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Updated: May 27, 2025
I trust I do not intrude." Georgianna was still speechless, in which unwonted condition she was not alone, Messrs. Bangs and Tidditt being also stricken dumb. But Captain Cy rose to the occasion grandly. "Intrude?" he repeated. "Not a mite of it! Mighty glad to see you, Heman. Here, give us your hat. Pull up to the table. When did you get back? Thought you was in the orange groves somewheres."
The child rose, laid down the magazine, which was open at the colored picture of a group of ladies in crinoline and chignons, and, going across the room, extended a hand to Mr. Tidditt. "How do you do, sir?" she said. "Why er how d'ye do? I'm pretty smart, thank you. How's yourself?" "I'm better now. I guess the sass'parilla was good for me."
Do stay and eat a lot; then there won't be so much to warm over." Mr. Tidditt accepted the invitation, also a section of the Breeze. While they were reading they heard the back door slam. "It's the graven image," explained the captain. "She's been on a cruise down town somewheres. Be a lot of sore throats in that direction to-morrow mornin'." The town clerk looked up. "There now!" he exclaimed.
The captain had even begun a letter to Mrs. Thomas, but laid it aside unfinished, having, since Bailey's unfortunate experience with the widow Beasley, a prejudice against experiments. But this evening, before Mr. Tidditt called, he had been thinking that something would have to be done and done soon. The generally shiftless condition of his domestic surroundings was getting to be unbearable.
And you look now as if somebody's ghost had riz and hollered 'Boo! at you. For the land sakes, Whit, what IS it?" The captain drew his hand across his forehead. "Ghost?" he repeated absently. "No, I haven't SEEN a ghost. There! there! don't mind me. I ain't real well to-day, I guess." He smiled crookedly. "Don't you want to hear about my vote-grabbin' cruise?" asked Tidditt.
Her name's Deborah Beasley, she's a widow over to East Trumet, and if I don't miss my guess, she's in the depot wagon now headed in this direction." Captain Cy whistled. Mr. Tidditt was too much surprised to do even that.
Where to start beat me, also, and it might be beating me yet, if I hadn't dropped in at the post-office and heard Asaph Tidditt telling a story to the group around the stove. After he had finished, and, the mail being sorted, we were walking homeward together, I asked a question. "Asaph," said I, "when you start to spin a yarn how do you begin?" "Hey?" he exclaimed. "How do I begin?
"What's the use of hirin' somebody from right next door to us, as you might say?" demanded Alpheus Smalley, clerk at the store. "Don't we want our teachin' to be abreast of the times, and is Wellmouth abreast of ANYthing?" "It's abreast of the bay, that's about all, I will give in," replied Mr. Tidditt.
Keturah got together a half dozen numbers of the Home Dressmaker and other periodicals of a similar nature. The captain took them under his arm and departed, whispering to Mr. Tidditt, as he passed the latter in the hall: "Come up by and by, Ase. I want to talk to you. Bring Bailey along, if you can do it without startin' divorce proceedings."
Each March, Asaph Tidditt, in his official capacity as town clerk, had been accustomed to receive an envelope with a South American postmark, and in that envelope was a draft on a Boston banking house for the sum due as taxes on the "Cy Whittaker place." The drafts were signed "Cyrus M. Whittaker." But this particular year the year in which this chronicle begins no draft had been received.
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