with rings in their noses. That's sympathy, hain't it? Mebby they hain't
needin' sympathy and cast-off pants, but that's neither here nor there.
You _think_ they do.... Coldriver's great on sympathy, and it's a
doggone upstandin' quality." Again the audience sucked in its breath at
this approach to the language of everyday life.

"If I was wantin' to stir up your sympathy, I'd tell you about a leetle
feller I seen yestiddy. Mebby I will. He wa'n't no naked heathen, and he
didn't have no ring into his nose. He was jest a boy. Uh-huh! Calculate
he might 'a' been ten year old. Couldn't walk a step. Suthin' ailed his
laigs, and he had to lay around in a chair in one of these here kind of
cheap horspittles. Alone he was. Didn't have no pa nor ma.... But he had
to be looked after by somebody, didn't he? Somebody had to pay them
bills."

Scattergood blew his nose gustily. "Mebby he could 'a' been cured if
they was money to pay for costly doctorin', but they wa'n't. It took all
that could be got jest to pay for his food and keep.... Patient leetle
feller, too, and gentlelike and cheerful. Kind of took to him, I did."

He paused, turned slowly, and surveyed the congregation, and frowned at
the door of the church. He coughed. He waited. The congregation turned,
following his eyes, and saw Mandy, Scattergood's ample-bosomed wife,
enter, bearing in her arms the form of a child. She walked to
Scattergood's pew and handed the boy to him. Scattergood held the child
high, so all could see.

He was a red-haired little fellow, white and thin of face, with
pipe-stem legs that dangled pitifully.