La me, I'm no fool! I know a
_little_ about females, an' I never saw a mountain woman yet that
wouldn't go stark crazy over a town man or a' unmarried preacher. I
reckon it must be the clothes the fellers wear or the prissy stuff
they chat about."
Dolly put her hand out toward the bell, but dropped it to the table.
"When is he coming?" she asked, her eyes holding a tense, eager stare.
"Thursday," was the answer, accompanied by a widening grin. "I
wouldn't give the children a holiday on the strength of it if I was
you. Part o' these mountain folks is men an' moonshiners, an' they
don't think any more about a feller that owns a bank in Atlanta 'an
they do of a mossback clod-hopper with the right sort o' heart in 'im.
Say, Mostyn ain't nothin' but human, an' if what _some_ say is so he
ain't the highest grade o' that. Over at Hilton's warehouse in
Ridgeville t'other day I heard some cotton-buyers talkin' about men
that had riz fast an' the underhanded tricks sech chaps use to
hoodwink simple folks, an' they said Dick Mostyn capped the stack.
Accordin' to them, he--"
"I don't believe a word of it!" Dolly stood up and angrily grasped the
bell-handle. "It's not true. It's a meddlesome lie. They are jealous.
People are always like that--it makes them furious to see another
person prosper.
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