This was a tremendously long speech for Mr. Bloomer. He sighed at its end, as if from exhaustion; then he crossed his legs again. Galusha hastened to assure him that he would keep silent. Primmie, however, had more to say.
“Why, Zach Bloomer,” she declared, “you know that wan't only part of what you and me was sayin'. That wan't what I wanted to ask Mr. Bangs. YOU said if 'twas money matters or business Miss Martha went to see Cap'n Jeth about you cal'lated the cap'n would be cruisin' up to Boston to see a medium pretty soon.”
“The old man's Speritu'list,” exclaimed Zach. “Always goes to one of them Speritu'list mediums for sailin' orders.”
“Now you let me tell it, Zach. Well, then I said I wondered if you wan't a kind of medium, Mr. Bangs. And Zach, he—”
Galusha interrupted this time.
“I—a medium!” he gasped. “Well, really, I—ah—oh, dear! Dear me!”
“AIN'T you a kind of medium, Mr. Bangs?”
“Certainly not.”
“Well, I thought undertakin' was your trade till Miss Martha put her foot down on the notion and shut me right up. You AIN'T an undertaker, be you?”
“An undertaker?... Dear me, Primmie, you—ah—well, you surprise me. Just why did you think me an undertaker, may I ask?”