Miss Hunniwell was, naturally, surprised at the question.
"Why, I hope so," she said. "Did you think he hadn't?"
"W-e-e-ll, I didn't know. That dress of yours, and that new bonnet, must have used up consider'ble, to say nothin' of that woodchuck you've got 'round your neck. 'Tis a woodchuck, ain't it?" he added, solemnly.
"Woodchuck! Well, I like that! If you knew what a silver fox costs and how long I had to coax before I got this one you would be more careful in your language," she declared, with a toss of her head.
Jed sighed. "That's the trouble with me," he observed. "I never know enough to pick out the right things—or folks—to be careful with. If I set out to be real toady and humble to what I think is a peacock it generally turns out to be a Shanghai rooster. And the same when it's t'other way about. It's a great gift to be able to tell the real—er—what is it?—gold foxes from the woodchucks in this life. I ain't got it and that's one of the two hundred thousand reasons why I ain't rich."
He began to hum one of his doleful melodies. Maud laughed.
"Mercy, what a long sermon!" she exclaimed. "No wonder you sing a hymn after it."
Jed sniffed. "Um . . . ye-es," he drawled. "If I was more worldly-minded I'd take up a collection, probably. Well, how's all the United States Army; the gold lace part of it, I mean?"
His visitor laughed again. "Those that I know seem to be very well and happy," she replied.
"Um . . . yes . . . sartin. They'd be happy, naturally. How could they help it, under the circumstances?"