Lut'er. How'll we git there?
Doctor. Walk—unless somebody give us a tote.
Giz. We kin go in my John-boat.
Lut'er. Who'll row? [There is fear in his voice.]
Giz. We'll take turns. [Lut'er looks with terror upon Giz.]
Lut'er. How fur is it?
Doctor. Three an' a half mile.... Will you go, Lut'er?
Lut'er [evidently thinking deeply]. How fur is it?
Giz. Three an' a half mile.
Doctor. Will yer go, Lut'er?