“Well, yes, 'm; but not to say speak to her. I jes kind o' mentioned it to her as I 'd inquire as to her char-àcter.”
“And your wife has been gone—how long! Two days!”
“Well, mist'is, she 's gone fer good, ain't she!” demanded Jabez. “She can't be no mo' gone!”
“You are a wicked, hardened old sinner!” declared the old lady, vehemently.
“Nor, I ain't, mist'is; I clar' I ain't,” protested Jabez, with unruffled front.
“You treat your wives dreadfully.”
“Nor, I don't, mist'is. You ax 'em ef I does. Ef I did, dee would n' be so many of 'em anxious t' git me. Now, would dee? I can start in an' beat a' one o' dese young bloods aroin' heah, now.” He spoke with pride.
“I believe that is so, and I cannot understand it. And before one of them is in her grave you are courting another. It is horrid—an old—Methuselah like you.” She paused to take breath, and Jabez availed himself of the pause.
“Dat 's de reason I got t' do things in a kind o' hurry—I ain' no Methuselum. I got no time t' wait.”
“Jabez,” said Mrs. Meriwether, seriously, “tell me how you manage to fool all these women.”