“I wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s the most narrow-contracted creetur that ever lived. He soaks out mackerel, and then takes the water to make hasty-pudding, in order to save the salt. Robert Yelf worked for him one year in haying time. Didn’t you never hear him tell about his jumping into the loaf of hot rye and Indian bread?”
“No, sir; what did he do that for?”
“I’ll tell you. One day, his wife had cooked all her dinner in the brick oven, except some potatoes that she had baked in the ashes. She had baked beans, Indian pudding, a hind quarter of lamb, and a great loaf of rye and Indian bread in an iron pan that would hold a peck. He had a number of hands at work for him, getting hay. He’s rich the old screw, but so mean that he never allows himself or his family decent clothes, and always goes barefoot. He’s got a noble woman for a wife, too, as ever God made, and a nice family of children.”
“I believe such men always get the best of wives.”
“It’s a good deal so, Charlie, I guess. Well, as I was saying, coming into the house that day, just afore twelve o’clock, and seeing no pots or kettles on the fire, he took it into his head that his wife had made no preparation for dinner; that the men would come in at twelve, have to wait, and he should lose some time.”
“Whereas,” said Charlie, “the dinner was all in the oven, and ready to be put on the table.”
“Just so. He instantly began to jump up and down on the hearth, and curse and swear. His wife, who was scared to death of him, began to take the victuals out of the oven, to let him see it was all right. The first thing she came to was the great iron pan of rye and Indian bread, which she put down on the hearth. Thinking, in his passion, that this was all, he jumped right into it with his bare feet.”