“Darn ain't swearin'. Dorindy herself says that once in a while. I mean Alvin Baker, and Jed Dean and the rest of 'em. They was goin' on about Mr. Colton last night; said THEY wan't goin' to run at his beck and call. I told 'em, says I, 'You ain't had the chance. You'll run fast enough when you do.'”
“Did you say that to Captain Jed?”
“No-o. I said it to Alvin, but old Jed's just as bad. He's down on anybody that's got more'n he has. But Ros, you ain't foolish enough to side with Jed Dean. Just think! Here's Mr. Colton, richer'n King Solomon and all his glory. He's got servants and butlers and bonds and cowpons and horses and teams and automobiles and—”
I rose from the wash bench.
“I know what he's got, Lute,” I interrupted. “And I know what he hasn't got.”
“What? Is there anything he ain't got?”
“He hasn't got me—not yet. If he wants to see me he may. I expect to be at home for the next day or two.”
“You don't mean you expect a millionaire like him to come cruisin' after YOU! Well, by time! I think I see him!”
“When you do, let me know,” I said. “I should like to be prepared.”
“Well,—by—time!” said Lute, by way of summing up. I ate dinner with Dorinda. Her husband did not join us. Dorinda paid a visit to the back yard and, seeing how little raking had been done, announced that until the job was finished there would be “no dinner for some folks.” So she and I ate and Lute raked, under protest, and vowing that he was so faint and holler he cal'lated to collapse 'most any time.