“What for?”
“Fo’ de weddin’.”
“Weddin’? weddin’?” gasped the old man. “Is there goin’ to be a weddin’?”
“Yes, sar; Mistah Frank is gwine teh be married.”
“Good land!” said Kimball, fanning himself with his straw hat. “That’ll be news for the folks! Who’s he goin’ ter marry?”
“Handsomest gal in de worl’, sar—Miss Inza Burrage. Brack eyes, rosy cheeks, an’ de sweetes’ mouth you ebber see. Ki-yi! It’ll sho’ be a swell affaih fo’ dis town.”
“Landy massy!” spluttered Kimball. “Won’t that stir the village up! Be they goin’ to settle down here?”
“Not now, sar.”
“They’re not?”
“No, sar. Dey’re gwine teh be married heah an’ give a pahty in de old home to a lot ob deyer frien’s. Den dey’re gwine off ter Mexico, where Mistah Frank has one of de berry riches’ mines in de worl’.”