“All right,” she cheerily exclaimed, “I can get it phonetically. It’s a new word. I don’t think either Craddock or Johnson uses it, it’s valuable.”
There was a silence during which Miss Crabb thoughtfully drummed on her projecting front teeth with the end of her pencil.
Tolliver nerved himself and said:
“Miss Crabb I—I, well, ye know, I—that is, begging yer parding, but I hev something’ I want er say ter ye, ef ye please.” He glanced furtively around, as if suspecting that some person lay secreted among the curtains of a bay window hard by. And indeed, Dufour was there, lightly indulging in a morning nap, while the mountain breeze flowed over him. He was in a deep bamboo chair behind those very curtains.
“Oh, certainly, certainly, Mr. Tolliver, go on, I shall be delighted, charmed indeed, to hear what you have to say,” Miss Crabb responded, turning a fresh leaf of her note-book and putting on a hopeful look.
“I hope ye’ll stick ter thet after I’ve done said it ter ye,” he proceeded to say, “but dorg on me ef I know how ter begin sayin’ it.”
“Oh, just go right on, it’s all right; I assure you, Mr. Tolliver, I am very anxious to hear.”
“Mebbe ye air, I don’t dispute yer word, but I feel mighty onery all the same.”
“Onery is a Western word,” mused Miss Crabb, making a note.