"He sez the
woods is good enough for him; and there's millions to be made when the
railroad comes along, and timber's wanted."
"But until then he's got to keep hisself, to pay wages, and keep the
mill runnin'. Onless it's, ez Bixby says, that he hopes to get that
Englishman to rope in some o' them 'Frisco friends of his to take a
hand. Ye didn't have any o' that kind o' talk, did ye?"
"No; not THAT kind o' talk," said Minty.
"Not THAT kind o' talk!" repeated her father with aggrieved curiosity,
"Wot kind, then?"
"Well," said Minty, lifting her black eyes to her father's; "I ain't
no account, and you ain't no account either. You ain't got no college
education, ain't got no friends in 'Frisco, and ain't got no high-toned
style; I can't play the pianner, jabber French, nor get French dresses.
We ain't got no fancy 'Shallet,' as they call it, with a first-class
view of nothing; but only a shanty on dry rock. But, afore I'D take
advantage of a lazy, gawky boy--for it ain't anything else, though he's
good meanin' enough--that happened to fall sick in MY house, and coax
and cosset him, and wrap him in white cotton, and mother him, and sister
him, and Aunt Sukey him, and almost dry-nuss him gin'rally, jist to get
him sweet on me and on mine, and take the inside track of others--I'D be
an Injin! And if you'd allow it, Pop, you'd be wuss nor a nigger!"
"Sho!" said her father, kindling with that intense gratification with
which the male receives any intimation of alien feminine weakness.
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