If one might judge by the expression of his face he was in very good humor about something. Dismounting, he drew the bridle-rein over his horse’s head, and dropped it to the ground so that the animal could not stray away, at the same time greeting his nephew with:
“Well, George, I don’t reckon you expected to see me ag’in so soon, did you?”
“No, I didn’t,” replied the boy.
And Uncle Ruben would have been dull, indeed, if he had not been able to see that he was not wanted there.
“I didn’t expect to see you, nuther,” continued the man, seating himself on the scow, which had been rolled part way through the door. “But I thought mebbe I’d better have another leetle talk with you—”
“It’s of no use,” said George—“of no use whatever. If I had to live in the same house with you, I would not work for you for fifty dollars a month—”
—“another leetle talk with you,” repeated Uncle Ruben, paying no heed to the interruption, “for I think you will be willin’ to listen to me now.”
“Well, you are mistaken. I shall never agree to your proposition. I know you too well.”
“I wouldn’t git up on a high hoss, if I was in your place. ’Tain’t becomin’,” said Uncle Ruben, in a significant tone. “Hold on now,” he added, seeing that George’s face began to flush with indignation. “I ain’t speakin’ of what your father’s done. I’m speakin’ of what you have done yourself.”
“I have done nothing to be ashamed of. I have tried to behave myself, and to deserve the respect of those around me. I have always made an honest living—”