“Couldn't make nothin' out of it—I don't care much for readin'.”
“Oh, it isn't ALL reading,” he corrected.
“Well, the guy I saw read all of his'n. He got the whole thing right out of a book.”
“Oh, that was only his text,” laughed Douglas. “Text?”
“Yes. And later he tried to interpret to his congrega——”
“Easy! Easy!” she interrupted; “come again with that, will you?”
“He told them the meaning of what he read.” “Well, I don't know what he told 'em, but it didn't mean anythin' to me. But maybe your show is better'n his was,” she added, trying to pacify him.
Douglas was undecided whether to feel amused or grateful for Polly's ever-increasing sympathy. Before he could trust his twitching lips to answer, she had put another question to him.
“Are you goin' to do a stunt while I am here?”
“I preach every Sunday, if that's what you mean; I preach this morning.”