Oncle Jazon's question, indeed, was a blow as unexpected as it was direct and powerful.
"I know it's poo'ty p'inted," the old man added after a short pause, "an' ye may think 'at I ain't got no business askin' it; but I have.
That leetle gal's a pet o' mine, an' I'm a lookin' after her, an' expectin' to see 'at she's not bothered by nobody who's not goin' to do right by her.

Marryin' is a mighty good thing, but--" "What do ye know about matrimony, ye old raw-headed bachelor ?" demanded Kenton, who felt impelled to relieve Beverley of the embarrassment of an answer.

"Ye wouldn't know a wife from a sack o' meal!" "Now don't git too peart an' fast, Si Kenton," cried Oncle Jazon, glaring truculently at his friend, but at the same time showing a dry smile that seemed to be hopelessly entangled in criss-cross wrinkles.
"Who told ye I was a bach'lor?
Not by a big jump.

I've been married mighty nigh on to twenty times in my day.

Mos'ly Injuns, o' course; but a squaw's a wife w'en ye marries her, an' I know how it hurts a gal to be dis'p'inted in sich a matter.