“That ain’t me,” he ventured, inoffensively. “I’ve been a-thinkin’ it was curi’s all along.”
“That ain’t going to hurt anybody,” responded Tom.
“Lord, no!” quite in a hurry. “Lord, no! ’tain’t likely; but it kinder int’rusted me—int’rusted me, findin’ out what I did.”
And he ended with a gently suggestive cough.
Tom thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and covered as large an area of floor with his legs as was possible without upsetting Mr. Stamps’s chair and at the same time that stealthy little man himself.
“Oh! found out!” he replied, “Found out h——”
He checked himself with much suddenness, glancing at the cradle as he did so.
“What did you find out?” he demanded, unceremoniously, and with manifest contempt. “Let’s hear.”
Mr. Stamps coughed again.
“’Twan’t much, mebbe,” he replied, cautiously, “‘n’ then again, mebbe ’twas. It was kinder int’rusting, though. That—that thar was a good prayer o’ his’n, warn’t it?”