CHAPTER IV.
The Missus.
“A man without a missus is like an engyne without a governor—he either goes too slow or too fast,” said the Chronic Loafer.
“Mighty souls!” cried the Miller. “What in the name o’ common sense put that idee into yer head?”
“It was planted there be accident, cultiwated be experience, an’ to-day it jest blossomed,” was the reply.
The Loafer had come in from a morning on the ridges hunting rabbits. His old muzzle loader leaned against the counter and his hound Tiger was sitting at his side, his head resting on the master’s knee and his solitary eye watching every movement of the thin, grizzled face, which was almost hidden by a blue cloth cap, with a low hanging visor, and ear-tabs. The Loafer removed the tabs and stuffed them into his pocket. Then he laid his hand on his dog’s head and stroked it.
The ticking of the clock, which had a place on a shelf between two jars of stick-candy, accentuated the long silence that followed. Tiger seemed to feel that the hush boded ill to his lord, and cocked one ear and uttered a low growl.
The Teacher pointed his forefinger at the Loafer and said, “I judge that you intended to imply that havin’ a governor you run regular. Some engines, you know, run regular but very slow.”
“An’ some runs wery fast,” was the retort. “An’ they buzzes pretty loud ’thout doin’ a tremendous amount o’ labor.”
“Now you’re gettin’ personal and——”