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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Good heavens, child! I didn't know you were there. What did you say?" "I said there were five thousand six hundred and seventeen books on the shelves here yesterday." "How do you know?" "I counted them." "COUNTED them? Mercy! What for?" Galusha's spectacles gleamed. "For fun," he said.
The conversation, borne by the gusts, came to Galusha's ears clearly and distinctly. One of the speakers seemed to be explaining, urging, the other peremptorily refusing to listen. "But, Cap'n Jeth," urged the first voice, and Mr. Bangs recognized it as belonging to his obliging guide and pilot of the fateful Friday evening, Mr. Horatio Pulcifer. "But, Cap'n Jeth," said Mr.
And and maybe I won't have to lie awake night after night, plannin' how I can do this and do without that and and " She stopped, her sentence unfinished. Galusha said nothing. A moment later she turned to him. "Should I write your cousin a letter and thank him, do you think?" she asked. Galusha's reply was hurriedly given and most emphatic. "Oh, no, no," he protested.
Erastus happened to be busy at the moment there were two customers in his store at the same time, an event most unusual so Galusha's wants were supplied by no less a person than Mr. Horatio Pulcifer. Raish's greeting was condescendingly genial. "Well, well!" he exclaimed, pumping the little man's arm up and down with one hand and thumping his shrinking shoulder blades with the other.
Then I found the fellow I came to see had gone somewhere, nobody knew where, and the hotel was closed for the season. I inquired about you, was given your address at the post office, and hunted you up. That's the story." Galusha's smile was less forced this time. He nodded reflectively. "That explains it," he said, slowly. "Yes, quite so. Of course, that explains it." "Explains what?"
It was a joke, of course, but just where the point of the joke was located she was not sure. To her, thirteen thousand dollars was an enormous sum. The idea that her lodger, gentle, retiring little Galusha Bangs, possessed a half of that fortune was a joke in itself. But... And then she saw Galusha's face and the expression upon it. "Why why, Mr. Bangs!" she exclaimed.
He's poorer'n poverty and it's cheap livin' down at Martha Phipps's. How do I know he's poor? Cripes t'mighty, look at his clothes! Don't look much like yours or mine, do they?" They certainly did not look much like Mr. Pulcifer's. Galusha's trunk had arrived at last, but the garments in it were as drab and old-fashioned and "floppy" as those he wore on his arrival.
Galusha's desire to protest overcame his politeness. He broke in hurriedly. "Oh, but I'm not, you know," he cried. "I'm not really. Dear me, no!" "But you said you had been to to Africa, was it? three or four times." "Oh, but those were my Abyssinian trips. Abyssinia isn't wild, or dangerous, any more than Egypt." "Oh, isn't it?" "No, not in the least, really. Oh, dear me, no!"
There ain't anything crooked about it.... Why, what is it, Perfessor?" eagerly. "Changed your mind, have you?" Galusha's expression had changed, certainly. He looked queerly at Mr. Pulcifer, queerly and for an appreciable interval of time. There was an odd flash in his eye and the suspicion of a smile at the corner of his lips. But he was grave enough when he spoke. "Mr.
Better go right away, because supper is nearly ready. Mr. Cabot, it is Saturday night and you'll get a Saturday night supper, beans and brown bread. I hope you won't mind." Galusha's relative was somewhat taken aback. "Why, Miss Phipps," he protested, "of course I can't think of dining here. It is extremely kind of you, but really I " Martha calmly interrupted. "It isn't kind at all," she said.
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