“One man wants two hunderd and eighty, the other says he’s got a hunderd and seventy-three comin’.”
“That m-makes four hunderd and f-f-fifty-three dollars,” says Mark.
“And that hain’t all. The factory inspector’s there, and he says we can’t run another day till we build outside fire-escapes from the second and third floors made out of iron. Hain’t got no idee what that’ll cost, but plenty.”
“Um!... That all?”
“Hain’t it enough?”
“Suits me,” says Mark, “but b-b-before I start to work cleanin’ it up I want to be sure it’s all out. I don’t want nothin’ else p-poppin’ up when this is done.”
“You goin’ to try to fix this up?” says Silas, looking as astonished as if an angle-worm had looked up in his face and invited him to dinner.
“Hain’t g-goin’ to try,” says Mark. “I’m goin’ to d-do it.”
“Well,” says Silas, “I guess that’s about all. I can’t think of nothin’ else.”
“Thank goodness for that,” says I.