Law. Could I have a short talk with him privately?
Pay S. Could you talk with him privately? Stranger, hain’t I jist said this place was your’n. When he comes I’ll vamoose quick, savvy? I ’low he’s out at the Lucy lookin’ at the truck. Pard, it’s good fur sore eyes to look at that truck, $500 to the ton.
Law. I might walk out and meet him, if you don’t object.
Pay S. Object! Stranger, really ye’re not talkin’ on the square. How could I object. Wy, the mountain’s your’n! Everything in sight is your’n!
Law. Thank you, Pay Streak! By the way, what is your full name?
Pay S. Rogers, Jim Rogers. I’ll take ye to the Lucy. No, I recken you want to see him private. (Goes to door.) Well, foller the path straight ahead about two hundred yards.
Law. Thank you, Mr. Rogers. I’ll see you again.
Pay S. Krect. (Exit Law R.) I’ll bet he’s a financer an’ wants to buy the Little Lucy. Well, he can’t. She has a pay streak wuth talkin’ about, two feet wide an’ five hundred to the ton. (Looks out.) Great guns, if they aint ladies a comin’! Wonder if they’ll stop here fur a drink o’ water or anything? I haint been in society sence I left Missouri. I’ll be shot if it aint the Grouse an’—an’ a strange lady. The Grouse is comin’ to take us by s’prise. This place is in a nice ruction fur company. Haint made my bed yet. (Runs to bed R., turns up the blankets and tries to smooth out the pillow.) That pillar’s harder’n one o’ Lonesome Mose’s flapjacks. (Hammers at pillow.) Ought ter been filled at the sawmill long ago. An’ that towel aint been washed fur a month. (Flips towel under the bed.) I’ll git one o’ Vance’s towels. (Takes clean towel out of cupboard and hangs it across chair back.) Pard’s a purty good cook but he aint in it washin’ dishes. Them plates looks tough. (Picks up plates from table, drops knife, picks that up and drops plate, which breaks.) Damn it! (Picks up pieces, throws the whole into cupboard with a bang, closes door.) Look at that skillet, an’ fried onions, too, scentin’ the whole mountain. Wher’n thunder kin I put them? I guess that’s about the place fur them. (Tosses skillet out of window.) There, I s’pose that’s the best I kin do on short notice. (Sits on log and pretends to be reading old soiled paper, rap at door.) Come in!
Enter Grouse and Flo.
Grouse. Hello, Mr. Rogers!