The Huron Expositor, 1920-01-09, Page 8hile.
lV a'a_l, it is an' it ain't. I've got
'ugh ,yarnin' about Dave Haman
my rate, an' mebbe we'd better
e a little confab on your matters,
n' 't I've got you 'way up here
-1 a rnornin' 's this. I gen'ally do
vis fust an' talkin' afterward," he
ed, "but I kind o' got to goin' an
on this time."
e put his hand into the breast
ket of his coat and took out three
ers, rich he shuffled in review
f to verify their identity, and then
i therm in one hand, tapping them
,ly upon the palm of the other, as
t a loss how to begin. The widow
with her eyes fastened upon the
ers, trembling with nervous appre-
sion. Presently he broke the sit-
About this here rnorgidge o'
r'n," he said, "1 sent ye word that
-anted to dose the matter up, an'
cat' 't you're here an' conn fer
t purpose, I guess we'd better make
zb on't. The' ain't no time like the
sent, as the sayin' is."
1 s'pose it'll hev to be as you
,'-' said the widow in a shaking
Mis' Cullom," said David solemn -
'you know, an' I know, that I've
the repitation of bein' a hard,
spin', sehemin' man. Mebbe I be.
obe I've ben hard done by all my
L life, an' have had to be; an' meb-
now 't I've got ahead some, it's
to be second nature, an' I can't
in to help it. .,`Bus'nis is bus'nis'
t part of the golden rule, I allow,
the way it gen'ally runs, fur 's
• found out, is `Do unto the other
er the way he'd like to do unto
an' do it fust.' But, if you want
keep this thing a runnin' as it's
r' on now fer a spell longer, say
year, or two, or even three, you
r, only I've got somethin' to say to
'fore ye elect."
Wa'al," said the poor woman, "1
ect it 'd only be pilin' up wrath
n' the day o' wrath. I can't pay
int'rist now without stars in', an'
ain't got no one to bid in the
p'ty fer me if it was to be sold"
Nils' Cullom," said David, "I said
got somethin' more to tell ye, an.'
when 1 git through, you don't
ik I've treated you right, including
Lnornint s confab, 1 hope you'll l
ive me. It's this, an' I'm the
person linin' that 's knowin' to it,
in fact I may say that I'm the
person that ever was really
win' to it. It was before you
married, an' I'm sure he never
ye, fer I don't doubt he fergot
ebout it, but your husband, Billy
`ullom, that was, made a small
stinnent once on. a time, yes, ma'am,
id, an' in his kind of careless way'
st slipped his mind. The amount
ap'tal he put in wa'n't large, but
rate of int'rist was uncommon
Now, he never drawed no divi-
a s on't, an' they've ben 'cunmulat-
er forty year, more or less, at
ound int'rist."
,e widow started forward, as if
'se from her seat. David put his
out gently and said, "Jest a
ate, Mis' Cullom, jest a minute,
git through. Part o' that cap' -
he resumed, "consistin' of a
ter an' some odd cents, was in -
ed in the cirkis bus'nis, an' the
on't—the cap'tal, an' all the cash
1 that I started in jus'nis with
.s the ten cents your husband give
.hat day, an' here," said David,
ing the papers in his left hand
the back of his right, "here is
iv idends! This here second mor-
e. not bein' on record, may jest
ell go onto the fire—it's gettin'
an' here's a satisfaction piece
h I'm goin' to execute now, that'll
the thousan' dollar one. Come
re, John," he called out.
e widow stared at David for a
;ant speechless, but as the signifs-
of his words danced upon her,
.good flushed darkly in her face.
nrang to her feet and, throwing
f.r arms, cried out: "My Lord!
rftrd! Dave! Dave Harum! Is
•e ?--tell me it's true! Yui. ain't
' rue, air ye, Dave? You.
ln't fool a pour old woman that
done ye no harm, nor said fi a
word agin ye, would ye? Is it
an' is my place clear? an 1
{awe nohocly anythin'—I mean,
oney? Tell it agin. Oh, tell it
Oh, Dave! it's too good to be
Oh! Oh! Oh, my! an' here 1
yin' like a great baby, an', an' "
Ming in her pocket—"I do be -
1 hain't gat no hank'chif—Oh,
ye," to John; "P11 do it up an'
it back to-morrer. Oh, what made
it, Dave?"
(Continued next week.)
f'
JANUARY 9, 1920
.t111111111111ft1111111f 111111111111011111111111x.
