ANCESTRY VERSUS PATRIOTISM.
Four days had passed since the concert in the Town Hall at Eastborough.
The events of that evening had been freely discussed in barn and
workshop, at table and at the various stores in Eastborough and
surrounding towns, for quite a number had been present who were not
residents of the town. All interest in it had not, however, passed away
as subsequent occurrences proved.
It was the morning of the fifth of January. Benoni Hill, who ran the
only grocery store at Mason's Corner, was behind his counter and with
the aid of his only son, Samuel, was attending to the wants of several
customers.
While thus engaged, Miss Tilly James entered, and young Samuel Hill
forgot to ask the customer on whom he had been waiting the usual
question, "Anything else, ma'am?" so anxious was he to speak to and wait
upon the pretty Miss James, whose bright eyes, dark curly hair, and
witty remarks had attracted to her side more suitors than had fallen to
the lot of any other young girl in the village. As yet she had evinced
no especial liking for any particular one of the young men who flocked
about her, and this fact had only served to increase their admiration
for her and to spur them on to renewed efforts to win her favor.
"Do you know, Miss James," said Samuel, "I can't get it out of my ears
yet." As he said this, he leaned over the counter, and being a brave
young man, looked straight into Miss James's smiling face.
"If all home remedies have failed," said Tilly, "why don't you go to
Boston and have a doctor examine them?"
"What a joker you are!" remarked Samuel; "I believe you will crack a
joke on the minister the day you are married."
"It may be my last chance," rejoined Tilly. "Mother says the inside of a
boiled onion put into the ear is good for some troubles; give me a pound
of tea, Oolong and green mixed, same as we always have."
As Samuel passed the neatly done up package to Miss James, he leaned
across the counter again and said in a low voice, "You know what is in
my ears, Miss James. How beautifully you played for Mr. Sawyer when he
whistled 'Listen to the Mocking Bird.' I don't think I shall ever forget
it."
"Well, I don't know about the playing, Mr. Hill. I came near losing my
place several times, because I wanted so much to hear him whistle."
During this conversation Tilly and Samuel had been so preoccupied that
they had not noticed the entrance of a new-comer and his approach
towards them. Only one other customer, a little girl, was left in the
store, and Mr. Hill, Sr., had gone down cellar to draw her a quart of
molasses.
As Tilly uttered the words, "I wanted so much to hear him whistle," she
heard behind her in clear, melodious, flute-like notes, the opening
measures of "Listen to the Mocking Bird." Turning quickly, she saw Mr.
Sawyer standing beside her.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Sawyer? I am delighted to see you again," she
said in that hearty, whole-souled way that was so captivating to her
country admirers.
"The delight is mutual," replied Quincy, raising his hat and bowing.
Samuel Hill was evidently somewhat disturbed by the great friendliness
of the greetings that he had just witnessed. This fact did not escape
Tilly's quick eye, and turning to Mr. Sawyer she said:
"Have you been introduced to my friend, Mr. Samuel Hill?"
"I have not had that pleasure," replied Quincy. "This is my first visit
to the store."
"Then allow me," continued Tilly, "to present you to Mr. Samuel Hull and
to Mr. Benoni Hill, his father, both valued friends of mine," and she
added, as a roguish smile came into her face, "as they keep the only
grocery store in the village, you will be obliged to buy what they have
and pay them what they ask, unless you prefer a three-mile tramp to
Eastborough Centre."
"I hope you're enjoyin' your stay at Mason's Corner," said Mr. Benoni
Hall, "though I don't s'pose you city folks find much to please yer in a
country town, 'specially in the winter."
"So far I have found two things that have pleased me very much," replied
Quincy.
"The milk and eggs, I suppose," remarked Tilly.
"No," said Quincy, "I refer to Miss Lindy Putnam's fine singing and the
beautiful playing of a young lady who is called Miss James."
"I have heard," said Tilly, "that you city gentlemen are great
flatterers. That is not the reason why I am obliged to leave you so
suddenly, but the fact is the tea caddy ran low this morning and
grandma's nerves will remain unstrung until she gets a cup of strong
tea."
With a graceful bow and a parting wave of the hand to the three
gentlemen, the bright and popular young lady left the store.
"Mr. Hill," said Quincy, addressing the elder gentleman, "I've smoked
all the cigars that I brought from Boston, but Deacon Mason told me
perhaps you had some that would suit me. I like a good-sized, strong
cigar and one that burns freely."
