And stuck on himself! Don't seem able to spit
without ringing his bell for some one to see him do it. Guess you'd have
to have four legs to satisfy _him_, all right."
"Say, dat duck ain't on de level," the grievance for which Simpkins had
been probing coming to the surface.
"Holds out on what he collects? Steals?"
"Sure t'ing--de loidies," and the boy lowered his voice; "he's dead
stuck on Mrs. A."
"Oh! nonsense," commented Simpkins, an invitation to continue in his
voice. "She's a married woman."
"Never min', I'm tellin' youse; an dat's just where de stink comes in.
Ain't I seen 'im wid my own eyes a-makin' goo-goos at 'er. An' wasn't
there rough house for fair goin' on in dere last mont', just before de
Doc. made his get-away? He tumbled to somethin', all right, all right,
or why don't he write her? Say, I don't expect _him_ back in no
hurry. He's hived up in South Dakote right now, an' she's in trainin'
for alimony, or my name's Dennis Don'tknow."
"Does look sort of funny," Simpkins replied, sympathetic, but not too
interested. "When was it Doc. left? Last week?"
"Last week, not; more'n a mont' ago, an' he ain't peeped since, for I've
skinned every mail dat's come in, an' not a picture-postal, see?"
"That isn't very affectionate of Doc., but I wouldn't mention it to any
one else; it might get you into trouble," was Simpkins' comment.