“How many does he want?” inquired his wife. He had sunk on his doorstep on coming home at dusk, and sat with speculative eyes on the pale western sky, while his wife sat judicially, quite filling with her heated bulk a large rocking-chair, placed for greater coolness in front of the step, in the middle of the slate walk.
“He wants all mine and all I can hire in New Sanderson,” replied Rawdy.
“Lord!” ejaculated his wife. “All them?”
“All them,” replied Rawdy, moodily triumphant.
“Well,” said his wife, “that ain't the point.”
“No, it ain't,” agreed Rawdy.
“The point is,” said she, “is he agoin' to or ain't he agoin' to pay.”
“That's so,” said Rawdy.
“He's a-owin' everybody, ain't he?” said the wife.
“Pooty near, I guess.”