Uncle Abe has been hovering, with superstitions interest, near the picture of Pan and the Pilgrim. With side glances at it, he speaks, taking advantage of the lull in conversation which follows Beeler's outburst.
Uncle Abe.
Mistah Beelah, 'scuse me troublin' you, but—'scuse me troublin' you.
Beeler.
What is it, Abe?
Uncle Abe.
It's purty brash o' me to be askin', but—Mista Beelah, fur do Lawd's sake give me that thar devil—pictuh!
Beeler.
What do you want with it?
Uncle Abe.