The master gazed at Uncle Ben, who, owing to his abstraction, had not yet wiped his mouth of the liquor he had imperfectly swallowed, and was in consequence more redolent of whiskey than a confirmed toper. He rang the bell for the desired refreshment with a slightly cynical smile. He was satisfied that his visitor, like many others of humble position, was succumbing to his good fortune.
“I wanted to see ye, Mr. Ford,” he began, taking an unproffered chair and depositing his hat after some hesitation outside the door, “in regard to what I onct told ye about my wife in Mizzouri. P'r'aps you disremember?”
“I remember,” returned the master resignedly.
“You know it was that arternoon that fool Stacey sent the sheriff and the Harrisons over to McKinstry's barn.”
“Go on!” petulantly said the master, who had his own reasons for not caring to recall it.
“It was that arternoon, you know, that you hadn't time to hark to me—hevin' to go off on an engagement,” continued Uncle Ben with protracted deliberation, “and”—
“Yes, yes, I remember,” interrupted the master exasperatedly, “and really unless you get on faster, I'll have to leave you again.”
“It was that arternoon,” said Uncle Ben without heeding him, “when I told you I hadn't any idea what had become o' my wife ez I left in Mizzouri.”
“Yes,” said the master sharply, “and I told you it was your bounden duty to look for her.”
“That's so,” said Uncle Ben nodding comfortably, “them's your very words; on'y a leetle more strong than that, ef I don't disremember. Well, I reckon I've got an idee!” The master assumed a sudden expression of interest, but Uncle Ben did not vary his monotonous tone.