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And the rubber-like self-esteem of a male, havin' sprung back in full force, he went on: "Why, Miss Corkins, up to Zoar, that pays bigger taxes than any man in town, earnt it all herself too in the millionary bizness, why, that snub-nosed nigger that drives for her can vote, and she can't.
Bob West put in a card advertising his hardware business and Nib Corkins cautiously invested a half dollar to promote his drug store and stock of tarnished cheap jewelry; but Sam Cotting said everybody knew what he had for sale and advertising wouldn't help him any. Arthur drove to Huntingdon with Louise and while the society editor picked up items her husband interviewed the merchants.
Seth Davis, the blacksmith, dropped his tools and hurried to the store, and the druggist three doors away a dapper gentleman known as Nib Corkins hurriedly locked his door and attended the meeting.
"Wall, I'll be plunked," finally exclaimed the blacksmith. "Looks like the feller's rich, don't it?" "Ef he's rich, what the tarnation blazes is he comin' here for?" demanded Nib Corkins, the dandy of the town. "I was over t' Huntingdon las' year, 'n' seen how the rich folks live. Boys, this h'ain't no place for a man with money." "That depends," responded Cotting, gravely.
"Well," said McNutt with a sigh, "while he's in easy reach there orter be some sort o' pickings fer us, an' it's our duty to git all we can out'n him short o' actoo-al robbery. What do ye s'pose this new deal means, boys? Sounds like printin' somethin', don't it?" "P'raps it's some letterheads fer the Wegg Farm," suggested Nib Corkins. "These Merricks do everything on a big scale."
Millville waited in agonized suspense for three days for tangible evidence that "the nabob was in their midst," as Nib Corkins poetically expressed it; but the city folks seemed glued to the farm and no one of them had yet appeared in the village.
"Bet a cookie he's runnin' the blame bill up to two dollars, with all this chinnin'. Why can't th' ol' nabob write a letter, like common folks, an' give his extry cash to the poor?" "Meanin' you, Peggy?" asked Nib Corkins, with a chuckle. "He might do wuss ner that," retorted Peggy. "Lor' knows I'm poor enough. You don't ketch me a-talkin' to New York at a dollar a throw, Nib, do ye?"
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