Maria contended that the lash of
the whip hurt the most; Trina, that the butt did the most injury.
Maria showed Trina the holes in the walls and the loosened boards in the
flooring where Zerkow had been searching for the gold plate. Of late
he had been digging in the back yard and had ransacked the hay in his
horse-shed for the concealed leather chest he imagined he would find.
But he was becoming impatient, evidently.
"The way he goes on," Maria told Trina, "is somethun dreadful. He's
gettun regularly sick with it--got a fever every night--don't sleep, and
when he does, talks to himself. Says 'More'n a hundred pieces, an' every
one of 'em gold. 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.
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