"What's he mean?" asked Penrod, enchanted.
"He say he tole you 'at 'coon ain' got no name."
"What's YOUR name?"
"I'm name Herman."
"What's his name?" Penrod pointed to the tongue-tied boy.
"Verman."
"What!"
"Verman. Was three us boys in ow fam'ly. Ol'est one name Sherman. 'N'en
come me; I'm Herman. 'N'en come him; he Verman. Sherman dead. Verman, he
de littles' one."
"You goin' to live here?"
"Umhuh. Done move in f'm way outen on a fahm."
He pointed to the north with his right hand, and Penrod's eyes opened
wide as they followed the gesture. Herman had no forefinger on that
hand.
"Look there!" exclaimed Penrod. "You haven't got any finger!"
"_I_ mum map," said Verman, with egregious pride.
"HE done 'at," interpreted Herman, chuckling. "Yessuh; done chop 'er
spang off, long 'go. He's a playin' wif a ax an' I lay my finguh on de
do'-sill an' I say, 'Verman, chop 'er off!' So Verman he chop 'er right
spang off up to de roots! Yessuh."
"What FOR?"
"Jes' fo' nothin'."
"He hoe me hoo," remarked Verman.
"Yessuh, I tole him to," said Herman, "an' he chop 'er off, an' ey ain't
airy oth' one evuh grown on wheres de ole one use to grow. Nosuh!"
"But what'd you tell him to do it for?"
"Nothin'. I 'es' said it 'at way--an' he jes' chop er off!"
Both brothers looked pleased and proud. Penrod's profound interest was
flatteringly visible, a tribute to their unusualness.
"Hem bow goy," suggested Verman eagerly.
Pages:
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102