“’Tain’t a-gwine to hurt nothin’ to hev it down,” he replied, with an air of simplicity.
He shut it up, returned it to his pocket, and clasped his hands about his knees, while he fixed his eyes on the glimmer of red showing itself through a crack in a stove-plate.
“It’s kinder curi’s I should hev happened along by thar this mornin’,” he remarked, reflectively.
“By where?” demanded Tom.
Mr. Stamps hugged his knees as if he enjoyed their companionship.
“By thar,” he responded, cheerfully, “the Holler, Tom. An’ it ’peared to me it ’ed be kinder int’restin’ to take a look through, bein’ as this was the day as the thing kinder started. So I hitched my mule an’ went in.” He paused a moment as if to enjoy his knees again.
“Well,” said Tom.
Mr. Stamps looked up at him harmlessly. “Eh?” he enquired.
“I said ‘well,’” answered Tom, “that’s what I said.”
“Oh,” replied Mr. Stamps. “Waal, thar wasn’t nothin’ thar, Tom.”