More'n a hundred pieces, an' every one of 'em gold.' Then he'll whale me with his whip, and shout, 'You know where it is.
Tell me, tell me, you swine, or I'll do for you.' An' then he'll get down on his knees and whimper, and beg me to tell um where I've hid it.
He's just gone plum crazy.

Sometimes he has regular fits, he gets so mad, and rolls on the floor and scratches himself." One morning in November, about ten o'clock, Trina pasted a "Made in France" label on the bottom of a Noah's ark, and leaned back in her chair with a long sigh of relief.

She had just finished a large Christmas order for Uncle Oelbermann, and there was nothing else she could do that morning.

The bed had not yet been made, nor had the breakfast things been washed.

Trina hesitated for a moment, then put her chin in the air indifferently.
"Bah!" she said, "let them go till this afternoon.