“Wal,” said he, “I’m kinder sorry you’re in it, becuz I’ve about concluded to sell; an’ it seems to me that any concern that buys at that figger is a-goin’ to bust, sure. W’y, I bought that land fer two dollars and a haff an acre. But, see here, now; I ’xpect you know your business, an’ see some way of gittin’ out in the deal, ’r you wouldn’t pay that. But if I sell, I’ve got to have help with my folks.”
“Ah,” said I, scenting the usual obstacle in such cases, “Mrs. Trescott a little unwilling to sign the deeds?”
“No,” answered he, “strange as it may seem, ma’s kinder stuck on comin’ to town to live. How she’ll feel after she’s tried it fer a month ’r so, with no chickens ’r turkeys ’r milk to look after, I’m dubious; but jest now she seems to be all right.”
“Well, what’s the matter then?” said I.
“Wal, it’s Josie, to tell the truth,” said he. “She’s sort o’ hangin’ back. An’ it’s for her sake that I want to make the deal! I’ve told her an’ told her that there’s no dum sense in raisin’ corn on thousand-dollar land; but it’s no use, so fur; an’ here’s the only chanst I’ll ever hev, mebbe, a-slippin’ by. She ortn’t to live her life out on a farm, educated as she is. W’y, did you ever hear how she’s been educated?”
I told him that in a general way I knew, but not in detail.
“W’l, I want yeh to know all about it, so’s yeh c’n see this movin’ business as it is,” said he. “You know I was allus a rough cuss. Herded cattle over there by yer father’s south place, an’ never went to school. Ma, Josie’s ma, y’ know, kep’ the Greenwood school, an’ crossed the prairie there where I was a-herdin’, an’ I used to look at her mighty longin’ as she went by, when the cattle happened to be clost along the track, which they right often done. You know how them things go. An’ fin’ly one morning a blue racer chased her, as the little whelps will, an’ got his dummed little teeth fastened in her dress, an’ she a-hyperin’ around haff crazy, and a-screamin’ every jump, so’s’t I hed to just grab her, an’ hold her till I could get the blasted snake off,—harmless, y’ know, but got hooked teeth, an’ not a lick o’ sense,—an’ he kinder quirled around my arm, an’ I nacherally tore him to ribbins a-gittin’ of him off. An’ then she sort o’ dropped off, an’ when she come to, I was a-rubbin’ her hands an’ temples. Wa’n’t that a funny interduction?”
“It’s very interesting,” said I; “go on.”
“W’l you remember ol’ Doc Maxfield?” said Bill, well started on a reminiscence. “Wal, he come along, an’ said it was the worst case of collapse, whatever that means, that he ever see—her lips an’ hands an’ chin all a-tremblin’, an’ flighty as a loon. Wal, after that I used to take her around some, an’ her folks objected becuz I was ignorant, an’ she learnt me some things, an’ bein’ strong an’ a good dancer an’ purty good-lookin’ she kind o’ forgot about my failin’s, an’ we was married. Her folks said she’d throwed herself away; but I could buy an’ sell the hull set of ’em now!”
This seemed conclusive as to the merits of the case, and I told him as much.