I grabs her valise, and we staggers down the aisle and swings to the ground.
“Must be a mistake,” opines Windy, scratching his head. “We was lookin’ for a man named M. J. Haley.”
“A lawyer, a Mr. Winters, sent me,” says she. “I am Mary Jane Haley.”
“Well, I hope to die,” gasps Windy. “I hope to die.”
“If yuh don’t shut your mouth you’ll get your tonsils sunburnt,” says Hashknife.
“Well, I’ll be everlastin’ly teetotally jiggered!” grunts Windy. “Whatcha know about that? Was Mike Haley a kin of yours, miss?”
“He was my father’s brother, I believe,” says she, and I can see her eyes laughing at Windy’s funny expression.
“Uh,” says Windy, kinda vacant-like. “Yes’m.”
“Will you take me out to the farm?” she asks.
“Farm?” says Windy, and then looks at Hashknife, whose face is serious. Then Windy looks at her and half-nods his head.