“Wa’al, I want to shake hands with you, an’ wish you all success,” exclaimed a voice at Joe’s elbow. He turned to see Mr. Ebenezer Peterkin, a neighbor. “So you’re off for college. I hear they’re great places for football and baseball! Ha! Ha! ’Member th’ time you throwed a ball through our winder, and splashed Alvirah’s apple sass all over her clean stove? ’Member that, Joe?”
“Indeed I do, Mr. Peterkin. And how you told Tom and me to hurry off, as your wife was coming after us.”
“That’s right! Ha! Ha! Alvirah was considerable put out that day. She’d just got her stove blacked, an’ that sass was some of her best. Th’ ball landed plump into it! ’Member?” and again the old man chuckled with mirth.
“I remember,” laughed Joe. “And how Tom and I blackened the stove, and helped clean up the kitchen for your wife. I was practising pitching that day.”
“Oh, yes, you pitched all right,” chuckled the aged man. “Wa’al, Joe, I wish you all sorts of luck, an’ if you do pitch down there at Yale, don’t go to splattering no apple sass!”
“I won’t,” promised the lad.
There were more congratulations, more wishes for success, more hand shakings and more good-byes, and then the whistle of the approaching train was heard. Somehow Joe could not but remember the day he had driven the man to the station just in time to get his train. He wondered if he would ever see that individual again.
“So long, old man!”
“Don’t forget to write!”