But I said no, and
went to see him.
I found new lines of care on his brow, but the old kindness was still in
his eye. We exchanged a few words of greeting and inquiry, and then there
came a pause, which I broke.
"Well, stuffing birds better than ever, I suppose."
"Naw," he looked around upon his work, "I dawn't think. I dunno if I stoff
him quite so good like biffo'." Another pause. Then, "I think I mek out
what I do wid doze money now."
"Indeed," said I, and noticed that his face was averted from his wife.
She lifted her eyes to his broad back with a quizzical smile, glanced at
me knowingly, and dropped them again upon her sewing, sighed:
"Ah-bah!" Then she suddenly glanced at me with a pretty laugh and added,
"Since all that time he dunno what he goin' to make with it. If he trade
with it I thing he don't stoff bird no mo', and I thing he lose it
bis-ide--ha, ha, ha!--and if he keep it all time lock in doze bank
I thing, he jiz well not have it." She laughed again.
But he quite ignored her and resumed, as if out of a revery, "Yass, at de
las' I mek dat out." And the wife interrupted him in a tone that was like
the content of a singing hen.
"I think it don't worth while to leave it to our chillun, en't it?"
"Ah!" said the husband, entirely to me, "daz de troub'! You see?--we
dawn't got some ba-bee'! Dat neveh arrive to her.
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