“What would the world be without its jokes?” he asked. And then, before anybody could answer: “It’d be like home without a mother.”
Joe faced him, a slow grin spreading back to his ears.
“Or a ready-reckoner,” said he.
Morgan’s laugh that time was unfeigned.
“Joe, you’ve missed your callin’,” said he. “You’ve got no business foolin’ away your time on a farm. With that solemn, long-hungry look of yours you ought to be sellin’ 88 consumption cure and ringbone ointment from the end of a wagon on the square in Kansas City.”
“Or books, maybe,” suggested Joe.
“No-o-o,” said Morgan thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t just say you’re up to the level of books. But you might rise even to books if you’d cultivate your mind and brain. Well, I think I’ll fly up to roost. I’ve got to take an early start in the morning and clean up on this neck of the woods tomorrow. Good night, folks.”
“I don’t suppose Isom’ll be home tonight,” Ollie ventured, as Morgan’s feet sounded on the stairs.
“No, I guess not,” Joe agreed, staring thoughtfully at the black oblong of the door.
“If he does come, I don’t suppose it’ll hurt him to eat something cold,” she said.