“Not any wuss'n I did, Pole,” replied the old man, seriously. “My advice to you is to go to Dole an' tell 'im you are sorry.”
“Sorry hell!”
“It ud be better fer you,” half smiled Abner. “Ef you don't, some o' them hill-Billies 'll make a case at court agin you fer disturbin' public worship. Before a grand jury o' mossbacks a man with yore record ud not stand any better chance o' comin' cleer 'n a old bird-nest ud o' makin' good soup. When you was a-runnin' of yore still it made you powerful mad to have revenue men after you, didn't it? Well, this heer shebang is Dole's still, my boy, whar he claims to make good sperits out'n bad material, an' he's got a license, which is more 'n you could 'a' said.”
“I reckon yo' re right,” said Pole. “I 'll wait fer 'im.”
XV