"Well," said Mr. Hill, "Professor Strout is the most partikler customer
I have in cigars; he says he always smokes a pipe in the house, 'cause
it don't hang round the room so long as cigar smoke does, but he likes a
good cigar to smoke on the street or when he goes ridin'. I just had a
new box come down for him last night. Perhaps some of them will satisfy
yer till I can git jest the kind yer want."
Mr. Hill took his claw-hammer and opening the box passed it to Quincy,
who took one of the cigars and lighted it. As he did so he glanced at
the brand and the names of the makers, and remarked, "This is a good
cigar, I've smoked this brand before. What do you ask for them?"
"I git ten cents straight, but as Mr. Strout always smokes up the whole
box before he gits through, though he don't usually buy more than five
at a time, I let him have 'em for nine cents apiece. There ain't much
made on them, but yer see I have to obleege my customers."
"You don't ask enough for them," said Quincy, throwing down a
twenty-dollar bill. "They sell for fifteen cents, two for a quarter, in
Boston."
"How many will you have?" asked Mr. Hill, thinking that Boston must be a
paradise for shopkeepers, when seven cents' profit could be made on a
cigar that cost only eight cents.
"I'll take the whole box," said Quincy. "Call it ten dollars, that's
cheap enough. No matter about the discount." As he said this he took
half a dozen cigars from the box and placed them in a silver-mounted,
silk-embroidered cigar case. "Please do them up for me, Mr. Hill, and
the next time Hiram Maxwell comes in he will take them down to Deacon
Mason's for me."
After much rummaging through till and pocketbook, Mr. Hill and his son
found ten dollars in change, which was passed to Quincy. He stuffed the
large wad of small bills and fractional currency into his overcoat
pocket and sitting down on a pile of soap boxes drummed on the lower one
with his boot heels and puffed his cigar with evident pleasure.
While Quincy was thus pleasantly engaged, Professor Strout entered the
store and walked briskly up to the counter. He did not see, or if he
did, he did not notice, Quincy who kept his place upon the pile of soap
boxes. Strout was followed by Abner Stiles, Robert Wood, and several
other idlers, who had been standing on the store platform when the
Professor arrived.
"Did those cigars come down, Hill?" asked Strout in his usual pompous
way.
"Yes!" replied Mr. Hill, "but I guess you'll have to wait till I gut
another box down."
"What for?" asked Strout sharply. "Wa'n't it understood between us that
them cigars was to be kept for me?"
"That's so," acknowledged Mr. Hill, "but you see, when I told that
gentleman on the soap box over yonder that you smoked them, he bought
the whole box, paid me a cent more apiece than you do. A dollar's worth
saving nowadays. He says they sell for fifteen cents, two for a quarter,
up in Boston."
"If he's so well posted on Boston prices," growled Strout, "why didn't
he pay them instead of cheatin' you out of two dollars and a half? I
consider it a very shabby trick, Mr. Hill. I shall buy my cigars at
Eastborough Centre in the future. Perhaps you'll lose more than that
dollar in the long run."
"Perhaps the gentleman will let you have some of them," expostulated Mr.
Hill, "till I can get another box."
"All I can say is," said Strout in snappish tones, "if the man who
bought them knew that you got them for me, he was no gentleman to take
the whole box. What do yer say, Stiles?" he asked, turning to Abner,
who had kept his eyes fixed on the placid Quincy since entering the
store, though listening intently to what the Professor said.
"Well, I kinder reckon I agree to what you say, Professor," drawled
Abner, "unless the other side has got some sort of an explanation to
make. 'Tain't quite fair to judge a man without a hearin'."
"Allow me to offer you one of your favorite brand, Professor Strout,"
said Quincy, jumping down from the soap boxes and extending his cigar
case.
"No! thank you!" said Strout, "I always buy a box at a time, the same as
you do. Judging from the smell of the one you are smoking, I guess they
made a mistake on that box and sent second quality. Give me a five-cent
plug, Mr. Hill, if some gentleman hasn't bought out your whole stock. I
fancy my pipe will have to do me till I get a chance to go over to
Eastborough Centre."
During this conversation Hiram Maxwell had come in to do an errand for
Mrs. Mason, and several more platform idlers, having heard the
Professor's loud words, also entered.
