“I’m him, uncle,” says I.
He stuck out his hand to me, and I shook with him.
“Howdy, nephew,” says he. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He was that polite! “What’s his name?” he asked, pointing to Mark Tidd.
I told him, and they shook hands. After that he shook hands with Tallow and Plunk and acted like he was tickled to death to see us. When he’d done shaking hands once he commenced with me and did it all over again.
“Boys!” says he, making an exclamation of it. “I don’t like boys. I jest despise boys. You can see I do, eh? Can’t you, now? Tell it by my manner. They’re nuisances, so they be, but I can tame ’em. No monkey-shines, mind, or look out for Uncle Hieronymous Alphabet Bell.” After he said this he leaned up against the side of the depot and laughed and shook and slapped his hand against his thigh, but without making a sound. In a minnit he straightened up and recited another little poem:
“Oh, boys is a pest,
They give you no rest.”
Mark was looking at Uncle Hieronymous with his eyes bunging out, as interested as could be. His little eyes, almost hidden by his fat, were twinkling away, and I could see right off that he liked uncle. That made me glad, for I liked uncle, too. There was something that made you sort of sorry for him. I guess it was because he was so glad to see us fellows. It made you think maybe he was pretty lonesome.
“Come on,” says he. “I got an engagement with Marthy and Mary, so I got to hustle. Don’t like to break no engagements.”
“Girls?” I asked, feeling sort of offish about it.