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Updated: May 2, 2025
Thar it is on the sewin'-machine; I'll bet you ain't looked in it in a month o' Sundays." Westerfelt was laboriously keeping a straight face, but it was waxing red as blood and his eyes were protruding from their sockets and twinkling with a merriment that was a delight to Mrs. Bradley, who kept glancing at him as she talked. "What in the dev what do you mean, Marthy?" Bradley stammered.
The sky along the eastern horizon was turning pale, and the chickens were crowing and flapping their wings. He heard Bradley lustily clearing his throat as he got out of bed. Later he heard him in the kitchen making a fire. Westerfelt knew he would go out to the barn-yard to feed and water his cattle and horses, and he wanted to avoid him and his cheery morning greeting.
Descending to the office on his way out, he found a young man writing at a desk. It was William Washburn, the book-keeper for the former owners of the livery-stable, whom Westerfelt had retained on Bradley's recommendation. Washburn was copying accounts from a ledger on to sheets of paper. "How are they running?" asked Westerfelt, looking over the young man's shoulder.
I've often told Harriet " "Mother, Mr. Westerfelt doesn't care to hear anything about him." Harriet turned from the fire and abruptly left the room. Mrs. Floyd did not finish what she had started to say. Westerfelt looked at her questioningly and then closed his eyes. She went to the fireplace and laid a stick of wood across the andirons, and then sat down and hooded her head with a shawl.
She asked me to come to dinner with 'em next Sunday, and said Harriet always was backward about showing a preference for the young man she really liked, an' said she was shore I didn't care much for her or I'd come oftener." Westerfelt was silent. He had never suspected Mrs. Floyd of scheming, but now that his suspicions were roused he let them run to the opposite extreme.
Looking up and seeing Westerfelt and Jennie, they stopped, turned their faces aside, and continued talking. Westerfelt was numb all over. Had she accepted Bates? He tried to read their faces, but even the open countenance of Bates revealed nothing. "Come on, you ninnies!" Jennie cried out. "What on earth are you waiting for?" Her voice jarred on Westerfelt.
You have let enough out to show me that I must have had very, very poor parents." "I simply said that when they left you at my house you had on rather cheap clothing, but you know that was just after the war, when nobody could dress their children much." "But they deserted me," said Harriet; "they could not have been very honorable. I reckon Mr. Westerfelt knows all about it."
His ha'nt 'ud ride with me every time I passed over the Hawkbill." "Bill Washburn's in thar," said a man in the edge of the crowd. "I seed 'im run in as we rid up." The leader, who sat on a restive horse near Westerfelt, called out: "Hello in thar, Bill Washburn; git out some'n to put yore man on. Hurry up, ur we'll take you along to see the fun."
For all you do, don't let him see too plain that you care for him. Mind what I say!" Westerfelt was impatient for two o'clock to arrive. It was one when he left Bradley's after dinner. He went to the stable and ordered Jake to get out his horse and buggy. He would call for her at once; he could not wait any longer.
"Be ashamed o' yorese'f, young man," he said; "ef you don't want to be prayed fer you don't have to, but don't cut up any o' yore shines with these Christian women who are tryin' to do good." "You don't know what you are talking about," replied Westerfelt, and he turned away quickly, and went across the cleared space to his horse and buggy.
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