Part 17 (2/2)
”Oh, yes you do,” she broke in. ”You'd ruther fight than eat.”
A smile illumined his bronze countenance. ”Wall, I ain't always hungry.”
The smile pa.s.sed and with countenance grave and with voice deep he said: ”Every whar you see a home, you may know that somebody has fit fur it.
Every privilege in this here life has cost blood. If a man wants to be treated as a lamb, he must prove himself a tiger. He must conquer befo'
he's allowed to set down an' love. I don't want to kill that feller, but--”
Laz Spencer appeared at the door. ”Come in, Laz.”
He came in and took off his slouch hat, standing there as if he had something on his mind. Suddenly he exclaimed as if discharging a great diplomatic mission: ”Mornin', mornin'.”
Margaret bade him good morning, and then asked concerning the health of the ”folks.”
He sat down and twisted his hat round and round. ”The folks air jest tolerable, ma'm. How's all with you?”
”Tolerable,” Margaret answered.
”Yo' brother Bill a gittin' better?” Jasper inquired.
Round and round Laz twisted his hat. ”Pearter than he war yistidy, but not as peart as he war the day befo'.”
”Yo' mother still a eatin' of spoon vidults, Laz?”
”No, doc' he 'lows she kin eat knife an' fork stuff now.”
”Any news over yo' way?”
”Nuthin' wuth dividin'. Doc' he sewed Patterson up an' 'lows he may git well.”
”Why, what's the matter with Patterson?”
”Sam Perdue cut him with a knife.”
”Fur pity's sake,” Margaret exclaimed.
”I ain't hearn about it,” said Jasper.
”Yes, they had a right sharp time,” Laz drawled. ”Andy, he died.”
”What Andy?”
”Andy Horn.”
”Did you ever?” Margaret declared.
”What ailed him?” Jasper asked, showing increased interest.
”Got cotched in a saw mill. Ma'm,” he added, looking at Margaret without turning his head, ”I reckon you hearn about old Aunt Sis Garrett?”
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