"Sounds like somethin's dyin'," Abner replied, as he took the lamp from
the girl's trembling hand and turned the light upon the shed. As he did
so he saw a peculiar sight. Lying on the floor, with her back to the
wall, was his wife, with an expression of misery depicted upon her face.
On each side of her was a little boy, hopelessly entangled in the
bed-clothes, and with wide staring eyes, filled with wonder and terror.
Near by he saw three other little chaps also awake, and watching all
that was taking place.
"What's the meaning of this?" Abner demanded. "An' what's all that water
doin' on the floor? There's as much there as there is on me an' down me
neck."
Mrs. Andrews made no reply. She seemed to be greatly overcome. At once
Jess stooped down and put her arms around her mother's shoulders.
"Mother dear, are you sick?" she asked. "Let me help you up. Something
dreadful must have happened. Come into the kitchen."
Breathing heavily and moaning, Mrs. Andrews was rescued from her lowly
position, assisted into the kitchen, and placed upon a chair.
"I'm afraid I'm dying," the woman moaned. "I never had such a fright in
all my life. It was worse than the auto."
"She's luney," Abner remarked. "Her brain's turned. Better git the
smellin'-salts, Jess; they'll bring her to."
"My brain's not turned," was the emphatic and unexpected protest.
"You're luney yourself, Abner Andrews, and everybody knows it. What do
you mean by prowling about the house at this time of night, scaring
people out of their wits?"
"An' what do people mean by sleepin' in the woodshed?" Abner retorted.
"How did I know ye was there with a hull bunch of kids."
"They're some of yours, though, Abner. I have as much right to bring
children into this house as you have. You needn't think that you run
this place."
Abner was about to make a strong sarcastic reply, when he suddenly
thought of his peaceful ancestors, and checked himself just in time.
"There now, me love," he replied in his most affable manner, "I know I
don't run this place, an' never did. You run it so well, Tildy, that I
wouldn't dare to interfere."
Abner felt quite proud of this effort, and smiled broadly upon his wife,
expecting her to be astonished at these words. In this, however, he was
disappointed. Mrs. Andrews was in no mood for soft words, and she viewed
him critically from head to foot.
"Have you been drinking, Abner?" she asked. "Is that why you are so
late coming home?"
"Drinkin'! Good Lord!" Abner gasped. "What makes ye think that I have,
Tildy?"
"By the way you've acted ever since you came home. You first tramped
around the house as if you were afraid to come in, and scared me most to
death, and now you get off a whole lot of senseless nonsense. I never
heard the like of it."
"No, I guess ye ain't used to sich things, Tildy. I've been in the
habit of sayin' pretty nasty things, but I've had a change of heart, ye
see, an' that makes the difference."
"A change of heart!"
"Sure," and Abner stroked his chin and smiled.
"Have you been to a revival meeting in town?" his wife demanded.
"No, not as bad as that. But I've had a change of heart, all right, an'
I'm havin' a wonderful experience. I see all me good ancestors
a-hoverin' over me head, smilin' an' breathin' upon me peaceful spirits.
Oh, it's great! Don't ye wish you felt like that, Tildy? I think a new
heart 'ud do you good, too."
"What I need is a new husband," was the scornful reply.
"But ye have a new husband, Tildy. He's come back to ye from the pit of
destruction. He's changed, I tell ye, an' his heart is like the heart
of a little child."
"And as simple, why don't you say? I'd like to know what's come over
you."
"An' I'd like to know what's happened to you, Tildy. Why were ye
sleepin' out in the woodshed? Were ye mournin' so much over me that ye
couldn't stay in the old bed where we've slept fer years? Guess ye've
got a warm spot in ye'r heart fer me after all, haven't ye?"
"It wasn't for your sake I was sleeping in the woodshed," Mrs. Andrews
explained, "but to look after those children."
"Oh, I see; an' ye armed ye'rself with pails of water, eh?"
"I certainly did, as you should know."
Abner glanced down at his wet clothes and smiled.
"What happened to the other pail, Tildy?"
"I tripped over it; that's what I did."
"And landed upon the kids, ho, ho."
"Is it anything to laugh at? I might have killed the poor little
things."
"Sure, sure, ye might, Tildy. It's nuthin' to laff at, oh, no. I
shouldn't laff at anythin' like that when I've had a change of heart,
should I? De ye think me good ancestors 'ud act that way?"
While this conversation was going on, Jess and Belle were attending to
the children, soothing their fears and arranging the disordered
bed-clothes. They had overheard the animated talk, nevertheless, and it
amused them. They looked upon the whole affair as a joke when they knew
that no harm had been done. Belle, especially, enjoyed the fun. It was
the first real family scene of this kind she had witnessed since coming
to Ash Point, although Jess had often told her that she might expect it
at any time, but not to be at all alarmed when it did happen. They came
back into the kitchen just as Abner was speaking about his peaceful
ancestors.
"Don't you think you should go to bed, daddy?" Jess asked. "That seems
to me to be the best way to settle all disputes to-night."
"Indeed, I do," Abner agreed, "'specially fer a man who wants to imbibe
the spirits of his ancestors."
"I'm still convinced that you've been imbibing Tom Grogan's spirits,"
Mrs. Andrews replied. "Why, I can smell it on your breath, can't you,
Jess?"
"I guess ye'r wrong this time, Tildy. Ye've never smelled the spirits
of me ancestors, not by a jugful."
"Indeed, I haven't, and I hope to goodness I never shall," his wife
retorted. "But get away to bed, all of you."
"I'm goin' to watch them kids fer the rest of the night," Abner
announced.
"No, you're not," his wife declared. "I couldn't trust you with them.
I've undertaken the job for to-night, and I intend to carry it through,
so, away with you all, and let me get some rest."
Abner at once started off, humming as he went:
"When Bill Larkins made his money."
Mrs. Andrews and the girls watched him until he had disappeared. Then
they looked at one another with wondering eyes. Jess was the first to
speak.
"I'm afraid there's something wrong with daddy," she whispered.
"I'm sure of it," her mother replied. "He's either luney, or he's been
drinking."
But Belle laughed at them.
"You needn't worry about him," she declared. "He's neither crazy nor
drunk. He has more sense left than most men. It's only his way."
"Which way? I'd like to know," and Mrs. Andrews sighed. "He's had so
many ways since we've been married that I don't know which way you
mean."
"That may be so, Mrs. Andrews, but I believe this way is a good one, so
we must not worry."
"Let us hope so," was all that Mrs. Andrews said. Nevertheless, she
found it hard to get to sleep again, for she knew her husband better
than either of the girls.
*CHAPTER XIX*
*JERRY, ME PARDNER*
It was late when Abner awoke the next morning. This was a most unusual
thing for him, and he felt annoyed at himself as he hurriedly dressed
and hastened downstairs. The house seemed to be deserted. He glanced
at the clock, and was surprised to find that it was a quarter to nine.
His breakfast was all ready on the table, but no one was to be seen. A
copy of _The Live Wire_ lying by his plate arrested his attention.
"Some class to this," he remarked, half aloud, as he unfolded the paper.
"Jist like a hotel; breakfast waitin', an' the mornin' paper right at
hand. Reg'lar Waldorf-Astoria style. Hello! what in time----!"
His eyes had caught sight of the big headlines, and he saw his own name
prominently displayed along with Joe Preston's. It was a great
write-up, and Abner read it through to the bitter end. It told of his
savage attack upon the editor, how he looked and acted, and of his
arrest and confinement in jail. Then followed a description of his
life's history, which ended by saying that he had been looked upon as
dangerous for some time. It was really believed by many that, owing to
his peculiar actions, he was not altogether in his right mind. The
incident of his offering one thousand dollars toward the Orphanage was
mentioned, and how he did not have enough money to pay even five
dollars, let alone the whole amount. Not a word was said in his favor.
He was painted in the darkest colors, and it was suggested that he
should either be placed in the Asylum as a lunatic, or in the
Penitentiary as a most dangerous character.
A peculiar expression overspread Abner's face as he finished reading.
He laid the paper aside and began his breakfast. When he was through,
he filled his pipe and walked out of the house. The rain had ceased in
the night, but the air was damp and heavy. It was a gloomy morning, and
accorded perfectly with the state of his mind. He heard the voices of
the children in the barn and knew that the girls were with them. It was
the best place to play on a day such as this. He had no mind to join
them, as he wished to be alone in order to think.
He stood for a few minutes near the woodshed, looking down upon the
river, over which drifted a heavy mist. He longed to be out there in
the Flying Scud, away from all land-lubbers. It was the life to which
he was especially fitted. Picking up his axe, which was lying by the
chopping-block, he threw it over his shoulder and walked rapidly toward
the shore. There was considerable drift-wood to be gathered, and he
generally spent wet days at this work. He needed something to do, and
in wrestling with the roots, logs, and blocks he could give physical
vent to his pent-up feelings.
His row-boat was pulled up on the beach, and his small canoe, used for
muskrat and duck shooting, was lying bottom up among the bushes. He was
tempted to launch the latter, cross to the island and spend the day
there. Any place was preferable to remaining near home where he knew
that ere long he must submit to a regular bombardment of questions. He
wondered what had become of his wife. It was a most unusual thing for
her to be absent from home at this time of the morning. He could see
the house plainly from where he stood on the shore, and he occasionally
turned and looked in that direction. Abner was well aware that he
should go to town for Jerry, but he was in no mood for the long walk
over the muddy roads. He would need the horse for haying as soon as the
weather cleared.
"Confound it all!" he growled. "I don't want to see that town agin fer
a long time. I'm sick of it. Why can't people leave me alone, anyway?
They'll all read that piece in the paper, an' they'll think I'm the
biggest villain on the face of the hull earth. I wonder how Zeb would
act if he'd been rubbed the wrong way most of his life sich as I have.
Peaceful ancestors, be blowed!"
In order to express his feelings he started to work, and every blow of
the axe was not only upon log or block, but upon his enemies. This
violent exercise did him a great deal of good, and he mentally compared
the joy of being in the fresh air with the stuffy and unsavory jail.
After an hour of such work he felt in a better frame of mind. He had
put all of his enemies to flight and was the victor. There was joy in
the feeling, and his face wore a more benign expression when he at
length paused, seated himself upon a log, and began to re-fill his pipe.
He thus sat looking out over the water, thinking of his previous day's
experiences, and of what Zeb had to say about his peaceful ancestors.
At times he felt that his neighbor was right, but the spirits of his
war-like ancestors had been with him for so long that he found it most
difficult to rid himself of their influence.
"It's a darn hard thing to shake off old friends," he muttered. "It's
'specially hard when ye'r in sympathy with 'em, an' want to do jist as
they did. They've stood by me fer many a year now, an' their words an'
actions have allus jibed with mine. I wonder if me peaceful ancestors
will see eye to eye with me. That's the pint Zeb didn't take into
consideration. If I've got to trim me sails to their gentle actions I'm
afraid I'll land in the lunatic asylum fer sure."
He was aroused from his meditation by a step behind him, and looking
quickly around, he saw a man approaching but a few yards away. The
presence of this stranger annoyed Abner. What right had anyone to creep
upon him that way? he asked himself.
But the visitor was by no means daunted by Abner's surly expression. He
came jauntily forward, and held out a big fat hand.
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Andrews," he accosted. "Having a quiet time here
all by yourself, I see. Beautiful spot, isn't it?"
"Is it?" Abner sullenly asked, as he viewed the man most carefully. He
did not like his looks, and he believed him to be an agent, who wished
to sell him apple-trees.
"It's the finest place I've seen in a long time," the man replied. "And
look at that wood! I suppose you get your winter's supply here. You
are fortunate. We in the city have to buy ours, while the Lord casts
yours right at your door."
"You come from the city, eh?" Abner queried.
"Oh, yes. Have lived there all my life, though I do long to spend the
rest of my days in the country, away from all bustle and confusion, and
live the quiet life."
"To pile drift-wood and do sich jobs, I s'pose?"
"Yes, that would be a pleasure. Good for the appetite."
"Think ye'd make enough to eat on this place?" Abner asked.
"I'm sure I could. Why, all you farmers have to do is to go into the
garden, for your supplies, and to the shore for your fuel, while we in
the city have to pay for such things."
Abner felt like kicking this fellow and telling him in no uncertain
language what a fool he was. But he thought of his peaceful ancestors
and so changed his mind.
"Yes, ye'r quite right, Mister," he drawled. "We do have a great time
here in the bush. Lots to eat in the summer time fer nuthin'. An' in
the winter it's jist the same. We eat icicles fer breakfast, warmed-up
snow fer dinner, an' fer supper we have a slice off one of them cedar
blocks there. Ye see, them sticks have been floatin' so long in the
river that they have a fishy smell, an' when a piece is fried in
molasses, why, ye couldn't tell it from the finest lake trout. Did ye
ever try one?"
"I certainly never did," the stranger smilingly replied. "It must be
rather hard to digest, isn't it?"
"Oh, we don't use our digesters in the winter time. We lay 'em away in
the cellar until spring. It's great how they work then, after a good
long rest."
