“Congratulations! You’ve discovered me. How can I talk sense when I’m trying to be sociable? You don’t object to a little bright conversation, do you?”
“Noa.”
“Well, we’ll cut generalities and come to facts. How’s the twins?”
“Ain’t got no twins.”
“Nonsense! I don’t believe it. A great, big, brawny fellow like you. I take it you’ve got some nippers?”
Pippard chuckled. “Three girls and two boys.”
“Ah, that’s something like! Again congratulations! It’s very kind of you to ask me to come over. Since you’re so pressing, I think I will.” He climbed over the gate a little painfully and walked jauntily into the field.
The farm-hand broke into a laugh. “Ah reckon as ’ow you’re a funny man, ain’t you?”
The little man became suddenly serious, so suddenly and so eagerly serious, that if Pippard had been endowed with the first glimmerings of psychology, he would have been startled and a little nervous. “Are you joking, or do you mean it? Is it possible that I make you laugh? Is it possible?”
“The very sight o’ you gives me a ticklin’ inside,” was the reply.