David
Harem
EDWARDNOYES S WESTCOTT
TORONTO
WILLIAM BRIGGS -1899
''1111111111111111111111111.11{11i1H111111111t111,'
(Continued from last week)
John heard David clear his throat,
and there was a hiss in the open
fire. Mrs. ,Cullom, was silent, and
David resumed:
"You see, Mis' Cullom, it's like
this. I ben thinkin' of this matter
fer a good while. That place ain't.'
ben no real good to ye ,since the first
year you signed that etorgidge. You
hain't scurcely more'n 'Made ends meet
let alone the int'rist, an' it's ben
simply a question o' time, an' who'd
git the prop'ty in the long run fer
some years. I reckoned„same as you
did, that Charley 'd mebbe come to
the front—but he hain't done it, an'
't ain't likely he ever will. Charley's
a likely 'magi' boy some ways, but
he hain't got much `git there' in his
make-up, not more'n enough fer one
anyhow, I reckon. That's about the
size on't, ain't it?'
Mrs. Cullom murmured a feeble ad-
mission that she was "'fraid it was.”
"Wa'al," resumed Mr. Harum, "I
see how things was goin', an' I see
that unless I played euchre, 'Zeke
Swinney 'd git that prop'ty, an'
whether I wanted it myself or not, I
didn't cal' -late he sh'd git it anyway.
He put a spoke in my wheel once, an'
I hain't forgot it. But that ha'in't
neither here nor there. Wa'al," after
a short pause, "you know I helped ye
pull the thing along on the chance, as
ye may say, that you an' your son 'd
somehow make a go on't."
"You ben very kind, so fur," said
the widow faintly.
"Don't ye say that, don't ye say
that," protested David. "'T wa'n't no
kindness. It was jest bus'nis, I
wa'n't talon' no chances, an' 1 s'pose
I might let the thing run a spell
Ionger if I e'dsee any use int. But
the' ain't, an' so I ast ye to come up
this mornin' so 't we c'dsettle tie
thing up 'without no fuss, nor trouble,
nor lawyer's fees, nor nothin'. I've
got the papers all drawed, an' John'
--Mr. Lenox—here to take the ack=
nowlidgments. You hain't no objec.,
tion . to windin' the thing up this
mernin', have ye?"
"°I s'pose I'll have to do whatever
you say," replied the poor woman in
a tone of hopeless discouragement,
"an' I might 'as well be killed to once,
as to' die by inch pieces."
"All right then," said David -cheer-
fully, ignoring her lethal suggestion •
"but before we git down to bus'nis an •
signin' papers, an' in order to set
myself in as fair a light 's I can in
the matter, I want to tell ye a little
story."
"I hain't no objection 's I know of,"
acquiesced the widow •graciously.
"All right," said David, "I won't
preach more 'n about up to the sixthly
—How'd you feel if was to light
up a cigar? I hain't much of a.hand
at a yarn, an' if I git stuck, I c'n
puff a spell. Thank ye. Wa'al, Mis'
Cullom, you used to know somethin'
about my folks. I was raised on
Buxton Hill. The' was nine on us,
an' , 1 was' the youngest o' the lot.
My father farmed a piece of about
forty to fifty acres, an' had a small
shop where he done odd times. small
jobs of tinkerin' fer the neighbors
when the' was anythin' to do. My
mother was his second, an' I was the
only child of that marriage. He mar-
ried agin when I was about two year
old, an' how 1 ever got raised 's more
'n 1 c'n tell ye. My, `sister. Polly was
'sponsible more 'n any bne, 1 guess,
an' the only one o' the whole lot that '
ever gin me a decent word. Small
farmin' ain't cal'lated to fetch out.
thebest traits of human nature=-
an' ep 'em out --an' it seems to me
some Imes that when the old man
wa'n't cuffin' my ears he was -lickin'
me with . a. rawhide or a strap. Fur
's that ,was concerned, all his boys
used to ketch it putty reg'lar till they
got too big. One on 'ens up an' lick-
ed him one night, an' lit out next day.
I s'pose the old man's disposition was
sp'iled by what some feller said
farmin' was, `workin' all day, an' doin'
chores all night,'. an' larrupin' me an'
all the rest on us Was about all the
enjoyment he got. My brothers an'
sisters—'ceptin' of Polly—was putty
nigh 'as bad ' in respect of cuffs an'
such like; an' my stepmarm was, on
the hull, the wust of all. She hadn't
no children o' her own, an' it appear-
ed 's if I was jest pizen eto her. 'T
wa'n't so much slappin' an' coffin' with
her as 't was tongue. She c'd say
-things that 'd jest raise a blister like
pizen ivy, I s'pose I was about as
ord'nary, no-account-lookin', red-head-
ed, freckled little cuss as you ever see
an' slinkin' in my manners. The air
of our home circle wa'n't cal'lated to
raise heroes in.
