“Even if the Squire don’t get her, Lys, let’s fix it so that King Bradish never will. Sylveny Willard’s too good a girl to be wasted that way, and if the Judge gits devil-set enough he’s li’ble to drive her right into it. Now we’ll ste’boy the Squire onto King in spite of himself.” “That critter has rid’ around town with his nose up ‘bout’s long as I can stand it,” said Amazeen. “He’s a stuck-up, blame-fired skunk, that’s what he is,” snapped Buck, the memory of certain sneers about “Palermo’s mossbacks” burning hotly with him. The conspirators composed their faces and went in. CHAPTER IV--SQUIRE PHIN FINDS HYMEN’S TORCH BURNING HIS FINGERS “Old Widder Bugg was a-weanin’ her ca’f, Used ha’f for herself and the ca’f had ha’f, But he bellered all day and he blatted all night, And he hollered for his rations so tough and tight, That the widder she fed him one last, square meal, And the next he knowed he was peddled for veal. Oh, nice little ca’ves that is bein’ weaned, Shouldn’t keep blattin’ when the cow’s been dreened.” --Effort by “Rhymester” Tuttle. Of the four strap-bottomed “company chairs” in Squire Look’s office, “three had spavins and the other the blind staggers,” as old Uncle Lysimachus Buck expressed it. But by dint of balancing on the sound legs or bracing against the wall at the right angle, or by extreme care in easing one’s self into a safe position, the loafers who dropped in to smoke managed to worry along. When the wood box cover was shut down that made a seat for two. As for clients, when the chairs were occupied clients were glad to roost on a corner of the big table and rap their heels with great ease of manner and comfort of person. The Squire’s visitors sat down and as promptly lighted their pipes. “As I was tellin’ ye, Squire, the other day,” began Marriner Amazeen, after pausing to quack briskly at his pipe stem to kindle the waning lire, “I don’t see what in sanup ye was thinkin’ of to torch Watson Mayo up to marry that hity-tity-flighty little fool for. The minister wouldn’t marry ’em and you done it, and so of course the Mayos lay the blame to you.” He made great show of resentment. Buck apparently had much trouble in refraining from grinning. The ’Squire, who had been feeding the stove, dusted his hands smartly and pudged slowly back to his armchair without replying. He picked up his pipe, surveyed a match, end to end, preparatory to scratching it, a quizzical pucker about his mouth. “You remember the time Benson Wallace had all his new grading washed away by the cloudburst, ’Mad’?” Amazeen nodded grimly. He did not relish Squire Look’s illustrations.