“Keep y' coat on when you're all of a prespiration, that way. How'd it ketch?”
“Ount know. 'S comin' by there an' I—whoof! I smelt smoke and—Gosh! I'm all out o' breath—an' I looked an' I je-e-est could see a light—wisht I had a drink o' somepin' to rench mum mouth out. Whew! Oh, laws! An' it was Swope's barn and I run in an' opened the door, didn't stop to knock or nung, an' I hollered out: 'Yib barn's afire!' an' he run out in his sockfeet, an' he says: 'My Lord!' he says. 'Linc,' he says, 'run git the ingine an' I putt.” Linc drew in a long, tremulous breath like a man that has looked on sorrow.
“Why 'n't you—”
“Betchy 't was tramps,” interrupted a bystander. “Git in the haymow an' think they got to have their blamed old pipe a-goin'—”
“Cigarettes, more likely,” said another. “More darn devilment comes from cigarettes—”
“Why'n't you—”
“Ount know nung 'bout tramps,” said Linc. “All I seen was the fire. I was a-comin' long a-past there an' I smelt the smoke an' thinks I—What say?”
“Why'n't you telefoam down?”
Linc, the hero, shrunk a foot. “I gosh!” he admitted, “I never thought to.”
“Jist'a' telefoamed, you could 'a' saved yourself all that—”