I turned to go.
'Hope she'll grow up a savin' woman,' he remarked. ''Fraid she won't never be very good t' worlt.'
'Why not?' I enquired.
'Han's are too little an' white,' he answered.
'She won't have to,' I said.
He cackled uproariously for a moment, then grew serious.
'Her father's rich,' he said, 'the richest man o' Faraway, an I guess she won't never hev anything t' dew but set'n sing an' play the melodium.'
'She can do as she likes,' I said.
He stood a moment looking down as if meditating on the delights he had pictured.
'Gol!' he exclaimed suddenly.