"Remind you of any leetle want of yourn?" asked Scattergood. He took the young man aside and whispered to him.
"Deacon," he said, presently, "Parson Hooper says as how he don't see no reason for interferin' and helpin' his enemy." The parson had said nothing of the sort. "But I kin see a reason, Deacon. If this here young man was a member of your family, so to speak, and was related to you clost by ties of love and marriage, I don't see how he'd have a right to hold his hand.... Want this man's daughter f'r your wedded wife, don't you?"
"Yes," said the parson, faintly.
"Hear that, Deacon? Hear that?"
"Never, by the hornswoggled whale that swallered Jonah."
"Meetin's about to start," said Scattergood, looking at his watch.
The deacon sweated and bellowed, but Scattergood adroitly waved the red flag of animosity before his eyes, and pictured black ruin and defeat—until the deacon was ready to surrender life itself.
"Git me my leg," he shouted, "and you kin have anythin'.... Git me my leg."
"Is it a promise, Deacon? Calculate it's a promise?"
"I promise. I promise, solemn."