"I see you're quite a humorist, Mr. Andrews," and again the visitor
smiled. "Life in the country is conducive to humor, I suppose?"
"Sure. It's the funniest place ye ever sot eyes on. It makes people
roarin' funny all the time. Why, when we go to the city people jist
stand and laff at us, an' the funny papers fill their pages with humor
about the doin's of the bush. Everythin' is funny here. Even Abner
Andrews is considered a humorous cuss, an' that's sayin' a good deal."
The visitor now realized that this quaint farmer was slyly poking fun at
him, and he was anxious to change the subject.
"I've come to see you on an important matter, Mr. Andrews," he
explained, "and as I am in a hurry, I shall come to business at once.
I'm a real estate agent, with my office in the city, and I am anxious to
make some enquiries about your farm. I have come in the interest of a
man who is seeking for a suitable place to build a large summer hotel.
Now, as you have such an excellent location here, I feel that this is
just the right spot for the hotel. The view is excellent, the river is
right near for boating and bathing, and from all accounts there are fine
lakes and brooks back in the hills for trout fishing. Is not that so?"
"Ye'r sartinly right," Abner assented. "Ye couldn't find a nicer spot
if ye hunted the hull province over."
"I'm very glad that you agree with me, Mr. Andrews," the visitor
replied, somewhat surprised as he had been warned to beware of the
farmer, as he was a most disagreeable man to deal with.
"Oh, I don't mind agreein' with sich things, Mister, 'specially so when
they're correct."
"And you think it would be an excellent place for a summer hotel?"
"Sure, I do. Why, a man 'ud make his fortune in no time. It wouldn't
cost him nuthin' to feed the people. They'd catch all the trout they
could eat, an' when they didn't want fish they could jist set on the
grass an' feed upon the beauties of Nature. It 'ud be cheap fer the
people, too, 'cause they wouldn't have to bother with fine clothes.
When they weren't fishin' they'd be in bathin', when they wouldn't need
no clothes at all."
"Ha, ha, that certainly would be fine," the agent laughed. "Utopia,
eh?"
"I'm not," Abner declared. "Don't ye say that agin."
"Say what?" the stranger asked in surprise.
"Ask me if I'm a toper. I never got real drunk in me life. I never
took too much."
"You misunderstand me, Mr. Andrews," the agent explained, much amused.
"I didn't say 'toper,' but 'Utopia,' which means a most delightful
place, where people are all happy, and life is simple and free."
"Oh, that's what ye mean, is it? Well, fer heaven's sake, why didn't ye
say so an' speak plain English instid of sich city jargon? I ain't got
time to waste this mornin', if you have."
"Neither have I," the agent replied, looking at his watch. "My, I have
to be in Glucom in half an hour! Look here, will you sell your place?"
"How are ye travellin'?" Abner asked.
"By auto. It's out there on the road."
"An' ye're goin' right straight to Glucom, eh?"
"Yes, as soon as I get through with this business. Will you sell, Mr.
Andrews?"
For a few seconds Abner did not reply. He thought of his horse in town,
an' then of his peaceful ancestors. If he could rub this man the right
way, as Zeb suggested, it might save him that long walk.
"I am willing to make you a liberal offer," the agent continued. "But I
must have an answer to-day, or I shall have to choose another locality
and you would be the loser."
"I'm willin' to sell," Abner replied, as he slowly took the pipe from
his mouth and studied it very carefully.
"That's good," the agent encouraged. "Now, what's your figure?"
"Figger! Well, I can't jist tell ye off-hand. I've got to consult me
pardner."
"Your wife, eh?"
"No she's not me pardner; she's me boss. Me pardner's in town jist now.
We work this place together ye see, so I couldn't give ye a price
without consultin' Jerry."
"And Jerry's in town, is he?"
"Sure. An' I can't do nuthin' without consultin' him."
"Suppose, then, you come along with me, and we can see Jerry," the
visitor suggested.
"Jist the thing, Mister," Abner agreed, rising to his feet and throwing
the axe over his shoulder. "I'll be with ye in a jiffy."
Abner hurried up to the house, chuckling as he went, while the agent
strolled slowly toward the road, viewing the farm as he walked. Abner
found no one in the house, and this made him wonder. But he had no time
to delay just then, so, donning his coat, he was standing waiting as the
car stopped at the gate.
It did not take long to speed into Glucom. Abner compared this trip
with the toilsome one he and Zeb had made the night before, and he
decided that he would have a car of his own when he was able.
"Where shall we go?" the agent asked, as he swung the car into the main
street.
"To the station," Abner replied.
And to the station they sped, and when Abner stepped out he went at once
into the office. There he found Sam, who greeted him like a long-lost
brother, and offered him a chair.
"Can't set down, Sam," Abner told him. "I want Jerry; where is he?"
"In Dingman's barn. He let me have the use of it for a few days.
You'll find Jerry all right and in good condition."
Sam was much surprised at Abner's excited manner, and he watched him
through the window as he spoke to the stranger in the car, and then
hurried up the street.
"What in time is Abner up to now, I wonder. Surely he's not going to
sell his horse."
It did not take Abner long to find Jerry, and when mounted upon the
waggon, he drove proudly back to the station to the expectant agent.
"Look here," the agent impatiently demanded, "you have kept me a deuce
of a long time. I'm in a hurry."
"I can't help that," Abner replied, as he reined Jerry up close to the
station platform. "I didn't tell ye to wait, did I?"
"But you wanted me to wait till you had consulted with your partner,
didn't you?"
"So I did. What was I thinkin' about?"
"And you've seen him?" was the eager question.
"Sure, sure; I've seen Jerry, all right."
"Is he willing to sell?"
"Ye bet ye'r boots he is. Jerry's willin', fer he's more tired of Ash
Pint than of anythin' else. He needs more excitement than he kin find
on a farm. He wants to be near the train so's he kin hear the en-gines
holler. It allus puts new life into him."
"That's fine. I suppose you've agreed on the price?"
"Oh, yes, we agree, all right, we allus do. Never had a fallin' out
yit."
"Now, how much do you want for the place, Mr. Andrews?"
"Well, let me see," and Abner scratched his head in a thoughtful manner.
"Oh, I guess fifteen thousand'll do all right."
"Fifteen thousand!" the agent exclaimed. "Fifteen thousand for that
wretched place of yours, which is as poor as Job's turkey, so I
understand. You must be crazy, man. Your farm isn't worth more than
seven hundred dollars, and how have you the gall to value it at fifteen
thousand? You don't pay taxes on more than five hundred, do you?"
"Mebbe I don't, Mister. But ye see there are some things ye'r not taxed
fer, an' them's the things which you an' others seem to think very
valuable. There's the situation, which is the finest in the country,
accordin' to ye'r own statement. That should be worth five thousand;
the view, fresh air, an' the boatin' an' swimmin' privileges, another
five, so that makes ten thousand. Then there's the gravel on the place,
an' I guess it's nearly all gravel, an' that's worth a great deal fer
ballast, so I understand. It alone should bring fifteen thousand, but
Jerry an' me are quite willin' to let ye have the hull outfit fer that
amount, an' throw in the situation, air, an' sich things fer nuthin'."
The agent was angry now, and it was with considerable effort that he
controlled his temper. He knew that Abner was making fun of him, and
this nettled him exceedingly. He was, in fact, beginning to doubt the
farmer's sanity. He glanced at Jerry and then at the waggon. In his
excitement he had not thought of their presence as unusual. Where had
they come from, anyway?
"Is that your horse?" he abruptly asked.
"Guess so."
"But aren't you sure?"
"No, sir-ee, I'm not. Ye'r never sure of that hoss. He's got a mind of
his own, he has, jist like any pardner should have."
"Partner!" and the agent's eyes bulged with a new light. "Do you mean
to tell me that he's the partner you've been speakin' about?"
"Sure; I was tellin' ye no fib. A man might have a darn sight worse
one, let me tell ye that."
"And he's Jerry?"
"Yep; that's what I call him."
This was too much for the agent. With a savage oath, he settled himself
back in his seat, and started the engine.
"Don't ye want to buy our place?" Abner asked. "We're willin' to sell,
ain't we, Jerry?"
"To h--l with your place," the agent snarled, as he started the car. "I
wouldn't do business with a fool, and that's what you are."
"Thanks fer the compliment an' fer the ride to town," Abner replied.
"If it hadn't been fer you I'd had to walk here after Jerry. Guess it
pays to rub people the right way, after all, ha, ha."
He watched the agent as he sped away. His mouth was expanded into a
grin, and his gray eyes twinkled.
"Peaceful ancestors!" he chuckled. "Whew! Guess Zeb was right after
all. It sartinly does the work. That feller's been set on by Ikey
Dimock as sure as I'm livin'. But Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, wasn't
caught nappin', not by a jugful, skiddy-me-shins if he was. Gid-dap,
Jerry, me dear old pardner. We must git home an' face the music there."
*CHAPTER XX*
*UNDER SUSPICION*
The kind of music that Abner expected to face when he reached home was
wanting. Instead of a severe scolding, tirades, and a regular
bombardment of embarrassing questions, he was received in a most
gracious manner. The children flocked about him as he unhitched Jerry
and put him in the stable. It was somewhat late and dinner was over,
but Mrs. Andrews had his place set and everything hot in the oven. She
even smiled as he entered the kitchen, a most unusual thing for her.
But Abner thought that she watched him somewhat curiously and anxiously
as he hung up his coat and hat. He could also feel her eyes upon him as
he washed himself and brushed his tangled hair before the little mirror.
He wondered what it all meant, though he made no comment, but at once
took his seat at the table. After serving him, Mrs. Andrews sat down on
the opposite side of the table, another remarkable thing for her.
"How are the kids gittin' along?" Abner at length enquired, more for
something to say than anything else.
"Very well, I guess," was the somewhat absent-minded reply. "They seem
to be having a good time."
Silence then ensued after this effort to start conversation, and Abner
went on with his meal. But he was restless, and glanced occasionally
out of the window. Once he stopped and listened intently. This Mrs.
Andrews noted, and her face became grave.
"It's only the children," she explained. "The girls are playing with
them near the barn."
"Say," Abner at length remarked, "has this change-of-heart bizness
struck yez all, too?"
"Why, what do you mean?" his wife asked.
"But what has come over yez all, Tildy? This house seems strange. I
ginerally got a reg'lar dressin' down, when I came home late fer dinner.
I was so used to it that this peaceful reception is gittin' on me
nerves. I'm like Jerry, an' can't stand things when they're too quiet."
"When did you experience a change of heart, Abner?"
"Last night when walkin' home with Zeb. He's the best hand at that I
ever come across. He kin beat Billy Sunday all to bits. He put the
punch into me, all right, an' I guess you must have got a touch of it
too, Tildy."
"Maybe I have, Abner. But, you see, I'm feeling sorry for you after
what you've gone through of late."
"An' ye don't blame me, Tildy?" Abner asked in astonishment.
"How can I? It wasn't your fault. I know you couldn't help it, and
that is what worries me. But there, never mind that now. I have
something to tell you. Abe Dugan wants to know if you will give him a
hand this afternoon with that boat he's making."
"He does, eh? Well, I like his gall. Does he think I've got nuthin' to
do?"
"But it's a dull day, Abner, and I want you to take back a pattern I
borrowed from Mrs. Dugan this morning."
"So that's where ye were, was it? I thought ye had cleared out
entirely."
"I merely ran over to get a pattern. I want to make some trousers for
the boys, and as we have had no need for such a thing I knew that Mrs.
Dugan would let me have hers. She's going to help me with the work."
"She is? Good fer her. I didn't know that she would stoop to sich
things."
"Oh, yes, she's much interested in the boys, and is going to do all she
can. But she wants that pattern back this afternoon, and if you won't
take it, then I shall have to do so, though I have so much cooking to do
since we have all those extra mouths to feed."
"An' more grub to buy, eh? An' where's the stuff to come from fer them
pants, I'd like to know?"
"I am going to use some of your old clothes. I can make them over. The
poor little boys are almost in rags."
Abner rose from the table, filled and lighted his pipe.
"Where's that pattern?" he abruptly asked.
"So you're going, are you, Abner?"
"Sure, I am. When ye rub me the way ye have to-day, an' when Mrs. Abe
is goin' to help with them pants, I can't very well refuse to give a
hand out on that boat. My, we're all gittin' mighty holy an' neighborly
all of a sudden. Guess a change of heart must have struck all around.
I wonder if it has affected Abe. He could stand a good dose of it."
Abner was really glad of an excuse to go to his neighbor's, as he had
not seen him for some time. The building of a boat was of greater
interest to him than splitting and piling wood down on the shore. He
would find out, too, if Abe had heard anything about his experiences in
town; how Joe Preston was getting along, and what people were saying
about the affair.
It was about three in the afternoon when he reached the Dugan house, and
he was informed by Mrs. Dugan that Abe had been called over to Joe
Sanders to see his sick horse. Abe considered himself a specialist on
animal diseases, and was much in demand.
"But you needn't mind Abe's absence," Mrs. Dugan told him. "You know
more about boats than he does, so you can go right on with the work.
