Part 3 (1/2)
_Git._”
And with that, out goes Mister Bugs.
Then, grandpaw, he turns round to the baby again, plumb took up with them four new nippers. ”Cluck, cluck,” he says like a chicken, and pokes the kid under the chin. Over one shoulder, he says to Billy, ”And, Trowbridge, you can make out _you'_ bill, too.”
Billy didn't answer nothin'. Just went over to a table, pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil, and begun t' write. Pretty soon, he got up and come back.
”Here, Mister Sewell,” he says.
I was right byside the ole man, and--couldn't help it--I stretched to read what Billy'd writ. And this was what it was:
”Mister Zach Sewell, debtor to W. A. Trowbridge, fer medical services--the hand of one Rose Andrews in marriage.”
Sewell, he read the paper over and over, turnin' all kinds of colours.
And Silly and me come blamed nigh chokin' from holdin' our breaths.
Rose was lookin' up at us, and at her paw, too, turrible anxious. As fer that kid, it was a-kickin' its laigs into the air and gurglin' like a bottle.
Fin'lly, the ole man handed the paper back. ”Doc,” he says, ”Rose is past twenty-one, and not a' idjit. Also, the kid is hern. So, bein'
this bill reads the way it does, mebbe you'd better hand it t' her.
If she don't think it's too steep a figger----”
Billy took the paper and give it over to Rose. When she read it, her face got all blushy; and happy, too, I could see _that_.
”_Rose!_” says Billy, holdin' out his two arms to her.
I took a squint through the winda at the scenery--and heerd a sound like a cow pullin' its foot outen the mud.
”Rose,” goes on Billy, ”I'll be as good as I know how to you.”
When I turned round again, here was ole man Sewell standin' in the middle of the floor, lookin' back and forth from Rose and Billy to the kid--like it'd just struck him that he was goin' t' lose his gal and the baby and all them teeth. And if ever a man showed that he was helpless and jealous and plumb hurt, why, that was him. Next, here he was a-gazin' at me with a queer s.h.i.+ne in his eyes--almost savage. And say! it got me some nervous.
”Seems Mister Cupid Lloyd is a-runnin' things 'round this here ranch-house,” he begun slow, like he was holdin' in his mad.
I--wal, I just kinda stood there, and swallered oncet 'r twicet, and tried t' grin. (Didn't know nothin' t' say, y' savvy, that'd be likely t' hit him just right.)
”So Cupid's gone and done it again!” he goes on. ”How accommodatin'!
Haw!” And he give one of them short, sarcastic laughs.
”Wal, just let me tell you,” he _con_tinues, steppin' closter, ”that I, fer one, ain't got _no_ use fer a feller that's allus a-stickin' in his lip.”
”Sewell,” I says, ”no feller _likes_ to--that's a cinch. But oncet in a while it's plumb needful.”
”It is, is it? And I s'pose _this_ is one of them cases. Wal, Mister Cupid, all I can say is this: The feller that sticks in his lip _allus gits into trouble._”
Sometimes, them words of hisn come back to me. Mebbe I'll be feelin'
awful good-natured, and be a-laughin' and talkin'. Of a suddent, up them words'll pop, and the way he said 'em, and all. And even if it's right warm weather, why, I _s.h.i.+ver,_ yas, ma'am. _The fetter that sticks in his lip allus gits into trouble_--nothin' was ever said truer'n that!
”And,” the ole man goes on again, a little bit hoa.r.s.e by now, ”I can feel you' trouble a-comin'. So far, you been lucky. But it cain't last--it cain't last. You know what it says in the Bible? (Mebbe it ain't in the Bible, but that don't matter.) It says, 'Give a fool a rope and he'll hang hisself.' And one of these times you'll play Cupid just oncet too many. What's more, the smarty that can allus bring other folks t'gether cain't never manage t' hitch hisself.”