Part 4 (2/2)

Sometimes they don't come back at all, of course, and nervy scouts who look up the delinquents in their city offices come back with badly frosted ears and spread the warning. But there are few of these. Even President Banks of the great F. C. & L. Railroad System, who played on the Homeburg baseball nine thirty-five years ago, will stop puzzling over the financial situation long enough to give the glad hand to a Homeburg man during office hours. Of course I don't mean that any one from Homeburg can break in on him and pile his desk full of feet. You have to be a thirty-third degree Homeburger from his standpoint; that is, you or your father must have stolen apples with him--I belong to the inner lodge. My father and President Banks ate a peck of peaches one night in Frazier's orchard, between them, and got half way through the pearly gates before they were yanked back by two doctors. That's why Banks took me to lunch when I went to call on him last month. If the Government would let him, he'd give me a pa.s.s home.

I'll never forget the day when Banks came back to Homeburg. He hadn't been back for thirty years and hadn't the slightest intention of coming either, as he admitted afterward. But he was going through on his special car, and old Number Eleven, which was hauling him, performed the most intelligent act of its career. The engine broke down right at the depot, and when Banks found he was in for an hour or two, he got out and strolled down Main Street to see the town in which he had begun his life.

It was a most depressing occasion. No one who had ever come back had changed as much as Banks. If he had worn a pigtail and talked Choctaw, he couldn't have grown farther away. It wasn't his fault. He tried his best. But he hadn't talked our language for years. He couldn't get down near enough to converse. He pa.s.sed most of his playmates without remembering them, but when he saw Pash Wade's sign, he went in and shook hands with him. About forty of us came in to trade and watched him do it. It was pathetic. They stood there like strangers from different lands, Banks trying to unb.u.t.ton his huge, thick ulster of dignity, and not succeeding, and Pash trying to say something that would interest Banks--along the line of high finance of course--state of the country, etc. They gave it up in a minute, and Banks went out. He found Pelty Amthorne and shook hands with him. Pelty is pretty loquacious as a rule, but he couldn't talk to Banks--not that Banks, anyway. He'd never seen him before. He said ”How-dy-do,” and, ”It's a long time since you were here,” and Banks said, ”It is indeed. I hope you and your family are well.” And then Pelty oozed hastily back into the crowd with a relieved air as if he had done his duty, and Banks looked bored and took out his watch. But just then Sim Askinson came up all out of breath and burst through the crowd.

Sim is little and meek and has a hard time holding his own, even in our peaceful world. But when he saw Banks, he snorted like a war horse and grew up three inches.

”h.e.l.lo, Pudge, you old son-of-a-gun!” he said, with both hands in his pockets.

”h.e.l.lo, Sim!” said Banks, sort of startled.

”Where'd you come from?” demanded Sim, ”and why ain't you come before?

You're a nice friendly cuss, you are. Sucked any turkey eggs lately?”

”No, you knock-kneed dishwasher,” said Banks as a grin began to edge its way across his face. ”Have you tried to sell any more toads for bullfrogs?”

”No, nor I ain't fought out any b.u.mble-bees' nest since the time you got one up your pant leg and pretty near pounded yourself to death with a ball bat,” said Sim. ”Can you still run as fast as the time Wert Payley and I dared you to ride Malstead's bull?”

”Where's Wert?” demanded Banks. They were shaking hands now, using all four of them. ”Say, I've got to see him and Wim. Horn. I've got to leave in a few minutes.”

”Like fun you have,” growled Sim, linking arms with Banks. ”You seem to think some one's chasing you. You're going to stay all night, that's what you're going to do.”

”I am not,” said Banks; ”and I wouldn't stay with you, anyway. You had a garter snake in the bed last time I slept with you. I've got to see some more of the boys, though.”

”He thinks he's going away in a few minutes,” said Sim to Wert Payley, who had heard his name and was now shaking hands with Banks. ”Why, the old fat snide, n.o.body wants to see him outside of Homeburg. He's going to get a free supper to-night. Remember Sadie Warren?”

”Remember!” shouted Banks. ”What do you think I am?--Methuselah? I remember more things than you ever heard of. Why, Sadie and I went skating the night you couldn't find your fat horse and sleigh.”

”Ya-a-a--” yelled Payley, with a sudden shriek of laughter. ”Never knew who took your rig, did you, Sim?”

”You--you--” said Sim, glaring at Banks. ”You confounded horse thief, I believe you took Sadie in my own sleigh.”

”Ain't he bright, Pudge,” gasped Payley, ”only took him thirty years to catch on.”

”Well, Banksie,” said Sim, ”Sadie's been more particular about her young men since that night. We've been married twenty-five years, and I guess I'll let you come up and eat this evening, anyway. She lets me bring most any old pelter home.”

”Gosh, boys, I can't.”

”Say, what are you? the porter on that varnished car down there?”

demanded Sim. ”Won't they let you off a minute?”

”Tell you what we'll do,” said Pelty Amthorne. ”We'll take you to band practice to-night. Sim still runs it, but he won't let me play any more.”

”I haven't touched a horn since I left Homeburg,” laughed Banks. ”But I'd give ten dollars to see you and Wimble Horn blat away on those altos again, with your eyes bulging out of your cheeks.”

”We'll get Wimble and we'll break up band practice if you'll stay over.”

”I--”

”No, you don't,” said Sim. ”I won't have riff-raff loafing around my band.”

”You won't, eh?” said Banks. ”We'll show you. Come down to the car while I send about forty telegrams, and then we'll fix you, Mister Askinson.”

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