Strout was angry. When in that condition he usually lost his head, which
he did on this occasion. Turning to Quincy he said with a voice full of
passion:
"What's yer name, anyway? You've got so many of them I don't know which
comes fust and which last. Is it Quincy or Adams or Sawyer? How in
thunder did you get 'em all, anyway? I s'pose they tucked 'em on to you
when you was a baby and you was too weak to kick at being so abused."
At this sally a loud laugh arose from the crowd gathered in the store,
and Abner Stiles, who was the Professor's henchman and man-of-all-work,
cried out, "Fust blood for the Professor."
Quincy faced the Professor with a pale face and spoke in clear, ringing
tones, still holding his lighted cigar between the fingers of his right
hand. When he spoke all listened intently.
"Your memory has served you well, Mr. Strout. You have got my names
correct and in the proper order, Quincy Adams Sawyer. I do not consider
that any child could be abused by being obliged to wear such honored
names as those given me by my parents. My mother was a Quincy, and that
name is indissolubly connected with the history and glory of our common
country. My father's mother was an Adams, a family that has given two
Presidents to the United States. If your knowledge of history is as
great as your memory for names you should be aware of these facts, but
your ignorance of them will not affect the opinion of those knowing to
them. My father, Nathaniel Adams Sawyer, has a world-wide reputation as
a great constitutional lawyer, and I am proud to bear his name, combined
with those of my illustrious ancestors. It is needless for me to add
that I, too, am connected with the legal profession."
Here Hiram Maxwell called out, "First round for Mr. Sawyer."
"Shut up, you dough-head," cried Strout, his face purple with rage.
Turning to Quincy he said in a choked voice, "My name is Obadiah Strout,
no frills or folderols about it either. That was my father's name too,
and he lived and died an honest man, in spite of it. He raised potatoes
and one son, that was me. When the nation called for volunteers I went
to war to save the money bags of such as you that stayed at home. It was
such fellers as you that made money out of mouldy biscuits and rotten
beef, shoddy clothin', and paper-soled boots. It was such fellers as
your father that lent their money to the government and got big interest
for it. They kept the war going as long as they could. What cared they
for the blood of the poor soldier, as long as they could keep the
profits and interest coming in? It wasn't the Quincys and the Adamses
and the other fellers with big names that stayed at home and hollered
who saved the country, but the rank and file that did the fightin', and
I was one of them."
[Illustration: "THE BARGE LED THE PROCESSION TO MASON'S CORNER."]
As he said this the irascible Professor shook his fist in Quincy's face,
to which a red flush mounted, dyeing cheek and brow.
"That's the Lord's truth," said Abner Stiles. Then he called out in a
loud voice, "Second round for the Professor. Now for the finish."
But the finish did not come then. The settlement between these two
lingual disputants did not come for many days. The reason for a sudden
cessation of the wordy conflict was a shrill, feminine voice, which
cried out from the store platform:
"Hiram Maxwell, where are you? Mother's most out of patience waiting for
you."
"Good Lord!" cried Hiram, breaking through the crowd and rushing to the
counter to make the long-deferred purchase. "I'm coming in a minute."
"I think I had better see you home," remarked Huldy Mason, entering the
store.
As she advanced the crowd separated and moved backward, leaving her a
dear path.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Sawyer?" said she in a pleasant voice and with
a sweet smile, as she reached Quincy. "Won't you help me take Hiram
home?"
"I should be happy to be of service to you," replied Quincy.
The professor turned his back toward Miss Mason and began talking in an
animated manner to Abner Stiles, Bob Wood, and a few other ardent
sympathizers who gathered about him.
The rest of the crowd were evidently more interested in watching the
pretty Miss Mason and the genteel Mr. Sawyer. When Hiram left the store
with his purchases under one arm and Quincy's box of cigars under the
other, he was closely followed by Quincy and Huldy, who were talking and
laughing together. The crowd of loungers streamed out on the platform
again to watch their departure. As Quincy and Huldy turned from the
square into the road that led to the Deacon's house they met Ezekiel
Pettengill. Huldy nodded gayly and Quincy raised his hat, but Ezekiel
was not acquainted with city customs and did not return the salutation.
A few moments later the Professor and Abner Stiles were relating to him
the exciting occurrences of the last half hour.