Читать книгу The Touch of Abner (Hiram Alfred Cody) (Literary Thoughts Edition) - Hiram Alfred "H.A." Cody - Страница 6

Reform work at home began sooner than Abner expected, and in a manner not altogether to his liking. When Jess announced that Isabel Rivers, her special friend at the Seminary, was to pay her a visit, Mrs. Andrews at once decided that the house must be thoroughly cleaned. Abner groaned inwardly as he listened to what would have to be done the next few days.

"We must have everything spotless," his wife declared. "It would not do for Belle Rivers to see a speck of dust around the house. I can hardly believe it true that she is coming, and her the daughter of Andrew Rivers, the famous, what do they call him, Jess?"

"Attorney General," was the reply.

"Strange she'd want to come here," Abner mused, as he puffed at his after-dinner pipe. "She's society bred, like Lost Tribes' pig, an' I guess she'll find it mighty dull. She won't have much chance to put on airs at Ash Pint."

"Belle's not that kind," Jess explained, "as I have told you in my letters. She is fond of quiet life and country ways. We are both greatly interested in Social Service work, and we have planned to continue our studies while she is with me. You will both like her, I am sure."

"It's a wonder her parents don't want her, Joss."

"She has only her father now, and he will be away from home for several weeks this summer. Belle is all he has, and she is the apple of his eye. Mrs. Rivers died last year, and poor Belle misses her so much. She was so grateful when I asked her to visit us."

"Well, I s'pose we kin stand her fer a while," and Abner gave a sigh of resignation. "But, remember, ye mustn't expect me to be harnessed up in Sunday duds an' white collar every day. An' I don't want Social Service flung at my head every time I turn around."

Actual work began upon the parlor the very next day, and by noon the room had the appearance of having been struck by a cyclone. Blinds, curtains, and pictures were taken down; chairs and tables were piled out upon the verandah; mats were spread upon the grass, and the carpet hung upon the clothes-line. The old-fashioned piano, on account of its size, was the only thing left, and stood forlornly in its place, thickly covered with old copies of The Family Herald and Weekly Star.

"That sartinly is a great paper," Abner mused, as he stood in the middle of the room viewing the effect. "It's useful fer most anythin', as I told Sam Dobbins only yesterday, when he was yangin' about The Live Wire."

"What was he saying about it?" Mrs. Andrews unexpectedly asked.

"Oh, nuthin', nuthin' perticular, except that once it a fine account of his great-grandmother's funeral, that's all. Anythin' else ye want me to do, Tildy?"

"Certainly. You might as well beat that carpet. It's just full of dust."

For over half an hour Abner whacked away at the carpet, pausing occasionally to sneeze and to wipe his perspiring face.

"Ugh!" he groaned, during one of these resting spells. "If this is Social Service work, then may the Lord help us!"

"You wanted to begin at home, though, didn't you, daddy?" Jess laughingly asked, as she paused in the act of shaking a rug.

"I know I did; fool that I was. But, look here, when anythin' has been dead, laid out, an' buried as long as that parlor has, it's a darn mistake to bring it to life agin."

"But think how clean, fresh and sweet the room will be when we get done," Jess reminded.

"Umph! De ye think I kin ever git this thing clean, fresh an' sweet?" and Abner gave the wobbly carpet a savage bang. "Look at that dust, now. The more I thump the thicker it gits. What's the use of carpets, anyway, I'd like to know?"

After dinner Abner lighted his pipe, and picked up his old straw hat.

"Guess I'll work at them pertaters this afternoon, Tildy," he announced. "They're mighty weedy an' need hoein'. I s'pose you an' Jess kin finish that room, eh?"

"Indeed we can't," his wife replied. "The ceiling has to be whitened, and that is a man's job. I've got to wash those curtains, and do a hundred other things. The potatoes have gone so long already that I guess another day won't do them any harm. You'll find the whitening in a bag on the woodhouse shelf, and the brush is hanging on the wall."

Abner made no reply but strolled off to the woodhouse softly humming, "When Bill Larkins made his money." Mrs. Andrews and Jess went on with their work, one washing the curtains; the other shaking mats and polishing the chairs upon the verandah. About an hour passed, and then from the parlor came a hair-raising yell, followed immediately by a thump. Jess and her mother nearly collided as they rushed into the room, where they saw Abner sitting upon the floor, his clothes covered with whitening.

"For pity sakes! what is the matter now?" his wife demanded. "Did you fall?"

"No, I didn't fall, as ye kin see," was the reply. "The darn old floor riz up an' hit me, that's all. Ugh!" he groaned.

"Where are you hurt, daddy?" Jess asked.

"Where am I hurt?" and Abner glared at his daughter. "Where de ye think I'm hurt? Where do I look as if I'm hurt; on me head?"

"I should say on your face, by the look of it," his wife retorted. "I thought you had more sense than to put that chair upon such a rickety box. You might have broken your neck. What were you doing up there, anyway?"

"Follerin' Social Service methods; that's all, Tildy."

"Social Service methods! Why, what do you mean?"

"Ask Jess; she understands. It's an elevatin' process, ye see. I was jist elevatin' myself to put some plaster on that hole in the ceilin', when me under-pinnin' gave way. Did ye learn anythin' about the under-pinnin' at the Seminary, Jess?"

"Not that I know of, daddy."

"Ye didn't! Well, that's queer. What was the use of ye'r studyin' Social Service if ye didn't learn nuthin' about under-pinnin'."

"I don't know what it is, daddy."

"Ye don't! Why, I thought everybody knew that under-pinnin' is what hold's things up."

"Oh, I see. You mean the foundation, or groundwork, so to speak."

"Well, them may be the highfalutin' names, but I'm used to under-pinnin'. It comes more natural."

