Part 40 (2/2)

”In two days, it says,” repeated William; ”and we can't send no telegram because there ain't no address.”

Tuck and his wife had no children. They occupied the kitchen for a living-room and the big bedroom over it at night. The main part of the house was shut up. The hired hands occupied rooms in the barn that had once been the quarters of a numerous stable force, for the Leightons had always gone in for horses, as two or three long-standing trotting records at neighboring county fairs gave evidence.

Mrs. Tuck was not long in facing the inevitable. First of all she commandeered all the labor on the farm; then she sent a call for aid to a couple of neighbors. Within an hour all the green shutters had swung wide on their creaking hinges, and the window-sashes were up. Out of the open windows poured some dust and a great deal of commotion. Before night the big house was spick and span from garret to cellar.

”Does seem to me,” said Mrs. Tuck, as she placed a very sc.r.a.ppy supper before William, ”like dust is as human as guinea pigs. Where you say it can't get in, it jest breeds.”

”Now you sit down and take it easy, Mrs. Tuck,” said William, who had married late in life and never got on familiar terms with his wife. ”I reckon them men-folks ain't so took with reddin' up as you think they be.”

”Oh, I know,” said the tired, but by no means exhausted, Mrs. Tuck, ”I ain't forgettin' their innards, ef thet's what you're thinkin' of. You just tell Silas to kill four broilers, an' I'll clean 'em to-night.

Thet'll give me a start, and to-morow I c'n do a few dozen pies. I _hev_ got some mince-meat, thank goodness! an' you c'n get me in some of them early apples in the morning. Seems like I'm not going to sleep a wink for thinkin'.”

Lewis and Leighton did not motor from New York to the Homestead Farm, as ten years later they might have done. Motors, while common, were still in that stage of development which made them a frequent source of revenue to the farmer with a stout team of horses. Consequently it was by train that they arrived at Leighton's home station--a station that had grown out of all recognition since last he had seen it.

However, he himself had not grown out of recognition. A lank figure of a man, red-cheeked, white-bearded, slouch-hatted, and in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, stepped forward and held out a h.o.r.n.y hand.

”Well, Glen, how be ye? Sure am glad to see ye back.”

”Me, too,” said Leighton, grinning and flus.h.i.+ng with pleasure. ”Come here, Lew. Shake hands with Mr. Tuck.”

”Well, I swan!” chuckled William as he crushed Lewis's knuckles. ”Guess you don't recollec' ridin' on my knee, young feller?”

”No, I don't,” said Lewis, and smiled into the old man's moist blue eyes.

”And who he this?” asked William, turning toward Nelton.

”That? Oh, that's Nelton,” said Lewis.

”Glad to meet ye, Mr. Nelton. Put it thar!” said William, holding out a vast hand.

For an instant Nelton paused, then, with set teeth and the air of one who comes to grips with an electric battery, he laid his fingers in Mr.

Tuck's grasp. ”Huh!” remarked William, ”ye ain't got much grip. Wait tell we've stuffed ye with b.u.t.termilk 'n' pies 'n' victuals 'n' things.”

Nelton said not a word, but cast an agonized look at Leighton, who came to his aid.

”Now, William, what have you brought down?”

”Well, Glen, there's me an' the kerryall for the folks, an' Silas here with the spring-wagon for the trunks.”

”Good,” said Leighton. ”Here, Silas, take these checks and look after Mr. Nelton. Lew and I will go in the carryall.”

”Fancy your governor a-pullin' of my leg!” murmured Nelton, presumably to Lewis, but apparently to s.p.a.ce. ”Why don't 'e tell this old josser as I'm a menial, and be done with it.”

Old William started, stared at Nelton, then at Leighton. He walked off toward the carryall, scratching his head.

”What is it?” he asked Lewis, in a loud whisper.

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