"It's a-blowin' up most a-mighty, ain't it?" he said, cheerfully. "Any news, Elmer?"
"Oh now, go home," grunted Mr. Spiker, rolling his pipe around so the burning tobacco scattered over his knees. "See what you've done!" he snapped angrily, brushing away the sparks.
"I didn't notice you was in the middle of a word, Elmer, really I didn't," pleaded old Mr. Nummler.
"I wasn't in the middle of a word," retorted Elmer, as he drove his little finger into his pipe in an effort to save some of the tobacco. "I was just beginnin' a new piece. Things is gittin' so there ain't a place left in this town for a man to read in peace and comfort. Here I am, tryin' to post up on the local doin's, on polytics and religion, and ringin' in my ears all the time is 'lickin' the teacher, lickin' the teacher, lickin' the teacher.' S'pose every man here did lick the teacher in his time—what of it, I says, what of it?"
"Yes, what of it?" said I, closing the door with a bang.
I was plodding home from Mary's. She had hummed me out at last, and I had tucked Tim's letter in my pocket and hobbled back to the village. The light in the store had drawn me aside and I stopped a moment just to look in. The store is always a fascinating place. There is always something doing there, and I opened the door a crack to hear what was under discussion. Catching the same refrain that troubled Elmer Spiker, I entered.
"What of it?" I demanded, facing the company. "I don't believe there is a man here who ever thrashed the teacher."
Theophilus Jones raised himself from the counter on which he was leaning, and waved a lighted candle above his head.
"Here comes the teacher—make way for the teacher!"
Josiah Nummler pounded the floor with his long pole.