“You is allus puttin’ off, Kitty. Dat is de way ol’ Satan gits de souls ob sinners; dey help him dar ownselves by puttin’ off. Git de writin’ utenshils, Roy, honey.”
While Roy was gone, Andy had the table rolled to his chair and was ruminating over the prospective contents of the epistle when he returned.
“How shall I commence it, Uncle Andy?” Roy asked.
“Dear Gabe,” suggested Chloe.
“No, I is gwine ter say no sich thing!” said Andy irately, the softening influence of the music having lost its effect when he had reflected upon Gabe’s delinquencies. “He’s not ‘dear Gabe’ ter onybody but de pore-house and dem dat has him ter keep; mighty cheap Gabe in my mind.”
“‘Respected Gabe,’ or ‘Esteemed Gabe’” suggested Roy, with waiting pen in hand.
“No, he is none ob dat! ‘Lazy Gabe’ is de only ’pendix dat fits him.”
“But it would not look well to commence a letter that way,” said Roy.
“No, honey, ol’ Andy knows dat. Folks hab to be ’ceitful in dis yer wicked world. I suppect yer’ll hab ter say, ‘dear Gabe,’” he agreed regretfully.
Roy jotted it down quickly, thinking another discussion might arise.