Herman was a similar ruin, and gave as little heed to his
condition.
Penrod looked dazedly from Herman to Verman and back again. So did Sam
Williams.
"Herman," said Penrod, in a weak voice, "you wouldn't HONEST of cut his
gizzard out, would you?"
"Who? Me? I don' know. He mighty mean ole boy!" Herman shook his head
gravely, and then, observing that Verman was again convulsed with
unctuous merriment, joined laughter with his brother. "Sho'! I guess I
uz dess TALKIN' whens I said 'at! Reckon he thought I meant it, f'm de
way he tuck an' run. Hiyi! Reckon he thought ole Herman bad man! No,
suh! I uz dess talkin', 'cause I nev' would cut NObody! I ain' tryin'
git in no jail--NO, suh!"
Penrod looked at the scythe: he looked at Herman. He looked at the
lawn-mower, and he looked at Verman. Then he looked out in the yard at
the rake. So did Sam Williams.
"Come on, Verman," said Herman. "We ain' go' 'at stove-wood f' supper
yit."
Giggling reminiscently, the brothers disappeared leaving silence behind
them in the carriage-house. Penrod and Sam retired slowly into the
shadowy interior, each glancing, now and then, with a preoccupied air,
at the open, empty doorway where the late afternoon sunshine was growing
ruddy. At intervals one or the other scraped the floor reflectively
with the side of his shoe. Finally, still without either having made
any effort at conversation, they went out into the yard and stood,
continuing their silence.
Pages:
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170