“As I was tellin’ ye, Squire, the other day,” began Marriner Amazeen, after pausing to quack briskly at his pipe stem to kindle the waning lire, “I don’t see what in sanup ye was thinkin’ of to torch Watson Mayo up to marry that hity-tity-flighty little fool for. The minister wouldn’t marry ’em and you done it, and so of course the Mayos lay the blame to you.” He made great show of resentment. Buck apparently had much trouble in refraining from grinning.
The ’Squire, who had been feeding the stove, dusted his hands smartly and pudged slowly back to his armchair without replying. He picked up his pipe, surveyed a match, end to end, preparatory to scratching it, a quizzical pucker about his mouth.
“You remember the time Benson Wallace had all his new grading washed away by the cloudburst, ’Mad’?”
Amazeen nodded grimly. He did not relish Squire Look’s illustrations.
“Well, Bens’ came bootin’ down to the office here and wanted me to sue Deacon Bassett, who had been praying for rain to fill his mill-pond. Laid the whole damage of the cloudburst to the deacon’s power of supplication. I don’t have anything to do with these love cloudbursts around here.”
“But you encouraged the cussed fools—torch ’em on,” persisted Amazeen.
“No, it’s a chap named Hymen that carries the torch, ’Mad’. In Wat’s case I wasn’t even actuated by a mercenary motive, for he owned up that he didn’t have the fee, and he hasn’t paid me yet, and he probably never will.”
“And them’s the kind of double-hitches you’re throwing the harness over!” sneered Amazeen.
“She’s handsomer than the chromo picture on a calendar—you’ve got to say that about the snippet,” commented Lysimachus Buck, desiring to provoke the Squire to retort.
“You’d ought to ’a’ plunked advice right to him not to do it, Squire,” sputtered Amazeen. “It has raised the devil with him—and he wasn’t none too bright before. Who knows anything about an industrial school girl like her? She don’t know nothin’ about herself. I tell you, it’s been a hard pill for the Mayos to swaller. Their only boy clearin’ out like he done, leavin’ a good, comf’table home and now only a swipe in Jote Bradley’s livery stable!”