Cape Cod (Mass.) -- Fiction; Short stories, American
“Sure I've seen it!” says Milo. “I ain't much of a jedge, and of course
I couldn't question Rogers too much for fear he'd stick on the price.
But it's an old davenport, and it's got Sheriton lines and I've got the
refusal of it till to-morrow, when Mrs. T's going up to inspect.”
“Told Small yet?” asked Peter T., winking on the side to me and Jonadab.
Milo looked scared. “Goodness! No,” says he. “And don't you tell him
neither. His wife's davenport hunting too.”
“You say you've got the refusal of it?” says I. “Well, I know Adoniram
Rogers, and if _I_ was dickering with him I'd buy the thing first and
get the refusal of it afterwards. You hear ME?”
“Is that so?” repeats Milo. “Slippery, is he? I'll take my wife up there
first thing in the morning.”
He walked off looking worried, and his tops'ls hadn't much more'n sunk
in the offing afore who should walk out of the billiard room behind us
but Eddie Small.
“Brown,” says he to Peter T., “I want you to have a horse and buggy
harnessed up for me right off. Mrs. Small and I are going for a little
drive to--to--over to Orham,” he says.
'Twas a mean, black night for a drive as fur as Orham and Peter looked
surprised. He started to say something, then swallered it down, and told
Eddie he'd see to the harnessing. When Small was out of sight, I says:
“You don't cal'late he heard what Milo was telling, do you, Peter?” says
I.
Peter T. shook his head and winked, first at Jonadab and then at me.
And the next day there was the dickens to pay because Eddie and the
Duchess had driven up to Rogers' the night afore and had bought the
davenport, refusal and all, for twenty dollars more'n Milo offered for
it.
Adoniram brought it down that forenoon and all hands and the cook was on
the hurricane deck to man the yards. 'Twas a wonder them boarders didn't
turn out the band and fire salutes. Such ohs and ahs! 'Twan't nothing
but a ratty old cripple of a sofy, with one leg carried away and most
of the canvas in ribbons, but four men lugged it up the steps and the
careful way they handled it made you think the Old Home House was a
receiving tomb and they was laying in the dear departed.
'Twas set down on the piazza and then the friends had a chance to
view the remains. The Duchess and “Irene dear” gurgled and gushed and
received congratulations. Eddie stood around and tried to look modest
as was possible under the circumstances. The Dowager sailed over, tilted
her nose up to the foretop, remarked “Humph”' through it and come about
and stood at the other end of the porch. “My daughter” follers in her
wake, observes “Humph!” likewise and makes for blue water. Milo comes
over and looks at Eddie.
“Well?” says Small. “What do you think of it?”
“Never mind what I think of IT,” answers Thompson, through his teeth.
“Shall I tell you what I think of YOU?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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