Harvey in a whisper.
“ ’Nough to get along. Not much o’ anything we know. His natural tongue’s kinder curious. Comes from the innards of Cape Breton, he does, where the farmers speak homemade Scotch. Cape Breton’s full o’ niggers whose folk run in there durin’ aour war, an’ they talk like farmers—all huffy-chuffy.”
“That is not Scotch,” said “Pennsylvania.” “That is Gaelic. So I read in a book.”
“Penn reads a heap. Most of what he says is so—’cep’ when it comes to a caount o’ fish—eh?”
“Does your father just let them say how many they’ve caught without checking them?” said Harvey.
“Why, yes. Where’s the sense of a man lyin’ fer a few old cod?”
“Was a man once lied for his catch,” Manuel put