"I got three four years' schoolin',
an' made out to read an' write an'
cipher up to long division 'fore I got
HUROT4 EXPOSITOR
through, but after I got to be six
yehr old, school • or no school, I had
to work 'reg'lar at anything I had
strength fer, an' more too. Chores
'before sc'hool an' after school, an'
a two-mile walk to git there. As
fur 's clo'es was concerned, any old
thing that 'd hang together was good
enough fer me; but by the time the
older boys had outgrowed their duds,
an' they was passed on to me, the'
wa'n't much left on 'em. A pair of
old cowhide boots that leaked - in more
snow an' water 'n they kept out, an'
a couple pairs of woolen socks that
was putty much .all darns, was ex-
pected to see me through the. ,winter,
an' I went barefoot f'm the time the
snow was off the ground till it flew
agin in the fall. The' wa'n't but two
seasons o' the year with me -them
of chilblains an' stun -bruises."
The speaker paused and stared for
a moment into the comfortable glow
of the fire, and then discovering to
his apparent surprise that his cigar
had gone out, lighted it from a coal
picked out with the tongs.
"Farmin"'s a hard life," remark-
ed Mrs. Cullom with an air of being
expected to make some contribution
to the conversation.
"An' yit, as it seems to me as I
look back mite' David resumed pep
lively,."the wust on't was that nobody
ever gin me a kind word, 'cept'Polly,
I s'pose I got kind o' used to bein'
cold an' tired; dress'*' in a snowdrift
where it blowed intp the • attic, an'
goin' out to fodder -cattle 'fore sun-
up; pickin' up stun is . the blazin' sun,
an' doin' all the odd jobs my father
set me. to, an' the older ones shirked
onto me. That was the reg'lar or-
der o' things; but I remember r never
did git used to never pleasin' nobody.
'Course I didn't expect nothin' f'm
my step-marm, an' the only way I°
0.1
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•
ever knowed I'd done my stent fur 's
father was concerned, was that he
didn'tsay nothint. But
sometimes the
older ones 'd git settin' 'round, talk -
in' an' laughin', havin' pop corn an'
apples, an' that, an' I'd kind o' sidle
up, wantin' to join 'em, an'' some on
'em 'd say, 'What you. doin' • here ?
time you was in bed,' an' give me a
shove or a cuff. Yes, ma'am," look-
ing up at Mrs. Cullom, "the wust on't
was that I was kind o' scairt the hull
time. Once in a while Polly 'd give
me a mossel o' comfort, but Polly
wa'n't but little older 'n me, an' bein'
the youngest girl, was chored most
to death herself.
It had stopped snowing, and though
the wind still came in gustly blasts,
whirling the drift against the windows,
a wintry gleam of sunshine came in
and touched the widow's wrinkled
face.
"It's arnazin' how much trouble an'
sorrer the' is `sin the • world, an' how
soon it begins," she remarked, moving
a little to avoid the sunlight. "1
hain't nover ben able to reconcile how
many good things the' be, an' how
little most on us gits o' them. I
hain't ben to meetin' fer a long spell
'cause I hain't had no fit clo'es, but I
remember most of the preachin' I've
set under either dwelt: on the wrath
to come, or else on the Lord's doin'
all things well an' providin'. I hope
I ain't no wickeder 'n than the gen'ral
run, but it's putty hard to hev faith
in the Lord's providin' when you hain't
got nothin' in the house but corn meal
an' none too much o' that."
"That's so, Mis' Cullom, that's so,"
affirmed _ David. "I don't -blame ye a
mite. `Doubts assail, an' oft prevail,'
as the hymn -book says an' 1 reckon
it's a sight easier to have faith on
meat an' potatoes 'n it is on corn meal
mush. Wa'al, as I was saying'I hope
I ain't tiring ye with my- goin's on?
"No," said Mrs. Cullom, "I'm engag-
ed to hear ye, but nobody 'd suppose
to see ye now that ye was such a f'torn
little critter as you make out."
