He seldom wore a coat, and on days
as mild as this his shirt-sleeves were always rolled up. He presented
a striking contrast to John Westerfelt, who, by the people of that
remote section, might have been considered something of a swell.
"How are you, ol' hoss?" Bradley laughed, as he swung the sagging gate
open and grasped his friend's hand. "Glad to see you; I've done
nothin' but fight tongue battles fer you all day. Webb has been
cussin' me black an' blue fer biddin' agin 'im fer a stranger, but
thar's one consolation--we've got 'im on the hip."
Westerfelt laughed pleasantly as he followed his host into the
sitting-room. "Much obliged to you, Luke. I'm glad I took your advice
about the investment."
"Me'n Marthy wus both dead set on gettin' you over heer," Luke said, as
he placed a chair for Westerfelt in front of the fire. "Both of us
'low a change will do you good."
Mrs. Bradley sat down in a corner and spread out her ample homespun
skirt and began to run the hem of her apron through her fat, red
fingers.
"Me'n Luke's been talkin' it over," she said, with some embarrassment;
"we 'lowed you mought mebby be willin' to put up with us; we've got a
spare room, an' you know about how we live.
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