“Curly?” repeated Jimson.
“Yes. That’s what we call him. His name is Henry Smith.”
“I’ll be whip-sawed!” exclaimed Jimson. “I like that boy. He give me his real name—he sho’ did. Curly Smith he said ’twas. An’ yit, that‘d be as good a disguise as he could ha’ thunk up, mebbe. Smith’s a mighty common name, ain’t it?”
“Curly always was a frank and truthful boy. But he was full of mischief.”
She knew that she had Mr. Jimson’s sympathy for the boy now, so she began to tell him all about Curly. The warehouse boss listened without interruption save for an occasional, “sho’, now!” or “you don’t say!” Her own and Helen’s adventures since they had left home to come South, seemed to amuse Mr. Jimson a great deal, too.
“I’ll be whip-sawed!” he exclaimed, at last. “You little Miss Yanks are the beatenes’—I declar’! Never heard tell of sech gals as you are, travelin’ about alone—jest as perky as young pa’tridges! Sho’ now!”
“My chum and I have gone about a good deal alone. We don’t think it so very strange. ‘Most always my friend’s twin brother is with us.”
“Wal, that don’t make so much difference,” said Mr. Jimson. “Her twin brother? Is he older’n she is?” he added, quite innocently.
“Oh, no,” Ruth admitted, stifling a desire to laugh. “My chum and I feel quite confident of finding our way about all right.”
“Sho’ now! I got a gal at home that’s bigger’n older’n you and Miss Helen and her maw wouldn’t trust her t’ go t’ the Big House for a drawin’ of tea. She’d plumb git lost,” chuckled Mr. Jimson. “But now! about this boy. What d’ yo’ want t’ do about him?”