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Updated: June 24, 2025
Uncle Peabody, keeping his temper, shook his head and calmly said: "No I ain't anything ag'in' you or Amos, but it's got to be so that a man can travel the roads o' this town without gettin' his head blowed off." Mr. Dunkelberg jumped into the breach then, saying: "I told Mr. Grimshaw that you hadn't any grudge against him or his boy and that I knew you'd do what you could to help in this matter."
Uncle had tied a red handkerchief around his neck and was readjusting his galluses when I returned. In silence we hurried to the house. As we drew near I heard the voice of Mrs. Horace Dunkelberg and that of another woman quite as strange to my ear a high-pitched voice of melting amiability. It was the company voice of my Aunt Deel.
Dunkelberg turned to me and asked: "Are you sure that the stock of the gun you saw was broken?" "Yes, sir-and I'm almost sure it was Amos that ran away with it." "Why?" "I picked up a stone and threw it at him and it grazed the left side of his face, and the other night I saw the scar it made." My aunt and uncle and Mr. Dunkelberg moved with astonishment as I spoke of the scar. Mr.
I have never forgotten the look of amusement in his big, smiling, gray eyes as they looked down upon me out of his full, ruddy, smooth-shaven face. It inspired confidence and I whispered timidly: "Could I have some more?" "All you want," he answered, as he put another ladle full in my bowl. When we had finished eating he set aside the dishes and I asked: "Now could I go and see Sally Dunkelberg?"
Aunt Deel hesitated at the edge of the stable yard, surrounded as she was by the aroma of the fleshpots, then: "I guess we better go right home and save our money, Peabody ayes!" said she. "We told Mr. and Mrs. Horace Dunkelberg that we was goin' home and they'd think we was liars." "We orto have gone with `em," said Uncle Peabody as he unhitched the horses.
"Of course I'll help in any way I can," my uncle answered. "I couldn't harm him if I tried not if he's innocent. All he's got to do is to prove where he was that night." "Suppose he was lost in the woods?" Mr. Dunkelberg asked. "The truth wouldn't harm him any," my uncle insisted. "Them tracks wouldn't fit his boots, an' they'd have to." Mr.
She wiped the mud from her prodigious nose and I wet her handkerchief in a pool of water and helped her to wash it. Soon we saw two men approaching us in the road. In a moment I observed that one was Mr. Horace Dunkelberg; the other a stranger and a remarkably handsome young man he was, about twenty-two years of age and dressed in the height of fashion.
Sally Dunkelberg and her mother came along and said that they were glad I had come to school. I could not talk to them and seeing my trouble, they went on, Sally waving her hand to me as they turned the corner below. I felt ashamed of myself. Suddenly I heard the door open behind me and the voice of Mr. Hacket: "Bart," he called, "I've a friend here who has something to say to you. Come in."
With the Senator in the presidential chair I should be well started in the highway of great success. Then Mr. H. Dunkelberg might think me better than the legacy of Benjamin Grimshaw. A relay awaited me twenty-three miles down the road. Well, I reached Washington very sore, but otherwise in good form, soon after daybreak.
They were the conversational ornaments of our home. "As Mrs. Horace Dunkelberg says," or, "as I said to Mr. Horace Dunkelberg," were phrases calculated to establish our social standing. I supposed that the world was peopled by Joneses, Lincolns, Humphries and Dunkelbergs, but mostly by Dunkelbergs. These latter were very rich people who lived in Canton village.
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