Produced by David Widger HOOKING WATERMELONS By Edward Bellamy 1898 The train slackened, a brakeman thrust his head in at the door and shouted “Bah,”--a mysterious formality observed on American trains as they enter towns,--and an elderly lady, two drummers, and a young man with a satchel got out, followed by the languid envy of the other passengers, who had longer or shorter penances of heat and dust before them. The train got under way again, while the knot of loafers about the station proceeded to eye the arrivals as judicially as if they were a committee of safety to protect the village from invasion by doubtful characters. The old lady, apparently laboring under some such impression, regarded them deferentially, as nervous travelers on arriving in strange places generally do regard everybody who seems to feel at home. The drummers briskly disappeared down the main street, each anxious to anticipate the other at the stores. The young man with the satchel, however, did not get away till he had shaken hands and exchanged a few good-natured inquiries with one of the loungers. “Who's that, Bill?” asked one of the group, staring after the retreating figure with lazy curiosity. “Why, did n't you know him? Thought everybody knew him. That's Arthur Steele,” replied the one who had shaken hands, in a tone of cordiality indicating that his politeness had left a pleasant impression on his mind, as Arthur Steele's politeness generally did. “Who is he, anyhow?” pursued the other. “Why, he 's a Fairfield boy” (the brakeman pronounced it “Bah”), “born and brought up here. His folks allers lived right next to mine, and now he's doin' a rushin' lawyer trade down New York, and I expect he's just rakin' the stamps. Did yer see that diamond pin he wore?” “S'pose it's genooine?” asked a third loafer, with interest. “Course it was. I tell you he's on the make, and don't you forgit it. Some fellers allers has luck. Many 's the time he 'n' I 've been in swim-min' and hookin' apples together when we wuz little chaps,” pursued Bill, in a tone implying a mild reproach at the deceitfulness of an analogy that after such fair promise in early life had failed to complete itself in their later fortunes. “Why, darn it all, you know him, Jim,” he continued, dropping the tone of pensive reminiscence into which he had momentarily allowed himself to fall. “That pretty gal that sings in the Baptis' choir is his sister.” After a space of silent rumination and jerking of peanut shells upon the track, the group broke up its session, and adjourned by tacit understanding till the next train was due.