"How many, Dannie?" called Jimmy from afar.
"Seven," answered Dannie. "What for ye?"
"Elivin," replied Jimmy, with a bit of unconscious swagger. "I am
havin' poor luck to-day."
"How mony wad satisfy ye?" asked Dannie sarcastically.
"Ain't got time to figure that," answered Jimmy, working in a
double shuffle as he walked. "Thrash around a little, Dannie. It
will warm you up."
"I am no cauld," answered Dannie.
"No cauld!" imitated Jimmy. "No cauld! Come to observe you closer,
I do detect symptoms of sunstroke in the ridness of your face, and
the whiteness about your mouth; but the frost on your neck scarf,
and the icicles fistooned around the tail of your coat, tell a
different story.
"Dannie, you remind me of the baptizin' of Pete Cox last winter.
Pete's nothin' but skin and bone, and he niver had a square meal in
his life to warm him. It took pushin' and pullin' to get him in the
water, and a scum froze over while he was under. Pete came up
shakin' like the feeder on a thrashin' machine, and whin he could
spake at all, `Bless Jasus,' says he, `I'm jist as wa-wa-warm as I
wa-wa-want to be.' So are you, Dannie, but there's a difference in
how warm folks want to be. For meself, now, I could aisily bear a
little more hate."
"It's honest, I'm no cauld," insisted Dannie; and he might have
added that if Jimmy would not fill his system with Casey's poisons,
that degree of cold would not chill and pinch him either. But being
Dannie, he neither thought nor said it.
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