The Abandoned Farmer

by Sydney Herman Preston

"'I see,' growls Noah, 'William was your grandson, and he got married. Go ahead.'

"'No, no—' shouts Shem, 'that's my name. WILL......YUM WED......DER!'

"'You'll have to raise your voice,' says Noah, 'I'm a little hard of hearing.'

"Then Shem goes at it again, a fifth higher, and Noah catches on and asks him a lot of questions. Where he came from, what family, how he happened to leave home. Shem shouts that he isn't a hired man by birth, and that he left his family because his wife and daughter caught the whole-wheat-and-nut-food fever and tried to feed him on hygienic principles, so after building up his strength on unwholesome food for the summer, he's going back to his family to see if they've come to their senses."

"Do you mean to say, Meldrum, that you stood out in the hall and eavesdropped?"

"Eavesdropped! Old Wedder's voice sailed into my room as plainly as if he had the jim-jams. Come now, Carton, you know more about this thing than you pretend. He brought your name in several times, and if I'm not mistaken, he had some good joke on you about your farm. Every little while I'd hear Noah growl, 'That isn't funny.' At last I heard Shem fairly yell, 'That ain't funny, ain't it?'—then there was a shout from Noah and a mighty clatter. By the time I got out from behind my desk and into the hall again, all I could see was the top of Noah's stovepipe vanishing down the stairway. Jamieson is certain Shem had his wig. Come now, Carton, make a clean breast of it and tell me who these old parties were. I always thought you wrote the Uncle Benny papers, but perhaps I was mistaken."

"Meldrum," I said confidentially, "I'll tell you the honest truth, but I want you to keep it quiet. William Wedder was my hired man, and he was determined to see a real Uncle Benny, so to oblige him, I togged myself out for the part at the theatrical costumer's around the corner. I didn't expect—ha, ha, ha!—to take you in, though."

I made this explanation with calm sincerity, with child-like frankness, and I'm sure I don't know what prompted me to cast these pearls of truth before a fellow-journalist, but I did. What was the result? Meldrum sniffed at the gems suspiciously, then chuckled, assuring me as he jocularly slapped my back that he was delighted to know the facts of the case and that he would respect my confidence.

This is how the rumor originated that the real Uncle Benny was an aged and talented relative of mine, whom I kept in seclusion to restrain his bibulous propensities. It was perhaps as well that I was not aware of this at the time, or I certainly would have been discouraged from the practice of telling the undiluted truth.