Now, of all the laziest, shiftless beings there was no one who could start level with old Abe Pike, and this advice from him was rasping, but still he had his points.
“I’ve heard say there’s a powerful heap o’ money in portents,” he ventured presently.
“It depends on how you interpret them.”
“Well, that’s so. I’ve got a portent here in this very coat; that’s some small pumpkins, I tell you. It’ll kill any sort o’ vermin, rats, skeeters, wild-cats, jackals, quicker’n winkin’. See! I found it out myself come next Friday fortnight.”
“You mean you interpreted the portent.”
“Well, now, is that so? I tole you I got it in my pocket, and ef I didn’t find it, how did it get there? That’s what I want to know.”
“All right, Uncle, what is it?”
“That’s my portent. I diskivered it, and I’m gwine to work it under my name—Abe Pike’s Sure Killer.”
“Is it a patent medicine you’re talking of?”
“Of course; that’s what I said. There it is,” and out of his pocket he produced a strip of bark.