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Updated: May 31, 2025
"What do you think about it now?" asked John. "My opinion is now," replied Mr. Harum, "that it's goin' to putty near where it belongs, an' mebbe higher, an' them 's my advices. We can sell now at some profit, an' of course the bears 'll jump on agin as it goes up, an' the other fellers 'll take the profits f'm time to time.
I wuz sent aout to hunt fer you. I gotta letter fer you, f'm f'm Miss Madeira." Steering opened his drowsy eyes and regarded Piney. "Yes, I have. I gotta letter fer you. Y'see, Miss Sally, she's found aout sumpin sumpin that you didn' want her to find aout." The fire leaped and crackled; Bruce leaned away from its scorch, nearer to Piney.
I run across him in the woods about an hour or two ago, and he said if I hollered he'd cut my livers out and told me to lay down and stay where I was; and I done it. Been there ever since; afeard to come out." "Well," he says, "you needn't be afeard no more, becuz they've got him. He run off f'm down South, som'ers." "It's a good job they got him."
Den she run an' 'gin beatin' on me. "'Hol' on, Ah tells 'er, 'you ain't forgot dat beatin' yit? I done got yo' fish, an' I gin 'er de pahcel. "'Mah boy, mah boy, she say, 'Ah beatin' on yuh kase Ah so proud t' see yuh. Heah Ah done wear black fer yuh, an' gin yuh up fer daid; an' bress de Lawd, heah you is, lak come beck f'm de grave.
"Dat 'u'd suit you," chuckled aunt Milly, "an' you 'd stay dere fer de secon' table, too. How dis man know 'bout all dis yer foolis'ness?" she asked incredulously. "He come f'm de Norf," said uncle Wellington, "an' he 'speunced it all hisse'f." "Well, he can't make me b'lieve it," she rejoined, with a shake of her head.
I ast him if they knowed who I was, an' he said one on 'em ast him, an' he told him. The feller said to him, seein' me drive up: 'That's a putty likely-lookin' hoss. Who's drivin' him? An' he says to the feller: 'That's Dave Harum, f'm over to Homeville. He's a great feller fer hosses, he says." "Dave," said Mrs. Bixbee, "them chaps jest laid fer ye, didn't they?"
David sat for a moment thoughtfully tapping the desk with his eyeglasses, and then said with his characteristic chuckle: "I had a letter f'm Chet Timson yestidy." John looked up at him, failing to see the connection. "Yes," said David, "he's out fer a job, an' the way he writes I guess the dander's putty well out of him.
"Can you tell me how far it is to Poetical?" The man addressed half turned, disclosing a thin and delicate face to Steering. Then he reined his horse in gently. "Good-evening, sair. Is it that you inquire to Poetical? It is a vair' long five miles f'm here, sair." Steering rode up beside the man, more and more pleased, regarding and analysing.
"'I don't think that was hully to blame, he says; 'may have hurried matters up a little somethin' that was liable to happen any time in the next two months. "'You don't mean it? I says. "'Yes, he says. 'Now you git out as fast as you can. Wait a minute, he says. 'How old is your wife? "'F'm what she told me 'fore we was married, I says, 'she's thirty-one.
"They's gals there. I hates gals," said the boy in a confidential tone. "Any sort o' men critters I kin stand, but gals gits my goat." "Who are you?" inquired Mr. Conant. "Me? I'm jus' Bub." "Where is Mr. Morrison's man?" "Meanin' Talbot? Gone up to Mark's Peak, to guide a gang o' hunters f'm the city." "When did he go?" asked the lawyer. "I guess a Tuesday. No a Wednesday."
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