"Don't you see?" she asked.
"Wa-al, no," he answered. "Not rightly."
She actually assumed a kind of spectral gayety.
"I never thought of it until I saw it was not Cassandry who was in the kitchen," she said. "The woman who is there didn't know me, and it came into my mind that—that we might play off on them," using the phraseology to which he was the most accustomed.
"Waal, we mought," he admitted, with a speculative deliberateness. "Thet's so. We mought—if thar was any use in it."
"It's only for a joke," she persisted, hurriedly.
"Thet's so," he repeated. "Thet's so."
He got up slowly and rather lumberingly from his seat and dusted the chips from his copperas-colored legs.
"Hev ye ben enjyin' yerself, Louisianny?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered. "Never better."