He ran his hand
through his crisp, gray hair until it stood on end and gave him a
peculiarly bristling appearance. He was about to enjoy himself. He was
as keen for gossip as any cabin woman of the hills, but Jim was an
artist about sharing his knowledge. However, once he decided to share,
he shared royally.
"I've been kinder waitin' fur yo' to show some interest in us-all," he
began, "it's a plain sign of yo' gettin' on. I writ the same to old Doc
McPherson yesterday! 'When he takes to noticin',' I writ, 'he's on the
mend.'"
Conning laughed good naturedly. "Oh! I'm on the mend, all right," he
said.
"Now as to that trap business," Jim took up the story, "I'll have to go
back some and tell yo' about the Greysons and Jed Martin--they all be
linked like sassages. Pete Greyson lives up to Lone Dome. Pete came from
stock; he ain't trash by a long come, but he can act like it! Pete's
forbears drank wine and talked like lords; Pete has ter rely on mountain
dew and that accounts fur the difference in his goin's-on; but once he's
sober, he's quality--is Pete. Pete's got two darters--Marg an'
Nella-Rose. Old Doc McPherson use' ter call 'em types, whatever that
means. Marg is a type, sure and sartin, but Nella-Rose is a little
no-count--that's what I say. But blame it all, it's Nella-Rose as has
set the mountains goin', so far as I can see.
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