“Maybe,” says Dad, “something was wrong with the way you aimed it.”
“Maybe,” says I.
Dad looked over at Catty and smiled. “Good morning,” says he.
“Good morning,” says Catty.
“Don’t believe I know you,” says Dad.
“He’s Catty Atkins,” says I. “He and his Dad just came to town. They’re shiftless.” Dad looked quick at Catty to see if I’d said something that hurt his feelings, but Catty only nodded that I was right.
“Do you find it hard work, being shiftless?” says Dad.
“We make out to enjoy it,” says Catty. “It must be pleasant,” says Dad. “I’ve often wished I was fixed so I could be shiftless. But when you’ve a family—”
Catty nodded. “There’s just Dad and me. He didn’t used to be shiftless till Ma died, so he says.”
“Are you going to make a profession of it,” Dad says, “or do you plan to do something else when you grow up?”