do, Miss Zora…— Mr. Alwyn, I sure is glad to see you, sir. Well, if there ain’t Aunt Rachel! looking as young as ever. And Higgins, you scamp…—Ah, Mr. Sanders—well, gentlemen and ladies, this sure is gwine to be a good cotton season. I remember…“ And he ran on endlessly, now to this one, now to that, now to all, his little eyes all the while dancing insinuatingly here and there. About nine o’clock a buggy drove up and Carter and Simpson came in—Carter, a silent, strong-faced, brown laborer, who listened and looked, and Simpson, a worried nervous man, who sat still with difficulty and commenced many sentences but did not finish them. Alwyn looked at his watch and at Zora, but she gave no sign until they heard a rollicking song outside and Tylor burst into the room. He was nearly seven feet high and broad-shouldered, yellow, with curling hair and laughing brown eyes. He was chewing an enormous quid of tobacco, the juice of which he distributed generously, and had had just liquor enough to make him jolly. His entrance was a breeze and a roar.
Alwyn se dispuso entonces a explicar el proyecto de las tierras.
«Es la mejor tierra del condado...»
„Cuando esté despejado“, interrumpió Johnson, y Simpson pareció alarmado.
„Está parcialmente despejado —continuó Alwyn—, y nuestro plan es vender pequeñas granjas de veinte acres…“