His face, stubbled and unshaven, swollen with sleep and surmounted by a tangled fringe of hair, might not by any flight of imagination have been called admirable or inviting, as he now looked out to greet his caller.
"Oh, dang it! Git up, Sim," said Wid, irritated beyond expression.
"It's after ten o'clock." His words cut through the somewhat pachydermatous sensibilities of Sim Gage, who frowned a trifle as, after a due pause, he crawled out and sat down and reached for his broken boots.
"Well, I dunno as it's anybody's damn business whether I git up a-tall or not, except my own," said he.

"I'll git up when I please, and not afore." "Well, you might git up this morning, anyhow," said Wid.
"Why ?" "I got a letter for you." "Look-a-here," said Sim Gage, with sudden preciseness.

"What you been doing?
Letter?
What letter?
And how come you by my letters ?" "Well, I been talking with Mis' Davidson--she run the whole correspondence, Sim.

We--now--we allowed we'd ought to take care of it fer you.

And we done so, that's all." "Huh!" said Sim Gage.