“No,” the Loafer responded. “He was never a segare drummer ez fur ez I know. He was the real hair to the Earldom of Desmon.”
“Desmon! An’ where in all nations is Desmon?” the Patriarch exclaimed.
“Englan’,” was the calm reply.
“Then I s’pose you was fussin’ ’round Englan’ last week, ’hen we thot ye was wisitin’ your ma’s folks in Buzzard Walley,” cried the Tinsmith. “Now what air you givin’ us?”
“‘Hen I told you uns I was wisitin’ Mother’s folks, I sayd what was true.” The Loafer was undisturbed by the storm he had raised and spoke very slowly, emphasizing his words by a shake of his pipe. “You see it was this ’ay. The man I was speakin’ of was called Lord Desmon, tho’ his reg’lar name was Earl o’ Desmon. His pap’s name was Lord Desmon, too, an’ so was his gran’pap’s. Before his gran’pap died, his pap’s older brother, that is the uncle o’ the man I’m referrin’ to, merried a beautiful maid who was workin’ about the placet. The old man cast him off an’ he went to South Ameriky, leavin’ a son who went be the name o’ Reginal’ Deeverox. Be rights this Deeverox should ’a’ hed the property, bein’ the hair o’ the oldest son. He didn’t know it tho’, an’ his uncle didn’t take the trouble to hunt him up ’hen the gran’pap died, but jest settled down on the farm himself.”
“What in the name o’ common sense is an earl?” asked the Miller. “What does he do?”
“Nawthin’,” the Loafer explained. “In Englan’ an earl is a descendant o’ them ez first cleared the land. He usually hes a good bit o’ property an’ farms it on the half.”
“What gits me is jest how many o’ them Lord Desmons they was,” the Tinsmith interposed.
“There was the original gran’pap—he’s one. Then there was his son that merried the maid an’ ought to ’a’ ben earl—he is two. Next there was his brother who got the property—he is th’ee. His son makes four, an’ Reginal’ Deeverox, whose right name was Lord Desmon, is five.”
“That there name Lord seemed to run in the family,” said the Miller. “I don’t wonder they got mixed. Why didn’t they hev a Joe or a Jawhn?”