"What in the world," repeated Bailey, "does Heman want of a shebang like
that? Ain't he got enough already?"

His friend shook his head.

"'Pears not," he said. "I judge it's this way, Bailey: Heman, he's a
proud man--"

"Well, ain't he got a right to be proud?" broke in Mr. Bangs, hastening
to resent any criticism of the popular idol. "Cal'late you and me'd be
proud if we was able to carry as much sail as he does, wouldn't we?"

"Yes, I guess like we would. But you needn't get red in the face and
strain your biler just because I said that. I ain't finding fault with
Heman; I'm only tellin' you. He's proud, as I said, and his wife--"

"She's dead this four year. What are you resurrectin' her for?"

"Land! you're peppery as a West Injy omelet this mornin'. Let me alone
till I've finished. His wife, when she was alive, she was proud, too.
And his daughter, Alicia, she's eight year old now, and by and by she'll
be grown up into a high-toned young woman. Well, Heman is fur-sighted,
and I s'pose likely he's thinkin' of the days when there'll be young
rich fellers--senators and--and--well, counts and lords, maybe--cruisin'
down here courtin' her. By that time the Whittaker place'll be a worse
disgrace than 'tis now. I presume he don't want those swells to sit on
his front piazza and see the crows buildin' nests in the ruins acrost
the road. So--"