“Do you gentlemen live here?” asks th’ pretty one, when she deposits th’ soup on th’ table.
“We—huh—yes’m I reckon yuh might say we do,” stammers Ren, tryin’ to eat soup with his fork and keep both hands out of sight.
“We don’t usually live here,” amended Sig. “But we can. You livin’ here?”
Th’ other female has jist come out of th’ kitchen and she answers:
“My cousin and I bought this place a week ago from Mr. Peyton. I am Miss Matilda Beebee, and my cousin here is Miss Rosalind Madeline McGuire.”
Ren spilt his soup gittin’ up and reaches out his hand.
“Pleased to meet yuh,” says he, sayin’ th’ same thing to both of them. “I’m Sigismund Alexander Watson, and my friend here is Ren Merton.”
“Christened,” says Ren, “Renley St. Clair Merton. I welcomes yuh to Piperock.”
“Ren,” says Sig, when they had managed to tear themselves away from th’ eatin’ house, “where did you git that l-e-y on Ren, and also that St. Clair?”
“Slick-eared ’em,” grinned Ren, “jist like you did i-s-m-u-n-d and Alexander. Do you think fer uh minute that I eats dust from any bow-legged cow trailer when it comes to names? Not a-tall. Sabe?”