Part 14 (1/2)
But Uncle Jason seemed better to appreciate the schoolmaster's att.i.tude.
”I don't blame him none. He's jest like a dog with a hurt paw--wants ter crawl inter his kennel and lick his wounds. It's a tough propersition, for a fac'.”
”He needn't be afraid that the fellers will guy him,” growled Marty.
”If they do, I'll lick 'em!”
”Oh, Marty! All of them?” cried Janice, laughing at his vehemence, yet tearful, too.
”Well--all I _can_,” declared her cousin. ”And there ain't many I can't, you bet.”
”If you was as fond of work as ye be of fightin', Marty,” returned Mr.
Day, drily, ”you sartin sure'd be a wonderful feller.”
”Ya-as,” drawled his son but in a very low tone, ”maw says I'm growin'
more'n more like you, every day.”
”Marty,” Janice put in quickly, before the bickering could go any further, ”did you see little Lottie? It was so late when I came out of Mrs. Beaseley's, I ran right home.”
”I seed her,” her cousin said gloomily.
”How air her poor eyes?” asked Aunt 'Mira.
”They're not poor eyes. They're as good as anybody's eyes,” Marty cried, with exasperation.
”Wal--they say she's' goin' blind again,” said tactless Aunt 'Mira.
”I say she ain't! She ain't!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Marty. ”All foolishness. I don't believe a thing them doctors say. She's got just as nice eyes as anybody'd want.”
”That is true, Marty,” Janice said soothingly; but she sighed.
The door was open, for the evening was mild. On the damp Spring breeze the sound of a husky voice was wafted up the street and into the old Day house.
”h.e.l.lo!” grunted Uncle Jason, ”who's this singin' bird a-comin' up the hill? Tain't never Walky a-singin' like that, is it?”
”It's Walky; but it ain't him singin',” chuckled Marty.
”Huh?” queried Uncle Jason.
”It's Lem Parraday's whiskey that's doin' the singin',” explained the boy. ”Hi tunket! Listen to that ditty, will ye?”
”'I wish't I was a rock A-settin' on a hill, A-doin' nothin' all day long But jest a-settin' still,'”
roared Walky, who was letting the patient Josephus take his own gait up Hillside Avenue.
”For the Good Land o' Goshen!” cried Aunt 'Mira. ”What's the matter o'
that feller? Has he taken leave of his senses, a-makin' of the night higeous in that-a-way? Who ever told Walky Dexter 't he could sing?”
”It's what he's been drinking that's doing the singing, I tell ye,”
said her son.