"That's right, Si. I wish to gosh I could shet mine up like that," said Mr. Hardesty, enviously.
"Why, Jim Hardesty, you ain't sayin' that I talk too much," cried his wife, indignantly.
"You don't say 'leven words a day, my dove," said he, arising and bowing so low that his suspenders creaked threateningly. Then he winked broadly at the assemblage, and the women tittered, whereupon Mrs. Hardesty glared at them greenly.
"We are getting away from the subject, please," came the mild reproof of the pastor.
"How fer had we got?" demanded Deacon Bossman.
"We hain't got anywheres yet," said Mrs. Harbaugh. "That's what we're talkin' about, deacon."
"Hain't found out where Jud's at yet?"
"Have you been asleep?" demanded the chairman.
"I'd like to know how in thund—I mean, how in tarnation—er—how in the world I could go to sleep with all you women talkin' to onct about dresses an' so forth——"
"We ain't mentioned dress to-night," snorted the chairman. "You better 'tend to——"