ABNER VISITS NEW YORK
Several days passed, and Nat's uncle did all in his power to please his
new wife. He found her very tart at times, and inclined to have her own
way, but she was a good cook and general housekeeper, and that counted
for a great deal.
"It won't do to cross her," he told himself. "I've got to find out about
thet gold first."
At last he could stand the suspense no longer and so, one day, while at
the dinner table, he told the story of a rich find of money by a lady in
Philadelphia.
"It was in the weekly paper," said he, "and by the way," he went on,
"what about the pot of gold you found?"
"The pot of gold I found?" she repeated, blankly.
"Yes, the one you found in the well. What did you do with it?"
"Why, I never found any pot of gold in a well, Abner! What put that in
your head?"
He shoved back his chair in horror, and gazed at her blankly.
"Didn't you tell me you had found a pot of gold in a well, Lucy?" he
demanded.
"Never!"
"Certainly, you did. You asked me if you could keep it or if the law
could take it from you. I told you the law couldn't touch it."
"Oh, I remember now!" she answered, sweetly. "I read about such a find
in a story magazine, and I was wondering if the finder could keep it, or
if it would have to be turned over to the person who owned the property
on which the well was located. But I certainly never said anything about
my finding a pot of gold."
"Well, I'll be jiggered! Didn't you go to the bank an' ask 'em if they
would take five thousand dollars?"
"Oh, I was only curious to know how much they would take, that was all,
Abner." And she smiled again.
Abner could not endure that smile, and pushing back his chair still
further, he arose and left the house. Once in the barn he shook his fist
viciously at an imaginary enemy.
"Of all the fools!" he muttered. "I've been tuk in clean an' clear! She
ain't got no pot o' gold, an' never did have! If this ain't jest the
worst yet. Abner Balberry, you ought to be kicked full o' holes, and
ducked in the pond besides!"
He felt in no mental condition to go back to the house, and so did not
return until it was time for supper. He found a good meal awaiting him,
and his wife on hand as pert as ever.
"What made you run off?" she demanded. "It wasn't a nice way to do."
"You fooled me about thet pot o' gold," he answered, bluntly.
"I never did, and I want you to stop talking about it, Abner Balberry."
This was said so sharply it fairly made him jump.
"Eh?"
"Did you marry me simply for my money?" she demanded, coming up to him
with her hands on her hips.
"N--no!" he stammered.
"Well, then, stop talking about a pot o' gold. I haven't any, and
neither have you."
"Ain't you got no money o' your own, Lucy?"
"If I have I'm going to keep it to myself," she answered. "Come to
supper."
He sat down and ate in silence. The next day he wanted to speak about
money again, but she cut him short.
"I don't want to hear about it," she said, tartly. "I'm your wife, and I
am going to do my share, keeping house and helping around. And you have
got to do your share, and treat me fairly. I once heard that the first
Mrs. Balberry didn't get all that was coming to her--that she had to
wear the same dress and bonnet for years. Now, I want to say, right now,
that isn't my style. When I want a new dress I want it, and you are
going to give it to me."
"Am I?" he said, slowly.
"Yes, you are, Abner Balberry, and if I want spending money you have got
to give me that, too. If you don't, I'll quit work and won't do a
blessed thing around the house. So there!"
She spoke with such vigor that it made him groan. He felt it in his
bones that she meant to have her way.
"I am a-goin' to do my duty," he said, humbly.
"You'd better. If you don't----" and she ended with a shake of her head
that meant a great deal.
"She's bound to have her way," he told himself later. "I've got to git
used to it, I suppose. Drat the luck, anyway. I wish I had never heard
o' thet pot o' gold!"
In a roundabout fashion Abner Balberry had heard that Nat had gone to
Buffalo, and then he learned through a man who had been to New York
that his nephew was in the metropolis. Abner had often longed to visit
New York, and here he saw his opportunity to do so.
"I'm a-goin' to New York," he announced one day, shortly after the pot
of gold incident.
"What are you going to do there?" asked his wife.
"I'm a-goin' to look fer Nat. I've heard he's down there, an' I want to
save him from goin' to destruction."
"Better leave him where he is," said the new wife, who did not fancy
another of her husband's people around the farm.
"No, I'm a-goin' to hunt him up. I feel it's my duty to do it."
"Then, if you go to New York, you have got to take me along, Abner."
"Take you along, Lucy?"
"Yes. I've always wanted to go to New York. Fred can take care of the
farm while we are gone." Fred and the other Guff children had been
installed on the place, but none of them had proved of much assistance.
Fred, himself, was decidedly lazy--not half as willing as Nat, so Abner
himself admitted.
"I don't see how I can take you, Lucy. It costs a heap to go to New
York."
"Well, if you can spend the money on yourself, you can spend it on me,
too," she answered, calmly.
"But it's my duty to go--to save Nat from goin' to the dogs."
"You didn't bother about Nat when you were courting me."
"I didn't know where he was, exactly."
"Pooh! Well, if you go you must take me. If you don't, you won't find me
or the things when you get back."
This rather alarmed the miserly farmer, and he was half afraid she might
sell off all his belongings, and clear out.
"All right, you shall go," he said, at last. "But it's goin' to cost a
terrible sight o' money," he added, with a long sigh.
It was decided that they should start for New York on the following
Monday morning. Mrs. Balberry had relatives at Rochester, and they made
arrangements to stop over at that point for one night, for neither the
farmer or his spouse wished to take a berth in a sleeping car.
"It's money thrown away," said Abner, "an', besides, who kin sleep with
a car runnin' fifty miles an hour? If there was an accident a feller
would be killed before he woke up!"
Mrs. Balberry's son, Fred, grumbled greatly at having to run the farm
during their absence, and the mother had to promise the lad fifty cents
a day for the extra work.
"It's an outrage," declared Abner, when he heard of this. "He ain't
worth his keep!"
"He is my son, and you have no right to abuse him!" declared the new
wife, and then the farmer found it best to say no more. He was
discovering that his wife had a sharp tongue, and could use it on the
slightest provocation.
Not to go to the expense of buying meals on the train, they provided
themselves with a basket full of food, and set off bright and early at
the time appointed. The run to Rochester was without incident, and Mrs.
Balberry's relatives there treated them kindly. Then, on Tuesday, they
took another train for New York, and late in the afternoon found
themselves at the Grand Central Depot.
"It's a fearfully crowded place," was Abner Balberry's comment, as he
gazed around.
"Which way are we to go, Abner?" asked his wife, and now she clung to
him, for the bustle and noise frightened her.
"Let's git out on the street, where I kin have a look around," he
answered, and pulled her along through the crowd. A boy wanted to take
his carpet bag, but he shook the urchin off.
Fortunately, while at Rochester, the farmer had heard of a hotel which I
shall call the Callac House, located but a few blocks from the station.
A policeman directed the pair to this place, and here Abner Balberry
succeeded in getting a room for a dollar and a half a night.
"Steep, ain't it?" he remarked, when he and his wife had been taken to
the room, on the seventh floor.
"Steep? I should say it was, Abner--the seventh story! It's dreadful! I
know I shan't sleep--thinking of what to do in case of a fire!"
"I meant the price. I don't care how high up it is."
"Will they give us meals for that, too?"
"No, the meals is extry."
"It's 'most a waste of money, I must say."
"Well, I had to pay it, an' so there ain't no use to talk about it.
Let's go to bed, an' git our money's worth, an' in the mornin' I'll look
fer Nat."