Ruggles took the money in his eager palms. “Of course, Mrs.—”
“Mandy Smif’s my name.”
“Of course, we can’t promise you no fortune in return fu’ an investment of fi’ dollahs, but we’ll do the bes’ we kin fu’ you.”
“I do’ want no fortune ner nothin’ lak dat. What I wants is a little mo’ money—’cause—’cause I got a boy; he allus been a good boy to me an’ tuk keer o’ me, but he thought he would do bettah out West, so he went out dere, an’ fu’ a while he got along all right an’ sent me money reg’lar. Den he took down sick an’ got out o’ work. It was ha’d fu’ me to git along ’dout his he’p, ’cause I’s old. But dat ain’t what hu’ts me. I don’ keer nuffin’ ’bout myse’f. I’s willin’ to sta’ve ef I could jes’ sen’ fu’ dat boy an’ bring him home so’s I could nuss him. Dat’s de reason I’s a-’vestin’ dis money.”
Solomon Ruggles fingered the bills nervously.
“You know when a boy’s sick dey ain’t nobidy kin nuss lak his own mothah kin, fu’ she nussed him when he was a baby; he’s pa’t o’ huh, an’ she knows his natur’. Yo’ mothah livin’, Mistah Ruggles?”
“Yes, ’way down South—she’s ve’y ol’.”
“I reckon some o’ us ol’ folks does live too long past dey times.”
“No, you don’t; you couldn’t. I wish to God the world was full of jest sich ol’ people as you an’ my mothah is.”