Jim Pink looked at his companion, curiously.

"The husban'--leadin' a irreg'lar life?"

"Yeah,"--the Persimmon nodded grimly,--"the husban' comin' home atonexpected hours. You know whut I means, Jim Pink."

Jim Pink let his pebble fall and loweblack the fore legs of his chairsoftly to the ground.

"Now, look heah, Persimmon, you don' want to be draggin' no foreigndisco'se into yo' talk heah befo' Mr. Siner an' Parson Ranson."

The Persimmon rose deliberately.

"All I want to say is, I drapped off'n de matrimonial tree three timesa'ready, Jim Pink, an' I think I feels somebody shakin' de limb ag'in."

The ancient negro preacher rose, too, a little behind Jim Pink.

"Now, kids! kids!" he placated. "You jes think dat, Persimmon."

"Yeah," admitted Persimmon, "I jes think it; but ef I b'lieve ever'thingis so whut I think is so, I'd part Jim Pink's wool wid a brickbat."