I was sorry for him if he was tired, because he didn’t have but two choices—to stand up or sit and git his new pants all grime. He stood.
In about half an hour in come Mark Tidd with his arms full of whopping-big books. He dumped them on the saw-carriage and stood and panted, looking around.
“How’s it c-c-comin’?” says he.
“Two in a hill,” says I. “Got a visitor.”
Mark looked at the man and then at me. “Who’s he?”
“Dunno,” says I, “and I hain’t got no ache to find out.”
“What’s he w-want?”
“To see you,” says I.
Mark walked over toward him and says, “Was you l-lookin’ for me, mister?”
“I’m waiting for Mr. Tidd. Mr. Mark Tidd, I believe was the name.”