"And perhaps she can't. But you've got your own interests to think about. What shall I do?"
"Yes."
"YES! What in time are you sayin' yes for?"
"Hum? Eh? Oh, excuse me, Sam; I didn't mean yes, I mean no."
"Gracious king!"
"Well—er—er—," desperately, "you told me to say yes or no, so I—"
"See here, Jed Winslow, HAVE you heard what I've been sayin'?"
"Why, no, Sam; honest I ain't. I've run across an idea about makin' a different kind of mill—one like a gull, you know, that'll flap its wings up and down when the wind blows—and—er—I'm afraid my head is solid full of that and nothin' else. There generally ain't more'n room for one idea in my head," he added, apologetically. "Sometimes that one gets kind of cramped."
The captain snorted in disgust. Jed looked repentant and distressed.
"I'm awful sorry, Sam," he declared. "But if it's about that house of mine—rent or anything, you just do whatever Mrs. Armstrong says."