“Nothin’ doin’.”
“I’ll make it a dollar.”
“You couldn’t git to cross this bridge for ten dollars,” says Catty, “not unless the man in that house says you kin.”
“What’s he got to do with it?”
“If he was to say you could cross, then I wouldn’t stop you,” says Catty.
“Run down and ask him, then.”
“My job’s to stay right here.”
“You go,” says Kinderhook to me.
“My job’s stayin’ here, too,” says I. “There hain’t but one way to do,” says Catty, “and that’s for you to go yourself. ’Tain’t a quarter of a mile.”
Well, Kinderhook he grumbled and said a lot of words and sentences and things, but he got down off the seat and went across the bridge and started down the road—and he never paid any attention at all to the package that had the churn in it. He just left that standing in the back of the buggy. He hadn’t got more than a hundred yards before Catty was back there.