“Big Joe might do a sight wuss ’n to belong to me,” he said, warmly. “I don’t know as we-uns ’ll have any big hall for ’im to cavort about in, nur anybody any wuss ’n yore sort to come to see us, but we pay our debts an’ have a plenty t’eat.”
Mrs. Gill was listening to this ebullition, her red nose slightly elevated, and she made no effort to suppress a chuckle of satisfaction over her husband’s subtle allusion to the status of their guests.
“I want you two jest to come heer one minute,” she burst out suddenly, and with a dignity that seemed to cool the air about her, she rose and moved toward the little shed room at the end of the cabin. Duncan and his wife followed, an expression of half-fearful curiosity in their tawny visages. Reaching the door of the room, Mrs. Gill pushed it open and coolly signaled them to enter, and when they had done so, and stood mutely looking about them, she followed.
“When I made up my mind we’d be obliged to take Big Joe,” she explained, “I fixed up fer ’im a little. Look at that bedstead!” (Her hand was extended toward it as steadily as the limb of an oak.) “Ann Duncan, you are at liberty to try to find a better one in this neighborhood. You ‘n Andrew sleep on one made out ’n poles with the bark on ‘em. Then jest feel o’ them thar feathers in this new tick an’ pillows, an’ them’s bran-new store-bought sheets.”
This second open allusion to her own poverty had a subduing effect on Mrs. Duncan’s risibilities. The ever-present twinkle of amusement went out of her eyes, and she had an attitude of vast consideration for the words of her hostess as she put her perspiring hand on the mattress and pressed it tentatively.
“It’s saft a plenty fer a king,” she observed, conciliation enough for any one in her tone; “he ’ll never complain, I bound you!”
“Big Joe won’t have to tech his bare feet to the floor while he’s puttin’ on his clothes, nuther,” reminded Mrs. Gill. She raised her eyebrows as an admiral might after seeing a well-directed shot from one of his guns blow up a ship, and pointed at a piece of rag carpet laid at the side of the bed. “An’ you see I’ve fixed ’im a washstand with a new pan thar in the corner, an’ a roller towel, an’ bein’ as they say he’s so fixy, I’m a-goin’ to fetch in the lookin’-glass, an’ I’ve cut some pictur’s out ‘n newspapers that I intend to paste up on the walls, so as—”
Mrs. Gill paused. Experienced as she was in the tricks of Ann Duncan’s facial expression, she at once divined that her words were meeting with amused opposition.
“Why, Mis’ Gill,” was Ann’s rebuff, “shorely you ain’t a-goin’ to let ‘im sleep in the same house with you-uns!”
“Of course I am, Ann Duncan; what in the name o’ common sense do you mean?”