“I don't wish nothin'. You've GOT to believe it. And whether you stay here ten minutes or ten years you've got to mind your own business. I won't have any hints or questions about me—from you nor nobody else. 'Mind your own business,' that's the motto of Eastboro Twin-Lights, while I'm boss of 'em. If you don't like it—well, the village is only five mile off, and I'll p'int out the road to you.”
He delivered this ultimatum with extraordinary energy. Then he reached for his overturned chair, set it on its legs, and threw himself into it. “Well,” he demanded, after a moment; “what do you say to that?”
“Hurrah!” replied Mr. Brown cheerfully.
“Hurrah? For the land sakes! . . . Say, CAN'T you talk sensible, if you try real hard and set your mind to it? What is there to hurrah about?”
“Everything. The whole situation. Atkins,” Brown leaned forward now and spoke with earnestness, “I like your motto. It suits me. 'Mind your own business' suits me down to the ground. It proves that you and I were made to work together in a place just like this.”
“Does, hey? I want to know!”
“You do know. Why, just think: each of us has pleaded 'not guilty.' We've done nothing—we're entirely innocent—and we want to forget it. I agree not to ask you how old you are, nor why you wear your brand of whiskers, nor how you like them, nor—nor anything. I agree not to ask questions at all.”
“Humph! but you asked some last night.”
“Purely by accident. You didn't answer them. You asked me some, also, if you will remember, and I didn't answer them, either. Good! We forget everything and agree not to do it again.”
“Ugh! I tell you I ain't done nothin'.”