The boat is there in the workshop. It is only just started."
Abner noticed that Mrs. Dugan eyed him somewhat curiously, although he
paid little attention to it. Perhaps she had heard about his arrest, and
wished to see what a man looked like who had been in jail. He was soon
lost in the work upon the boat and forgot all about Mrs. Dugan's close
scrutiny.
The workshop was adjoining the woodshed, which led off from the kitchen,
and for an hour Abner worked away with no one to disturb him. About
four o'clock, however, women began to come into the shop. Not all
together, but one at a time. First there was Mrs. Bennett, who was
anxious, so she said, to see the building of the boat. She asked a
number of questions, and interfered with Abner. He treated her most
courteously, however, remembering his peaceful ancestors. Then came
Mrs. Hopkins. She, too, wished to see the building of the boat, and she
had much to say about the time she used to sail on the river with her
husband before they were married. Abner breathed a sigh of relief when
she left, and wondered how many more women the house contained, and what
in the world they were doing there that afternoon. He was not left long
alone, however, for in a few minutes Miss Julia Tomkins, a maiden of
uncertain age, came out and questioned him about the orphans he had
taken into his house.
"I am so much concerned about those children," she informed him, "that I
have lain awake at nights thinking about them. And I know others are,
too, and we have met here this afternoon to make up clothes for them."
"An' so that's what ye'r doin', eh?" Abner asked, as he paused in the
act of driving in a nail. "I was wonderin' what kind of a hen-party
Mrs. Dugan was havin' this afternoon. How many more are there of yez?"
"There are about ten in all. It shows what an interest the women are
taking in those children."
"Ten! Good Lord!" Abner ejaculated. "It's no wonder Abe cleared out.
Are they all comin' to see me build this boat?"
"Does your head hurt you much to-day?" Miss Tomkins asked.
"Me head! Gee whiz, no! What makes ye think it does?"
"Because you look so worried."
"An' wouldn't anyone look worried with so many visitors? It's not me
head but me hands that hurt. Look at that, now," and Abner held out his
big rough left hand for inspection. "I sawed that finger twice when
Mrs. Bennett was snookin' around here, an' I hit that thumb with the
hammer when Mrs. Hopkins was gittin' on me nerves. If any more of them
hens come I don't know what will happen. I'm feelin' rather dangerous,
an' might lose me head altogether. So it's better fer 'em to stay
away."
"You poor man," Miss Tomkins sympathized. "You have been badly treated.
I shall see that you are not bothered by any more visitors. But----"
Here she hesitated.
"But what?" Abner queried.
"Oh, I was just going to add that if you don't feel well at any time
just call out, will you?"
"Call out! What fer?"
"For help, of course. If you feel an attack coming on you at any time,
just let me know. I had an uncle who was subject to such spells, and I
know more about them than most people. Now, be sure," and Miss Tomkins
smiled most sweetly. "So few people understand such cases."
Abner stared at his visitor in amazement, and watched her as she walked
away. Was Miss Tomkins going out of her mind? he wondered. He had
heard that she often had queer notions, and did strange things. So an
uncle of hers had been odd, too, and had spells, so she said. Ah, that
accounted for it. It ran in the family. He resumed his work, but he
could not forget Miss Tomkins' peculiar words and looks. Why had she
spoken like that to him? and why had Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Hopkins
looked at him so curiously?
He had just raised the hammer to drive in a nail when his arm suddenly
weakened and the blow fell upon the board instead. An idea had flashed
into his mind with startling intensity. Did Miss Tomkins and the rest
of the women think that he was off his head? He thought, too, of
Tildy's looks and actions, and in a twinkling the whole thing was as
clear as day. She believed that there was something wrong with his
head, and she had arranged with Mrs. Dugan to have those women meet him
there that afternoon, that they might talk with him and give their
opinions.
The first feeling that came into Abner's heart was a strong resentment.
He felt like walking right into the house and telling those women what
he thought. This soon passed away, however, and a smile illumined his
face. He remembered his peaceful ancestors, and what Zeb had told him.
He became calm and went on with his work. But his mind was busy and he
thought of more than the boat that afternoon. Several times he
chuckled, and once he paused and gazed absently out of the dust-laden
window. In half an hour he was in a great humor and would even have
embraced Ikey Dimock had he happened along just then. He had what he
considered a brilliant idea, and he was never satisfied until he had
worked it out of his system by definite action.
Abner now was losing interest in the boat. He had something else on
hand, and he was wondering how he could best put it into practice.
He was thinking of this when Mrs. Dugan came into the workshop, and
invited him in to have a cup of tea. "We are all ready," she informed
him, "and would like to have you with us. You don't mind a lot of
women, do you?"
"Should say not," was the reply, "I'm used to 'em. But I ain't fitted up
fer afternoon tea," and he glanced down at his clothes.
"Oh, you're all right, Mr. Andrews. It's not your clothes we're anxious
to see, but you."
"I guess ye'r right," Abner thought. "I see through ye'r game. Yez
want to see how I'll act, an' if I'm really luney? Well, yez'll have a
chance, me hearties."
"You'll come, won't you?" Mrs. Dugan pleaded. "The women will be so
disappointed if you don't."
"Sure, I'll go," and Abner laid down the saw, and followed the woman
into the house.
They passed through the kitchen and into the dining-room, where the
women were all gathered. They were talking in a most animated manner,
but suddenly ceased and a dead silence ensued as Abner entered. Several
nodded and smiled their welcome, but no one spoke.
"I've got him at last," Mrs. Dugan informed them. "He didn't want to
come, but when I told him how anxious you all were to see him, he just
couldn't refuse, could you, Mr. Andrews?"
"Should say not," Abner gallantly replied, "'specially when a hull bunch
of women wish to look upon me handsome features, an' when they've
somethin' good to eat. Tildy says I allus shine then."
"He's not luney," Mrs. Parker whispered to Mrs. Peters, who was sitting
next her.
"He doesn't seem so," was the reply. "But, my! look what he's doing!"
Mrs. Dugan had offered Abner a chair, but instead of sitting down he
stood upon it, and gazed around smilingly upon the astonished women.
"I allus like to stand in the presence of ladies," he explained. "But
on an occasion sich as this, it is better fer me to stand as high as
possible, so's yez all kin git a good look at me."
"My lands!" Mrs. Hepburn exclaimed, holding up her hands in horror.
"What's going to happen next?"
"You can't eat standing up there, can you?" Mrs. Dugan asked, as she
stood before Abner with tea and cake upon a tray.
"Sure, why not? It's good fer the digester. When I was runnin' the old
Flyin' Scud an' had an attack of indigestion, I uster climb to the top
of the mast an' stand there an' eat me meals. This is a cinch to that.
No, thank ye, I won't have no cake or doughnut; I'll jist have a piece
of ye'r dish-cloth instid. I got so used to that last night in jail,
where they feed ye on sich things, that somehow I can't git along
without it. Why, it gave me a real change of heart, the same as ye git
at a revival meetin'."
By this time the women were pretty badly frightened. They were now sure
that Abner was very much wrong in the head, but no one dared to move or
say anything. Even Mrs. Dugan was nonplussed. Abner was now in his
element, and he thoroughly enjoyed the diversion he was creating. He
drank the cup of tea, and then stepped down softly from the chair. He
placed the cup on the table, and looked around the room. A cold chill
passed up and down the spine of every woman present. What in the world
was the man going to do next? each asked herself. The excitement grew
intense when Abner presently fixed his eyes upon Miss Tomkins, who was
sitting like a statue, paralyzed with fear, as Abner walked straight
toward her.
"Go away! go away!" she screamed. "Don't come near me!"
But Abner made no reply. He began to walk around her, and as he walked,
Miss Tomkins began to revolve, chair and all. Three times Abner slowly
made the circuit, and three times the damsel revolved, keeping her face
to his. Then he paused, and looked at the rest of the women, who were
standing huddled together at one end of the room.
"Don't git skeered, ladies," he soothed. "I was jist tryin' to see what
kind of a heart Miss Julia has, or if she has any. But, blame it all,
she wriggles so much I can't find out. I've heard it said that she was
heartless as fer as young men are consarned, an' if that's so, then she
needs a change of heart right off, if she ever expects to git married."
"You're crazy," Miss Julia retorted, forgetting her fear in her anger.
"Get out of this room at once, you brute."
But Abner only smiled.
"Don't git excited, Miss. I'm here now, an' am in no hurry to go. I've
got a word to say to these women. They seem to be somewhat uneasy. I
guess they're all gittin' a change of heart by the look of things."
"They'll have heart failure, if you're not careful," Miss Tomkins
warned. She was surprised at herself for her sudden burst of courage.
"Heart failure, eh?" and Abner viewed the women again. "My, that would
be serious. Somethin' must be done."
He took a step toward them, and raised both hands above his head.
"Are yez ready to die?" he asked, in a deep voice. Screams followed this
fearful statement, and several women hurried toward the door.
"No, ye don't git out yit," Abner declared, as he sprang forward,
blocked the way, and stood with his back to the door. "Yez got me in
here, an' yez think I'm luney. Now, I want to know if yez are all ready
to die."
"No, we're not!" Mrs. Dugan replied, "and I'm surprised at you, Mr.
Andrews, for frightening us this way. What in the world do you mean?"
Abner gazed at her for a few seconds, and then at the women behind her.
"Well, I was thinkin' if yez are not ready to die, an' if yez all are in
danger of dyin' of heart failure, yez ought to have a change of heart
right off. It might do yez a world of good. I've had it already, an'
it makes me feel fine. Ask Tildy, an' she'll tell yez."
"Why, it was your wife who told us about you, and your strange actions,"
Mrs. Dugan explained. "She asked us all to meet you here, talk with
you, and try to find out if anything is wrong."
"God bless Tildy!" was Abner's unexpected prayer. "I had no idea that
she took sich an interest in me. Guess she's had a change of heart, all
right. Now, set down, ladies, I want to say somethin'. There, that's
more sociable," he added, when they were once again seated. "Now, look
here, ladies, I don't want yez to go away with the notion that I'm
luney. I was jist foolin' yez when I stood on that chair an' walked
around Miss Julia. Yez thought mebbe I was crazy, but I was only havin'
a little fun. Tildy is anxious about me 'cause I've got into trouble
lately, an' a pretty bad mess it is over that Joe Preston affair. Then,
I've got five little kids on me hands to clothe and feed. Dear knows,
it's enough to turn any man's head. But my head's all right, as fer as
the Lord made it right, though Tildy sometimes thinks He got tired
before he was through. But that's neither here nor there. My head's as
it 'tis, an' 'tis no 'tiser. That's all, ladies, an' so I bid yez good
afternoon, an' thank yez kindly fer a very pleasant time. May yez all
have a change of heart soon, an' think of me sometimes as I think of yez
allus, yours most lovingly an' remarkably, Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint."
With his left hand pressed to his heart, he gave a profound, sweeping
bow, and, turning, left the women puzzled and speechless.
*CHAPTER XXI*
*HARD OF HEARING*
"Hello, Lost Tribes. What are ye makin'?"
Zeb looked quickly around, and seeing Abner standing in the doorway, a
smile overspread his face.
"Glad to see ye," he replied. "Feelin' better, eh?"
"I haven't been sick. What are ye givin' me, Zeb?"
"Ye haven't, eh? Well, from all accounts, ye've been up to queer pranks
of late. How did the sewin'-circle come along?"
"Oh, I see," and Abner sat down upon a box. "Ye've been hearin'
somethin'."
Zeb did not reply, but went on quietly with his work.
"What are ye makin', Zeb?"
"What de ye think I'm makin'? A baby carriage?"
"Looks to me like a goose-poke."
"So it is; de ye want one?"
"De ye think I do?" Abner snapped.
"Well, judgin' from ye'r actions yesterday, one wouldn't come fer
astray."
"Here, never mind that racket, Zeb. I've had enough of it. What's the
news?"
"News! Lots of it: Joe Preston in the hospital, his assailant in jail,
Lawyer Rackshaw's been givin' a rat-party, an' Abner Andrews has been
holdin' a free entertainment at Mrs. Dugan's. That's some news, isn't
it?"
"Ah, git out. I know all about that, an' too much in fact. I want to
know how Joe's gittin' along. Have ye heard?"
"Oh, he's on the mend, an' is makin' ready to git after you."
"He is?"
"Sure. He's had Rackshaw up to see him several times already. They're
a pair, all right, an' I guess it's up to you to git busy if ye expect
to come off with a whole skin."
"H'm," Abner sniffed, "I don't care a snap of me finger fer 'em."
"But ye will, let me tell ye that," and Zeb laid down the stick he was
holding in his hand and looked at his neighbor. "Yell lose ye'r place
if ye don't do somethin'. Ye must git a lawyer, Abner, to defend ye."
"But I can't afford one, Zeb."
"An' ye can't afford to do without one, it seems to me."
"Mebbe so." And Abner sighed. "Guess I'll have to be me own lawyer as
fer as I kin see. I'm pretty glib with the tongue."
"A pretty mess you'd make of it. Why, Rackshaw would wind you up in no
time. He's mighty good on a case, so I've been told. An' he's tricky,
too. Will stop at nuthin' to gain his point."
