“I suppose it will be good enough when they can play without soundin’ like bullfrogs with the croup,” returned Uncle Buck, sulkily. Hiram had come in at just the time when he had edged forward to put some leading questions to Mate Seekins. He turned to the sailor again. “You was sayin’----” he began. “You never heard nothin’ in your life before but a melodeon and a jew’s harp, you old Fiji,” shouted Hiram, thrusting forward close to the stove. “There’s about a half dozen of you old mossbacks that ain’t come to enough to appreciate what I’m doin’ for this place. But I’ve got the crowd with me. I’ll show ye in town meeting next March! I can run that band myself, so fur’s that comes to; but I’m goin’ to make some of you old hogs of taxpayers chip in to support it. I’m goin’ to have an article put in appropriating two hundred dollars for band concerts next summer, and I’ll carry it through.” “This town won’t vote for no such dum foolishness,” retorted Buck. He turned to Seekins again, his curiosity mastering his spirit of controversy. “You was sayin’ as how----” “Bet you fifty, and put the money in Brickett’s hands right now,” bellowed Hiram, ever eager for opportunities to browbeat the old men of the village. He dug into his trousers pocket. “Why don’t you wear that wad o’ money hung round your neck out in plain sight?” demanded Uncle Lysimachus, angrily. “You seem bound and determined to have it under our noses all the whol’ time.” “Put up your stuff,” cried Hiram. “Make a pool if ye want to. I ain’t afraid of the gang of you.” He whirled and ran his hale eye along their faces. Dow Babb, who had been chief of the Palermo hand-tub brigade for many years, unhooked his toe from his instep, recrossed his legs and said with decision: “You can’t run the _whole_ of this town, Hime, even if you are runnin’ a part of it jest now. You wait your turn with your brass band. I’ve been before town meetin’ for four years, now, a-askin’ and implorin’ the voters to appropriate enough to repair Hecla and buy some more hose. They ain’t give me a cent. Now if you go to work and bull through any such article in the warrant as you’re braggin’ you will, then all I’ve got to say is that the next time a fire breaks out in the village, your darned old band can go and play on it. The Hecla comp’ny never will.” Uncle Buck, unable to control himself any longer, got up and pounded his cane on the floor. “I’ve heard all the tow-rowin’ I want to hear. Here I be tryin’ to talk with Mr. Seekins about something that amounts to something. And ye can’t hear yourself think. Take your cheese and your crackers, Hime Look, and go over and stuff ’em into your toodle-oodlers. Let gentlemun that’s a-talkin’ serious bus’ness go on with their serious bus’ness. Now, Seekins, you said as how you’d seen King Bradish drunker’n a fiddler’s hoorah. What else?” “I never said I seen him,” returned the man, sullenly.