“So the doctor said.”
“So I callated,” said Ephraim. “Come back to Coniston with me; there hain't a healthier place in New England.”
“How could I support myself in Coniston?” Wetherell asked.
Ephraim ruminated. Suddenly he stuck his hand into the bosom of his blue coat, and his face lighted and even gushed as he drew out a crumpled letter.
“It don't take much gumption to run a store, does it, William? Guess you could run a store, couldn't you?”
“I would try anything,” said Wetherell.
“Well,” said Ephraim' “there's the store at Coniston. With folks goin' West, and all that, nobody seems to want it much.” He looked at the letter. “Lem Hallowell' says there hain't nobody to take it.”
“Jonah Winch's!” exclaimed Wetherell.
“Jonah made it go, but that was before all this hullabaloo about Temperance Cadets and what not. Jonah sold good rum, but now you can't get nothin' in Coniston but hard cider and potato whiskey. Still, it's the place for somebody without much get-up,” and he eyed his cousin by marriage. “Better come and try it, William.”
So much for dreams! Instead of a successor to Irving and Emerson, William Wetherell became a successor to Jonah Winch.