Just then an auto went by, filled with men.
"Who kin they be?" Abner enquired, watching the car as it disappeared
amid a cloud of dust.
"Must be men from the Capital," was the reply. "There's to be an
election soon, an' the members are gittin' busy, so I hear."
"An election! Why, I never heard a word about it."
"Oh, you were too busy with other things, Abner, so ye didn't hear.
An', besides, ye don't take the _Wire_, so how kin ye expect to know
what's goin' on?"
"When's the 'lection to take place, Zeb?"
"Next month, an' it's goin' to be a hard fight. That railroad business
has put the Government in a bad hole."
"So I've heard. Graftin', eh?"
"I never knew of anythin' like it. Why, every one of the whole bunch,
from the premier down, has been gittin' his rake-off."
"I know somethin' about it, Zeb. All them fellers who were in with the
government bunch got big slices, whether they did any work or not. One
man got ten thousand dollars fer whistlin' the right tune, an' another
got over a hundred thousand fer winkin' with his left eye at the right
instant. Oh, I've heard lots about it."
"An' it's true, Abner. True as the Gospel. An' them same fellers are
comin' to you an' me to ask us to re-elect 'em."
"We won't do it, Zeb."
The latter turned and looked intently at his visitor.
"What about that place of yours, Abner?"
"Well, what about it?"
"Don't ye know? If ye buck that government bunch ye'll not stand a
ghost of a chance to git anythin' fer ye'r gravel hill. But they might
do somethin' big if ye side with 'em."
"De ye mean to insinuate, Zeb, that they kin buy me?"
"Not exactly that, but ye might make a better deal if ye rub 'em the
right way."
"H'm. I'll rub 'em the right way, Zeb. There's only one right way to
rub them fellers, an' that's the way I rubbed Joe Preston the other
mornin'."
"An' git into trouble, Abner."
"Mebbe so. But when wasn't I in trouble? I've been more or less in
trouble ever since I was born, an' I'll be that way as long as there's
snakes an' skunks in the country."
Abner rose to his feet, pulled out his pipe, and started to fill it.
"Say, Zeb," he presently began, "I wish ye'd give me a hand this
mornin'."
"What is it ye want?"
"Help me to fix up me woodshed, will ye? We've had a big surprise at
our house."
"Should say ye had. Twins one night an' triplets the next day. Rapid
increase, that. How's the missus?"
Abner struck a match and paid no attention to this sally.
"Yes, we've had a big surprise," he continued. "A team came from town
last night with a hull load of cots, mattresses, boxes of clothin' an'
dear knows what all."
"Ye don't tell!" Zeb was much interested now. "Where did they come
from?"
"Guess it's some of Belle's doin's. She's written to her pa an' some
friends, if I'm not mistaken, tellin' 'em about the kids we've taken
under our roof, an' they sent the things. Why, the dooryard is filled
chock-a-block."
"Where are ye goin' to put 'em, Abner?"
"In the woodshed. It's got to be fixed up, an' I want ye to give me a
hand this mornin'. Tildy an' the gals have taken the kids over to the
island to pick berries, an' I want to have it all done when they come
back. It'll be a kind of surprise."
"What are ye goin' to do?"
"Fix the floor an' walls, an' partition off a part of the shed. It'll
make a dang fine place, an' I've got the boards. Will ye give me a
hand?"
"Sure," was the ready response. "I'll go right along. I ain't very busy
this mornin'. I was only makin' a goose-poke. That gander of mine is a
reg'lar old nick fer crawlin' through small holes in the fence. But I
guess this'll keep him in, all right."
"It's a pity ye can't make pokes fer men as easy as ye kin fer ye'r old
gander, Zeb. I'd order two right off, one fer Ikey Dimock an' t'other
fer Lawyer Rackshaw. There should be a law passed makin' goose-pokes
necessary fer some people who are allus botherin' their neighbors."
"Ye couldn't git that law passed, Abner."
"Why not?"
"'Cause them who make the laws 'ud be the first ones to use the pokes.
They'd be carryin' 'em around all the time."
"Ho, ho, I guess ye'r right, Zeb. But come on, an' let's git at that
job."
For two hours the men worked upon the woodshed, and at the end of that
time they had made excellent progress. The walls and the floor had been
repaired, the partition put up, and the place thoroughly swept.
"There, I guess that's some work," Abner remarked, as he critically
surveyed the room. "Doesn't take us long to do a job when we once git
at it, eh, Zeb?"
"Let's finish it, though," was the reply. "We might as well fix up the
cots while we're about it."
"Sure, an' have everythin' ready when the folks git back. My, won't
they be surprised. An' Orphan Home built in two hours! I wonder what
them slow-pokes in town would think of that."
They had just begun to carry in the cots, when an auto stopped before
the house, and the impatient call of a klaxon sounded forth.
"It's the same men who went by when we were in the shop," Zeb explained.
"Must be them members after ye'r vote, Abner. They want ye to go out.
Listen to the noise that thing's makin'."
"Jerry'll like that," was the reply. "He must be shiverin' with
delight. Let 'em keep it up."
And keep it up they did for a whole minute, while Zeb and Abner went on
with their work.
"Hi there," shouted an impatient voice. "Are you deaf?"
Abner winked at Zeb.
"S'pose we let 'em think we are deaf," he suggested. "I don't like their
gall. Anyway, we might as well have a little fun, so let's bring down
their topsails. They're carryin' too much sail fer sich crafts."
"All right, Abner, I'm game," Zeb agreed. "But be careful."
"Oh, I'll be as keerful as I was with Joe Preston. You jist go on with
the work as if ye didn't hear nuthin', an' let me handle this show.
But, say, they're runnin' the car into the yard. What impudence!"
When a short distance away from the back door the auto was stopped, and
the man who had previously spoken asked why in the devil no one had
answered when spoken to. Zeb was hard at work, thus leaving Abner to
face the irritated man.
"Didn't you hear what I said?" the stranger roared.
"Hey?" Abner asked, coming close to the car, and putting his left hand
up to his ear.
"Why, the old fool's deaf!" the man exclaimed, turning to his
companions. "Good Lord! Have I got to yell everything to him! Look
here," he shouted, leaning well over the side of the car, "are you Abner
Andrews?"
"Oh, huntin' rabbits, are ye?" Abner's face cleared as he spoke. "Well,
ye've come to a poor place, an' it's the wrong time of the year, anyway.
Better wait till winter. They're good eatin' then."
"I didn't say 'rabbits,'" the man again yelled. "I said 'are you Abner
Andrews?'"
"Don't mention it. I allus like to give a lift if I kin. But I advise
yez to wait till winter," Abner solemnly replied.
"Oh, h--l!" the man exclaimed in disgust. "What am I to do? He's stone
deaf."
"Ask him something else," one of his companions suggested.
"Is this your place?" the man once more roared.
"Is this my face?" Abner queried. "Sure, whose de ye s'pose it is?"
"Your place," the man roared again.
"Oh, place. Well, why didn't ye say so? Sartinly, it's my place. What
de ye want to know fer?"
"Will you sell?"
"Have I a well? Yes, and a good one, too. De ye want a drink?"
The other three occupants of the car were highly amused, and made all
kinds of remarks.
"Speak louder, Tom," one advised. "You're only whispering."
"Speak yourself, then," was the retort. "Don't you see I'm splitting my
lungs shouting to the old fool?"
"Get up closer," another urged with a laugh.
"Ugh! I'm as close as I want to be now. He smells like a pig-pen."
"Why not try that other old cuss," the third suggested, motioning to
Zeb. "Surely he's not deaf."
Acting on this advice, the spokesman looked at Abner, and pointed to
Zeb, who had just come out of the woodshed. But Abner shook his head.
"He's deaf as a post," was the reply. "He can't hear nuthin'. Ye'll
have to talk to me."
Tom fetched a big sigh, looked around in despair, and mopped his
perspiring brow.
"What in the world are we to do?" he panted. "We must find out if he
will sell, and how much he wants. Dimock's support depends upon our
getting this place. I'd let him go to the devil, where he belongs, if
election wasn't so near."
"Write out your questions, Tom," came the suggestion. "That's the
easiest way."
"Why, sure. We might have thought of it sooner."
Whipping out his note-book and pencil he scribbled down a few lines, and
handed the book to Abner. The latter took it, and studied it for a few
seconds.
"So yez are the Directors of the Big Draw Railway, eh?" he drawled. "I
thought mebbe yez were government heelers. An' yez want to buy my
place? Well, that's interestin'."
"Is the gravel good?" Tom again wrote.
"Good," Abner mused, as he carefully studied the words. "Well, I never
heard anythin' to the contrary. It was behavin' itself the last time I
saw it. It's never done any swearin' or cheatin' to my knowledge. It
minds its own bizness, which is more'n I kin say of most people."
These words caused the men in the car to laugh uproariously. Abner
seemed surprised at their merriment, and looked enquiringly at the
spokesman.
"Have yez all been drinkin'?" he asked. "Better leave it alone, young
men. It's bad fer the health."
"We've not been drinking," Tom wrote. "We're as dry as old Parson
Jackson. How much gravel have you and how deep is it?"
"Let me see," and Abner scratched his head. "Oh I guess fifty acres,
more or less, good gravel. An' it's deep, too. Why, it's as deep as
any government grafter ye ever saw, an' as unsartin. It's so shifty ye
jist never know what it's goin' to do next."
"Will you sell?" was the next question written.
"Sell? Well, that all depends. I was thinkin' of keepin' the place, as
I might want it several hundred years from now. But mebbe it 'ud be as
well to git clear of it when the chance comes. If I'm to have a mansion
in the sky, as I've heard about, no doubt there'll be lots of ground
around the buildin', enough anyway, fer my purpose."
The men in the auto looked at one another in surprise.
"Why, I believe the old chap's batty," one remarked. "He's talking
blooming nonsense. He'll have a mansion here on earth pretty soon, with
keepers, too, if I'm not much mistaken."
"Never mind that," Tom replied. "All we want is his place, and he can
go to the Asylum or to the devil for all I care. I'm sick and tired of
the old fool." He then wrote another question.
"How much do you want for your place?"
"How much?" and Abner looked lingeringly over toward the big gravel
hill. "Well, I want all I kin git, an' a darn sight more, if ye don't
mind."
"But how much?" came the next question.
"How much? Let me see. Oh, I guess fifteen thousand'll do, though I
hate to sacrifice the place."
"Fifteen thousand!" the men in the car fairly rose from their seats.
"Too much," Tom wrote.
"So I imagined," Abner drawled. "Too much fer me to git, but not enough
fer the grafters, eh? Ye'r willin' to pay one man a hundred thousand
fer winkin' at the right minute, an' another fifty thousand fer holdin'
his tongue. Ye didn't consider twenty thousand too much to give Ben
Slosson fer twelve acres of land, an' most of it mud an' rocks at that,
did ye?"
Abner now saw that the men were becoming angry and impatient, and it
greatly amused him. All but Tom agreed to leave at once and not waste
any more time.
"I'm going to have another crack at him, though," and Tom wrote another
question.
"Ye'll give me two thousand, will ye?" Abner queried. "Well, there's
nuthin' doin'; then, so yez might as well trot off. It's fifteen
thousand or nuthin'."
"But we can expropriate your place," Tom again wrote.
"What's that thing?" Abner asked.
"The Government can take your place and give you what they like. They
have the power."
"They have, eh? Well, let 'em try, that's all. Let the hull dang bunch
come. I'm the government here, an' I intend to be so. I've paid fer me
place, an' until I git what it's worth I intend to keep it. So,
good-day to yez all, an' give my compliments to Ikey Dimock, an' thanks
fer ye'r personal remarks."
At these words the four men started, while an expression of
consternation appeared upon their faces.
"Did you hear what we said?" Tom asked.
"Sure; how could I help it?"
"And you're not deaf?"
"Jist as deaf as he is," and Abner motioned to Zeb.
"You old devil!" Tom roared, now wild with rage. "What did you mean by
deceiving us?"
"An' what did yez all mean by comin' here an' tryin' to buy me place fer
two thousand dollars, that yez might sell it to the Government fer a big
sum, an' divvy up with Ikey Dimock? Tell me that."
"But we didn't," Tom protested. "We are honest men."
"H'm, honest men," Abner snorted. "I've got ears like a deer an' eyes
like a hawk. Ye can't fool me with any of ye'r tricks. If I am an'
'old cuss', 'fit fer the lunatic asylum,' an' 'smell like a pig-pen',
I've got a few ounces of sense left yit, thank the Lord."
The visitors were completely confounded. They were furious, and made no
attempt to conceal their anger. They swore and vowed what they would do.
But Abner only smiled in a most tantalizing manner, and stood watching
as they backed the car out of the yard and sped rapidly away.
"Well, Zeb, how did she go?" he asked, turning to his companion, who was
standing by his side.
"Say, Abner, you should be a politician or an actor," was the reply.
"You'd make ye'r fortune at either."
