“Nobody’d be scairt with Mr. Moore and Wee-wee’s mother.”
“How’d it come about, Sonny?”
“It was after a woman called me a tramp and other names and ordered her boy not to come near me. Mr. Moore he told her what he thought about her, and that I was his guest, and then he made me come to dinner, and we talked.”
“I’d like to git a squint at that Mr. Moore,” says Mr. Atkins, reflective-like.
“He’s comin’ to call on you,” says Catty.
“I want to know! Um!... Calc’late I better wait for him right here in my office. Men likes to talk in their places of business. He kin set on one end of this log and I’ll set on the other. Mighty cozy. When you calc’late he’s comin’?”
“Maybe to-day.”
“Um!... Don’t call to mind havin’ a caller these fifteen year. Guess maybe I better comb out my whiskers.”
“Dad,” says Catty.
His father turned to look at him, and saw that Catty’s face was kind of sober and set. “What is it, Sonny?”