The yard's all cleaned up.
Then--zing!" Lute's clenched fist swept across and knocked the offending finger out of the way.

"Zing! here comes one of the Almighty's no'theasters, same as we're likely to have to-morrer, and the consarned yard is just as dirty as ever.

Ain't that so ?" I looked at the yard.

"It seems to be about as it was," I agreed, with some sarcasm.

Lute was an immune, so far as sarcasm was concerned.
"Yup," he said, triumphantly.