“Why, Mr. Miller!” says she, sweet as honey all of a sudden. “I didn’t see you standin’ there. How be you this afternoon?”
“Sick,” says Old Mose, “and gittin’ worse fast.”
Before Mrs. Bloom could say anything back two more buggies came to a stop and out got Mrs. Peterson and two young women that were after votes for Professor Pilkins. By this time Chet and Chancy got untangled, and two such looking critters you never saw. Dirty! And their clothes were torn, and their collars were half off, and they were daubed and scratched and red and panting and pretty clost to crying. All they could do was lean on the fence and glare at each other and try to get back their breath. The three last women started for the gate. Old Mose looked at them and began backing off. All of a sudden he started on a run for the house and slammed inside. In just a minute he came back with a pail of steaming water. He was getting ready to defend his fortification. He went down close to the gate and held the pail threatening-like, and says:
“Don’t ye open that gate, not any of ye. The fust one to set foot on my land gits this b’ilin’ water. Git, now! Git right out of here ’fore I send for the sheriff of this here county. Git!”
But nobody got. Instead of that more folks began arriving. As far as I could see down the road buggies were coming—more than a dozen of them. There were men and women and kids, and they all congregated in a knot outside of the gate. But nobody offered to go in—not with that pail of boiling water to face.
Mrs. Peterson spoke up.
“Why, Mr. Miller,” says she, “what’s the meanin’ of this? Here I drive ’way out here of a Sunday afternoon just to fetch you this punkin-pie, and this is how I git treated.” She glowered at the rest of the crowd. “What’s these folks doin’ here? They ought to be ashamed of themselves—pesterin’ a poor old defenseless man.”
“Poor old defenseless man, eh? Jest you stick a foot this side of my gate and you’ll see how defenseless I be. Jest stick a toe inside!”
Everybody began to talk at once. They crowded up to the gate and sassed each other and tried to be polite to Old Mose at the same time. ’Most everybody had brought him a pie or a cake or something. The old man was so mad he just hopped up and down and raved at them.
Right there Mark Tidd made a noise like a cat. He could imitate a kitten so it sounded more natural than the kitten doing it himself. Old Mose straightened up and cocked his ear. Mark let him have it again.