Jed slowly shook his head. "Phin," he said, "either you wear rubbers or I'm gettin' deaf, one or the other. How in the world did you get in here this time without my hearin' you?"
Phineas ignored the question. He asked one of his own. "How's the only original high and mighty patriot this afternoon?" he sneered.
The Winslow hand caressed the Winslow chin.
"If you mean me, Phin," drawled Jed, "I'm able to sit up and take nourishment, thank you. I judge you must be kind of ailin', though. Take a seat, won't you?"
"No, I won't. I've got other fish to fry, bigger fish than you, at that"
"Um-hm. Well, they wouldn't have to be sperm whales to beat me, Phin. Be kind of hard to fry 'em if they was too big, wouldn't it?"
"They're goin' to fry, you hear me. Yes, and they're goin' to sizzle. He, he, he!"
Mr. Winslow sadly shook his head. "You must be awful sick, Phin," he drawled. "That's the third or fourth time you've laughed since you came in here."
His visitor stopped chuckling and scowled instead. Jed beamed gratification.
"That's it," he said. "Now you look more natural. Feelin' a little better . . . eh?"