“Me’n old Haley we was there nigh on every time I went daown with furs. Ever hear o’ Union Square?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Ever hear o’ Joe Pollock?”
“No, I never did. I suppose probably he’s dead.”
“Him it was I’d fetch furs to. He wouldn’ say nuthin’, I wouldn’ say nuthin’.”
“Why, was there anything wrong in it?” I asked.
“Ony huntin’ outer season, mebbe a few days or so.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Ain’t nuthin’ so wrong in that, I reckon?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I laughed.