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Ralph, I'm a-comin'! Don't hurry me, I don't want to break nothin'." Ralph waited a few minutes. "What are you doing down there, Mahailey?" he fumed. "I could have emptied the whole cellar by this time. I suppose I'll have to do it myself." "I'm a-comin'. You'd git yourself all dusty down here."
Ernest ain't been over for a long time. He ain't mad about nothin', is he?" "Oh, no! He's awful busy this summer. I saw him in town yesterday. We went to the circus together." Mahailey smiled and nodded. "That's nice. I'm glad for you two boys to have a good time. Mr. Ernest's a nice boy; I always liked him first rate. He's a little feller, though. He ain't big like you, is he?
While Claude was washing for dinner, Mahailey came to him with a page of newspaper cartoons, illustrating German brutality. To her they were all photographs, she knew no other way of making a picture. "Mr. Claude," she asked, "how comes it all them Germans is such ugly lookin' people? The Yoeders and the German folks round here ain't ugly lookin'." Claude put her off indulgently.
Claude was so pale that he looked unnatural, nobody had ever seen him like that before. His face, between his very black clothes and his smooth, sandy hair, was white and severe, and he uttered his responses in a hollow voice. Mahailey, at the back of the room, in a black hat with green gooseberries on it, was standing, in order to miss nothing. She watched Mr.
Wheeler, in her husband's rubber boots and an old overcoat, came down with Mahailey to view the scene of disaster. "You ought to git right at them hawgs an' butcher 'em today," Mahailey called down to the men. She was standing on the edge of the draw, in her patched jacket and ravelled hood. Claude, down in the hole, brushed the sleeve of his sweater across his streaming face.
Mahailey, too, had one, though the walls of her prison were so thick and Gladys Farmer. Oh, yes, how much Gladys must have to tell this perfect confidant! The people whose hearts were set high needed such intercourse whose wish was so beautiful that there were no experiences in this world to satisfy it.
He said to his father, "No, Mother's too violent. I'd better not." Claude and his mother read the papers in the evening, but they talked so little about what they read that Mahailey inquired anxiously whether they weren't still fighting over yonder.
If there's anything I hate, it's grape jelly. I know you have lots of it, but you can't work it off on me. And when you come up, don't forget the pickled peaches. I told you particularly, the pickled peaches!" "We ain't got no pickled peaches." Mahailey stood by the cellar door, holding a corner of her apron up to her chin, with a queer, animal look of stubbornness in her face.
Nearly every time Claude went into the cellar, he made a desperate resolve to clear the place out some day, reflecting bitterly that the money this wreckage cost would have put a boy through college decently. While Claude was planing off the board he meant to suspend from the joists, Mahailey left her work and came down to watch him.
Claude told Mahailey he was going to the cellar to put up the swinging shelf she had been wanting, so that the rats couldn't get at her vegetables. "Thank you, Mr. Claude. I don't know what does make the rats so bad. The cats catches one most every day, too." "I guess they come up from the barn. I've got a nice wide board down at the garage for your shelf."
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