“The minister might narrate,” said Mr. Blood, “what Uncle Capen said to Issachar, when Issachar told him that he charged high for sawing wood. ‘See here,’ says Uncle Capen, ‘s’pos’n’ I do. My arms are shorter ’n other folks’s, and it takes me just so much longer to do it.’”
“Well,” said Mr. Noyes, “I’m a fair man; always do exactly right is the rule I go by; and I will frankly admit now and here that if it’s a biographical discourse they want, they’ll have to cut corners.”
“Pre-cisely,” said Mr. Snell; “and that’s just what they do want.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Hamblin, laboriously rising and putting his spectacles into their silver case, for it was suppertime, “joking one side, if Uncle Capen never did set the pond afire, we’d all rather take his chances to-day, I guess, than those of some smarter men.”
At which Mr. Snell turned red; for he was a very smart man, and had just failed, to everybody’s surprise,—for there was no reason in the world why he should fail,—and had created more merriment for the public than joy among his creditors by paying a cent and a half on the dollar.
“COME in and sit down,” said Dr. Hunter as the young minister appeared at his office door; and he tipped back in his chair, and put his feet upon a table. “What’s the news?”
“Doctor,” said Mr. Holt, laughing, as he laid down his hat and took an arm-chair, “you told me to come to you for any information. Now, I want materials for a sermon on old Mr. Capen.”
The doctor looked at him with a half-amused expression, and then sending out a curl of blue smoke, he watched it as it rose melting into the general air.
“You don’t smoke, I believe?” he said to the minister.
Holt shook his head and smiled.