"If I ha'n't I'm a gourd!" and Luke scratched his head distractedly.
"What'd I tell you, Luke Plunkett? It's come at last, O lordy! You're as crazy as a June bug all along of smoking that old pipe! Rot the nasty, stinking old thing! It's a perfect shame, Luke, for a man to just smoke what little brains he's got clean out. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, so you ought!"
While she was speaking Betsy got the big wooden washbowl for her brother, whereupon he proceeded to make his ablutions in a most energetic way, taking up great double handfuls of water and sousing his face therein with loud puffings, that enveloped his head in a cloud of spray.
When a clean tow linen towel had served its purpose, Luke remarked:
"Don't know but what I am some'at crazy in good earnest, Betsy, since I come to think it all over. I'm r'ally onto it a right smart. What'd you think, Betsy, if I'd commence talkin' 'oman to ye?"
"Luke, Luke! are you crazy? Is your mind clean gone out of your poor smoky head?"
"That's not much of a answer to my question."
"Well, what do you mean, anyhow?"
"I mean business, that's what!"
"Luke!"