“She says she does.” He tried to say it with proper modesty.
“Well, if she says she does, she does. An’ if she does, then you an’ me’ll be friends.” He stopped a moment, and seemed to be taking Tembarom in with thoroughness. “I could get a lot out o’ thee,” he said after the inspection.
“A lot of what?” Tembarom felt as though he would really like to hear.
“A lot o’ things I want to know about. I wish I’d lived the life tha’s lived, clemmin’ or no clemmin’. Tha’s seen things goin’ on every day o’ thy loife.”
“Well, there’s been plenty going on,” Tembarom admitted.
“I’ve been lying here for ten year’,” said Tummas, savagely. “An’ I’ve had nowt i’ the world to do an’ nowt to think on but what I could mak’ foak tell me about the village. But nowt happens but this chap gettin’ drunk an’ that chap deein’ or losin’ his place, or wenches gettin’ married or havin’ childer. I know everything that happens, but it’s nowt but a lot o’ women clackin’. If I’d not been a cripple, I’d ha’ been at work for mony a year by now, ’arnin’ money to save by an’ go to ’Meriker.”
“You seem to be sort of stuck on America. How’s that?”
“What dost mean?”
“I mean you seem to like it.”
“I dun not loike it nor yet not loike it, but I’ve heard a bit more about it than I have about the other places on the map. Foak goes there to seek their fortune, an’ it seems loike there’s a good bit doin’.”