"It's jest -as I'm tell'' ye, an' more
also, as the Bible says," returned Dav-
id, and then, rather more impressively,
as if he were leading up to his conclus-
ion, "it come along to a time when 1
was 'twixt thirteen an' fourteen. The'
was a cirkis billed to a show down here
in Rorneville, an' ev'ry barn an' shed
fer miles .around had pictures stuck on
them of el'phants, and rhinoceroses, an
every anixnul that went in the ark, an'
giris riding bareback an' turnin' som-
mersets, an' doin' turnovers on swings
an' clowns gettin' horsewhipped, an'
ev'ry kind of a thing that could be pic-
tered out; an' how the' was to be a
grand percession at ten o'clock, lith
goldenchariots, an' scripteral al -
leg, an' the hull bus'nis; an' the gran'
performance at two o'clock; admission
twenty-five cents, children under
twelve, at cetery, an' so forth, Wia'al,
I hadn't no more idee o' goin' to that
cirkis 'n 1 had o' flyin' to the moon,
but the night before the show some -
thin' waked me 'bout twelve o'clock.
I don't know how 't was. I'd ben
helpin' to mend fence all day, an'
gen'ally I never knowed nothin' af-
ter niy head struck the bed till morn -
in'. But that night, anyhow, some-
thial' waked me, an' I went an' looked
out the windo', an' there was the hull
thing goin' by the house. The' was
more or less moon, an' I see the el'-
hant, an' the -.big wagins---the drivers
kind o' noddin' over the dashboards—
an' the chariots with canvas covers—
I don't know how many of 'em—an'
the cages of the tigers an' lions, an'
all. Wa'al, I got up the next niornin'
at sun -up an' done my chores; an' af-
ter breakfust I set off fer the ten -acre
lot where I was mendin' fence. The
ten -acre was the farthest off of any,
Homeville way, an' I had my dinner
in a tin pail so't I needn't lose no
time goin' home at noon, an', as luck
would have it, the' wa'n't nobody with
me that mornin', Wa'al, I got down
to the lot an' set to work; but some-
how 1 couldn't git that show out o'
my head nohow. As I said, I hadn't
no more notion of goin' to that cirkis
'n I had of kingdoin come. I'd never
had two shillin' of my own in my hull
life. But the more I thought on't the
uneasier I got. Somethin' seemed
pullin' an' haulm' at me, an' fin ly . I
gin in. I allowed I'd see that perces-
sion anyway if it took a leg, an'.tmeb-
be I c'd git back 'ithout nobody mis-
sin' nae. 'T any rate, .I'd take the
chances of a lickin' jest once—fer
that's what it meant—ani I up an'
put fer the village lickity-cut,. I
done them four mile lively, 1 c'n tell
ye, an' the stun -bruises never hurt
me once.
"When I got down to the village it
seemed to me as if the hull population
of Freeland County was there. I'd
never seen so many folks together in
my :life, an' fer a spell it seemed to
me as if ev'rybody was a-lookin' at
me an' sayin', `That's old Harum's
boy Dave, playin' hookey,' an' I sneak-
ed 'round dreadin' somebody 'd give
me away; but 1 fin'ly found that no-
body wi'n't payin' any attention to
me—=they was there to see the show,
an' one red-headed boy more artless
wa'n't no pertic'ler account. Wa'al,
putty soon the percession hove in
sight, an' the' was a reg'lar stapede
among the boys, an' when it got by,
I run an' ketched up with it agin, an'
walked alongside the el'phant, tin pail
an' all, till they fetched up inside the
tent. Then 1 went off to one side—
it Must 'a' ben about 'levee or half -
past, an' 'eat my dinner I had a de-
vourin' appetite ---an' thought I'd jest
walk' round a spell, an' then light out
fer home. But the' was so many
things to see an' hear—all the side-
show pictures of Fat Women, an'
Livin' Skelitons; an'ald Women of
Madygasker, an' Wild Men of Borneo;
an' snakes windin' round women's be the el'phant,' he says, an' walked 1
off toward the tent; an' I stood stun 1
still; ; lookin' after him. He got oft
about a rod or so an' stopped: an'
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out of the holes in my old chip straw
hat—an' somebody "Wa'al,
om body says to me,
sonny, what you thinkin' of ?' he says.
I looked up, an' who do you s'pose it
was ? It was Billy P. Cullom! I
knowed who he was, fer I'd seen him
before, but of course he didn't know
me. Yes, ma'am, it was Billy P., an'
a'n't he rigged out to kill!"
The speaker paused and looked into
the fire, smiling. The woman started
forward facing him, and clasping her
hands, cried, "My husband! What 'd
he have on?"