"I'm goin' to make it, Zeb, jist as Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, an'
nuthin' else. I guess a man needs to be a politician or an actor no
matter who he is, to keep step with them beauties. Ho, ho, weren't they
surprised when I opened up on 'em! Thought we was both deaf, ha, ha.
Come in, Zeb, an' let's have dinner on this. Tildy's left some things in
the house. 'Old cuss,' 'batty,' 'smells like a pig-pen.' Ho, ho,
that's the best yit."
*CHAPTER XXII*
*EARNING THEIR PASSAGE*
It did not take Abner long to get dinner ready, for Mrs. Andrews had
left the table set and food near at hand. The men talked as they ate,
and there was none of their usual bantering, for the subject of
conversation was a serious one. Abner was worried about his trial,
which he knew would not be postponed much longer. He was also troubled
over the extra mouths he had to feed, and he unburdened his mind to his
companion. He laid aside his mask of light-heartedness and
indifference, and the expression upon his face touched his neighbor's
heart.
"I'm really hard up, Zeb," he explained, "an' I don't know where the
next barrel of flour is to come from. This place doesn't raise much, as
ye know, an' what little I had saved up from sellin' the Flyin' Scud
went fer Jess' eddication at the Seminary. If I turn them kids away,
what is to become of 'em? An', besides, I'll be the laffln'-stock of
all the fools in the country. Then, there is that trial. How in the
world am I goin' to pay a lawyer? Why, it'll take my place."
Abner's head was bowed as he finished, and he sat bent over the table.
"Come, come, man, don't git too down-hearted," Zeb encouraged, rising
from the table. "Ye'r not ready fer the Poor House yit. Let's go out
under the shade of that big tree at the back of the house an' have a
smoke."
Abner rose and pulled out his pipe.
"I must git that hay in, Zeb," he remarked. "It's been out too long
already. I turned it out of cock this mornin', an' it's in fine
condition now."
"Oh, I guess it won't hurt fer another hour, Abner. A smoke is allus
good after dinner before ye go to work. Come on."
For half an hour they sat in the cool shade of the tree, and when at
last Zeb went home Abner was feeling much better and more like himself.
He harnessed Jerry, and was just hitching him to the waggon when an auto
stopped before the house. A young man alighted, and walked at once into
the yard. Abner recognized him as the surveyor he had threatened to
shoot some time before, and he wondered what he could want now.
But Thane Royden seemed to have forgotten all about that incident, for
he shook Abner heartily by the hand, and enquired after the family.
When he learned that they were all on the island he was much
disappointed.
"That is too bad," he remarked. "I'm leaving town in a few days and
wish to say good-bye."
Abner now remembered that it was this young man who had driven Jess home
from the party, and surmised that it was she he was most anxious to see.
"Is there any way I can get over there?" Royden asked, as he looked off
toward the island.
"I s'pose ye could swim," Abner replied, "but that wouldn't be very
comfortable. If ye wait till I git that hay in I'll run ye over in the
canoe. I'm to have supper with them, ye see. I would take ye in my
little yacht, but she's layin' above the Pint, an' it 'ud take too long
to bring her around."
"That will be fine," the surveyor replied. "Let me help with the hay,
and we can soon get through."
"Did ye ever pitch hay?"
"I was brought up on a farm, and should know something about it."
"Sure, ye ought. Come on. There's a fork leanin' aginst the barn. Ye
kin pitch on, if ye don't mind."
Abner liked this young man, and the skilful manner in which he worked
won his heartiest approval. They became very friendly and talked as
they worked.
"So ye'r goin' to leave, are ye?" Abner at length queried. "All through
with ye'r work, eh?"
"I'm through with the Government, or rather they're through with me,"
was the reply. "They've fired me because I spoke my mind very plainly.
They wanted me to do dirty work, and when I refused they gave me the
G.B."
"They did? Well, that's too bad," was Abner's comment, as he stowed
away a forkful of hay which had just been handed up. "Where are ye
goin'?"
"I have accepted a good offer with the Morton & Griffin Cement Company,
and will begin work with them in a few weeks. It is a far better
position, for I shall not have to bother about grafters there. It is a
big reliable concern, with fine opportunities for advancement."
"An' so they expected ye to do dirty work, did they?"
"Yes. You have no idea what they wanted me to do. Even in my report of
your place here they asked me to say that the gravel was of little value
for ballast."
"An' did ye?"
"Certainly not. I told them that it is the best I have ever seen, and
so far as I could tell there is almost an unlimited supply."
"Good fer you, young man. I shan't fergit that. Jist fasten up that
check-rein, will ye? Jerry'll have all the hay eaten up if we're not
keerful."
"Have they been after you yet?" Royden asked, when they had moved to
another bunch of hay.
"Oh, yes, they've been after me, all right," and Abner laughed.
"But you haven't sold?"
"Not on ye'r life."
"That's good. Don't let them have anything unless they pay you well."
"But they say they will 'spropriate, whatever that means."
"Yes, they have the power. But they'll not be anxious to do that.
There are several in the game. They hope to buy the place from you for
a mere song, and then turn it over to the Government for a big figure.
Oh, I know their tricks. They've done it before in other ways, such as
buying horses and cattle."
"But how kin I git me price?"
"Sit tight, and when necessary go after them with hammer and tongs.
Don't be afraid of them, and stand your ground."
The load was now all on, and Abner had just picked up the reins when a
young man was seen walking toward them from the house.
"It's Billy Lansing," Royden exclaimed in disgust. "What in the world
does the fellow want?"
"Who's Billy Lansing?" Abner asked.
"Why, you ought to know, Mr. Andrews. He's the one who bribed you to
put him next to your boss, isn't he?"
"He is! Well, I'll be jiggered! I've never seen him since."
"Neither has he seen you, though he's told that story very often, so I
hear."
"He has, eh? An' did anyone put him wise?"
"Not that I know of. He's not liked in town, so people let him tell the
story and then laughed at him behind his back. He thinks yet that
you're the hired man, so I believe."
"Say, s'pose we let him think so?" Abner suggested in a low voice, for
Billy was now quite near. "You jist call me Bob, an' we'll have some
fun."
Royden agreed and turned toward Billy.
"Hello, you here!" the latter accosted. "Didn't know you had turned
farmer. Where are the girls?"
"What girls?"
"Why, the ones we met at the party, of course."
"I guess you'll have to ask Bob," and Royden motioned to Abner. He had
to turn his face away to keep from laughing.
"Say, old top, de ye know where they are?" Billy questioned.
"Hey, what's that?" Abner asked as if he had not heard.
"Are the girls around? They're not in the house."
"Want to see the gals, eh? What gals?"
"Your boss' daughter and that other one. My, she's a peach!"
"Oh, ye mean Jess an' Belle. Well, they was around this mornin', all
right, but now I reckon they're anchored over on the island."
"The devil! Say, is there any way I can get over?"
"Got any more ten-spots in ye'r pocket?" Abner asked. "I'll take ye
over if ye have."
Billy looked at him in a quizzical manner.
"Say, you haven't earned the money I gave you some time ago," he
reminded.
"What money?"
"Don't ye remember? The ten-spot to put me next to the old man."
"Oh yes, I do recollect that ye shoved somethin' into me hand. Well,
that money's gone to feed the hungry, an' clothe the naked. It's been
put to good use."
"But it hasn't done what it was intended to do though. It was to put me
next to your boss, so's I could sell him a car."
"There's lots of time yit to git next to the old feller, so don't
worry."
"But he's in jail and likely to be sent further, from all accounts."
"Yes, he's in a pretty bad mess," Abner agreed. "But, there, I must git
this hay in. Gid-dap, Jerry."
"Hold on a minute," Billy ordered. "And you won't take me to the
island?"
"I didn't say I wouldn't, did I?"
"No, but you wanted ten dollars, though."
"Oh, well, I'll cut it out if you can't afford to pay that much. I'm
goin' over, anyway, when I git through with this hay, an' if ye'll give
us a hand I'll take ye along."
"Sure, I'll help you," was the ready response.
"Did ye ever do any hayin'?"
"Never did. But there's nothing to learn about it, is there? Just tell
me what to do."
"Ye kin mow away. Scoot along an' climb up that ladder, an' stow away
fer all ye'r worth."
Abner chuckled to himself as he headed Jerry for the barn. "I was goin'
to put this in the empty bay," he mused, "but since I've these two
love-sick fellers here I might as well finish that other mow. It ought
to hold another load or two with close packin'. Guess Billy'll find
it's the hottest place he was ever in. Stiddy, there, Jerry."
With a rush the horse surged the load into the barn, and at once Abner
picked up his fork and started to work. Royden was in his place to
receive the hay as it was handed up. He understood the work, and found
it easy to toss it back to Billy. To the latter, however, it was
something new, and the heat of the loft was oppressive. The
perspiration poured down his face, and at times he felt that he would
smother, as he struggled with the hay, stowing it into every corner, and
tramping it down. When at length the hay was unloaded and he climbed
down the ladder he was a pitiable sight to behold. His eyes were wild
and bloodshot, his face a fiery hue, and steaming wet, while his
immaculate clothes were clinging to his body as if he had been plunged
into the river.
"Fer heaven's sake! What's the matter with ye?" Abner asked, as Billy
dropped into the bottom of the waggon.
The only reply of the exhausted man was a series of moans, as he lay
there panting and gasping for breath. Abner backed the horse and waggon
out of the barn, and when the cool air fanned Billy's face he began to
revive.
"Good Lord!" he ejaculated. "It's hell up there!"
"Thought it was down below, eh?" Abner queried. "Guess hell ain't
located in any special place. Ye'll find it most anywhere, even in a
hay-mow."
"But what did you put me in a hole like that for?" Billy angrily
demanded. "You knew what it was like, didn't you?"
"Why, I gave ye the easiest job, young man," Abner replied. "If ye
don't like that, ye kin load or pitch on whichever ye prefer. It's all
the same to me."
"To hell with it all. I'm done with haying. I feel sick, anyway."
"Look here," Abner warned, "ye'll feel a darn sight sicker than ye do at
present if ye don't stop ye'r swearin'."
"What's that you say? How dare you speak to me an that way? I'll tell
your boss on you."
"Tell all ye like. But, there, I've lost enough time with ye already,
so trot along."
But Billy did not leave. He followed the team about the field for a few
minutes, silent and sulky.
"You'll take me to the island, won't you?" he at length pleaded.
"Sure, I'll take ye, if ye'll hold ye'r tongue an' wait till we git this
hay in. Ye'd better go over and set down under that big shady tree. A
nap's good fer babies in the afternoon."
Lansing made no reply, but did as Abner had indicated. He sprawled out
upon the ground, and spent his time smoking cigarettes.
"I wish Billy would go home," Royden remarked, as he tossed up a forkful
of hay.
"H'm, that's not his way, seems to me," Abner replied. "He's lookin' fer
the soft spots in life, like too many fellers. He feels more at home
layin' there under that tree than standin' up. But he got a dose up in
that mow, though."
When at last the hay was all in and Jerry stabled, Billy was on hand,
ready to go to the island.
"Feel better now?" Abner asked as they walked to the shore. "Sickness
all gone, eh?"
"Sure, I'm tip-top," was the reply.
"Subject to faintin' spells, are ye?"
"I've had them ever since I was a child."
"'Specially when there's work to be done. Ye'r not alone in that. Hop
in now," he ordered, when the canoe had been launched.
Abner paddled, while Royden sat in the bottom of the canoe. Billy
persisted in sitting well up on the bow, notwithstanding Abner's
warning.
"Ye might tumble off there," he told him. "This is not a scow nor an
ocean liner ye'r in now, but a cranky canoe, an' ye kin never tell what
might happen."
"De ye think I'm a kid?" Billy indignantly asked. "I'm all right here.
You get a hustle on, and never mind me."
Abner made no reply, though a peculiar expression appeared in his eyes.
He paddled with long steady strokes, and looked straight ahead. It was
a beautiful day, and only a gentle ripple ruffled the surface of the
river. It took but a few minutes to cross the channel, and then they
were in shallow water in the midst of eel-grass, broad water-lily
leaves, snags and half-sunken logs.
Billy was deliberately smoking a cigarette, with an air of bored
indifference. Suddenly the canoe struck a partly submerged root, which
tilted it dangerously to the right. The force of the impact sent Billy
backwards, and with a yell of fright he plunged headlong into the water.
He was up again in an instant, spluttering and trying to disentangle
himself from the eel-grass, which was entwined about his face and neck.
The canoe by now was several yards away, and as Billy endeavored to
walk, he not only sank ankle deep in the soft, yielding mud, but several
times he stumbled and almost fell over a sunken log or root.
"Hello, what are ye doin' out there?" Abner asked in apparent surprise.
"Fishin' fer clams? There ain't none there."
"D--n you," was the angry reply. "You know what I'm doing. It was all
your fault. You struck that log on purpose."
"What log? Did we strike a log?" and Abner appealed to Royden.
"I didn't see any," was the laughing reply. "But Billy says we did, and
he evidently knows from the look of things."
By this time the unfortunate man had struggled to the side of the canoe.
"Be keerful, now, how ye board this craft," Abner warned.
