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By Thursday evening she was teasing Papa Gregg for a spray of white aigrets, such as those same languorous ladies wore in feathery mists atop their hats. "But, Tweet," argued Papa Gregg, "what's the use? You can't take them back with you. Custom-house regulations forbid it." The rather faded but smartly dressed Mrs. Gregg asserted herself: "They're barbarous!
It was like the slap of a cold towel when Tweet's face suddenly displaced Lucy's in the haze. Up there in the lounging room Tweet had been waiting for him four hours! Tweet was doubtless hungry he, Hiram, had been to a feast of love! He felt like sneaking away to another lodging house till Tweet had disappeared. But he did not.
I am sure the pretty bird will fly down and call upon them. Thank God, that I stand so near and can at least see all the splendour." And while the daisy was still thinking, the lark came flying down, crying "Tweet," but not to the peonies and tulips no, into the grass to the poor daisy. Its joy was so great that it did not know what to think.
They called me back, and for ten minutes we puttered around between ten dollars an acre and fifteen, and at last they fell into my arms. We had the papers drawn up, and I slips 'em a certified check for six thousan' buckerinos." "You gave them six thousand dollars!" cried Hiram. "Sure," Tweet replied easily.
So far as any one can see, they're gettin' just as good land as Paloma Rancho; and the folks we've sold to are castin' dark looks at one Tweet. As if I was to blame! Two fellas that hadn't paid in much have jumped their contracts with us, and are takin' up claims. If many more pull stuff like that say, somebody'll be in bad!
"Tweet said I looked whittled out in it," he said truthfully. "You don't any such thing! You don't mind my being so personal, do you? I've taken quite an interest in you since Mr. Tweet talked about you especially as you are from Mendocino. You looked so forlorn and scared last night when you came in the restaurant.
You tide me over this little depression and I'll remember you. We may strike somethin' that'll look good anywhere between here and there. If so, we'll drop off and look into it." Hiram did not know what to say. He had no experience in reading human nature, and Mr. Tweet would have appeared as an enigma to many more astute than Hiram. "What do you want me to do?" he hedged.
When the wagons were loaded and the great tarpaulins hauled down over everything but the hay and grain, it was necessary for Jo to appoint a watchman for the night. She had no more than broached the subject when Playmate Tweet, who had helped manfully with the loading, offered his services. "I been just ridin' all day," he said, "and tryin' to convince Pete that I'm a reg'lar fella.
You'll probably learn a few things on that trip." "Are you a jerkline skinner?" "I dunno. Maybe I am. I never tried. But if that's what you wanta hit me, too. Say, what's your name?" "Hiram Hooker." "That's a peach, all right. They sure labeled you for the part. Mine ain't much better though. They call me Twitter-or-Tweet." "What!" "Proves I'm a bird, don't it? My name is Orr Tweet.
She was thoughtful a little, then took out a purse and handed him a twenty-dollar bill. "Kiss it good-by," she said; "but I suppose the experience will be worth something to you." "Thank you," said Hiram, very red of face. "I'm sorry for what I said about you meetin' me through Tweet, Jo. I meant to say, o' course, that if it hadn't been for Tweet I'd never got the job."
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