“Take a look at this, will you?” He indicated a minute speck with his fingernail.
Mr. Dill lost the speck and was some time in finding it and, while he searched, the stove pipe separated at the joint, calling attention to the fact that the sufferer upstairs was nervous. Pa Snow’s voice came so distinctly down the stove-pipe hole that there was reason to believe he was on his hands and knees.
“Befoah you should do anything definite, we-all should like if you would look ovah ‘The Bay Hoss.’ It’s makin’ a fine showin’, and ‘The Under Dawg’ is on the market, too, suh.”
In the excitement Uncle Bill sat puffing calmly on his pipe.
Mr. Dill with a gesture brushed aside the waving arms and eager hands:
“And haven’t you anything to sell?” he asked him curiously. “Don’t you mine?”
“Very little,” Uncle Bill drawled tranquilly: “I dudes.”
“You what?”
“I keeps an ‘ad’ in the sportin’ journals, and guides.”