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Updated: August 10, 2024
"Let's see. Who owns this place?" "I do." Old Man Hatton's face broke into a sunburst of laugh-wrinkles. He threw back his head and went the scale from roar to chuckle. "One on me. Pretty good. Have to tell Angie that one." Chug walked to the street with him. "Your daughter, she's got a lot of nerve, all right. And that girl with her Weld.
"No, I won't; you would go and write it yourself, and steal my thunder." Uncle Horace's eyes twinkled, and a corruscation of laugh-wrinkles shot like sheet-lightning over his face. He disappeared into a neighbouring room, leaving a trail of white smoke in his wake, like a locomotive. Presently he returned with a Bullinger Guide in his hand.
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