Part 3 (1/2)

”Just let me trim a certain amount of foolishness out of you, and you'll make a fine man--a _fine_ man, William,” he'd say. And perhaps you think that small thin gentleman didn't know how to make a hickory bite! He could get every tender spot, by instinct.

Well, he met young Mr. Anker, as I was saying, and asked him what ailed him. Algy explained the foul way I treated him, careful not to let the tale lose anything.

”Ah!” says Sammy, ”and what was this for?”

”For nothing at all--not a thing!”

Sammy looks at him from under his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows. ”I've often longed to thrash you for that same reason,” says he, and marches on.

But lovely Peter! Father handed me back my mistreating Algy with interest on the investment. Pheeew! And talk! I was the most cowardly brute in the country--to a.s.sault and batter a poor, nice, gentlemanly little boy--a great big hulking scoundrel like myself--why, it pa.s.sed all crimes in history. Old Uncle Nero scratching the fiddle, while the fire-insurance companies tore their hair, was a public benefactor compared to me.

That pa.s.sed. I was only hindered, not stopped, in my reckless career of Village Pride. I'm a kind of determined cuss. But Fate sprung a stuffed deck on me. I did a piece of reforming really worth doing, but it cost me my home. Moreover, I was perfectly innocent of the intention. Don't it beat the devil? To tell it longhand, the play come up like this:

We had a party in our town who deserved a statue in the Hall--Mary Ann McCracken by name. She was a Holy Terror. Never before nor since have I seen anything like Mary Ann. I reckon she had about sixty years to her credit, and two hundred pounds to show for 'em. She ran a dairy up on the hill, doing her own milking and delivering, with only one long-suffering man to help out. I always remember that man walking around with one hand flying in the air, talking to himself, but when Miss Mary Ann said in her ba.s.s voice, ”Pete! You Pete!” ”Yessum, yessum!” says Pete as polite as possible.

The old lady used to bend slowly toward you, as if taking aim with her nose, and she fired her remarks through and through you. She'd sprung a plank somewhere, and had a little list to the side, but not at all enough so she couldn't take care of her own business and any other body's that come her way. When she went by father's house she used to roar, ”Hark, froom the toomb--a doooleful sound!” because she hated everything concerning father's church, from the cellar to the lightning-rod. One day she was talking to mother, that she happened to like, snorting scornful, as was her custom, when father had the bad luck to appear on the scene.

”Adele Delatter,” says Mary Ann, ”what made you marry that man?”

pointing a finger at father like a horse-pistol. ”What made you marry him, heh? heh? Don't you answer me. Hunh. He ain't got blood in his veins at all; he turns decent vittels to vinegar. Hah. His mother's milk curddled in his stummick.” She humped up her back and shook both fists.

”He orter married _me_!” says she; ”I'd 'a' fixed him! He'd orter married ME!” She b'iled over entirely and galloped for the gate. ”I'd wring his cussed neck, if I stayed a minute longer!” she hollers. When she got in the wagon she rumbled and ”pah'd” and ”humphed.” Then she stuck her red face out and yelled, ”Orter married me. _I'd_ give him all the h.e.l.l he needed! Pah, pish, yah! Git out o' here, Jacky hoss, before you take to singin' hymns!”

She's the only human being I ever met that did just exactly what he, she, or it sweetly d.a.m.ned pleased to do. In that way, she's restful to remember. Most of us have got to copper, once in a while; but nothing above, below, nor between ever made her hedge a mill.

Well, I was walking home from Sunday-school with Miss. .h.i.tty one Sunday, trying to get points on my new system, when who should we see bearin'

down the street, all sails set and every gun loaded, but Miss Mary Ann McCracken! The first blast she give us was:

”Ha, Mehitabel! Gallivantin' around with the boys, now that the men's give out, hey?”

Poor little Miss. .h.i.tty was flummexed fool-hardy. She stuttered out some kind of answer, instead of breakin' for home.

”Oh, my! my! my!” says Mary Ann, not paying the least attention to Miss. .h.i.tty's remarks. ”My!” says she, ”you'd ought to shuck them clothes.

What you wastin' your time on boys fur? You was always hombly, Hitty; yes, but you're clean--I'll say that for you--you're _clean_. You stand some chance yet. You git married and shuck them clothes--_but shuck them clothes anyhow_!”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'You git married and shuck them clothes'”]

You could have heard her to Willet's Mountain. And away she flew.

Miss. .h.i.tty cried all the way home. I did my best to comfort her, but Mary Ann jabbed deep. She was child entirely when we reached her front door, and she turned to me just like a child.

”_Must_ I wear different clothes, Will?” she says.

”Not a darn bit,” says I. ”Not for all the jealous, pop-eyed old Jezebels in ten towns.h.i.+ps.”

She stood a moment, relieved, but still doubtful. ”I don't know but what I _should_,” she said. Then I got in the argument that went every time, on every question, in those parts. ”Why, Miss. .h.i.tty!” I says, ”how you talk! Think of the cost of it!”

She was so grateful she threw both arms and her parasol around my neck and kissed me then and there. ”I won't!” she says, stamping her foot, ”I won't! I won't!” and she swept into the house real spirited, like a high-strung mouse.

So it come I was Miss. .h.i.tty's champion.

Algy Anker happened to see Miss. .h.i.tty kiss me, and, of course, I heard from it. All the gay wags in town took a fly out of me. Even old Eli led me mysteriously to one side and whispered he believed in helping young fellers, so, when I was getting my outfit--he winked--why, he'd make a big reduction in tinware. I stood most of the gaffing pretty well, although I couldn't stop at any place without adding to the collection of rural jokes, but at last one man stepped over the line that separates a red-head from war.

There was always a crowd of country loafers around the tavern. A city loafer ain't like a country loafer. The city loafer is a blackguard that ain't got a point in his favor, except that he's different from the country loafer.