“Wal,” replied Avery, “you got the time,—next spring,—and mebby I kin rake t’gither a leetle dough. How much do you reckon it’ll take to git started?”
“Oh, a thousand or two for initial expenses; perhaps more.”
“Smotherin’ cats! But I reckon you know somethin’ ’bout sech things—havin’ a law eddication.”
“You could mortgage the land and operate with the money,” said David, “but it’s risky.”
“Say, Dave, ain’t me and you done purty fair so fur?”
“Yes,” replied David, smiling, “we have. But my interest in the trapping lets me out. It’s your land and your asbestos.”
“Ya-a-s,” drawled Avery whimsically, studying the other’s face. “It’s my land, and my asbestos, and you’re my partner, and Swickey’s my gal, and I reckon I kin pay the man what’s eddicatin’ her as much as I dum’ please.”
“If the man is willing,” replied David.
“If he ain’t, it won’t be for because ole Hoss Avery don’t pay him enough. We’re goin’ halves on this here deal the same as the trappin’ and the eddicatin’ and sech.” He put his hand on David’s shoulder and whispered, “Listen to thet!”
It was Swickey, perched in Avery’s armchair, spelling out letter by letter the first page of her “Robinson Crusoe,” to Smoke, who sat on his haunches before her, well aware that she demanded his individual attention to the story, yet his inner consciousness told him that it was a good half-hour past supper-time.