July and the first two weeks in August moped along and everything at the Old Home House kept about the same. Mabel was in mighty good spirits, for her, and she got prettier every day. I had a couple of letters from Jones, saying that he guessed he could get bookkeeping through his skull in time without a surgical operation, and old Dillaway was down over one Sunday and was preaching large concerning the “find” my candidate was for the Providence branch. So I guessed I hadn't made no mistake.
I had considerable fun with Cap'n Jonadab over his not landing a rich husband for the Seabury girl. Looked like the millionaire crop was going to be a failure that summer.
“Aw, belay!” says he, short as baker's pie crust. “The season ain't over yet. You better take a bath in the salt mack'rel kag; you're too fresh to keep this hot weather.”
Talking “husband” to him was like rubbing pain-killer on a scalded pup, so I had something to keep me interested dull days. But one morning he comes to me, excited as a mouse at a cat show, and says he:
“Ah, ha! what did I tell you? I've got one!”
“I see you have,” says I. “Want me to send for the doctor?”
“Stop your foolishing,” he says. “I mean I've got a millionaire. He's coming to-night, too. One of the biggest big-bugs there is in New York. Ah, ha! what did I tell you?”
He was fairly boiling over with gloat, but from between the bubbles I managed to find out that the new boarder was a big banker from New York, name of Van Wedderburn, with a barrel of cash and a hogshead of dyspepsy. He was a Wall Street “bear,” and a steady diet of lamb with mint sass had fetched him to where the doctors said 'twas lay off for two months or be laid out for keeps.
“And I've fixed it that he's to stop at your house, Barzilla,” crows Jonadab. “And when he sees Mabel—well, you know what she's done to the other men folks,” he says.
“Humph!” says I, “maybe he's got dyspepsy of the heart along with the other kind. She might disagree with him. What makes you so cock sartin?”