No. He wasn’t going to take part in Tempe’s burying, Felo explained. They didn’t need him to speed Tempe over.... Tempe was a Chrishtun; and they would have a whole multitude of wimmins there to raise big excitement over her.... He was going to stay home and try to “sun the house,” and wipe up the floors.... Try and see if he couldn’t kill that strong miljew scent Mr. Amos said he found about the house the last couple of days.... Complainin’ and worryin’ about the dinin’room smellin’ mouldy.... And the rain bin fallin’ so steady lately; nobody ain’ goin’ study ’bout openin’ any window to leave in fresh air, damp as ever’thing is out-doors.... Anybody ought to know how that ole grass rug on the floor holds the miljew when the weather be’s rainy.... He was going to stay home and give all his ’tenshun to the house.... If the sun just comed out strong and ’lowed him a chance to work good all day.... But his mind told him that he had to go see Gussie that night.... Gussie was a brother-member of his Lodge. And it was compulsionary for him to be at the wake and go to the funeral.... Aunt Fisky sont him word that she wanted all Gussie’s ole-time playmates to walk ’long-side him for pall-bearers.... So after he got through fixin’ supper, he was goin’ to Gritny, and stay all night; and come back in the evenin’ after the funeral was over. Fully conscious of the deep importance with which Felo considered his sentimental expedition, and agreeable to leaving him to the enjoyment of his own devices; Mr. Amos told him to take the whole day, and to let the house-cleaning go for another time. No. He insisted on following his own mind, and getting through with what he had to do, so he would hear no more talk about that play-gone miljew scent in the house; when he got back from Gritny, and wanted to tell about what took place when they put Gussie away.... He couldn’t talk sociable when people kept on makin’ a whole lot of complainin’.... “An’ innyway,—de sun done comed out dis mawnin’, an’ I ain’ goin’ risk puttin’ de thing off no longer.... So gimme some change to go to market an’ buy yo’ li’l foods for dis evenin’.... An’ go ’head to yo’ office, an’ lemme git to my business.” Mr. Amos gave him the money for the purchases, and was about to leave, when Felo followed him to the door and asked: “You want some yam sweet potato dis evenin’? Fixed in de oven wid butter an’ milk an’ vunilla essen’, an’ some dem w’ite-o’-aig things you call mush-mallow?” Mr. Amos gave a smile of assent, remembering this was one of Felo’s boasted specialties, and that it was intended as a delicate compliment. “An’ you want some smothered poke-chops, an’ stuffed aigplant wid swimps in ’um?” Felo suggested.