“I reckon he ain't sweatin' to bury any paupers,” hastily interjected the grinning Clarence. “The old man ain't in the business for his health.”
“And if he don't stop slandering me”—his voice shot up out of its huskiness—“if he don't stop slandering me, I'll fix him!” He turned again to Roger Oakley. “Them Berrys is a low-lived lot! I hope you won't never have doings with 'em. They'll smile in your face and then do you dirt behind your back; I've done a lot for Chris Berry, but I'm durned if I ever lift my hand for him again.”
Perhaps he was too excited to specify the exact nature of the benefits which he had conferred upon the undertaker. Clarence ignored the attack upon his family. He contented himself with remarking, judiciously: “Anybody who can slander you's got a future ahead of him. He's got unusual gifts.”
Here Roger Oakley saw fit to interfere in behalf of his protégé. He shook his head in grave admonition at the grinning youngster. “Jeffy is going to make a man of himself. It's not right to remember these things against him.”
“They know rotten well that's what I'm always telling 'em. Let by-gones be by-gones—that's my motto—but they are so ornery they won't never give me a chance.”
“It's going to be a great shock to the community when Jeffy starts to work, Mr. Oakley,” observed Clarence, politely. “He's never done anything harder than wheel smoke from the gas-house. Where you going to put up, Jeffy, when you get your wages?”
“None of your durn lip!” screamed Jeffy, white with rage.
“I suppose you'll want to return the horse-blanket and whip. You can leave 'em here with me. I'll take 'em home to the old man,” remarked the boy, affably. “I wouldn't trust you with ten cents; you know mighty well I wouldn't,” retorted Jeffy.
“Good reason why—you ain't never had that much.”
Dan Oakley's step was heard approaching the door, and the wordy warfare ceased abruptly. Clarence got out of the way as quickly as possible, for he feared he might be asked to do something, and he had other plans for the morning.