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The substance of this advice seemed good to Abalene, especially as the seventeen dollars and sixty cents in his pocket lent sweet colors to life out of jail at this time. At dusk he led Whitey to a broad common at the edge of town, and spoke to him finally. "G'on 'bout you biz'nis," said Abalene; "you ain' my hoss. Don' look roun' at me, 'cause I ain' got no 'quaintance wif you.
"Stupid!" she thought, "opening your mail in the post office, instead of keeping it to read while I'm shopping!" but even as she reproached him, he came out and climbed into the buggy, in very evident perturbation. He said "G'tap!" angrily; Lion backed, and the wheel screeched against the curb. "Oh, g'on!" he said. Lion switched his tail, caught a rein under it, and trotted off. Mr.
Rack told him the name of the bartender, and Racey nodded quite as if Rack were facing him and could see everything he did. "Then that's all right," whispered Racey. "I know that feller. He's a friend of Mike Flynn's. He won't do anythin' hostyle. Let's go right in. Open the door. G'on, damn yore soul, or I'll blow you apart!"
"He ain' goin' back," he said. "'Ain' nobody kin make 'at dog go back. I 'ain' had him mo'n two weeks, but I don' b'lieve Pres'dent United States kin make 'at dog go back! I show you." And, wheeling suddenly, he made ferocious gestures, shouting. "G'on back, dog!"
Yessuh; he say white man goin' to git you yit an' th'ow you in jail 'count o' Whitey. White man tryin' to fine out who you IS. He say, nemmine, he'll know Whitey ag'in, even if he don' know you! He say he ketch you by the hoss; so you come roun' tryin' fix me up with Whitey so white man grab me, th'ow ME in 'at jail. G'on 'way f'um hyuh, you Abalene!
He'll listen to a man. G'on! They's money in it, if you work it right. You want money, don't you? You need three hundred to pay what you owe Piggy Wadsworth, don't you? Yah, you big hunk, you been runnin' to me for money long enough! Here's a chance to make some of yore own. Fly at it."
For this was the sequel to his "so's we can see if Kitty Silver's got anything." But Mrs. Silver discouraged him. "No, I ain't," she replied. "I ain't, an' I ain't goin' to." "I thought you pretty near always made cookies on Tuesday," he said. "Well, I ain't this Tuesday," said Kitty Silver. "I ain't, and I ain't goin' to. You might dess well g'on home ri' now. I ain't, an' I ain't goin' to."
They went out past the tool house and past the chicken yard and up to the garden. "No, Bob," said Grandfather as Bob tried to push in through the garden gate with them, "we don't need you here. G'on back to the house!" And Bob turned obediently and ran back. "Isn't he the nicest dog!" explained Mary Jane, as they went along. And then she stopped right short and couldn't say another word.
After all, there was no use telling the child that probably by this time her lover was either dead or getting better. "It's his own fault," William King thought, angrily. "Why in thunder didn't he fall in love like a man, instead of making the child resort to G'on, Jinny! G'on!" He still had the whip in his hand when they drew up at the gate.
His face became a totally different countenance with the expression of settled and unrelenting indignation, which his words called out. 'G'on, man, g'on, said Daniel, impatient with Donkin for the little delay occasioned by the necessity of arranging his work more fully.
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