He seemed surprised.
"Don't you want to see the tombs?" he said.
"No," I answered, "I don't. I want to stop here, leaning up against this gritty old wall. Go away, and don't disturb me. I am chock full of beautiful and noble thoughts, and I want to stop like it, because it feels nice and good. Don't you come fooling about, making me mad, chivying away all my better feelings with this silly tombstone nonsense of yours. Go away, and get somebody to bury you cheap, and I'll pay half the expense."
He was bewildered for a moment. He rubbed his eyes, and looked hard at me. I seemed human enough on the outside: he couldn't make it out.
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He said:
"Yuise a stranger in these parts? You don't live here?"
"No," I said, "I don't. You wouldn't if I did."
"Well then," he said, "you want to see the tombs—graves—folks been buried, you know—coffins!"
"You are an untruther," I replied, getting roused; "I do not want to see tombs—not your tombs.
