ty," said David. "She has seen better days, but she's eat
an' drunk sorro' mostly fer goin' on thirty year, an' darned little else
a good share o' the time, I reckon."

"She has that appearance certainly," said John.

"Yes, sir," said David, "she's had a putty tough time, the widdo' has,
an' yet," he proceeded after a momentary pause, "the' was a time when
the Culloms was some o' the kingpins o' this hull region. They used to
own quarter o' the county, an' they lived in the big house up on the
hill where Doc Hays lives now. That was considered to be the finest
place anywheres 'round here in them days. I used to think the Capitol to
Washington must be somethin' like the Cullom house, an' that Billy P.
(folks used to call him Billy P. 'cause his father's name was William
an' his was William Parker), an' that Billy P. 'd jest 's like 's not be
president. I've changed my mind some on the subject of presidents since
I was a boy."

Here Mr. Harum turned on his stool, put his right hand into his
sack-coat pocket, extracted therefrom part of a paper of "Maple Dew,"
and replenished his left cheek with an ample wad of "fine-cut." John
took advantage of the break to head off what he had reason to fear might
turn into a lengthy digression from the matter in hand by saying, "I beg
pardon, but how does it happen that Mrs. Cullom is in such
circumstances? Has the family all died out?"

"Wa'al," said David, "they're most on 'em dead, all on 'em, in fact,
except the widdo's son Charley, but as fur's the family's concerned, it
more 'n _died_ out--it _gin_ out! 'D ye ever hear of Jim Wheton's calf?
Wa'al, Jim brought three or four veals into town one spring to sell.
Dick Larrabee used to peddle meat them days. Dick looked 'em over an'
says, 'Look here, Jim,' he says, 'I guess you got a "deakin" in that
lot,' he says. 'I dunno what you mean,' says Jim. 'Yes, ye do, goll darn
ye!' says Dick, 'yes, ye do. You didn't never kill that calf, an' you
know it. That calf died, that's what that calf done. Come, now, own up,'
he says. 'Wa'al,' says Jim, 'I didn't _kill_ it, an' it didn't _die_
nuther--it jes' kind o' _gin out_.'"

John joined in the laugh with which the narrator rewarded his own
effort, and David went on: "Yes, sir, they jes' petered out. Old Billy,
Billy P.'s father, inher'tid all the prop'ty--never done a stroke of
work in his life. He had a collige education, went to Europe, an' all
that, an' before he was fifty year old he h