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Con took one or two steps after the flying cat and gave up the chase. Mr. Bacheldor, from behind the wall, swore emphatically and at length. "Come here, Con, you fool," he yelled, when the expression of his true feelings had reached a temporary end. "Come here! let the kid alone. We'll get into trouble if we don't. As for that dummed cat, we'll get him next time. He'll see his finish.
Bacheldor did not appear to hear, so the question was repeated. Abner answered without turning. "I know," he declared. "I know all right," and hurried on. Isaiah looked after him and sniffed disdainfully. "Anybody on earth but that feller," he said, "would have been ashamed to beg cartridges after beggin' the gun, but not Ab Bacheldor, no sir!
Captain Shadrach was inclined to be angry, but, although he would not have admitted it, he realized the truth of this frank statement. Mary-'Gusta was pretty, she was more than that, and the line was already forming. Jimmie Bacheldor had long ago ceased to be a competitor; that friendship had ended abruptly at the time of David's narrow escape; but there were others, plenty of them.
Bacheldor had appeared at the door with the request that he might "borrer the loan of Cap'n Gould's shotgun." The day before, at a quarter after four Mr.
But," with a sudden return to the main point at issue, "that proves David wasn't the cat he saw, the one that stole his chicken." The Captain looked at her. "By fire, it does, that's right," he muttered. Abner Bacheldor roared in indignation. "It don't prove nothin'," he cried. "All it proves is that the kid's a liar. She's lyin' so's to save that dummed thief of a cat.
So, on the afternoon of the tenth day, which was the day before the picnic, Mary-'Gusta walking alone in the field which separated the Gould-Hamilton property from that of Abner Bacheldor, Jimmie's father Mary-'Gusta, walking in that field, was depressed and melancholy. Her state of mind was indicated by the fact that she had left all her dolls, even Rose and Rosette, at home.
Next time you go out cat shootin' you better be sure you're gunnin' for the right one. Come on, Mary-'Gusta." Con Bacheldor sprang to his feet. "Pop," he shouted, "be you goin' to let 'em go this way? And that cat stealin' our chickens right along. Ain't you goin' to tell 'em you'll kill the critter next time he comes on our land?" Abner was silent.
The answer was prompt enough this time. "I'll say no," asserted Mary-'Gusta, with decision. "Jimmie Bacheldor hates to wash his hands; he told me so." All that summer she played about the house or at the store or on the beach and, when the fall term began, the partners sent her to school.
Don't you know you've been a bad girl?" "Ye yes, sir." Zoeth protested. "She ain't a bad girl, Shadrach," he said. "You know she ain't." "Well er maybe she ain't, generally speakin'. I cal'late 'twas that Bacheldor brat that was responsible; but just the same I ain't goin' to have it happen any more.
"If 'twas a hundred years from now," she said, "I guess he wouldn't want me." The Captain laughed uproariously. "Well, maybe we can discount that hundred some for cash," he admitted. "Make it twelve or fifteen years. Then suppose somebody er er " with a wink at Zoeth "suppose Jimmie Bacheldor, we'll say, comes and wants us to put you in his hands, what'll you say then?"
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