“Yes, yes,” says he, lookin half guilty.
“And you will listen?” says I.
“Yes, yes, Ile listen,” says he.
So, arter clearin away the dishes and scrapin off the crumbs for the chickens, and puttin some dish water to bile, I sot down on the other side of the table from Jobe, lookin him square in the face. Says I:
“Well, Jobe, we was talkin of the mortgage and the interest last nite when I went to bed, and I suppose that had something to do with me havin the dream, and for that reason I dont suppose there is anything in the dream.”
“Spose not,” says he, lookin oneasy like.
Bill Bowers.
“Well, Jobe,” says I, “I dreamed that Congressman Richer had demanded his money, and you had to raise the whole amount of the mortgage or lose our home. I thought you and me went down to town and went to every bank to try to borrow the money with which to pay the mortgage. I thought every place we went we was told that they was not makin any loans now, that there was a money panic and they had decided not to make any more loans for some time. I thought we could see great piles of money inside the wire fence that seperated us from the bankers, you know.” At this he nodded. “And I thought you said, jist as plain as I ever heard you say anything:
“‘Why, haint you got plenty of money?’