His habitual indecision was now complicated by the fact that he was as curious as the majority of those before him.
There were shouts of, "Go ahead, Tad!" "Tell us the rest!" "Let him go on, Mr.Moderator!" Cy Whittaker slowly rose.
"Alvin," he said earnestly, "don't stop him yet.

As a favor to me, let him spin his yarn." Simpson was ready and evidently eager to spin it.
"This man," he proclaimed, "this father, mournin' for his dead wife and longin' for his child, comes to the town where he was to find and take her.

And when he meets the man that's got her, when he comes, poor and down on his luck, what does this man--this rich man--do?
Why; fust of all, he's sweeter'n sirup to him, takes him in, keeps him overnight, and the next day he says to him: 'You just be quiet and say nothin' to nobody that she's your little girl.

I'll make it wuth your while.
Keep quiet till I'm ready for you to say it.' And he gives the father money--not much, but some.

All right so fur, maybe; but wait! Then it turns out that the father knows about this land--this property.