"I've a good mind to dump you both into the water," was the retort.
"Try it on, young man, if ye want to stay down in that mud till ye stop
bubblin'."
With considerable difficulty Lansing was helped on board, and once more
the canoe sped forward.
"Look at my clothes," Billy whined. "What a mess they are in!"
"Oh, they'll soon dry out," Abner comforted. "When ye git ashore ye kin
jist set in the sun, an' them duds'll he dry in no time. Then ye kin
roll over a log, an' they'll he ironed an' ye'r pants creased quicker
an' better than they could at any landry."
"But this mud won't come off, though," and Billy mournfully viewed
several big daubs on his white trousers.
"Not if ye rub it. Jist let it dry, an' then it'll brush off without
hardly a stain. It's somethin' like scandal, mud is. Rub it when it's
wet, an', Lord, it makes an awful mess! But jist leave it alone fer a
while, an' it'll disappear, an' ye'll scarcely know it was there. That's
what old Parson Shaw uster say, an' it's true, fer I've tried it. But
here we are at the island."
*CHAPTER XXIII*
*RESCUED*
"Where in thunder kin they be!"
Abner and Royden were standing on the bank of the shore looking up and
down in an effort to locate the berry pickers. They had been over the
island, and had now come back to where Billy was lying upon the sand.
Not a sign of the women and children could they see, and Abner was
somewhat anxious.
"Surely the spooks haven't carried 'em off," he continued. "I've heard
people tell about strange sights an' noises in this place, but I allus
laffed at 'em. Mebbe they was right, though."
Royden was standing upon a rock looking keenly down river.
"Do you suppose they're in that old barn out on that stretch of
lowland?" he asked.
"What would they be doin' there?" Abner enquired, as he, too, turned his
face in that direction.
"Perhaps they've gone in out of the sun. Children like to play in old
barns. I did, anyway, when I was a kid."
The barn to which Royden referred was on a narrow strip of marsh land,
which ran for some distance out into the river. Hay was stored here
until it could be hauled to the mainland in winter. It was an old
weather-beaten building, and had been much battered by the flowing ice
in the great spring rush.
"Surely they wouldn't be in a place like that," Abner mused, as he stood
looking at the barn. "But ye kin never tell what notions women an'
kids'll take, so it's jist as well to investigate."
Royden at once offered to go, but Abner detained him.
"Look here, young man, you've done enough trampin' fer a while. Let
that lazy feller down there go. I guess his clothes are dry by this
time. If they ain't, then a little touch of this breeze'll finish the
job."
Billy, however, was loth to go, and said that he didn't feel well. He
preferred to stay where he was.
"Sick, are ye?" and Abner turned suddenly upon him. "Well, it's fer the
good of ye'r health that I'm askin' ye to take this little jant. If ye
stay here ye'll be a darn sight sicker than ye are at present, let me
tell ye that."
Something about Abner's voice and manner made Billy realise that he must
obey. Slowly he rose to his feet and stretched himself.
"Confound it all!" he growled. "Why can't a fellow have a minute's
peace!"
"Peace! Peace!" Abner roared, now thoroughly disgusted. "I'll give ye a
kind of peace ye ain't lookin' fer, an' that'll be a piece of me boot.
That's the only kind the likes of you understand. Hustle along there
now, an' don't dilly-dally."
The two men watched Billy as he sauntered leisurely along the shore,
picking his way among the stones.
"Well, if that don't beat the Dutch!" Abner exclaimed. "I wonder what
the Lord was thinkin' of when he made sich a critter."
"He must be fond of making that kind, though," Royden replied. "He has
a long list to His credit."
Abner pulled out his pipe, filled and lighted it. He then stretched
himself out upon the ground in such a position that he could keep his
eye upon Billy, who was now some distance away.
"Come to think of it," he began, "I don't believe the Lord is altogether
to blame fer sich articles that walk on two legs an' call themselves
men. He intended that they should be all right, an' gave them their own
free will. But seems to me that that critter's ancestors, let the sap
run out of the tree, an' there's mighty little left to work with. Zeb
was right when he said that all the Social Service in the world won't do
more'n elevate a pig into a hog. Jess will come to see that, too, as
sure as guns."
"Is Miss Andrews as keen as ever on Social Service?" Royden asked.
"Jist as keen," Abner replied. "But she's got her hands full now with
them kids. That's one reason why I'm willin' to keep 'em. Jess an'
Belle are mighty interested in 'em, an' that's a great deal to me an'
Tildy. But jist look at that feller; he ain't to the barn yit. I wonder
how long he intends to hang around. I don't want him, an' I'm dang sure
Belle doesn't, either. How de ye s'pose we kin git clear of him?"
"Can't you think of some way?" Royden asked, with a twinkle in his eyes.
"If you should behave to him like you did to me the first day we met, I
don't believe Billy would remain long."
"I was pretty het up that day I took the gun to ye," Abner acknowledged.
"But it didn't work. Ye was too much fer me, all right, an' I ain't
ashamed to confess it. Why, most chaps would have hollered, an' made no
end of a fuss. But you was dead game, an' that put me off me
reckonin'."
Before Royden could reply a yell of terror fell upon their ears.
Startled, they both sprang to their feet, and looked anxiously in the
direction from which the sound came. And as they did so, they saw Billy
coming toward them with great leaps, followed by an animal which they at
once recognized as an infuriated bull.
"Good Lord!" Abner ejaculated. "Where in thunder did that critter come
from? Why, I know. It's Pete Slocum's. He said he was goin' to put it
on the island, as he couldn't keep it in the pasture. I fergot all
about it, blamed if I didn't."
"Billy will be killed," Royden exclaimed, much excited.
"Not at the rate he's runnin' now," was the reply. "Did ye ever see
anythin' like it? Why, the grass must be hot under his feet. I didn't
know he had sich speed aboard. Look at that fer jumps! An' listen to
his yells. He'll have lockjaw if he isn't keerful."
It certainly was a wild run Billy was making, with the bull in close
pursuit. Notwithstanding Abner's apparent amusement, he was really
concerned, and was about to rush forward, though he was sure he could
not reach the youth in time to be of any assistance, as he had no weapon
with which to fight the bull. He was on the point of starting, anyway,
when he noticed that Billy was making straight for a clump of birch
trees standing low on the bank of the island.
"Good fer him!" he exclaimed. "He's some sense left yit."
"Will he make it, do you think?" Royden almost breathlessly asked.
"Make it? Sure. If that feller makes heaven as sartin as he'll make
that tree, he'll be all right, though I guess he won't make it as fast.
Look at that! Why, he went up it like a cat. He's safe, all right,
now," and Abner breathed a sigh of relief. "Gee whittaker! He's a
wonder when a bull's after him."
"What shall we do?" Royden asked. "We can't leave him there, and the
bull doesn't seem inclined to go away. Look how he's roaring around
that tree and tearing up the ground."
"We'll fix that critter, all right," Abner replied. "Let's git a couple
of hand-spikes. Wish to goodness I'd brought me axe along."
Searching among the drift-wood, they soon found two stout sticks.
"I guess these'll do," Abner remarked, as he tested them over a log.
"Now fer some fun."
Royden could not see much fun in the undertaking, though he followed his
companion without a word. Making their way as speedily as possible along
the shore, they at length came near enough for the bull to observe their
presence. He stopped pawing for a few seconds, and stared angrily at
the intruders. Then his right fore hoof again tore up the turf, and his
roars became more furious than ever.
Abner now seemed in his element. His eyes glowed with the light of
battle, and, grasping his stick firmly with both hands, he rushed
forward.
"Come on, me beauty," he challenged. "I'll make ye roar."
And the bull did come. With a toss of its great head, and another angry
bellow, it charged upon the two men. Seeing it coming, Abner slowed
down, and was about to stop, when in an instant his foot caught on a
root, and before he could recover himself he had fallen headlong upon
the ground. The bull was now almost upon him, and in another second its
horns would have pierced the prostrate man's body, but as the brute
lowered its head for a great thrust, Royden dealt him a staggering blow
right across the forehead, which brought him to his knees. Before he
could recover, a second blow followed, which caused him to plunge
heavily and fall headlong upon the ground, tearing up as he did so long
strips of turf with his powerful horns.
By this time Abner was on his feet, angry at himself for falling, and
ready to have revenge upon the animal. Seizing his stick, which he had
dropped, he thrust it into the bull's side.
"Git up, ye brute," he cried. "Ye'll have better manners next time, all
right. Git up, I say. Take that, an' that, an' that, ye divil."
So fierce were the thrusts that the half-stunned animal bellowed with
increased vigor, and with a great effort scrambled to his feet, where he
stood for a few seconds shaking his head, while his eyes glowed like
red-hot coals. With Royden standing before him ready to administer
another blow, and Abner goring his side and yelling words of defiance,
the brute became completely bewildered. A nameless terror seized him,
and with a peculiar growl of rage and fear, he attempted to escape. He
staggered from side to side for a few yards, but presently he started on
a run, which shortly developed into a mad gallop, as if all the fiends
in the world were after him.
"Ye've forgot somethin'," Abner shouted. "Come back an' git the
change."
The bull kept on with his headlong flight, dashed into the woods, and
disappeared from view. They could hear him crashing his way among the
trees as he sped onward. Farther and farther he went, the sounds of his
flight growing fainter and fainter, until at last they could no longer
be heard.
"Guess he's gone fer good," and Abner breathed a deep sigh. "He'll have
somethin' to think over fer a while. Mebbe he'll let folks alone after
this. But, jiminey! He nearly fixed me, all right."
"It was a close call," Royden replied. "He was almost upon you."
"I wonder where I'd been now," Abner mused, "if you hadn't brought him
to his knees. I expect to sprout me final wings some day, but, hang it
all, I didn't think I'd come so close to doin' it so soon, an' on this
island at that. But, then, one never knows what to expect next, as Tom
Bentley said when his big ram butted him clean through the barn-door.
I'm mighty obliged to ye, young man, fer gittin' me out of that scrap,
an' I shan't fergit it soon, either."
Seeing that the danger was past, Billy climbed down from the tree and
came over to where the two men were standing. He was angry, and he did
not mince matters.
"Look here," he began, "what did you mean by sending me to that barn
when you knew that devil was there? That's the reason you wouldn't go
yourselves. A pretty mess you got me into, didn't you?"
"Keep cool, young man," Abner advised. "Don't blame anyone, fer I
didn't know that critter was here. But seems to me you was the best one
to go, even if we had known."
"Why is that, I'd like to know?"
"'Cause that face of yours would stop anythin', even a bull."
"But it didn't, you fool," was the angry retort.
"No, sartinly not, fer ye never gave the critter a chance to look at it.
If ye had, it would have busted itself runnin' the other way."
"Well, I'm done with this whole shooting match," Billy declared. "I've
had enough to do me the rest of my life. I shall report you to your
boss, for I'm d---- sure that was a put-up job, and nothing else."
"All right, me hearty, report all ye like, an' the sooner ye go the
better. When I was a kid we ginerally handed out somethin' interestin'
to the chap that told tales on others. He was put down as a baby an'
the fellers didn't have much use fer him, let me tell ya that."
"Do you mean to say that I'm a baby?" Billy demanded.
"Well, not altogether, as fer as size an' tongue goes, at any rate.
But, my, how ye'r parents must have loved ye to let ye grow up. If they
could only have seen ye when ye was sprintin' in front of that bull, an'
climbin' that tree, I'm sure they'd have been mighty proud of ye. But,
hello, what in the deuce is all this?"
Angry though he was, Billy was compelled to turn in the direction Abner
was looking. Coming across the marsh were the berry pickers, lined out
in single file, like Indians on the march. Mrs. Andrews led, followed
by the five children, with Belle and Jess bringing up in the rear. As
they approached it was plainly evident that they were tired and greatly
excited.
"Well, where in time did yez all drop from?" Abner demanded, as they at
last rounded up in front of him.
"From that barn, of course," his wife impatiently replied. "Where else
did you think we had come from?"
"Chased in there by that bull, eh? Well, it was mighty lucky ye had
sich a place to flee to, let me tell ye that."
"Oh, daddy, it was awful!" Jess exclaimed. "We just got there in the
nick of time when that terrible creature came after us."
As Jess uttered the word 'daddy' Billy gave a great start and looked
keenly at Abner. His face grew suddenly pale, and his body trembled.
He began to understand something now which he had never suspected. He
hardly knew what to do.
"Did ye see the fight?" Abner asked. "We settled that critter, all
right. But I'm mighty disapp'inted, Jess."
"What at, daddy?"
"That ye didn't try some of ye'r Social Service dope upon that brute."
"Social Service on a creature like that!"
"Sure. That's what it's fer, so ye've told me. To elevate things, lift
'em up, so to speak."
"But we couldn't do anything with an animal like that," Jess explained.
"A stick is the only way you can handle such a beast."
"Ho, ho, Jess, ye'r sartinly right this time. A club's the only thing a
critter like that understands. An' it's jist the same with a lot of
people, 'specially men. They understand gentle handlin', soothin'
words, an' sich things about as much as that bull does, an' ye know what
effect they'd have upon him. There are some critters ye kin elevate by
rubbin' gently an' pilin' on the honey, but as fer as I kin see, there's
a dang lot of people ye kin handle only one way, an' that's with a thick
club. That's the Social Service dope they need."
