that
out; and moreover I wanted to think out some way to reform this evil and persuade the
people to let the foolish fashion die out; but thinking was out of the question in the
circumstances. You couldn't think, where Sandy was.
She was a quite biddable creature and good-hearted, but she had a flow of talk that was as
steady as a mill, and made your head sore like the drays and wagons in a city. If she had
had a cork she would have been a comfort. But you can't cork that kind; they would die.
Her clack was going all day, and you would think something would surely happen to her
works, by and by; but no, they never got out of order; and she never had to slack up for
words. She could grind, and pump, and churn, and buzz by the week, and never stop to
oil up or blow out. And yet the result was just nothing but wind. She never had any ideas,
any more than a fog has. She was a perfect blatherskite; I mean for jaw, jaw, jaw, talk,
talk, talk, jabber, jabber, jabber; but just as good as she could be. I hadn't minded her mill
that morning, on account of having that hornets' nest of other troubles; but more than
once in the afternoon I had to say:
"Take a rest, child; the way you are using up all the domestic air, the kingdom will have
to go to importing it by to-morrow, and it's a low enough treasury without that."