"THAT CITY FELLER."
As usual, the next morning Hiram was down to the Pettengill house
between nine and ten o'clock. He opened the kitchen door unobserved by
Mandy and looked in at her. She was standing at the sink washing dishes
and singing to herself. Suddenly Hiram gave a jump into the room and
cried out in a loud voice, "How are you, Mandy?"
She dropped a tin pan that she was wiping, which fell with a clatter,
breaking a plate that happened to be in the sink.
"I'm much worse, thank you," she retorted, "and none the better for
seeing you. What do you mean by coming into the house and yelling like a
wild Injin? I shall expect you to pay for that plate anyway."
"He who breaks pays," said Hiram with a laugh. "But why don't you shake
hands with a fellow?"
"I will if I like and I won't if I like," replied Mandy, extending her
hand, which was covered with soapsuds.
"Wipe your hand," said Hiram, "and I'll give you this ten cents to pay
for the plate."
As he said this he extended the money towards her. Mandy did not attempt
to take it, but giving her wet hand a flip threw the soapsuds full in
Hiram's face. He rushed forward and caught her about the waist; as he
did so he dropped the money, which rolled under the kitchen table.
Mandy turned around quickly and facing Hiram, caught him by both ears,
which she pulled vigorously. He released his hold upon her and jumped
back to escape further punishment.
"Now, Mr. Hiram Maxwell," said she, facing him, "what do you mean by
such actions? I've a good mind to put you outdoors and never set eyes on
you again. What would Mr. Pettengill have thought if he'd a come in a
minute ago?"
"I guess he'd a thought that I was gittin' on better'n I really am,"
replied Hiram, with a crestfallen look. "Now, Mandy, don't get mad, I
didn't mean nothin', I was only foolin' and you began it fust, by
throwin' that dirty water in my face, and no feller that had any spunk
could stand that." As he said this, a broad smile covered his face.
"Say, Mandy," he continued, "here comes Obadiah Strout, we'd better make
up before he gits in or it'll be all over town that you and me have been
fightin'. Got any chores this mornin', Mandy, that I can do for you?"
At this moment the kitchen door was again opened and Professor Strout
entered.
"Where's Pettengill?" he asked of Mandy, not noticing Hiram.
"I guess he's out in the wood-shed, if he hasn't gone somewheres else,"
replied Mandy, resuming her work at the sink.
Strout turned towards Hiram and said, as if he had been unaware
previously of his presence, "Oh! you there, Hiram? Just go find
Pettengill for me like a good feller and tell him Professor Strout
wishes to see him up to the house."
"At the same time, Hiram," said Mandy, "go find me that dozen eggs that
I told you I wanted for that puddin'."
Hiram winked at Mandy, unseen by the Professor and started for the
chicken coop.
"Guess I'll have a chair," remarked the Professor.
"All right, if you don't take it with you when you go," replied Mandy,
still busily washing dishes.
"Fine weather," said Strout.
"Sorter between," laconically replied Mandy.
"Did you enjoy the concert?" asked Strout.
"Some parts of it," said Mandy. "I thought Mr. Sawyer and Miss Putnam
were just splendid. His whistling was just grand."
"He'll whistle another kind of a tune in a few days," remarked Strout.
"What? Are you going to give another concert?" asked Mandy, looking at
him for the first time.
"If I do," replied the Professor, "you bet he won't be one of the
performers."
"Oh, I see," said Mandy, "you're mad with him 'cause he hogged the whole
show. Mr. Maxwell was just telling me as how Mr. Sawyer was going to
hire the Town Hall on Washington's birthday and bring down a big brass
band from Boston and give a concert that would put you in the shade, and
somebody was telling me, I forget who, that Mr. Sawyer don't like to sit
'round doing nothin', and he's goin' to give music lessons."
These last two untruthful shots hit the mark, as she knew they would,
and Strout, abandoning the subject, blurted out, "Where in thunder's
that Hiram? I'll be blowed if I don't believe he went to look for the
eggs first."
"I reckon he did," said Mandy, "if he means to keep on good terms with
me. He ain't likely to tend to stray jobs till he's done up his regular
chores."
"I s'pose Deacon Mason sends him down here to wait on you?" remarked
Strout with a sneer.
"Did Deacon Mason tell you that you could have him to run your errands?"
inquired Mandy, with a pout.
