In 1898 I refused five
thousand dollars for the bunch. Dogs was high, then, anyway; but
that wasn't what made the fancy price. It was the team itself.
Brown was the best in the team. That winter I refused twelve
hundred for 'm. I didn't sell 'm then, an' I ain't a-sellin' 'm
now. Besides, I think a mighty lot of that dog. I've ben lookin'
for 'm for three years. It made me fair sick when I found he'd ben
stole - not the value of him, but the - well, I liked 'm like hell,
that's all, beggin' your pardon. I couldn't believe my eyes when I
seen 'm just now. I thought I was dreamin'. It was too good to be
true. Why, I was his wet-nurse. I put 'm to bed, snug every
night. His mother died, and I brought 'm up on condensed milk at
two dollars a can when I couldn't afford it in my own coffee. He
never knew any mother but me. He used to suck my finger regular,
the darn little cuss - that finger right there!"
And Skiff Miller, too overwrought for speech, held up a fore finger
for them to see.
"That very finger," he managed to articulate, as though it somehow
clinched the proof of ownership and the bond of affection.
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