SEARCH
0-9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Prev | Current Page 499 | Next

Cullum, Ridgwell, [pseud.], 1867-1943

"The Forfeit"

Wot Jeff don't owe you fer haulin' him right back into
the midst of life, why I guess you couldn't find with one of them
things crazy highbrows wastes otherwise valuable lives in lookin' at
bugs with."
Nan laughed, but her denial came swiftly.
"Jeff doesn't owe me a thing," she declared. "The wasn't a soul else
around to nurse him. I'd have hated handing him on to you." Then she
sighed, but her eyes shone with a light which her father well enough
understood. "I--I needed to nurse him. If I hadn't been able to, why,
I think I'd have just died. But he don't owe me a thing--not a thing."
Bud took a great gulp of coffee and set his cup down with a clatter.
His deep gurgling laugh was good to hear.
"That ain't no argyment," he cried, his deep eyes twinkling. "You've
jest said the things I hadn't savvee to put into words right. Woman's
jest a sort of angel come right down from Heaven on a snowflake. She
sure is. Ther' ain't no reason to her. Set her around a sick bed with
physic she ken hand on to the feller lyin' there, an' ther' ain't no
limit to wot she can do.


Pages:
487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511