It's like a goat trying it
on a locomotive. Ef I could only eddicate Peter and the other two, I'd be
satisfied. You see, I never had no book-larnin' myself, and I can't talk
proper no more'n a cow can climb a tree."
"But, Mr. Sitles, how much would a broom-machine cost you?" asked the
minister.
"More'n it's any use to think on. It'll cost seventy dollars, and if it
cost seventy cents 'twould be jest exactly seventy cents more'n I could
afford to pay. For the money my ole woman gits fer washin' don't go
noways at all towards feedin' the four children, let alone buying me a
machine."
The minister looked at his cane, but it did not answer him. Something
must be done. The minister was sure of that. Perhaps the walking-stick
was, too. But what?
That was the question.
The minister told Sitles good-by, and started to make other visits. And
on the way the cane kept crying out, "Something _must_ be done--something
MUST be done--something MUST be done," making the _must_ ring out sharper
every time. When Mr. Blake and the walking-stick got to the market-house,
just as they turned off from Milk Street into the busier Main Street, the
cane changed its tune and begun to say, "But what--but _what_--but
WHAT--but WHAT," until it said it so sharply that the minister's head
ached, and he put Old Ebony under his arm, so that it couldn't talk any
more.
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