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That blabbing Hoosier, Bob Browser, has found me out, and paid me a call, boring me with his confounded stories. Even as a hungry parrot when crackers are in view, or as a miller’s hopper when water is high and the farmer’s meal bags low, he rattles right along with copious discourse.

“What’s that you say! Did you know Jim Dudley? What! him as the boys in Gosport used to call Carrot Top Jim? Wal, I’ll be rattled if that ain’t queer. Wasn’t he the allfiredest shirk you ever did see? Perhaps you remember how sudden he left Gosport jest before the war? Oh, that’s so, sure enough, you went north sometime afore that.

BOB BROWSER.

“Wal, that chap was etarnally gettin’ in some scrape or another; I do jest think I’ve helped that Jim out of more close corners than there are buildin’s in this yer town. Yer see him and me was great chums, and roomed at the same house on York Street. Jim was a courtin’ a butcher’s darter that lived out near the cem’t’ry for ‘bout a year afore he left, leastwise he was a totin’ of her around considerable, takin’ her to picnics, circuses, hoss races, and the like. I kind of had my doubts about him gettin’ married, ’cause he was a pooty sot ole batch’, and sometimes I’d ask him when the nuptils were a comin’ off; but he’d allers shuffle out of it by sayin’ when they did come I’d git an invite, and kind of larf it off jest that way.

“One night pooty soon arter I had got into bed I heered some one thumpin’ at my door, and afore I had time to say anythin’ Jim Dudley was plum across the room and standin’ by the bedside.

“‘Bob,’ ses he, jest that way, ‘we’ve got to part agin’ and I’ve come to gin your paw a shake afore I leave.’

“‘What’s up now, Jim?’ ses I, pooty surprised and settin’ up amazin’ fast in bed to strike a light, ’cause I allers liked Jim. Drat my pictur, if I didn’t. He stuck to me like a hoss-leech when I was down with the yaller fever. I was peeled down so mi’ty thin that I didn’t make a shadder only arter I’d been eatin’ corn-dodgers or somethin’ that wasn’t transparent. Soon as I got a light I seed his face was tombstun white exceptin’ some long red scratches onto it, that made me think thar had been cats a-clawin’ of him.

“‘I haint time to gin perticulars now, but water’s gettin’ too plaguey shaller for me in Gosport,’ ses he, jest that way. ‘And I’m gwine to pull out for deeper soundin’s. I want to head off the night express, and as I’ve got only fifteen minutes to do it in, must be a movin’,’ and givin’ my hand a rattlin’ shake he turned, and before I could say ‘scat,’ he was goin’ down the stairs like a bucket fallin’ down a well, and I thought he hadn’t more than got to the middle of the flight when I heer’d the door slam behind him.

“I lay awake thar for hours thinkin’ and wonderin’ what on airth could have turned up to make Jim dust out of town so all-fired sudden, bein’ as how he was doin’ pooty well pecun’ar’ly—that is, for him.

“I kind of mistrusted somethin’ had gone wrong with him out to old Hurley’s—the butcher’s. So the next day, bein’ kind of curious, I took a stroll out that way, to look around a leetle and see what was goin’ on. I seed a glaz’er a fussin’ round a winder, and old Hurley sittin’ on the steps lookin’ mi’ty solemn at a hat—which I knowed was Jim’s—that was a-hangin’ on a bush in the garden.

“Some months arter this the war was a bilin’ and I jined a company and went down to Cairo to go into camp. By jingo! would you believe it? almost the first man I ran ag’in’ was Jim Dudley! He’d enlisted in a hoss regiment up to St. Louis, and come down to camp a few days afore me. We were both mi’ty tickled to meet one another right thar, so we p’inted for a place where we could have a straight-out chat, and while we were sittin’ thar, talkin’ about old times, ses I to him:—

“‘Jim, now we’re a gwine down into this blamed muss, and the chances are pooty good for us to git chawed up down thar, and nothin’ more to be heer’d about us—now s’posin’ you tell a feller what made you pull up stakes and dust from Gosport so amazin’ fast, last Fall.’

“‘Wal, Bob,’ ses he, ‘seein’ we’ve met agin, I don’t mind if I do ‘lighten you a leetle in regard to my leavin’ so sudden. You remember I’d bin over to Franklin some time afore I left, and jest got back to Gosport that day, and in the evenin’ I started out to see Mag. I was a hopin’ the old man wouldn’t be to hum—he ginerally was away Saturday nights.

OLD HURLEY WELCOMES JIM.

“‘’Twas dark afore I got there, leastwise the bats were a flitterin’ aroun’ the gables and apple trees, a-lookin’ for thar suppers. I gin the bell-knob a jerk anyhow, and pooty soon old Hurley hisself came to the door, with a candle in his hand. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and I reckon he had jest come hum from work. He kind of gin a start, as though he was surprised to see me; and I gin a start, too, and jumped back from the door pooty quick, for I thought I heer’d him grit his teeth a leetle—somethin’ like a sheep arter she’s bin eatin’ beans—but I wasn’t sartain.

