“He says, 'They'll run you so far into the mountings, Mr. Cavendish, you'll never be heard tell of again in these parts.'
“I says, 'I'll bust the heads offen these here galoots if they try that!'
“He asks, grinnin', 'Have you arranged how yo' remains are to be sent back to yo' folks?'
“I says, 'I'm an orphan man of title, a peer of England, and you can leave me lay if it cones to that.'
“'Well,'. he says, 'if them's yo' wishes, the buzzards as good as got you.”' Cavendish lapsed into a momentary silence. It was plain that these were cherished memories.
“That's what I call co'tin!” remarked Mr. Yancy, with conviction.
The Earl of Lambeth resumed
“It was as bad as old man Rhett said it was. Sundays his do'yard looked like a militia muster. They told it on him that he hadn't cut a stick of wood since Polly was risin' twelve. I reckon, without exaggeration, I fit every unmarried man in that end of the county, and two lookin' widowers from Nashville. I served notice on to them that I'd attend to that woodpile of old man Rhett's fo' the future; that I was qualifying fo' to be his son-in-law, and seekin' his indorsement as a provider. I took 'em on one at a time as they happened along, and lambasted 'em all over the place. As fo' the Nashville widowers,” said Cavendish with a chuckle, and a nod to Polly, “I pretty nigh drownded one of 'em in the Elk. We met in mid-stream and fit it out there; and the other quit the county. That was fo'teen years ago; but, mind you, I'd do it all over again to-morrow.”
“But, Dick, you ain't telling Mr. Yancy nothin' about yo' title,” expostulated Polly.
“I'd admire to hear mo' about that,” said Yancy.