"
Then he drew his papers toward him again, and glanced seriously at the
figures.
"It's Nat's farm," he explained. "And it's the thing we've been
waiting on years. We're getting it fixed right, and your Bud's just
about as much help as a deaf mute at a talking bee. I hand him
figgers, and--and he smiles, just smiles. I hand him facts, and--he
keeps on smiling. It's the kind of smile you most generally see on a
dog-tired feller's face when you hand him a funny story. He don't care
a cuss anyway. He's figuring to hand Nat ten thousand dollars with no
more kick than a government spending public money. He don't kick
reasonably or unreasonably, and I'd gamble you a new hat he hasn't a
notion what he's getting for it. It makes me feel like a 'hold-up,'
and I say it's not fair to me--nor to himself--nor to--you."
Jeff was serious enough. In such affairs it would have been difficult
to find him otherwise. Nan understood. These two men had long been
her profound study. Her smiling regard remained unchanging while the
man was talking.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25