"But what has that to do with Social Service?"

"A darn sight, I should say. Ye can't do nuthin' if the under-pinnin' ain't right, any more'n I could stand fer long on that chair with the rickety box underneath. Lost Tribes was right when he said ye can't elevate a pig into nuthin' more'n a hog. Ye'd better allus be sure of ye'r under-pinnin', Jess, before ye begin any elevatin' process. Now, there's Ikey Dimock, fer instance. If he hasn't a——"

"What's all this nonsense about, anyway?" Mrs. Andrews interrupted. "We'll never get through with this room if you two keep talking about 'Social Service' and 'Under-pinnin' all the time."

"Well, I'm through fer the present, Tildy," Abner declared. "Guess I'll go outside fer a while an' shake off this Social Service dose. Jist leave the ceilin'; I'll finish it later."

He shuffled stiffly out of the room, and made his way to a pile of wood a short distance from the house. He started to sit down upon a block but, suddenly changing his mind, he leaned against the clothes-line post instead. Pulling out a plug of tobacco and a knife, he had just whittled off several slices when an auto came in sight, and stopped in front of the house. A young man, neatly dressed, alighted and, walking briskly into the yard, came over to where Abner was standing.

"Is the boss in?" he enquired.

"Yes, she was a few minutes ago."

"Whew! Hen rule, eh?"

"Seems so. Like to see her?"

"Not on your life. I want to see the old man. Is he around?"

"Guess he'll be around soon. Met with an accident ye see."

"That's too bad. Serious?"

"Pretty bad. His under-pinnin' gave way. Total collapse."

"My, my! Sudden?"

"Very. Any message?"

"You work for him, I suppose?"

"I sartinly do."

"Is he a good boss?"

"Didn't ye ever meet him?"

"No, never saw him. But I believe he's fixed all right by the way he forked over for that Orphan Home Slapped down a cool thousand at the first bang. The firm sent me out to try to sell him an auto. Do you think he wants one?"

"Sure; he wants one bad."

"He does? When do you suppose I could see him? He's a queer one, I understand."

"Yes, a regular divil when he gits goin'. Shoots at sight."

"You don't say so! Now, come to think of it, I did hear that he's a little touched in the head. Has strange notions of living a long time ago. Is that so?"

"Guess ye'r right. The old feller's not altogether himself. He's lived so many lives that he often gits mixed up an' thinks he's old man Astor, Julius Cæsar, or some other notable. He's not too bad then, but when he imagines he's one of them old pirates, ye'd better watch out. He's a holy terror, an' nuthin' will stop him when he gits on the rampage."

"Did he ever hurt you?" the young man anxiously asked.

"Oh, no. Him an' me are great chums. He's never shot at me yit. We're too good friends fer that. I'm his keeper, ye see, an' so he looks up to me fer most everything."

"What! Is he as bad as all that? Does he really need a keeper?"

"Sure. Why, I'm the only one who kin manage him, next to his wife. He allus minds me no matter how bad he is. He ginerally does everythin' I say."

"Well, that's interesting. I believe you're just the man I want. I suppose he'd buy a car if you advised him to do so?"

"Sure thing."

"That's great. Now, look here, if you'll speak a good word for me, I'll make it worth your while. And, say, here's something on account to prove that I mean business."

The young man thrust his hand into his pocket and brought forth a crisp bill, and handed it to Abner. "Don't say a word about this little transaction," he warned. "And you'll let me know when your boss is ready to buy, won't you?"

"Sure, sure; I'll let ye know. I'll put ye next to the old feller."

"That's good. Don't forget."

"Oh, I'll not fergit, not on ye'r life."

"Well, so long," and the salesman held out his hand. "It's a bargain, remember, and more to come when the car is bought."

As the young man started to leave, Jess came around the corner of the house carrying a rug, which she placed upon the clothes-line. At first she did not notice the two men, but stood for a few seconds looking down over the fields out upon the river. As she turned to re-enter the house by the back door, she espied the men, especially the stranger. In her brief glance she noted what a wretched object her father presented, with his old lime-bespattered clothes, by the side of the immaculately dressed young man. The latter noted the flush which mantled her face, and attributed it to shyness.

"Gee whiz!" he exclaimed, after Jess had entered the house. "Where did she drop from?"

"S-sh," Abner warned. "She's the old man's daughter; a chip of the same block."

"She is! Gad, she's a beaut."

"Yes, she's a trim craft, poor gal!" Here he heaved a deep sigh, which the stranger was not slow to notice.

"Why, what's wrong with her?" the young man enquired.

"Touched here, like her dad," and Abner placed the forefinger of his right hand to his head.

"You don't say so! My, my, that's too bad! Inherited, I suppose?"

"Partly. She's got Social Service on the brain, ye see. But, there, ye'd better go now. She was quite excited when she spotted you, an' if ye stay too long she might have a fit. Doesn't take much to set her off, poor thing."

Abner watched the salesman as he walked out of the yard, boarded his car, and set off down the road. Then his solemn face relaxed, and the sad expression fled from his eyes. The skin on his cheeks and under his eyes became suddenly corrugated, and his mouth expanded to a dangerous degree. His body shook, and he emitted a series of half-suppressed chuckles of merriment. He next unfolded the bill he was still holding in his hand, and looked at it.

"Whew! it's a ten-spot!" he exclaimed. "An' that guy thought he'd bribe me with this, did he? He wanted me to put him next to the old feller. So that's the way he works his game, eh? Heard I'm well fixed, too, an' was sent to sell me a car. A 'queer one,' an' a 'little touched in the head,' ho, ho! But mebbe he'll find the old feller's not so daft after all, an' that Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, is afflicted with a different kind of a touch. That's what he will learn, skiddy-me-shins, if he won't."