Part 34 (1/2)

He did not have a very good walk and his thoughts while walking were not as closely centered about ancient inscriptions, either Egyptian or East Wellmouthian, as was usually the case upon such excursions. Miss Martha Phipps was worried, she had said so, herself. Yes, and now that he thought of it, she looked worried. She was in trouble of some sort. A dreadful surmise entered his mind. Was it possible that he, his presence in her house, was the cause of her worry? He had been very insistent that she take him as boarder and lodger. The sum he paid each week was ridiculously small. Was it possible that, having consented to the agreement, she had found it a losing one and was too kind-hearted and conscientious to suggest a change? He remembered agreements which he had made, and having made, had hesitated to break, even though they turned out to be decidedly unprofitable and unpleasant. He had often been talked into doing things he did not want to do, like buying the yellow cap at Beebe's store. Perhaps he had talked Miss Phipps into taking him as boarder and lodger and now she was sorry.

By the time Galusha returned from his walk he was in what might be described as a state of mind.

As he entered the Phipps' gate he met some one coming down the path toward it. That some one, it developed, was no less a person than Mr.

Horatio Pulcifer. Raish and Galusha had not encountered each other for some time, weeks, in fact, and Mr. Bangs expected the former's greeting to be exuberant and effusive. His shoulders and his spirit were alike shrinking in antic.i.p.ation.

But Raish did not shout when he saw him, did not even shake hands, to say nothing of thumping the little man upon the back. The broad and rubicund face of East Wellmouth's leading politician and dealer in real estate wore not a grin but a frown, and when he and Galusha came together at the gate he did not speak. Galusha spoke first, which was unusual; very few people meeting Mr. Horatio Pulcifer were afforded the opportunity of speaking first.

”Ah--good-morning, Mr. Pulcifer,” said Galusha, endeavoring to open the gate.

”Huh!” grunted Raish, jerking the gate from Mr. Bangs' hand and pus.h.i.+ng it somewhat violently into the Bangs' waistcoat. ”Mornin'.”

”It is a nice--ah--cool day, isn't it?” observed Galusha, backing from the gateway in order to give Horatio egress. Mr. Pulcifer's answer was irrelevant and surprising.

”Say,” he demanded, turning truculently upon the speaker, ”ain't women h.e.l.l?”

Galusha was, naturally, somewhat startled.

”I--I beg your pardon?” he stammered.

”I say ain't women h.e.l.l? Hey? Ain't they, now?”

Galusha rubbed his chin.

”Well,” he said, doubtfully, ”I presume in--ah--certain instances they--My experience has been limited, but--”

”Humph! Say, they make me sick, most of 'em. They haven't any more business sense than a hen, the heft of 'em ain't. Go into a deal with their eyes open and then, when it don't turn out to suit 'em, lay down and squeal. Yes, sir, squeal.”

”Ah--I see. Yes, yes, of course. Squeal--yes. The--the hens, you mean.”

”HENS? No, women. They make me sick, I tell you.... And now a lot of dum fools are goin' to give 'em the right to vote! Gos.h.!.+”

He strode off along the road to the village. Galusha wonderingly gazed after him, shook his head, and then moved slowly up the path to the house. Primmie opened the door for him. Her eyes were snapping.

”h.e.l.lo, Mr. Bangs!” she said. ”I 'most wisht he'd drop down dead and then freeze to death in a s...o...b..nk, that's what I wish.”

Galusha blinked.

”Why, bless my soul!” he exclaimed. ”Of whom are you speaking?”

”That everlastin' Raish Pulcifer. I never did like him, and now if he's comin' around here makin' her cry.”

”Eh? Making her cry?”

”Sshh! She'll hear you. Makin' Miss Martha cry. She's up in her room cryin' now, I'll bet you on it. And he's responsible.... Yes'm, I'm comin'. Don't say nothin' to her that I told you, will you, Mr. Bangs?”

She hurried away in response to her mistress' hail. Galusha said nothing to Miss Phipps nor to any one else, but during the rest of that day he did a great deal of thinking. Martha Phipps was worried, she was troubled, she had been crying; according to Primmie Horatio Pulcifer was responsible for her tears. Galusha had never fancied Mr. Pulcifer, now he was conscious of a most extraordinary dislike for the man. He had never disliked any one so much in all his life, he was sure of that.

Also he was conscious of a great desire to help Martha in her trouble.

Of course there was a certain measure of relief in learning that Pulcifer and not he was responsible for that trouble, but the relief was a small matter in comparison with the desire to help.