“What,” demanded the landlady, “do you mean by yelling out about Old Man Hammil?”
“Why,” said Mr. Gooley, feeling foolish, and looking it, “I was talking to that cockroach there. He looks sort of like some one I knew when I was a kid, by the name of Hammil—Archibald Hammil.”
“Where was you a kid?” asked Mrs. Hinkley.
“In a place called Mapletown—Mapletown, Illinois,” said Mr. Gooley. “There's where I knew Old Man Hammil.”
“Well,” said the landlady, “when you go back there you won't see him. He's dead. He died a week ago. This letter tells it. I was his niece. And the old man went and left me his hardware store. I never expected it. But all his kids is dead—it seems he outlived 'em all, and he was nearly ninety when he passed away.”
“Well,” said Mr. Gooley, “I don't remember you.”
“You wouldn't,” said the landlady. “You must have been in short pants when I ran away from home and married the hardware drummer. But I'll bet you the old-timers in that burg still remembers it against me!”
“The kids will be coming into that store about now to get their skates sharpened,” said Mr. Gooley, looking at the boiled egg.
“Uh-huh!” said Mrs. Hinkley. “Don't you want to go back home and help sharpen 'em? I'm goin' back and run that there store, and I'll need a clerk, I suppose.”
“Uh-huh,” said Mr. Gooley, breaking the eggshell.