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I ast what was he like it's that I'm astin' you!" The janitress was the one who pressed for an answer. For the moment the question, pointed though it was, went unanswered.
A faint tingle filtered through Peter's throat and chest, but he asked casually enough what she had said. "Didn' say; she wrote." Peter looked around, frankly astonished. "Wrote?" "Yeah; co'se she wrote." "What made her write?" a fantasy of Ida May dumb flickered before the mulatto. "Why, Ida May's in Nashville." Caroline looked at Peter. "She wrote to Cissie, astin' 'bout you.
Mary managed to smother her emotions on the subject of the brandy, and the old woman chattered on, throwing out the news of the village in a series of humorous fragments, tinged in general with the lowest opinion of human nature. When the girls took leave of her, she said slily to Marcella: "An' 'ow about your plaitin', miss? though I dessay I'm a bold 'un for astin'." Marcella coloured.
"Och, well," confessed Mrs. Wackernagel, "I just keep astin' him will he have more, so I can hear him speak his manners so nice." She laughed aloud at her own vanity. "You took notice of it too, Tillie, ain't? You can't eat fur lookin' at him!" A tide of color swept Tillie's face as the teacher, with a look of amusement, turned his eyes toward her end of the table.
Maybe he was rattled and didn't figger the things he said. He was astin' fer word up from the mills. I didn't worry to think, and just said I hadn't got. I ast 'why'? The boy took a quick look round, kind o' scared. He said, 'jest nothin'. He reckoned he'd a dame somewhere around Sachigo. She'd wrote him things wer' kind of bad with the mills. They were beat fer dollars, and looked like a crash.
"I wasn' astin' you. I jes' sayin' sump'm' kind o' to myse'f like." The completed cage, with Gipsy behind the bars, framed a spectacle sufficiently thrilling and panther-like. Gipsy raved, "spat", struck virulently at taunting fingers, turned on his wailing siren for minutes at a time, and he gave his imitation of a dromedary almost continuously.
S' I, 'Gentermen, they hain't no manners in astin' a man on a marchin' frolic this time er night, s' I; but Sid Parmalee, he chipped in an' 'lowed that you wuz ez high up for fun ez the next man." Woodward thought he understood the drift of things, but he was desperately uncertain. He reflected a moment, and then faced the situation squarely. "If you were in my place, Mr.
Adams spoke to Gertrude in an undertone: "Just say, 'Not at home." "What?" "If it's callers, just say we're not at home." Gertrude spoke out freely: "You mean you astin' me to 'tend you' front do' fer you?" She seemed both incredulous and affronted, but Mrs. Adams persisted, though somewhat apprehensively. "Yes. Hurry uh please. Just say we're not at home if you please."
But Mrs. Snawdor had come to a belated realization of the depleted state of the family treasury and she urged Nance to keep on for the present. "We better cut all the corners we kin," she said, "till Snawdor gits over this fit of the dumps. Ain't a reason in the world he don't go into the junk business. I ain't astin' him to drive aroun' an' yell 'Old iron! I know that's tryin' on a bashful man.
Tillie did not like the lies she had to tell, but she knew she had already perjured her soul beyond redemption and one lie more or less could not make matters worse. "I found it in the road." "How much did you find?" "Fi' cents." "You hadn't ought to spent it without astin' me dare you. Now I'm goin' to learn you once! Set up." Tillie obeyed, and the strap fell across her shoulders.
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