He thought of his lonely mother in the town
of Princess Anne, wondering where he was, and of the Sundays fast
speeding by and bringing him to manhood, with no change in their
condition for the better, but penury and disappointment, a vague
expectation of the dead to return, and deeper intemperance of the dead
man's son and widow's only hope. He would have cried out with a sense of
misery contagious from the music of those pines above him, perhaps, if
the brandy had not begun to creep along his veins and shine bold in his
large, girlish eyes.
"Levin," said Joe Johnson, "don't you like me?"
"Yes, Mr. Johnson, I think I does, 'cept when you use them quare words I
can't understan'."
"I'm dead struck with you, Levin," Joe Johnson said. "I want to fix you
an' your mother comfortable. You're blood stock, an' ought to be stabled
on gold oats."
He drew the canvas bag of eagles and half-eagles out of his trousers,
and held its mouth open for Levin to feast his eyes.
"Thar," said he, "I told you, Levin, I was a-goin' to give you one of
them purties. I've changed my mind; I'm a-goin' to give you five of
'em!"
"My Lord!" exclaimed Levin; "that's twenty-five dollars, ain't it, sir?"
"Oll korrect, Levin. Five of them finniffs makes a quarter of a hundred
dollars--more posh, Levin, I 'spect, than ever you see."
"I never had but ten, sir, at a time, an' that I put in this boat, and
Jimmy Phoebus put ten to it, an' that paid for her.
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