Some say it'll cost over a thousan'
dollars to git it fixed. An' I pray to God his paw'll have to pay every
cent of it!"
"Can't you make William J. and Rosy stop that racket?" queried Mr.
Snawdor, plaintively. The twins had been named at a time when Mrs.
Snawdor's loyalty was wavering between the President and another
distinguished statesman with whom she associated the promising phrase,
"free silver." The arrival of two babies made a choice unnecessary, and,
notwithstanding the fact that one of them was a girl, she named them
William J. and Roosevelt, reluctantly abbreviating the latter to "Rosy."
"They ain't hurtin' nothin'," she said, impatient of the interruption to
her story. "I wisht you might 'a' seen that ole fool Mason a-lordin' it
aroun', an' that little devil Nance a-takin' him off to the life.
Everybody nearly died a-laughin' at her. But he says he's goin' to have
her up in court, an' I ain't got a blessed thing to wear 'cept that ole
hat of yours I trimmed up. Looks like a shame fer a woman never to be
fixed to go nowhere!"
Mr. Snawdor, who had been trying ineffectually to get in a word, took
this remark personally and in muttering tones called Heaven to witness
that it was none of his fault that she didn't have the right clothes, and
that it was a pretty kind of a world that would keep a man from gettin'
on just because he was honest, and--
"Oh, shut up!" said Mrs. Snawdor, unfeelingly; "it ain't yer lack of
work that gits on my nerves; it's yer bein' 'round.
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