And that’s the way the Look boys go.
Good boy Phin, he don’t raise time,
But pepper-sass’s hot and hell’s in Hime.”
—Old Palermo “Plaguin’ Song.‘’
When Marriner Amazeen plodded down street early next morning, he found Uncle Lysimachus Buck perched in solitary and surly state on the platform of Brickett’s store. A thick-foliaged maple tree shielded the platform as long as the sun was low in the east, and the platform was a desirable post of observation, since it commanded the Cove and the fishing fleet, as well as the village square.
“You’ve been el’phunteerin’, hey, along with the rest of the fools in the place?” sneered Uncle Buck as Amazeen grunted down beside him on the platform.
“Well, I called in to see how Hime had got settled, if that’s what your slur means,” retorted Amazeen with some resentment.
Silence fell upon them for a time.
“Where’s he put old Cabbage-leaf-ear?” asked Uncle Lysimachus at last.
“None of your dum bus’ness. Go see!”