"Guess the best thing I can do," said Strout rising, "is to go hunt
Pettengill up myself."
"I guess you've struck it right this time," assented Mandy, as Strout
left the room and started for the wood-shed.
As he closed the door, Mandy resumed her singing as though such
conversations were of everyday occurrence.
She finished her work at the sink and was fixing the kitchen fire when
Hiram returned.
"All I could find," said he, holding an egg in each hand. "The hens must
have struck or think it's a holiday. S'pose there's any out in the barn?
Come, let's go look, Mandy. Where's old Strout?"
"I guess he's gone to look for Mr. Pettengill," replied Mandy, with a
laugh.
"I kinder thought he would if I stayed long enough," said Hiram, with a
grin; "but come along, Mandy, no hen fruit, no puddin'."
"Mr. Maxwell," said Mandy, soberly, "I wish you'd be more particular
about your language. You know I abominate slang. You know how careful I
try to be."
"You're a dandy," said Hiram, taking her hand.
They ran as far as the wood-shed, when seeing the door open, they hid
behind it until Strout came out and walked down towards the lane to meet
Ezekiel, whom he had seen coming up from the road. Then Hiram and Mandy
sped on their way to the barn, which they quickly reached and were soon
upon the haymow, apparently searching intently for eggs.
When Strout reached Ezekiel he shook hands with him and said, "Come up
to the barn, Pettengill, I've got a little somethin' I want to tell you
and it's kinder private. It's about that city feller that's swellin'
round here puttin' on airs and tryin' to make us think that his father
is a bigger man than George Washington. He about the same as told me
down to the grocery store that the blood of all the Quincys flowed in
one arm and the blood of all the Adams in the other, but I kinder guess
that the rest of his carcass is full of calf's blood and there's more
fuss and feathers than fight to him."
By this time they had reached the barn and they sat down upon a pile of
hay at the foot of the mow.
"Now my plan's this," said Strout. "You know Bob Wood; well, he's the
biggest feller and the best fighter in town. I'm goin' to post Bob up as
to how to pick a quarrel with that city feller. When he gets the lickin'
that he deserves, I rayther think that Deacon Mason will lose a
boarder."
"But s'posin' Mr. Sawyer licks Bob Wood?" queried Ezekiel.
"Oh! I don't count much on that," said Strout; "but if it should turn
out that way we're goin' to turn in and get up a surprise party for Miss
Mason and jist leave him out."
"I hope you ain't goin' to do any fightin' down to Deacon Mason's?"
remarked Ezekiel.
"Oh, no!" protested Strout, "it'll be kind o' quiet, underminin' work,
as it were. Remarks and sayin's and side whispers and odd looks, the
cold shoulder business, you know, that soon tells a feller that his
company ain't appreciated."
"Well, I don't think that's quite fair," said Ezekiel. "You don't like
him, Mr. Strout, but I don't think the whole town will take it up."
The Professor said sternly, "He has insulted me and in doing that he has
insulted the whole town of Eastborough."
A smothered laugh was heard.
"By George! What was that?" cried Strout.
Ezekiel was at a loss what to say, and before he could reply, Mandy's
laughing had caused the hay to move. As it began to slide she clutched
at Hiram in a vain effort to save herself, and the next instant a large
pile of hay, bearing Hiram and Mandy, came down, falling upon Ezekiel
and Strout and covering them from sight.
When all had struggled to their feet, Ezekiel turned to Mandy and said
sharply, "What were you doin' up there, Mandy?"
"Looking for eggs," said she, as she ran out of the barn and started for
the house.
Hiram stood with his mouth distended with a huge smile. Strout turned
towards him and said savagely, "Well, if you're the only egg she got,
'twas a mighty bad one."
Hiram retorted, "I would rather be called a bad egg than somethin' I
heard about you."
Strout, in a passion, cried out, "Who said anything about me?"
Hiram made for the barn door and then said, "heard a gentleman say as
how there was only one jackass in Eastborough and he taught the singin'
school."
Strout caught up a rake to throw at him, but Hiram was out of sight
before he could carry out his purpose. Turning to Ezekiel, Strout said,
"I bet a dollar, Pettengill, it was that city feller that said that, and
as I have twice remarked and this makes three times, this town ain't big
enough to hold both on us."