“Don’t do nothin’ extry on my account.”
“I ain’t goin’ to,” Bowers responded. “If we had some ham we’d have some ham and eggs if we had eggs. Do you like turnips?”
“I kin eat ’em.”
“My middle name is ‘turnips,’” said Bowers. “I always cooks about a bushel!”
The look that his guest sent after him was not pleasant, if Bowers had chanced to see it, but since he did not, he was in a somewhat better humor by the time he hung out of the wagon and called with a degree of cordiality:
“Come and git it!”
The visitor arose with alacrity.
“Want a warsh?”
The stranger inspected a pair of hands that looked as if they had been greasing axles.
“No, I ain’t very dirty.”