And this finikin is up to his
conceit: he wanted to tell me that that yer handy brush dump outside our
shanty was unhealthy. Give a man with frills like that his own way and
he'd be a sprinkling odor cologne and peppermint all over the country."
"He set your shoulder as well as any doctor," said Minty.
"That's bone-settin', and a nat'ral gift," returned Sharpe, as
triumphantly as his habitual depression would admit; "it ain't conceit
and finikin got out o' books! Well," he added, after a pause, "wot's
happened?"
Minty's face slightly changed. "Nothin'; I kem back to get some things,"
she said shortly, moving away.
"And ye saw HIM?"
"Ye-e-s," drawled Minty, carelessly, still retreating.
"Bixby was along here about noon. He says the stranger was suthin' high
and mighty in his own country, and them 'Frisco millionaires are quite
sweet on him. Where are ye goin'?"
"In the house."
"Well, look yer, Minty. Now that you're here, ye might get up a batch
o' hot biscuit for supper. Dinner was that promiscous and experimental
to-day, along o' Richelieu's nat'ral foolin', that I think I could git
outside of a little suthin' now, if only to prop up a kind of innard
sinkin' that takes me.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67