FullReads

Mrs. Whiting and the kitchen girls came in, wondering at the merriment. Rob began to get uneasy.

"What is it? What is it?" said Mrs. Whiting, a jolly little matron.

Rivers put the case. "Rob’s on his way back to Wisconsin t’ get married, and Wilson has offered to bet him that his wife will be a blonde and tall, and Rob dassent bet!" And they roared again.

"Why, the idea! The man’s crazy!" said Mrs. Whiting. The crowd looked at each other. This was hint enoug
h; they sobered, nodding at each other.

"Aha! I see; I understand. "

"It’s the heat. "

"And the Boston beans. "

"Let up on him, Wilson. Don’t badger a poor irresponsible fellow. I thought something was wrong when I saw the collar. "

"Oh, keep it up!" said Rob, a little nettled by their evident intention to "have fun" with him.

"Soothe him–soo-o-o-o-the him!" said Wilson. "Don’t be harsh. "

Rob rose from the table. "Go to thunder! You make me tired. "

"The fit is on him again!"

He rose disgustedly and went out. They followed him in singie file. The rest of the town "caught on. " Frank Graham heaved an apple at him and joined the procession. Rob went into the store to buy some tobacco. They followed and perched like crows on the counters till he went out; then they followed him, as before. They watched him check his trunk; they witnessed the purchase of the ticket. The town had turned out by this time.

"Waupac!" announced the one nearest the victim.

"Waupac!" said the next man, and the word was passed along the street up town.

"Make a note of it," said Wilson: "Waupa–a county where a man’s proposal for marriage is honored upon presentation. Sight drafts. "

Rivers struck up a song, while Rob stood around, patientiy bearing the jokes of the crowd:

"We’re lookin’ rather seedy now, While holdin’ down our claims, And our vittles are not always of the best, And the mice play slyly round us As we lay down to sleep In our little old tarred shanties on the claim.

"Yet we rather like the novelty Of livin’ in this way, Though the bill of fare is often rather tame; An’ we’re happy as a clam On the land of Uncle Sam In our little old tarred shanty on the claim. "

The train drew up at length, to the immense relief of Rob, whose stoical resiguation was beginning to weaken.

"Don’t y’ wish y’ had sand?" he yelled to the crowd as he plunged into the car, thinking he was rid of them.

But no; their last stroke was to follow him into the car, nodding, pointing to their heads, and whispering, managing in the half-minute the train stood at the platform to set every person in the car staring at the crazy man. Rob groaned and pulled his hat down over his eyes–an action which confirmed his tormentors’ words and made several ladies click their tongues in sympathy–"Tick! tick! poor fellow!"

"All abo-o-o-a-rd!’ said the conductor, grinning his appreciation at the crowd, and the train was off.

"Oh, won’t we make him groan when he gets back!" said Barney, the young lawyer who sang the shouting tenor.

"We’ll meet him with the timbrel and the harp. Anybody want to wager? I’ve got two to one on a short brunette," said Wilson.

II

"Follow it far enough and it may pass the bend in the river where the water laughs eternally over its shallows. "

A CORNFIELD in July is a hot place. The soil is hot and dry; the wind comes across the lazily murmuring leaves laden with a warm sickening smell drawn from the rapidly growing, broad-flung banners of the corn. The sun, nearly vertical, drops a flood of dazzing light and heat upon the field over which the cool shadows run, only to make the heat seem the more intense.