Jonathan pushed back his dripping cloth cap and sighed. “’Tis fallin’ out wonderful,” he ventured.
Totley whistled to keep his spirits up.
“Awful!” said Jonathan.
The tune continued.
“She ’lows,” Jonathan went on, “that if it keeps on at this rate she won’t have none left by spring. That’s what she ’lows will happen.”
Totley proceeded to the chorus.
“No, sir,” Jonathan pleaded; “she’ll have nar a one!”
The trader avoided his eye.
“An’ it makes her feel sort o’ bad,” Jonathan protested. “I tells her that with or without she won’t be no different t’ me. Not t’ me. But she sort o’ feels bad just the same. You sees, sir,” he stammered, abashed, “she—she—she’s only a woman!”
Totley jumped from the counter. “Look you Jonathan!” said he, decisively, “she can have it.”