“I mean that that drunken 'Lige would be mighty poor company for the girls if he was our only neighbor,” returned Mrs. Harkutt submissively.
Harkutt, after a fixed survey of his wife, appeared mollified. The two girls, who were mindful of his previous outburst the evening before, exchanged glances which implied that his manners needed correction for prosperity.
“You'll want a heap o' money to build there, Dan'l,” said Mrs. Harkutt in plaintive diffidence.
“Yes! Yes!” said Harkutt impatiently. “I've kalkilated all that, and I'm goin' to 'Frisco to-morrow to raise it and put this bill of sale on record.” He half drew Elijah Curtis's paper from his pocket, but paused and put it back again.
“Then THAT WAS the paper, dad,” said Phemie triumphantly.
“Yes,” said her father, regarding her fixedly, “and you know now why I didn't want anything said about it last night—nor even now.”
“And 'Lige had just given it to you! Wasn't it lucky?”
“He HADN'T just given it to me!” said her father with another unexpected outburst. “God Amighty! ain't I tellin' you all the time it was an old matter! But you jabber, jabber all the time and don't listen! Where's John Milton?” It had occurred to him that the boy might have read the paper—as his sister had—while it lay unheeded on the counter.
“In the store,—you know. You said he wasn't to hear anything of this, but I'll call him,” said Mrs. Harkutt, rising eagerly.
“Never mind,” returned her husband, stopping her reflectively, “best leave it as it is; if it's necessary I'll tell him. But don't any of you say anything, do you hear?”