Mommie nodded her head in confirmation, but with an air of "if you're dead in the morning, don't blame me."
"What's been the trouble?" I inquired, drawing up a camp stool.
"Waal, I dunno rightly. Got my stummic out o' gear, throat kinder weak, and what with the seventies"——
"Seventies?" I asked.
"Yes; had 'em four year. I'm seventy-five nex' buthday. But come ter sum it all up, what's ther matter with me is I ain't never had no sleep. Let me sit on t'other side. One ear's stopped workin' this ten year."
He moved across and pulled an old cloak around him.
"Been long without sleep?" I asked sympathetically.
"'Bout sixty year—mebbe sixty-five."
I looked at him inquiringly, fearing to break the thread if I jarred too heavily.
"Yes, spect it must be more. Well, you keep tally. Five year bootblack and porter in a tavern in Dover, 'leven year tendin' bar down in Wilmington, fourteen year bootcherin', nineteen year an' six months keepin' a roadhouse ten miles from Philadelphy fur ther hucksters comin' to market—quit las' summer. How much yer got?"