"Wa'al," said David slowly and re-
miniscently, "near 's I e'n remember,
he had on a blue broadcloth claw -
hammer coat with flat gilt buttons,
an' a double-breasted plaid vest, an'
pearl-gray pants, strapped -down over
his boots, which was of shiny leather,
an' a high pointed collar an' blue stock
with a pin in it (I remember wonder -
in' if it c'd be real gold), an' a yeller-
white plug beaver hat."
At the description of each article
Mrs. Cullom nodded her head, with
her eyes fixed on. David's face, and
as he concluded she broke out breath-
lessly, "Oh, yes! , Oh, yes! David, he
wore them very same clo'es, en' he
• took me to that very same show that
very same night!" There was i her
face a look almost of awe, as . if a
sight of her long -buried past youth
had been .shown to her from a coffin.
Neither spoke for a moment or
two, and it was the widow who broke
the silence.' As David had conjectur-
ed, she was interested at last, and sat
leaning forward with her hands clasp-
ed in her lap.
"Well," she exclaimed, "ain't 'ye
oin' on? What did he say to ye?"
"Cert'nly, cert'nly," responded
David "I'll tell ye near 's I c'n re -
itemiser, as I c'n remember putty
near. As I told ye, I felt a twitch
at my hair, an' he said, 'What be you
thinkin' about, sonny?' I looked up
at him, an' looked away quick.
dunno,' I says, diggin' my big toe in-
to the dust;; an' then, 1 -donne how 1
got the spunk to, for I was shyer 'n
a rat, `Guess I was thinkin' 'bout
mendin' that fence up in the tem -acre.
lot 's much 's anythiai',' I says.
" `Ain't you goin' to the cirkis?' he
says.
" `I hain't got no money to go to
cirkises,' I says, rubbin' the dusty
toes o' one foot over t' other, 'nor
nothin' else,' I says.
" `Wa'al,' he says, 'why don't you
crawl under the canvas?'
"That kind o' riled me, shy 's I
was.' `I don't crawl under no can-
vases,' I says. 'If I can't go in same
's other folks, I'll stay out,' I says,
lookin' square at him fer the fust
time. He: wa'n't exae'Iy smilin',- but
the' was a look in his eyes that -was
the next thing to it."
"Lory me!" sighed Mrs. Cullom, as
if to herself. "How well I can re- -
.member that look; jest as if he was
laughin' at ye, an' wa'n't laughin' at
ye, an' his arm around your neck!"
David nodded in reminiscent sym-
pathy, and rubbed his bald poll with
the back of his hand.
"Wa'al," interjected the widow.
"Wa'al," said David, resuming, "he
says to nne, `Would you like' to go to
the cirkis ?' an' with that it occurred
to me that I diel want to go to that
cirkis more'n anythin' I ever wanted
to before—nor since, it seems to. me.
But I tell ye the truth, I was so far
f'm expectin' to go 't I really hadn't
knowed I wanted toe' looked at him,
an' then down agin, an' began tender-
in' up a stun -bruise on one heel agin
the other instep, an' all I says was,
bein' so dum'd shy, `I donne,' I says.
But I guess he seen in my face what
my feelin's was, fer he kind o' laugh-
ed an' pulled out half -a -dollar an'
says: D' you think you could git a
couple o' tickits in that crowd? If
you .kin, I think I'll go myself, but
I don't want to git my boots all dust,'
he says. I allowed I e'd try; an' I
guess them bare feet o' mine tore up
the dust some gettin' over to the
wagin. Wja'al, I had another scare
gettin' the tickets, fer fear some one
that knowed me - 'd see me with a
half -a -dollar, an' think I must 'a' stole
the money. But I got 'em an' carried
'ern back to him, an' he took 'ern an'
put 'em in his vest pocket, an' hand-
ed nae a ten -cent piece, an' says, "Meb-
be : you'll want somethin' in the way
of refreshments fer yourself an' rneb-
1111111,
it -was," said David, nodding. •
"Waal," he went on after a little
paiuse, "1 was ready to sink into the
ground with shyniss at fust, but that
wore off sole after a little, an' we
two seen the hull show, I tell ye. We
walked 'round the cages, an' we fed
the el'phant--that is, he bought the
stuff an' 1 fed him. 1 'member—he,
he, hel—'t he says, `mind you git the
right end,' he says, an' then we got
a couple o' seats an' the doin's be-
gun."
