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But that man from Chicago came, didn't he?" "I sh'd say 'yes'! He come," said Toby, in awe. "An' what d'ye s'pose? He done buyed a heap of Corson's spec'mens an' paid him more'n a hundred dollars for 'em. And that ain't countin' that there dead-head butterfly ye made sech a time about. "I reckoned," pursued Toby, "that you was right crazy about that there bug.
But Bill, you see, always carries an empty sack or two to sit upon; so there was no countin' to be done at that end, d'ye see?" "I see," said Cai gravely. It crossed his mind that he had been over-hasty in rebuking Mrs Bowldler. "I wonder," put in the child Fancy, "how you can sit there an' tell such a story!
I declare it's too bad just now when I was countin' on him to " He did not finish the sentence, but instead turned to his grandson and said: "Al, why don't you look around the hardware store here while I open the mail and the safe. If there's anything you see you don't understand Issy'll tell you about it." He went into the office. Albert sauntered listlessly to the window and looked out.
"Are ye countin' too much on yer strength, bairn?" asked the now weeping mother. "I'd rather see ye give way like." "No, no," cried Katie, impatiently. "Each one has his own way, mother; let me have mine. I'll work for Donald and Elspie all I can. Ye know she was always like my own bairn more than a sister. The quicker she comes the better for me, mother. It'll be all over then.
"She's what Ovid come down with.... Can't blame a young feller for forgittin' work a day or two when he's got him sich a wife.... Deacon, this here girl's performed a service for Coldriver. Increased our population by two her and Ovid. And, Deacon, Ovid hain't the fust man that ever was made so's he was wuth countin' in the census by marryin' him a wife...."
"You see, daddy shot himself in the leg stove a bone all to pieces; and mother don't know what to do, so I slid off this mornin' without tellin' anybody." "Countin' on footin' it to Antelope Spring?" Parsons asked as if in surprise. "Yes; it ain't more'n forty-five miles the way we've reckoned it." "Where did you start from?" "Buffalo Meadows."
An' durin' the Retreat, when, as you knows, cigarettes in the Expeditionary Force was scarcer'n snowballs in 'ell, ole Pint-o'-Bass managed to carry on, an' wasn't never seen without 'is fag, excep' at meal-times, an' sleep-times, an' they bein' so infrequent an' sketchy-like, them days, wasn't 'ardly worth countin'. 'Twas like this, see, that 'e managed it.
From its folds emerged the red head of Jimmie, belligerently. Its owner had evidently been roused from a nap. "Where do I get off at I'd like to know?" demanded the indignant namesake of a martyred President. "Didn't I run down his nibs for you in 'Frisco and wise you where he was staying? Didn't I find out he was aboard here? Why ain't you countin' me in?"
"Cut loose whenever you're ready." "Hold yore hawsses, friend," advised the ex-guerrilla, not unkindly. "There's no occasion whatever for you to run on the rope. We are six to two, countin' the kid, who's got about all he can carry for one day. We're here askin' questions, an' it's reasonable for you to answer 'em." "I have answered 'em. I'll answer all you want to ask.
However, by this time she had somewhat recovered herself, and, approaching him, she stooped and tried to shut the box. 'You take yourself off, she said, desperately, pushing him with her fist. 'That money's no business o' yourn. It's John's, an he's comin back directly. He gave it us to look after, an I wor countin it. March! there's your father comin!
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