"For pity's sake, Abner, will you ever stop talking?" his wife asked.
"You seem to be wound up and guaranteed to run forever. We're all tired
out, and the children are hungry."
"Hungry!" and Abner looked around. "Where kin we find grub fer all
these in a place like this? I s'pose the bull ate up everything, did
he?"
"The baskets are all right," Mrs. Andrews explained. "We left them in a
safe place near the boat."
"Good fer you, Tildy. I'd bank on you every time to look after sich
matters. The grub's safe, hurrah! Come on, one an' all, an' let's jine
in the feast."
*CHAPTER XXIV*
*EXIT BILLY*
"What in the world's keepin' 'em?"
Abner was standing before the fire he had built on the shore, and supper
was all ready. It needed only the arrival of Jess and Royden, and they
were long in coming. Belle smiled as she watched Abner and listened to
his remarks about people being late for their meals. Mrs. Andrews and
the children were already seated on the ground, but Abner would not let
them touch a thing until all were present.
"It ain't good manners," he declared, when his wife protested. "We've
company fer supper, an' I guess it's the fashion fer 'em allus to be
late. I know it was so when I was a kid. Now, I remember once when---"
"Here they come now," one of the boys shouted, with delight.
Abner fixed his eyes sternly upon the lad who had interrupted him.
"Look here, sonny," he began, "don't ye know any better'n that, to speak
when ye'r uncle's about begin a story? You need a dose of Social
Service, all right. Jess'll have to git busy."
Belle laughed heartily at Abner's words and looks in which the children
all joined. They had no fear of him, and were always much delighted
when he took any notice of them.
Jess was very animated, and looked prettier than ever so Abner thought,
as she and Royden drew near. Her cheeks were flushed, and she merely
smiled at her father's bantering words.
"My, this looks good!" she exclaimed, as she sat down by her father's
side and examined the supper. "This is something like living."
"This is real Social Service, Jess," Abner remarked. "Ye may use all the
elevatin' schemes in the world, but they don't cut no ice unless ye'r
under-pinnin' is right, as I told ye once before. Now, the real
under-pinnin',' to my way of thinkin', is grub."
"How do you make that out, daddy?" Jess asked, as her father paused to
sip his tea.
"How do I make that out? Well, jist try an' ye'll soon find out fer
ye'rself. Soap an' water are all right; I daresen't say nuthin' agin'
'em, fer Tildy is here, an' she's great on sich things. But back of
soap an' water, an' art an' music, an' all other things ye learnt at the
Seminary, there must be grub, or else ye'r Social Service plans'll fall
flatter'n did Lawyer Rackshaw the day I stuck the hot end of me cigar
into his measely nose. Ho, ho, that was a joke, an' I'll tell yez about
it some day. No, ye must have grub as ye'r under-pinnin', Jess, even if
ye expect to elevate a pig into a hog."
Billy was the only one who did not seem to be enjoying himself. He ate
his supper in silence, and when he was through, he sat a little apart
smoking the inevitable cigarette. There was reason for this. Belle
would have nothing to do with him. She kept very close to Abner before
supper, and talked and chatted with him in the most animated manner.
But when Billy tried to divert her attention she told him each time that
she was very busy. He was sulky, too, over the way Abner had deceived
him in making him believe that he was the hired man. It did not improve
his mood when he saw Jess and Royden so happy together. He felt that he
had been badly treated, and that his experience with the bull had been
planned by Abner and the surveyor. He brooded over these things while
the rest laughed and talked, and enjoyed themselves thoroughly.
When it was time to go home, Jess stepped into the canoe, and Royden
stood at the bow ready to push it off from the shore. The others were
to go in the big flat-bottomed boat, and were already on board, except
Abner. He was searching around to see that nothing was left behind
before shoving the boat into the water. Billy had taken his seat next
to Belle, feeling certain that she could not escape him now. But to his
surprise that young lady suddenly stood up and stepped ashore.
"Is there room for me?" she asked Royden, who was now paddling close by.
"Sure," was the reply, as he ran the bow gently upon the beach.
In an instant Belle was aboard, and as the canoe cut through the water,
she waved her hand to Billy.
"I hope you will have a nice time," she bantered. "It's great here."
Abner chuckled with delight, and even Mrs. Andrews' face relaxed into a
smile, as they realized why she had left them. But Billy was furious.
He sprang out of the boat, and ordered Royden to bring back the canoe.
The surveyor paid no attention, however, but paddled steadily away.
This angered Billy all the more, and he swore and stamped on the ground
in his fury.
"Here, cut that out," Abner commanded. "I'll give ye somethin' to dance
fer in real ernest if ye don't. Hustle up an' git on board. I want to
be off."
"Go to h--l," was the angry retort. "I'm going to stay here."
Abner was about to leap ashore and administer the chastisement the cur
deserved. But he soon changed his mind, while a smile flitted across
his face.
"All right," he replied, "stay where ye are. Ye kin be old Robinson
Crusoe fer all I care. Good-bye, me beauty, an' pleasant dreams to ye
to-night. Ye kin eat the bull if ye'r hungry."
Pushing off the boat, he seized the oars and settled himself down to
work. They had gone but a short distance when a yell from Billy fell
upon their ears. He was standing upon the shore, frantically waving his
arms, and imploring them to return. The cause of his distress was at
once apparent, for coming toward him from the rear was the bull, pawing
and growling in an angry manner. It had evidently recovered from its
fright, and was seeking revenge upon his enemies. It may have been
longing for human companionship in his loneliness, though Billy did not
fancy the brute's company, no matter how friendly he might prove. He
was wild with terror, and his cries increased the nearer the animal
approached.
"Oh, hurry back, Abner," Mrs. Andrews implored. "The poor fellow will be
killed."
"I'm goin' to stay right here," Abner announced. "If Billy wants to come
on board he kin wade. I offered to take him, but he refused. It's up
to him now to make the next move."
Billy was not long in doing this. As the bull drew near, and he saw
that the boat was not returning, he plunged into the water and waded as
fast as he could, casting frightened glances back over his shoulder at
his enemy.
"Ye'r doin' fine," Abner encouraged, at which all the children shouted
with laughter. It was great sport for them to see the man stumbling and
splashing along, and groaning at every step.
"So that's the second bath ye've had to-day," Abner remarked, after
Billy had scrambled into the boat. "Guess ye'r hide's cleaner than it's
been since ye'r mother tubbed ye. It's a pity the same can't be done to
that dirty mouth of yours."
Billy made no reply, but sat shivering on one of the seats.
"Are ye cold?" Abner asked.
"I do feel that way."
"Take the oars, then, an' warm ye'rself up. There's a chilly breeze
sprung up, an' ye might catch cold. It 'ud be too bad to lose sich a
valuable person. Don't know how the world 'ud wag along."
Reluctantly Billy took Abner's place, and began to row. But he was like
a child at the work, and the boat, with no keel, went around and around
in a circle.
"Say, where are ye takin' us?" Abner asked. "I'm gittin' dizzy."
"But I can't keep the d--d thing straight," was the reply. "There's
something wrong with the boat or with these oars."
"Here, give 'em to me," Abner ordered. "I don't want any more wheels in
me head. The fault's not with the oars or the boat, young man, but with
you. Now, watch how I do it. My, you'd be great in a race with a dog
chasin' its tail, wouldn't ye?"
It did not take long to reach the shore, and all to land. Abner spoke a
word to his wife, and she at once left with the children for the house.
He remained a few minutes behind with Billy, and when the latter left
and headed for the main highway, Abner picked up the remaining basket
and walked slowly up through the field. He chuckled several times and
twice turned and looked to see how far Billy had gone.
When Abner reached the house he was surprised at the commotion which was
taking place in the dooryard. A big truck was standing there, loaded
with provisions. It had just arrived and the driver was asking Mrs.
Andrews where he should put the stuff. The latter was somewhat
bewildered, and was trying to make the man understand that there must
have been some mistake, and that the goods could not be intended for
them.
"But it's all marked for Abner Andrews, of Ash Point," the man insisted.
"There's no mistake about that. I've brought it, and here it's going to
stay."
"Very well, then," Mrs. Andrews replied. "Here comes my husband, and
you can talk with him."
Abner was greatly astonished at the truck-load of goods and questioned
the driver most closely. He could only learn, however, that the
supplies had been sent from Dill & McBain, leading grocers of Glucom,
and that was all he knew about it.
"It's for you, though, Mr. Andrews," the driver insisted. "I'm certain.
I have made no mistake. Mr. Dill himself looked after the stuff, which
is unusual for him, and he warned me not to leave it anywhere else."
"It sartinly is queer," and Abner scratched his head in perplexity.
"Can't imagine where it all came from. Howsomever, here it is, an' so ye
might as well dump it off, while I stow it away. Plenty of room's about
the only thing which we have about this place at present."
As the driver unloaded the goods Abner stored them away in the woodhouse
adjoining the room fitted up for the children. There were several
barrels of flour, sides of ham, slabs of bacon, sugar, rice, and boxes
filled with all kinds of things.
When they were at last stored away and the driver had departed, Abner
and his wife stood looking at the articles with a puzzled expression
upon their faces.
"Well, I'll be blessed if I kin understand this!" Abner exclaimed.
"Where de ye s'pose them things have come from?"
"They came from town, all right," Mrs. Andrews replied. "But I'd like
to know who sent them. Maybe you'll get a bill later, Abner. You
haven't been doing any more of your crazy actions, have you? Are you
sure you didn't order these things, thinking you were old man Astor, or
some other rich ancestor?"
"Should say not. I don't know no more about 'em than you do, Tildy. It
may have been one of me wealthy ancestors, though," he mused. "Ye kin
never tell what them spirits are goin' to do next."
"H'm, I guess the spirits who sent all those things are flesh and blood
like ourselves, and know how badly off we are. But here comes Belle.
She may know something about them."
Belle was alone, and Jess and Royden were nowhere to be seen. She was
delighted when she saw the provisions, and her eyes danced.
"Oh, I am so glad they have come," she exclaimed. "You won't have to
worry any more now, will you?" and she turned to Abner.
"Worry! How did you know we was worryin'?" Abner asked in amazement.
"Oh, I know a thing or two," and the girl smiled. "I am not altogether
blind, even though I am a little giddy at times."
"An' de ye know where them things came from?"
"I have a fairly good idea,"
"Ye have!"
"Why, yes," and again Belle smiled at Abner's astonishment. "I think my
father sent them."
"He did! Ye'r father! How in blazes did he know how we was fixed?"
"I write to him, don't I? It was only natural that I should tell him
about the boys we have here, and how the people of Glucom acted about
that Orphans' Home, wasn't it?"
"Sure, sure. An' ye'r dad didn't send them things out of charity, did
he?"
"Charity to the children, of course," was Belle's evasive reply. "He
knows how greatly interested I am in the boys, and he sent those things
merely to help along the work. My father is fond of doing such things
and he wouldn't like it one bit if he knew that I have told on him. If
you want to save me from a big scolding don't say anything to him about
it. I shall write at once and tell him that they have arrived, and so
that will be enough. Now, you must both promise me that you won't say
anything to my father about what he has done. You will, won't you?"
As neither Abner nor Mrs. Andrews made any reply, Belle looked keenly
into their faces, thinking that perhaps they were offended. Great was
her surprise to see tears stealing slowly down Mrs. Andrews' cheeks.
She brushed them hurriedly away, but not before Belle had seen her
emotion.
"Oh, Mrs. Andrews, I didn't mean to offend you," Belle explained. "I'm
afraid I have hurt your feelings. I thought you would understand. I am
so sorry."
In reply, Mrs. Andrews threw her arms about the girl's neck, and began
to weep, a most unusual thing for her.
"You dear good girl," she sobbed. "You have not offended us. But I am
completely overcome by your kindness."
Abner turned his face away and softly hummed, "When Bill Larkins made
his money." Belle touched him gently on the arm.
"Are you offended, Mr. Andrews?" she asked.
Abner swung suddenly around, and there was a mistiness in his eyes.
"Offended!" he repeated. "I'm not offended one bit, but I have a queer,
creepy feelin', which I haven't had since the first time I saw Jess,
when she was put in me arms as a tiny little mite. Why, I nearly
blubbered right out, an' me a big strong man at that! Jist think of
it!"
"I am so glad that you're not offended," Belle replied. "And if you feel
as you say you do, then everything is all right."
"Why, I couldn't help feelin' any other way. Guess them peaceful
spirits of mine must be hoverin' round by the appearance of things.
Billy didn't think so, though, this afternoon, did he?"
"Oh, I forgot all about that man," and Belle looked around, as if she
expected to see him.
"He couldn't have made much impression on ye, eh?" and Abner's eyes
twinkled. "He's got it bad, Billy has; but I guess he won't commit
suicide yit awhile."
"Where did he go to, anyway?" Belle asked. "He didn't come to the
house, did he?"
