“Rose!” says Billy, holdin’ out his two arms to her.
I took a squint through the winda at the scenery–and heerd a sound like a cow pullin’ its foot outen the mud.
“Rose,” goes on Billy, “I’ll be as good as I know how to you.”
When I turned round again, here was ole man Sewell standin’ in the middle of the floor, lookin’ back and forth from Rose and Billy to the kid–like it’d just struck him that he was goin’ t’ lose his gal and the baby and all them teeth. And if ever a man showed that he was helpless and jealous and plumb hurt, why, that was him. Next, here he was a-gazin’ at me with a queer shine in his eyes–almost savage. And say! it got me some nervous.
“Seems Mister Cupid Lloyd is a-runnin’ things ’round this here ranch-house,” he begun slow, like he was holdin’ in his mad.
I–wal, I just kinda stood there, and swallered oncet ’r twicet, and tried t’ grin. (Didn’t know nothin’ t’ say, y’ savvy, that’d be likely t’ hit him just right.)
“So Cupid’s gone and done it again!” he goes on. “How accommodatin’! Haw!” And he give one of them short, sarcastic laughs.
“Wal, just let me tell you,” he continues, steppin’ closter, “that I, fer one, ain’t got no use fer a feller that’s allus a-stickin’ in his lip.”
“Sewell,” I says, “no feller likes to–that’s a cinch. But oncet in a while it’s plumb needful.”
“It is, is it? And I s’pose this is one of them cases. Wal, Mister Cupid, all I can say is this: The feller that sticks in his lip allus gits into trouble.”