I'se a free man--des ez free as air, en I'se hired mysef
ter Marse Scoville ter wait on 'im. I'se growed up anuff ter know he
kin tek de shine off eny man I eber see, or you neider. He yo' boss
now well ez mine. I'se gib 'im a good report on you ef I kin. I'se
feard, howsomeber, dat he say you outgrowed yo' sense."
"Dar now, Chunk, you puttin' on mo' airs dan Marse Scoville hissef.
He des ez perlite ter marster en ole miss ez ef he come ter pay his
'spects ter dem en he look at Miss Lou ez a cat do at cream."
"Hi! dat so? No won'er he want ter git ahaid ob de parson en dat
weddin' business."
"Oh, yo' orful growed up en ain' fin' dat out?"
"I 'spicioned it. Well, de ting fer you'n me is ter he'p 'im."
"La, now," replied Zany, proposing to give a broad hint at the same
time, "I ain' gwine ter he'p no man in sech doin's. De cream neber
goes ter de cat."
"Yere, tek de plate, Zany, wid my tanks," said Chunk, rising. "Sech
cream ez you gits orful sour ef de cat doan fin' it sud'n. I'se took
my 'zert now," and he caught her up again and kissed her on the way
back to the veranda.
Pages:
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182