“Two webs of ‘Fruit of the Loom’ that was bleach-in’, all trampled and torn and gurried up! A ding-blamed el’phunt and a dozen men skyhootin’ acrost herer without aye, yes or no and not payin’ the least attention to anything underfoot! I say if you’re the circus man from P’lermo you’ve got a good nice bill to settle in these parts.”
“My elephant!” demanded Hiram, amazedly, tapping himself with his knuckles on his breast and staring from Peak to the woman.
“I don’t know of any other fool that’s keepin’ el’phunts for pets or raisin’ ’em for market,” she retorted. “If an old gray gob o’ meat with ragged ears and dirty feet as big as saucepans—as you can see by the smooches on my unbleached cotton—is your el’phunt, then it is your el’phunt with a passul of howlin’ men after him, and my husband chasin’ off along with the rest instead of stayin’ here and protectin’ his home and his wife.”
“Do you suppose it’s Imogene got away?” gasped Hiram, staring at Peak.
“Well, for a guess I should say it was,” replied that friend, unconsolingly. “Elephants are not as common as woodchucks around here.”
The two men stared away up the hillock and across the field to the fence that bordered it. There was no need of asking the woman the course of the parade. A huge gap in the fence and torn bushes in the adjacent woodlot marked the route.
“I consider that a man that introduces el’phunts into a quiet country neighbourhood is worse than he would be if he put damanite bumbs under folks’ houses,” sputtered the woman.
“You just shut your mouth for a minute and let me think, will ye?” roared Hiram. “Sime,” he went on after a little reflection, “you’ve got to go along with the—the——” He saw the woman’s eyes fixed on him inquisitively and he checked himself. “You deliver the goods,” he directed, “right to Phin and he’ll do the rest. Get along just as soon as the horses are baited and don’t forget the lunch for the—the gayzelle,” he added for the benefit of the curious woman. “I’ll take my grub in my hand and chase up Imogene. There’s no knowin’ what them farmers will da with her if I don’t. Here’s a two-dollar bill,” he said hastily to the woman. “That’s lib’ral pay for three lunches and hoss-baitin’.”
“I never heard of gay-zelles eatin’ lunch,” she said, suspicion in her tones. “I s’pose you’ve got a wild man o’ Borneo in that cart to let loose on us next.”
“It’s no matter what we’ve got,” retorted Hiram. “You give me my grub in my hand and let me get away.”