“Uncle Ike! ... Uncle Ike!” yelled everybody, and started to push the old ’bus-driver to the front.
“Hey!” says he. “Hey, Mark Tidd, what I ever done to you I should be got into this? I hain’t goin’ to. No, siree. You don’t git me decidin’ no sich fight. I got respect for my skin. If I was to decide this here, why, I’d have to lick every husband on the side I was decidin’ ag’in’. Not that I can’t do it—but I hain’t as spry and eager as I was once. No, siree,” says he, and he made a jump sideways, and scrambled up onto the window-sill, with fifty folks grabbing after him, and out he jumped. Well, that finished that.
Mark was laughing inside like everything. “There’s another m-man here,” says he. “He’s big enough so’s nobody’s husband’ll be anxious to t-t-tackle him. He’s doggone big,” says Mark, “and t-there he stands. Mr. Armitage is his n-name,” says Mark.
Armitage!
You could have knocked me galley-west with a feather. I seen it all in a minute.
“Mr. Armitage,” says Mark, “won’t you s-s-step forward and—”
“Risk my life?” finishes up the big man that was standing by Rock. “Why,” says he, “I’ll step forward and say something, and when I get through maybe you ladies will be willing to let things stand as they are—and glad to.”
He came surging up forward, and stood there, big and quiet, looking down on everybody.
“First,” says he, “I want to tell you something about myself.” It was funny, but they quieted right down and listened. Not a yell or a holler.
“After that,” says he, “I want to read you a piece in the Wicksville Trumpet, the best country paper in America,” says he, and at that Mark and us kids swelled all up.