“‘Come in, M-i-s-t-e-r Dudley,’ ses he, kind of low and coaxin’ like. ‘I hope you’ve bin enjoyin’ good health. I hope you’ve come prepared to stop with us awhile.’

“Thankin’ him for his kind wishes, I follered him along, wonderin’ what in time made him so amazin’ solicitous for my health all to wunst, ’cause I knowed the old man hated me worse than a rat does pizen.

“He didn’t stop in the parlor where some folks were sittin’, but kept on into a small room, beck’nin’ me to foller, which I did, though I was beginnin’ to feel pooty suspicious about the old feller’s movements.

“‘Stay here a minute, Mr. Dudley,’ ses he, arter I had sot down. ‘Make yourself comfortable until I come back agin,’ he continued, jest that way, and then he stepped out.

“I tell you, I begun to feel wonderful fidgity and kind of prickly down along the spine; and when I heer’d the old man comin’ back, and heer’d his feet slappin’ down heavier and faster than when he went out, then I knowed thar’ was trouble ahead. I could feel a distressin’ presentiment jest a-bubblin’ through my veins, and limberin’ up all my jints.

“Pooty soon the old man came in, a-holdin’ his left hand in front of him doubled up tight as though for boxin’, and keepin’ his right hand ahind him, kind of careless like, as though ’twas there by accident. I knowed ’twas no nat’ral position, and kept peerin’ round, for I ’spected he had a cow-hide, and was calculatin’ to gin me a sound tannin’; but when he went to shet the door ahind him, I got a glimpse of the alfiredest great butcher’s cleaver you ever yet sot eyes on, a-shinin’ jest as bright as could be. Jerusalem! if that bone-splitter didn’t make me begin to feel tarnation uneasy, then thar’s no use sayin’ it. My heart flopped up so far into my throat it actewelly seemed as though I could taste it.

“‘I’ve got very pressin’ business down town, and guess I’d better be a-movin,’ ses I, rizin’ up.

“‘S-i-t d-o-w-n,’ ses he, easy, that way, as though he wasn’t disturbed any, though I seed he was awful pale. ‘Don’t be in a hurry,’ he went on, keepin’ his back flat against the door the whole time. ‘You’ve been pokin’ around here ‘bout long enuff,’ said he, ‘and I think it time you ’tended to bisness.

“‘I’ve sent for Father Quinn,’ he contin’ed, ‘cal’latin’ to hev you jined to the family rite off, afore you leave the house,’ and he gin the cleaver a sweepin’ flourish; but while he was a-doin’ it he sort of took his eyes away from me, and before he could say ‘scat,’ I jest shet my eyes tight, and made one detarmined lunge for the winder, head fust, like a sheep through a clump of briars, and went a-crashin’ plum out on all fours into the gardin, takin’ the hull lower sash along with me.

OLD HURLEY ON THE WAR PATH.

“The old man gin one rattlin’ shout like a wounded gorrillar, when he seed me go. I knowed he’d be arter me mi’ty quick, so I broke through the gardin for the toll-road, the blarsted ole sash a-hangin’ around my neck like a hog-yoke, catchin’ on everythin’ as I ran. I hadn’t more’n struck the road and begun to dust along it, when I heered the old man comin’, a-snortin’ an’ a spatterin’, down the turnpike ahind me. I ‘lowed he’d overhaul me if I kept right on, ’cause I hadn’t got the sash off yet, and the blamed thing was jest ginnin’ my neck jess; so flouncin’ aside pooty sudden, I flopped down ahind a sassafras bush, and I hadn’t more’n got thar nuther when old Hurley went a-rackin’ and a rearin’ past, the bloodthirsty great meat-ax a-gleamin’ in his hand. He reckoned I was still ahead, so he went a-flukin’ down the road, clearin’ the toll-bar at one bounce, without so much as dustin’ it, and keepin’ right on for Gosport. Thunder! didn’t I tear off the ruins of that winder mity fast, though? Then I clim’ the fence, and took across lots through Hiram Nye’s corn patch, and down by Blake’s orchard, comin’ into town by the lower road. I think more’n likely old Hurley kept a-goin’ it plum to Gosport before he mistrusted that I dodged him; and I do jest think if he had got hold on me—a-bilin’ as he was—he wouldn’t have left a piece of me together large enough to bait a mink trap. Wasn’t that an all-fired close dodge, though? I reckon you’ll not see me in Gosport agin, leastways not while old Hurley’s a-livin’. I’ve no notion o’ gettin’ married in no such haste as that. Thar’s the bugle callin’ to muster—let’s hurry up and go.”