We were
nearing the shore, for the purpose of looking for wood, the banks being
invisible from the middle of the river.
"There it is!" exclaimed the Captain; "stop her!" Ding--ding--ding! went
the big bell, and the Captain hailed:
"Hallo! the woodyard!"
"Hallo yourself!" answered a squeaking female voice, which came from a
woman with a petticoat over her shoulders in place of a shawl.
"What's the price of wood?"
"I think you ought to know the price by this time," answered the old
lady in the petticoat; "it's three and a qua-a-rter! and now you know
it."
"Three and the d--l!" broke in the Captain. "What, have you raised on
_your_ wood, too? I'll give you _three_, and not a cent more."
"Well," replied the petticoat, "here comes the old man--_he'll_ talk to
you."
And, sure enough, out crept from the cottage the veritable faded hat,
copperas-colored pants, yellow countenance and two weeks' beard we had
seen the night before, and the same voice we had heard regulating the
price of cottonwood squeaked out the following sentence, accompanied by
the same leer of the same yellow countenance:
"Why, darn it all, Capting, there is but three or four cords left, and
_since it's you_, I don't care if I _do_ let you have it for
_three_--_as you're a good customer_!"
After a quick glance at the landmarks around, the Captain bolted, and
turned in to take some rest.
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