“Hey, Billy,” he called to his neighbor. “Got your shirt dry? Well, lend it here for a piece until mine’s wrung out, I got to go see the Captain.” Billy demurred. “I got friends enough in this shirt,” he said with a drawl. “I ain’t hankerin’ after no visitors out of yours. I’m a modest man and my crawlies is sort of shy, They don’t mix well with strangers. They’s Piedmont crawlies. Besides, this shirt, she’s still got more shirt than hole, Yours ain’t a shirt⁠—it’s a doughnut.” They swore for a while But finally Luke went off with the precious shirt, Whistling the tuneless snatch of a mountain jig, “Gawd help you, peddler,” he thought, as he looked for the Captain.