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Updated: May 4, 2025
That's my fav'rit," Mr. Harum repeated, "'cept when him an' Polly sings together, an' if that ain't a show pertic'lerly Polly I don't want a cent. No, ma'am, when him an' Polly gits good an' goin' you can't see 'em fer dust." "I should like to hear them," said Miss Clara, laughing, "and I should particularly like to hear your favorite, the one which ends with the Amen the very large A men."
"You're real kind, I'm sure," responded Mrs. Cullom, replying to the other's welcome and remarks seriatim; "I guess, though, I don't look much like Cynthy Sweetland, if I do feel twenty years younger 'n I did a while ago; an' I have ben cryin', I allow, but not fer sorro', Polly Harum," she exclaimed, giving the other her maiden name. "Your brother Dave comes putty nigh to bein' an angel!"
Harum, "an' he coughs enough to tear his head off sometimes." The doctor nodded. "Ought to clear out somewhere," he said. "Don't like that cough myself." "What do you mean?" asked David. "Ought to go 'way for a spell," said the doctor; "quit working, and get a change of climate." "Have you told him so?" asked Mr. Harum. "Yes," replied the doctor; "said he couldn't get away."
Whar a angel makes dwelling-place thar oughter be a full crib, though it may be ambrosyer or mannar, or some o' them fixin's as a purairy man's stummick ain't used to. Anyways, a bit o' doe-deer meat won't do no harum. So, Walt Wilder, ole coon, let's you an' me set our faces southart, an' see what's to turn up at the tarminashun o' six miles' trampin'."
John's expenses were small, and there was very little temptation, or indeed opportunity, for spending. At the time of his taking possession of his quarters in David's house he had raised the question of his contribution to the household expenses, but Mr. Harum had declined to discuss the matter at all and referred him to Mrs.
The only sounds he had been conscious of were the mumbling of his pet bear cub lying beside him chained to a log, busily licking the inside of an empty honey jar, and the regular strokes of the woodman's axe as Abe Harum worked at the felling of a pine tree some distance away. The shadow came from behind him and stopped on the sunlit expanse of paper.
"Yes," said John, smiling a little at the question. "Wouldn't she have ye?" queried David, who stuck at no trifles when in pursuit of information. John laughed. "I never asked her," he replied, in truth a little surprised at his own willingness to be questioned. "Did ye cal'late to when the time come right?" pursued Mr. Harum.
I reckon the' hain't ben nothin' much but hay in his manger fer quite a spell," remarked Mr. Harum. "H'm!" said John, raising his brows, conscious of a humane but very faint interest in Mr. Timson's affairs. Mr. Harum got out a cigar, and, lighting it, gave a puff or two, and continued with what struck the younger man as a perfectly irrelevant question.
"Nor hain't ever heard a word about her f'm that day to this?" "No." "Nor hain't ever tried to?" "No," said John. "What would have been the use?" "Prov'dence seemed to 've made a putty clean sweep in your matters that spring, didn't it?" "It seemed so to me," said John. Nothing more was said for a minute or two. Mr. Harum appeared to have abandoned the pursuit of the subject of his questions.
"Busy?" he asked. "No," said John. "Nothing that can't wait." "Set down," said Mr. Harum, drawing a chair to the fire. He looked up with his characteristic grin. "Ever own a hog?" he said. "No," said John, smiling. "Ever feel like ownin' one?" "I don't remember ever having any cravings in that direction." "Like pork?" asked Mr. Harum. "In moderation," was the reply.
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