“No, nor six, Dad.”
“Then look at the machinery the old man’s got. I’m tellin’ yuh Dave ain’t goin’ to drop into nothing like that, agin. William Henry must be seventy!”
“May be seventy-one, Dad.”
“Anyhow he ain’t goin’ to last a great while longer. If I was Dave I’d forget this religion business. ’Taint goin’ to get him nowhere. Ain’t that right, Snowball?”
The hired man, having finished supper, was sitting back drowsily, but at the sound of his name he winked his eyes cautiously.
“I dunno,” he said, “I don’t never bother much about religion, so I don’t!”
In Dr. Horne’s office that week the subject of the revival came up while Mauney was having his hand dressed.
“Some queer people here in this one-horse town!” mused Horne. “Do you remember George Pert who died a couple or three years ago?”
“Lived down by the toll-gate?”