I don't know as I want him different much different, anyway.
I have to scold him some, snarl at him, you might even call it, but I reckon I'd do that just the same, if he was different--it's my make.
But I'm a good deal less snarly and more contented when he's a failure than I am when he isn't." "Then he isn't always a failure," said Hawking, brightening.
"Him?
Oh, bless you, no.

He makes a strike, as he calls it, from time to time.

Then's my time to fret and fuss.

For the money just flies -- first come first served.

Straight off, he loads up the house with cripples and idiots and stray cats and all the different kinds of poor wrecks that other people don't want and he does, and then when the poverty comes again I've got to clear the most of them out or we'd starve; and that distresses him, and me the same, of course.
"Here's old Dan'l and old Jinny, that the sheriff sold south one of the times that we got bankrupted before the war--they came wandering back after the peace, worn out and used up on the cotton plantations, helpless, and not another lick of work left in their old hides for the rest of this earthly pilgrimage--and we so pinched, oh so pinched for the very crumbs to keep life in us, and he just flung the door wide, and the way he received them you'd have thought they had come straight down from heaven in answer to prayer.