Everybody’s got their hats off so we don’t respond.
“What did you mean by that, Telescope?” gasps Zeb. “Do—do you mean that he—he’ll lose all that money ’cause he married Susie?”
“You said it, Zeb,” grins Telescope. “Ain’t you proud of him? What a nephew-in-law!” and then he turns to Muley: “Muley, old-timer, I didn’t think you had it in you, but you never can tell which way a dill pickle will squirt. How does it seem to lose a hundred thousand dollars?”
“Well,” grins Muley, putting one arm around the shrinking bride. “I ain’t lying to you when I says I don’t know how it feels. You see, Telescope, the name of Allender don’t cover no branch of my family-tree, and I never had any Aunt Agnes.”
There’s a painful silence for a minute, and then comes a flutter of feathers, and in waddles Alfred. He ain’t got no tail-feathers left, and the rest of his carcass is pretty well plucked. He looks us over, wild-eyed, ruffles up his remaining foliage, croaks:
“Har, har, har! Who’s crazy?”
Zeb looks wide-eyed at the bird for a moment, and then sneaks past it and out on the steps:
“I’m going away,” says he in a low, hoarse voice. “Going away before that bird answers its own questions.”
“Tally three more,” states Telescope, and him and Chuck and the old man sneaks out.
“Make it five,” says I, and me and Weinie goes out, too.