The perfessor, he's so full of scien-
tifics he don't know nothing with no sense to it,
Biddy says. He's got more money'n you can shake
a stick at, and he don't have to do no work, nor
never has, and his scientifics gets worse and worse
every year. But while scientifics is worrying to
the nerves of a fambly, and while his labertory
often makes the house smell like a sick drug store
has crawled into it and died there, they wouldn't
of been no serious row on between the perfessor
and his wife, not ALL the time, if it hadn't of been
fur Miss Estelle. She has jest natcherally made
herself boss of that there house, Biddy says, and
she's a she-devil. Between all them scientifics
and Miss Estelle things has got where Mrs. Booth
can't stand 'em much longer.
I didn't blame her none fur getting sore on her
job, neither. You can't expect a woman that's
purty, and knows it, and ain't no more'n thirty-two
or three, and don't look it, to be serious intrusted
in mummies and pickled snakes and chemical
perfusions, not ALL the time. Mebby when Mrs.
Booth would ast him if he was going to take her
to the opery that night the perfessor would look
up in an absent-minded sort of way and ast her
did she know them Germans had invented a new
germ? It wouldn't of been so bad if the perfessor
had picked out jest one brand of scientifics and
stuck to that reg'lar.
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