Three Sundays in a Week (1841)by Edgar Allan Poe Story copied from the Wikisource. You hard-headed, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty, fusty, old savage!" said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my grand uncle Rumgudgeon—shaking my fist at him in imagination. Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial discrepancy did exist, just then, between what I said and what I had not the courage to say—between what I did and what I had half a mind to do. Remplis ton verre vide! Vide ton verre plein! "Hem!" said he, "good boy! go on!" "Ha! ha! ha!" said he, "curse you! yes!" "Ah!—precisely?"