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Updated: June 2, 2025
"FAIR price?" Mr. Pulcifer was overcome by the absurdity of the question. "A fair price!" he repeated. "Man alive, it's a darned LOW price! You buy Wellmouth Development at that price and then set back and hang on. Yes, sir, that's all you'll have to do, just hang on and wait." To his surprise, Mr. Bangs seemed to find something humorous in this suggestion.
"Why why, entomology is his profession, so naturally he " "Humph! So THAT'S the feller! Tut, tut, tut! Well, if you'd only said you meant him 'twould have been all right. I forgot there was a Hall livin' in the Parker place. If you'd said you meant 'Old Bughouse' I'd have understood." "Bughouse?" "Oh, that's what the Wellmouth post-office gang call him. Kind of a joke 'tis.
He is going to get away just as soon as the down train leaves." He arrived soon afterward, having bicycled over from South Wellmouth. Primmie arrived also and bursts of her energetic conversation, punctuated by grumblings in Mr. Bloomer's bass, drifted in from the kitchen. Supper was a happy meal.
"A great favor to help you get rid of your money?" she asked. "You havin' such a tremendous lot of it, I presume likely." "Yes ah yes, that's it, that's it." Her smile broadened. "And 'twas because you were so dreadfully rich that you came here to East Wellmouth to live, I suppose. Mr.
Thankful's orderly, neat soul rebelled against having a pig under the house, but, as she expressed it, "'twas either that or havin' the critter two foot under water." Captain Obed, like every citizen of East Wellmouth, was disgusted with the weather. "I was cal'latin' to put in my spare time down to the shanty buildin' a new dory," he said, "but I guess now I'll build an ark instead.
You don't realize what a regular dime-museum wonder that feller is," he says. Well, I suppose we didn't. You see, Jonadab and me, like the rest of the folks around Wellmouth, had come to take Beriah Crocker and his weather notions as the regular thing, like baked beans on a Saturday night. Beriah, he But there! I've been sailing stern first.
Galusha Bangs' trip back to East Wellmouth was by no means a pleasure excursion. What should he say to Martha? How could he be truthful and yet continue to be encouraging? If he had not been so unreasonably optimistic it would be easier, but he had never once admitted the possibility of failure. And no, he would not admit it now. Somehow and in some way Martha's cares must be smoothed away.
Emily stood at her elbow. "What can it be, Auntie?" she asked, fearfully. "I don't know. I'm afraid to look. Oh, dear! It's somethin' bad, I know. Somethin' to do with that Holliday Kendrick; it must be or he wouldn't have come to East Wellmouth today. I I well, I must look, of course. Oh, Emily, and we thought this was goin' to be a merry Christmas, after all."
"Don't get ahead of the yarn, Sim. It happened this way: You see, I was comin' along the road between East Wellmouth and the Center when I run afoul of him. He was fat and shiny, and drivin' a skittish horse hitched to a fancy buggy. When he sighted me he hove to and hailed. "'Here you! says he, in a voice as fat as the rest of him. 'Your name's Berry, ain't it. "'Yup, says I.
Galusha did not tell Martha of the interview in the real estate dealer's office, but the recollection of it did not tend to make him more easy in his mind concerning her investment in Wellmouth Development Company. And, as another week went by and still Cousin Gussie did not reply to the letter of inquiry, his uneasiness grew with his impatience.
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