Circus -- Fiction; Maine -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Villages -- Fiction
“That old fool is gittin’ to be a town nuisance,” he observed. “When I
came down this mornin’ he was standin’ across from Judge Willard’s house
like a setter dog opposite a fox hole, croakin’ ‘Hard times a-comin’
to P’lermo.’ I don’t reckon that hard times is goin’ to start from Coll
Willard’s place. Leastways, if I was as well fixed as the old Judge is
I shouldn’t be reckonin’ to see hard times roostin’ on my primises just
yit awhile.”
“You ain’t alius lived in P’lermo same’s me and Lys has, Brickett,” said
Amazeen. “I don’t know what kind of things is goin’ to happen or what
kind of a hard-times bird has come to nest on Coll Willard’s place, but
it don’t take no seventh sense to smell trouble in this town now. Hime
Look will make it without meanin’ to. He ain’t nat’rally a bad man,
Hime ain’t. It’s his cussed tongue and the freaks he takes. Ev’ry one
’round him keeps gittin’ all stirred up. Long ago’s he went to the
district school he had all the girls in fidgits about the snakes and
frogs he lugged in his pants pockets--wa’n’t happy without a menagerie.
“Run away with circuses three times and old man Look had to chase him
up and bring him home. Started off once with a shelter-tent and a angle
worm in a mustard bottle and followed the fairs ’round in counties
above here. Wa’n’t scarcely eighteen then, but he had more cheek than
a Guinea nigger. Folks would listen to him shoutin’ up that ‘infant
anaconda’---that’s what he called the angle-worm--and would pay ten
cents and go in and then would come out mad as they could stick. Most
of the time he was able to keep hollerin’ so loud that no one could hear
them complainin’. He’d say: ‘The gentleman who has jest come out of
the tent states that under this canvas is the grandest sight that the
civilised world has got to offer. He advises his friends to pass in, one
and all, and behold the only infant anaconda in captivity.’ It certainly
did take cheek to run that show, but he had it.”
Amazeen went fishing in his pockets for a match.
“Well, he couldn’t always holler ’em down, could he?” inquired
Brickett, skeptically. “I should have thought that some one would ’a’
showed him up.”
The old man chuckled.
“Oh, once in a while a man would git heard and then Hime would bend down
and ask:
“‘What’s the matter with you?’
“‘Why, he ain’t longer’n your finger,’ the man would yap back.
“‘Oh, he ain’t big enough? That’s it!’ Hime would say. ‘Well, go right
back in and wait till he grows. ‘There won’t be any extry charge.’
“And then the rest of the crowd that always likes to see a man took in
would laugh and Hime would go on cheerful as a cricket. But if he’d had
less cheek he’d have got rid’ on a rail out of ev’ry fair ground.” He
closed down the little “pepper-pot” cover over his pipe bowl.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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