“It's real good of you to offer to help,” she said. “Grace and I didn't hardly dast to try it alone. That pipe's been up so long that I wouldn't wonder if 'twas chock-full of soot. If you're careful, though, I don't believe you'll get any on you. Never mind the floor; I'm goin' to wash that before I leave.”
Reluctantly, slowly, the unwilling Mr. Pepper suffered himself to be led to the chair. He mounted it and gingerly took hold of the pipe.
“Better loosen it at the stove hole first,” advised Keziah. “What was it you wanted to see me about, 'Bish?”
“Oh, nothin', nothin',” was the hasty response. “Nothin' of any account—that is to say—”
He turned redder than ever and wrenched at the pipe. It loosened at its lower end and the wires holding it in suspension shook.
“I guess,” observed the lady of the house, “that you'd better move that chest of drawers out so's you can get behind it. Grace, you help me. There! that's better. Now move your chair.”
Kyan stepped from the chair and moved the latter to a position between the high-boy and the wall. Then he remounted and gripped the pipe in the middle of its horizontal section.
“Seems to stick in the chimney there, don't it?” queried Keziah. “Wiggle it back and forth; that ought to loosen it. What was it you wanted to say, 'Bish?”
Apparently, Mr. Pepper had nothing to say. The crimson tide had reached his ears, which, always noticeable because of their size and spread, were now lit up like a schooner's sails at sunset. His hands trembled on the pipe.
“Nothin', nothin', I tell you,” he faltered. “I—I just run in to say how d'ye do, that's all.”