Part 8 (1/2)
”Mebbe,” said Marsden, quite impressed by the logic of this last statement. ”Anyhaow I'll give you ninety cents, and that's my last figger.”
The man glanced furtively over his shoulder at the female in the buggy, who sat twitching the reins impatiently, then he hitched up closer to Marsden and held out a dime.
”Take it,” he whispered, ”'n' give me the greenback. I promised I wouldn't let it go fur less'n a dollar, 'n' I da.s.sent.”
The two men winked at each other like brothers in the freemasonry of married life, and the knight of the duster disappeared in the gathering dusk. His departure emptied the little shop, and Flint and Brady entered and seated themselves on a couple of kegs on opposite sides of the door.
”Ef it's all the same, gentlemen,” drawled Marsden. ”I'd recommend you to take another seat with yore pipes, fur one of them kags is filled with ile, and the other with gun-paowder.”
Brady jumped up in haste, and felt of his coat-tails as though they might even then be on fire.
Even Flint moved with greater alacrity than usual, quite concurring in the wisdom of seeking another seat, especially as the new one brought him opposite the low doorway, through which he could see the sky, and watch the night drawing in over bay and cove.
On the fence-rail opposite, a flock of turkeys had composed themselves to sleep. The crickets in the corn-field were tuning their wings for their habitual evening concert. The night-moth flapped heavily against the small, square window-pane.
It was a scene bare but tranquil; and Flint was possessed by its dreary charm. The dim quiet of the twilight suited him; and it struck him jarringly, like a false note in an orchestra, when there fell on his ear a high, shrill voice, exclaiming,--
”Pa, ma wants to know if the yeast-cakes have come.”
Tilly Marsden gave a little start of surprise, as she came down the steps from the house-door, at the sight of Flint and Brady, who rose at her entrance, and removed their pipes from their mouths.
”Enter woman--exit comfort,” thought Flint.
”I hope you're better, Mr. Flint,” said Tilly, edging a little nearer him while her father searched among the blue boxes for the desired yeast-cakes.
”Thanks.”
”Wasn't the sun awful hot up to town?”
”Quite so.”
”But you didn't get sun-struck?”
”No.”
”I'm awful glad. I says to ma this morning, 'I do hope,' says I, 'Mr.
Flint has taken Pa's big white umbrella lined with green. You know his head is so weak.'”
Flint felt Brady's amused glance upon him. ”Thank you,” he answered stiffly, ”my head is quite well again. Come, Brady,” he added, turning to his friend, ”if you are ready, we'll get our stroll before we turn in.”
”Here, Tilly,” said Marsden, at the same time, ”here's the yeast-cake; but I don't see what ma wants with it, fur I gev her two this arfternoon.”
Tilly blushed, and looked furtively toward the doorway where the young men stood. The girl had a kind of flimsy prettiness which suggested a cotillon favor. Her hair was fluffy, and coquettishly knotted at the back with blue ribbon. Her freshly ironed white dress set off her hourgla.s.s figure, and the fingers on which she was continually twisting the rings were white and slender. Her lips were set in a somewhat simpering smile, and her voice was soft with a view to effect. Brady watched her artless artfulness with some amus.e.m.e.nt. When they had gone out, he hinted something to Flint in regard to the conquest he appeared to have made; but found him so loftily unconscious that his jest fell flat, and he dropped the subject to take up a more serious theme as they strolled along the road, and at length seated themselves where the turkeys had made their roost, on the gray rail-fence in the moonlight.
”I wonder, Flint,” said Brady, ”if we shall be able to take up our old a.s.sociation where we dropped it.”
”Of course not,” Flint answered, ”don't imagine it for a moment!”
”I don't see why we should not.”