"Should say not. I had a quiet little interview with him down on the
shore. I had a heart to heart talk with him; told him that he was in
danger of injurin' the morals of the kids, an' that 'distance lends
enchantment,' as old Parson Shaw uster to say."
"Was he willing to go?"
"Willin'! Well, he wasn't overly anxious at first, but he soon changed
his mind, let me tell ye that. When he saw that me warlike ancestors
were gittin' busy, an' that they were inspirin' me, he more'n took the
hint, an' lit out. Ye won't have no more bother with him, Belle. If ye
do, jist let me know; that's all ye have to do."
"Thank you, Mr. Andrews," was the reply. "I don't want to see him
again. He gives me a creepy feeling, very different from yours,
though."
At that moment Jess and Royden appeared, looking very happy and
animated. They had enjoyed the afternoon and evening, and Billy's
troubles did not in the least mar their pleasure.
*CHAPTER XXV*
*LAFFIN'-GAS*
"Hello, Lost Tribes!" Abner accosted. "What's the matter? Not sick,
are ye?"
"Do I look sick?" Zebedee asked, as he took his pipe from his mouth, and
glared at his neighbor.
"Well, I can't altogether say that ye have the appearance of dyin',"
Abner replied, as he sat down by Zeb's side on the workshop steps. "But
ye don't look as spry as a skippin' lamb, an' ye'r face ain't as bright
as a shiny mug. What's wrong?"
"Nuthin'."
"H'm, so that's it, eh? It's no wonder ye look glum. Nuthin' wrong!
Everythin' runnin' as smooth as molasses in summer time. That's
sartinly too bad. Nuthin wrong! What's the nuthin', Zeb?"
"You," was the unexpected reply.
"Me!" Abner exclaimed in astonishment.
"Sure. You're the nuthin', an' it's you that's wrong."
"Thanks fer the compliment, Zeb. 'Tisn't every day I git handed one so
free an' easy like. What's started ye? Wife cranky, or is it
indigestion ye've got?"
Zebedee did not deign to reply for a few minutes, but pulled steadily at
his pipe, and gazed out over the fields.
"Say, Abner," he at length began, "what's the meanin' of ye'r actions,
anyway?"
"Actions! What actions?"
"Why, you ought to know. How many customers de ye expect to have?"
"Customers!"
"Sure. Haven't ye started store-keepin'? Didn't I see a big truck at
ye'r back door last night, loaded with enough goods to keep a lumber
camp fer a month?"
"Oh, I see," and Abner's eyes twinkled with amusement as light began to
dawn upon his mind. "Why shouldn't I start store-keepin'?"
"Why? Simply because ye would ruin ye'rself in a few weeks."
"I would, eh?"
"Certainly. Where would ye git the customers, I'd like to know?"
"They'd flock from all parts, of course. Half of Glucom 'ud be here in
no time."
"H'm," Zeb sniffed in disgust. "Ye'r mistaken there, Abner. It
wouldn't work."
"What'll ye bet?"
"I won't bet. It wouldn't be fair."
"That's not it, Zeb. Ye wouldn't dare to bet, fer ye know ye'd lose."
"Quit ye'r foolin', Abner, an' let's git down to business. Are ye goin'
crazy, man, to start store-keepin' in a place like this? Ye can't
afford to do sich a thing. If ye have any money to throw away ye'd
better keep it fer that trial of yours."
"But I need money, Zeb, an' if I can't git it one way I'll have to try
another."
"Well, leave store-keepin' alone."
"I intend to."
"Ye do?"
"Sure. Never thought of it till ye put the notion into me head. It
might be a good scheme, though."
"Well, what's all that stuff at your place fer, then?"
"Oh, that's a gift. Belle's dad sent it fer the kids."
"He did!" Zeb's eyes opened wide in amazement.
Abner smiled. He was enjoying himself immensely now.
"It shook ye'r timbers, did it?" he queried. "Thought I was goin'
store-keepin'. No, I don't intend to start that at present. I've
somethin' else on me mind."
"Ye have? Some more fool-nonsense, I s'pose."
"No, this is the real thing, first class an' up to date. I'm goin' to
make money hand-over-fist. Listen to this."
Fumbling in his vest pocket, Abner brought forth a newspaper clipping
and unfolded it with great care.
"I cut it from _The Family Herald an' Weekly Star_," he explained.
"Read it last night, an' I've been laffin' ever since. Say, it's a
great idea, an' struck me all at once, like that ram did Tom Bentley.
Ye ought to read _The Herald_, Zeb. It tells ye most everything an'
what it doesn't tell isn't worth knowin'."
"Well, fer pity sakes what is it, Abner?"
"Oh, haven't I told ye? Why, I thought I had. Here it is, then. It
tells about an old feller who lived thousands of years ago, though I
can't make out his name. It's a funny one, an' I never heard of that
ancestor of mine before. Kin ye give it the right twist, Zeb?"
"Spell it, Abner. My eyes ain't good, an' me glasses are in the house."
"It's the darndest word I ever sot me eyes on. It goes this way: D-i-o,
now that spells Dio. The next is g-e-n; that's gen, all right. The
last two letters are e-s, and the hull bunch put together gives us
D-i-o-g-e-n-e-s, Dio-genes. Ain't that a whopper, though? I dare say
Jess knows the hang of it, but blamed if I do."
"Tut, man, I've heard of that feller before. It's pronounced Diogenes,"
Zeb explained. "Ye'r not so smart after all, are ye, even though ye do
read _The Family Herald_. But what are ye drivin' at, Abner?"
"He's one of me ancestors, ye see, an' it's nice to know the hang of his
name. It's a great one, isn't it? Diogenes! Gee! that sounds high
class."
"Ancestors be hanged! What good are sich ancient critters, I'd like to
know?"
"Look here, Zeb," and Abner looked thoughtfully at his neighbor.
"Haven't I been inspired by me ancestors all me life? First the warlike
ones overshaddered me, an' then the peaceful spirits hovered round.
Now, ain't that so?"
"Wouldn't be surprised at anythin'," Zeb agreed. "Ye seem to have sich a
dang lot of ancestors that I don't know which ones ye'r goin' to follow
next."
"I sartinly have, Zeb. That's the time ye hit the nail on the head. I
try out one bunch, an' when I git tired of them I shift to another.
That's why I'm keen on that old feller, what's his name?"
"Diogenes?"
"Yes, that's him, though I guess you'd better do the pronouncin'. It
doesn't seem to come handy to me, nohow. Well, I'm much interested in
that old feller I've been laffin', as I told ye, ever since I read that
piece in _The Family Herald_."
"What did he do that was so funny, Abner?"
"Do! He set the hull world laffin' to split its sides, that's what he
did."
"In what way? Fer pity sakes, git on with ye'r yarn."
"Yes, he sartinly did funny things. He lived in a tub, jist think of
that. How would you like to have a tub fer a house, Zeb? Wouldn't it
be great! There'd be no house-cleanin' days, an' no carpets to beat,
an' sich unnecessary things to attend to."
"What did he do in the tub?" Zeb inquired, now becoming much interested.
"What did he clo? Why, he made the hull world laff, of course. Wasn't
that enough?"
"But how did he do it, Abner? I don't see anythin' so funny about that.
Anybody could set in a tub, couldn't they?"
"Sure. But, ye see, that old feller lived in the tub, ate his meals in
it, an' slept there. When folks came to see him he showed 'em his
house, kitchen, dinin'-room, parlor an' bedroom, all in one. After they
was shown around, so to speak, they nearly all died laffin'. Ye see,
they thought he was luney. Then when they stopped laffin' long enough,
he up an' says, 'Now jist look at all the things I do not need. It
doesn't take much to keep a man goin', does it?' That's what he says."
"I s'pose they thought he was crazy, Abner?"
"Not a bit of it after that. They had more sense. They called him a
philosopher, or some sich name, an they all flocked to see him an' to
hear his wisdom."
"They did!"
"Sure. They came in crowds, an' though they laffed an' laffed at the
queer old feller, they paid attention to what he said. Even the king
came to see him."
"Ye don't tell!"
"Yes, Alexander the Great, they called him. He came too, an' he asked
the old feller if he could do anythin' fer him. An' what de ye s'pose
me ancient ancestor said?"
"I couldn't guess."
"Sure, ye couldn't, an' no one else. Now, you or me, Zeb, would have
asked fer a hull lot of things if the King of England came by an' wanted
to do somethin' fer us. We would ask him fer some soft government
persition, wouldn't we?"
"Most likely we would."
"But that old feller didn't ask fer no sich things. He looked at the
king, squinted his eyes a little, an' says he, 'Yes, Alec, ye kin do me
a great favor.'"
"'An' what is it?' says the king, soft an' pleasant like, expectin' to
be asked fer somethin' great."
"'Ye kin jist stand from between me an' th' sun,' says the old feller.
'Ye'r hidin' the light, an' I feel chilly.' That's what he says to the
king."
"And wasn't the king hoppin' mad?" Zeb asked.
"Mad! Not a bit of it. He grinned, an' went away. I bet ye'r boots he
told his wife about it, an' they both had a good laff, the first they'd
had, I reckon, fer a long time. Ye see, it did 'em good. That's what
they needed to cheer 'em up. An' look here, Zeb, that's what people
need to-day. If they'd laff more they'd feel a darned sight better, let
me tell ye that. You'd feel better ye'rself, Zeb."
"I feel better, already, Abner," was the reply. "I'm jist holdin' me
sides to keep from splittin', ye'r story was so funny."
"H'm, I guess if ye saw an' heard me when I was real funny ye'd be tied
up in a knot in no time. If the spirits of me humorous ancestors got
busy there'd be somethin' doin' worth while. An' they're really needed.
It 'ud do people a world of good if they could be affected jist fer a
day by them wonderful spirits."
"What are ye talkin' about, anyway, Abner? What could the spirits of
ye'r ancestors do?"
"Do? Why, they could cure all kinds of diseases, an make people well
an' strong."
"Fiddlesticks! Ye'r talkin' nonsense, Abner. How could they do sich
things?"
"With laffin'-gas, that's how."
"Laffin'-gas?"
"Sure. Ye see, people don't laff enough. They go round with faces as
long as Miss Julie Tomkins' tongue an' that's some length,
skiddy-me-shins if it ain't. Most of the folks ye meet now-a-days look
as if they was about dyin', or had lost their best friends. They need
to be stimulated by a good laff once in a while. It 'ud help their
digesters an' make life more pleasant."
"An' so ye think ye'r ancestors could make people laff, do ye?" Zeb
enquired.
"Sartin! They'll work through me, an' I feel 'em gittin' busy jist now.
They've given me the power, an' I'm ready to try it upon anybody.
Anythin' wrong with you, Zeb? Tooth-ache, stummick-ache, heart-ache,
boils, or any dang thing ye might mention. I'm a specialist on all."
"Good Lord, no!" Zeb exclaimed. "I know enough of ye'r spirit-movin'
business, Abner. Try it on someone else, but I warn ye to leave me
alone unless ye want an ache that all ye'r spirits combined couldn't
cure."
"There now, don't git cranky an' sassy, Zeb. It was only fer ye'r
welfare that I offered me services. But if ye won't accept 'em then
I'll have to try it on others."
"An' de ye think people would come to be treated by you?"
"Why not? They want to be cured, don't they?"
"I s'pose they do, most of 'em at any rate. But they prefer to go to
someone who knows what he's talkin' about."
"An' de ye think I don't know? De ye imagine I'm jist spoutin' to hear
meself?"
"I wouldn't like to say that, Abner. But people wouldn't come to you.
They'd laff at you an' call ye a fool."
"Let 'em call me whatever they like, Zeb. But they'd laff, an' that's
jist what they need, as I told ye."
"H'm, I don't doubt about their laffin', providin' they'd come. They
couldn't help splittin' their sides when they looked at ye."
"An' so ye think they wouldn't come, eh?"
"I'm certain they wouldn't."
"What'll ye bet?"
"Well, I wouldn't bet much with you, Abner, fer ye couldn't stand to
lose anythin'."
"But I'll not lose. Now see here, I'll bet ye a fig of terbaccer;
how'll that do?"
"I'll take ye, Abner."
"That's right, Zeb, fer I'm hard up fer a plug of terbaccer at this
present minute. I'll borrow a little on account, if ye don't mind. Me
pipe's gone out."
"How de ye plan to start?" Zeb asked, as he handed over a part of a fig
of T. & B.
"I'm thinkin' of puttin' an ad. in _The Live Wire_," Abner replied, as
he thoughtfully whittled off several liberal slices of tobacco. "Wish
ye'd write it out fer me, Zeb. Ye'r good at sich things. Ye often
write ads. about ye'r 'Society' pigs, don't ye?"
Zeb pulled a note-book and pencil from his vest pocket and told his
companion to go ahead.
"Go ahead ye'rself," Abner ordered. "Jist say that I'm a specialist on
diseases, an' will treat anyone wot comes to me next Saturday evenin'
after supper. That's the grain an' you know how to grind it up."
After much thought and head scratching Zeb managed to write out an
advertisement which he thought would do. Then he read it aloud: