My wife's jest had a baby. Do yo' hear
that?"
And I did hear a sound like kittens mewing,
somewheres up stairs. Beauregard, he grinned and
rubbed his nose some more, and looked at me like
he thought that mewing noise was the smartest
sound that ever was made.
"Boy," he says, grinning, "bo'n five hours ago.
I've done named him Burley--after the tobaccer
association, yo' know. Yes, SIR, Burley Peoples
is his name--and he shore kin squall, the derned
little cuss!"
"Yes," I says, "you better stay with Burley.
Lend me a rig of some sort and I'll take Bud home."
So we went out to Beauregard's stable with a
lantern and hitched up one of his hosses to a light
road wagon. He went into the house and come
back agin with a mattress fur Bud to lie on, and a
part of a bottle of whiskey. And I drove back to
that lumber pile. I guess I nearly killed Bud
getting him into there. But he wasn't bleeding
much from his hip--it was his arm was giving
him fits.
We went slow, and the dawn broke with us four
miles out of town. It was broad daylight, and
early morning noises stirring everywheres, when
we drove up in front of an old farmhouse, with big
brick chimbleys built on the outside of it, a couple
of miles farther on.
CHAPTER XIV
As I drove into the yard, a bare-headed old
nigger with a game leg throwed down
an armful of wood he was gathering and
went limping up to the veranda as fast as he could.
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