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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Well put, well put, Quimber," said the Colonel who had been showing signs of restlessness under the unusual and protracted eloquence of the old pound-master. "We're making the experiment that every other nation has had to make some time or other. Take old Rome, now what was it started the decay, eh?"
Gentlemen," he filled his glass again and held it high above his head, "I give you with all my heart Mr. Luigi Poggi, an honored and prosperous citizen of Flamsted my future son-in-law the prospective husband of my youngest daughter, Dulcibella Caukins." The company rose to a man, young Caukins assisting Quimber to his feet.
"All the old ones included, I see, Colonel," he ran over the names, "Quimber, Tave, Elmer Wiggins, Emlie, Poggi and Caukins" he laughed outright; "that's a good firm, Colonel," he said slyly, and the Colonel smiled his appreciation of the gentle insinuation "the manager at the sheds, and the new boss of the Upper Quarry?" He looked inquiringly at the Colonel on reading the last name.
She rode back to The Bow. Hannah called to her from the kitchen door when she saw her coming up the driveway: "Come round here a minute, Aileen." "What is it, Hannah?" Her voice trembled in spite of her effort to speak naturally. She prayed Hannah might not notice. "Here's a little broth I've made for Uncle Jo Quimber.
"Champney's no fool; he's 'bout as interested in this home work as anybody, and if he says it'll be all right, you may bet your life it will be There's Jo Quimber coming; p'raps he's heard something and can tell us." "What's that crowd up to, Uncle Jo?" said Aileen, linking her arm in the old man's and making him right about face to walk on with them. "Talkin' a strike.
"It's kinder queer now, whichever way you've a mind to look at it," Joel Quimber remarked meditatively. His eyes were cast up to the ceiling; his fore-fingers and thumbs formed an acute triangle over the bridge of his nose; the arms of his chair supported his elbows. "Queer thet it's allus them upper tens an' emigrants thet keep a-movin' on, fust one place then t'other.
It was always with old Joel Quimber: "When Champ gits back, we'll hev what ye might call the head of a fam'ly agin." Octavius Buzzby spent hours in telling her of the boy's comings and goings and doings at Champ-au-Haut, and the love Louis Champney bore him. Romanzo Caukins set him on the pedestal of his boyish enthusiasm.
We Americans, are profiting by the experience of the centuries and are going to take in fresh blood just as fast as it can attain to an arterial circulation in the body politic, sir; an arterial circulation, I say " the Colonel was apt to roll a fine phrase more than once under his tongue when the sound thereof pleased him, "and in the course of nature I agree perfectly with the late Judge Champney and our friend, Quimber there may be, during the process, a surcharge of blood to the head or stomach of the body politic that will cause a slight attack of governmental vertigo or national indigestion.
It was Joel Quimber, the ancient pound-master, who spoke, and the silence that followed proved that each man present was resenting the fact that he was not in a position to give the information desired. "I shall know as soon as they get it recorded, that is, if they don't trade for a dollar and if they ever do get it recorded."
"Nothing elaborate, Buzzby," he said a week before the event, "a fine saddle of mutton Southdown some salmon trout, a stiff bouillon for Quimber, you know his masticatory apparatus is no longer equal to this whole occasion, and a chive salad. The cake Mrs.
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