tion an’ to do all I can to help it along an’ look out for Tony. Does that satisfy you? . . . Just the same, I don’t believe in unnecessary chances, Joe. Pull along out of here like Tony asked you to.
Joe
Say, you make me sore! Why, anybody ’ud think, to hear you talk, that I’m all set to . . .
[The R. F. D. has appeared on the porch. He carries a dusty coat on his arm, and wipes the sweat from his brow with his blue handkerchief. He wears a gray flannel shirt, old trousers hitched to suspenders that are none too secure. His badge is his only sign of office. He is an eager, tobacco-chewing old countryman.]
The R. F. D.
Hey, Tony! Tony! [As he reaches the door] Where’s Tony? ’Mornin’, Padre.
Joe
Tony’s gone to town. You’re early.
The R. F. D.
That’s more’n Tony is. I got to get his signature on a piece of registered mail.
Joe
What is it?
