Part 10 (1/2)

”What's up?”

”I wanted to see you, Buck.”

He talked and acted very strangely, and I was sure something unusual had happened. He lived with a farmer by the name of Barkspear, who had the reputation of being the stingiest man in Torrentville, if not in the county. Sim was a great, stout, bow-legged fellow, as good-natured as the day was long. He always looked as though he had recently escaped from the rag-bag, with its odds and ends sticking to him. Though he always looked fat and hearty, he frequently complained that he could not get enough to eat at Barkspear's.

”What's the matter, Sim? Why don't you tell me what has happened?” I continued.

”I wanted to see you, Buck,” he repeated, for the fourth time.

”What do you want to see me for?”

”Well, I thought I wanted to see you,” said he, fumbling his fingers together, and looking into the water, instead of in my face.

”You do see me,” I added, impatiently, beginning to have a suspicion that he had lost his senses, what little he had.

”I wanted to ask you something,” he added, after a long pause.

”Well, ask it.”

”I thought I would tell you about it, and that's the reason I wanted to see you,” said Sim, poking about his trousers pockets, just as some boys do when they are going to make a speech in school.

”About what?” I asked, more mildly, when I saw that Sim was sort of choking, and exhibited some signs of an intention to break out in a fit of blubbering.

”I'm a poor boy. I haven't got many friends, and--and I wanted to see you.”

This was too much for him, and, turning away his head, he cried like a great baby. I pushed the raft up to a fallen tree, whose trunk was above the water, and stuck the pole down into the mud, so as to keep it in place.

”What is the matter, Sim?” I asked again, seating myself on the log. ”If I can help you any way, I will.”

”I knew you would; and that's the reason I wanted to see you,” blubbered Sim, seating himself by my side.

”You said you stopped work yesterday,” I continued, in the kindest tones I could command, for I was much moved by his apparent distress.

”Yes; I stopped work yesterday, and--and--and that's the reason I wanted to see you,” sobbed he, wiping his face with his dirty hands.

I thought he wanted to see me for a good many reasons; but I concluded to wait until he had recovered his self-possession before I asked any more questions. When the silence had continued for full five minutes, it became embarra.s.sing to him, and he remarked that he had wanted to see me.

”I believe you have lost your senses, Sim,” I replied.

”No; I haven't lost my senses--only my stomach,” said he, with a piteous look, which alone prevented me from laughing at his ludicrous speech, and the more ludicrous expression upon his face.

”What is the matter with your stomach?” I inquired.

”Nothing in it,” whined he.

”What do you mean?” I asked, sharply, rather to quicken his wits than to express anger.

”I quit work yesterday.”