CHAPTER XX
The widow was looking at David
with shining eyes and devouring his
words. AU the years :of trouble and
sorrow and privation were wiped out,
and she was back in the days of her
girlhood. Ah, yes' how well she re-
membered him as he looked that very
day -- so handsome; so splendidly
dressed, so debonair; and how proud
she habeen to • sit by- his side that
night, observed and envied of all the
village girls.
"I ain't goin" to g+ over 'the hull
show," proceeded David, "well 's I
remember it. The' didn't nothin' git
away from me that afternoon, an'
once I come near to stickin' a piece
o' gingerbread into my ear 'stid o'
my mouth. I had my ten -cent piece
that Billy P. give me, but he wouldn't
let me buy nothin'; an' when the gin-
gerbread man: come along he says,
'Air ye hungry, Dave? (I'd told him
my name), air ye hungry?' Wa'al, I
was a growin' boy, an' I was hungry
putty much all the time. He bought
two big squares an' gin me one, an'
when I'd swallered it, he says, `Guess
you better tackle this one too,' he
says, give dined' 1 didn't exae'iy
know what 'dined' meant, but—he, he,
he, het I tackled it," and David
smacked his lips in memory.
"Wa.'al," he went on, "we done the
hull prograntmy gingerbread, lem-
onade—pink lemonade, an' he took
some o' that—pop corn, peanuts, pep'-
mint candy, ciii'munm candy—scat my
! an' he payirn.' fer ev'rythin' I
thought he was jest made o' money!
An' I remember how we talked about
all the doin's; the ridin',, an' jumpin
an' summersettin', an' all---fer he'd got .
all the shyniss out of me for the time
—an' once with that curious look in
his eyes an' put his hand on my
Shoulder. Wa'al, now, I tell ye, I had
a queer, crinkly feelin' go up an'
down my back, an' I like to up an'
cried."
"Dave," said the widow, "I kin see
you two as if you was settin' there
I front of me. He was aiwus like that.
Oh, my! Oh, my! David," she added
solemnly, while two tears rolled. slow-
ly down her wrinkled face, "we lived
together, husban' an' wife, fer seven
year, an' he never give me a cross
word."
"I don't doubt it a mossel," said
David simply, leaning over and pok-
ing
oking the fire, which operation kept his
face out of her sight and was pro-
longed rather unduly. Finally he
straightened up and, blowing his nose
as it were a trumpet, said:
t Waal, the cirkis fan'ly come to an
end, an' the crowd hustled to git out
's if they was afraid the tent 'd come
downs` on 'em. I got kind o' ;nixed up
h 'em, an' somebody tried to git my
tin pail, or I thought he did, an' the
upshot was that 1 lost sight o' 13111y
P., an' > couldn't make out to ketch a
(Continued on Page Six)
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necks; hand-orgins; fellers that played
the 'cordion, • an' mouth -pipes, an'
drum an' cymbals all to once, an' such
like—that I fergt all obut the time looked back. `Ain't you corrin'?' he
an' the ten -acre lot, an' the stun says.
.fence, an' fust I knowed the folks "'Be I goin' with you?" I says.
was matin' fer the ticket wagin, an' " `Why not?' he says, "nless you'd
the band begun to play inside the tent. ruther go alone,' an' he put his finger
Be I taxin' your patience over the an' thumb into his vest pocket. Wa'al,-
limit?" said David, breaking off in ma'am, I looked at him a minute, with
his story and addressing Mrs. Cullom his shiny hat an' boots, an' fine clo'es,
more directly. an' gold pin, an' thought of my rag-
"No, I guess not," she replied; "I ged ole shirt, an' cotton pants, an' ole
was jest thinkin' of a circus I went chip hat with the brim most gone, an'
to once," she added with an audible my tin• pail an' all. `I ain't fit to,' I
sigh. says, ready to cry—an' wa'al, he jest
"Wa'aI," said David, taking a last laughed, an' says, 'Nonsense,' he says, .
farewell of the end of his cigar, 'come along. A man needn't be asham- 1
which he threw into the grate, "meb- ed of his workin' clo'es,' he says) an'
be what's corrin' '11 ;nt'rest ye more I'm dum'd if he didn't Lake holt of
'n the rest on't has. I was standin' my hand, an' in we' Went that way to-
gawpin'_'round, list'nin' to the band an' gether." - - -
watchin' the folks git their tickets, "How like him that was!" said the
when all of a suddin I felt a twitch widow softly.
at my hair it had a way of workin' ' «Yes, maim, yes, ma'am, I reckon„.
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