“Eh?”

“Tell me what you’ll take.”

“Make? I don’t make nothing. Too blame’ clever.”

“What will you take?”

“Oh, I got enough already; half drunk now.”

“What you will take for the ’ouse?”

“You want to buy her?”

“I don’t know,”—shrug,—“maybe, if you sell it cheap.”

“She’s a bully old house.”

There was a long silence. By and by old Charlie began: