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PAGE 6

The Gilded Idol And The King Conch-Shell
by [?]

“Excuse my interrupt,” he said apologetically; “but what is toll-gate woman?”

“My conscience!” exclaimed the captain, “you haven’t understood a word of my story!” He then proceeded to explain a toll-gate and its office and emoluments; but it was at once evident that the Frenchman knew all about the thing–he did not know the English words which expressed it; and he had a clear comprehension of the narrative.

“Those two men pull two ways,” he said gleefully; “ought to make a good story.”

“It is a good story if my papa tells it,” spoke up the Daughter of the House. And John Gayther was pleased to note a sharpness in her voice.

“Yes, miss; that is just what I say–a very much good story. I long for the end to come.”

“Not exactly the compliment intended,” remarked the Mistress of the House, with a smile.

“How do you think it will end?” asked the Daughter of the House, impulsively, addressing the Frenchman.

“It is not polite to imagine,” he replied.

“But I want to know,” she persisted. “It is not impolite to guess.”

“Well, then, miss, he marry nobody. Too many women in that Villa Thompson. But we sadly interrupt! Beg pardon, captain.”

“The captain I am telling about in my story,” said the Master of the House, resuming his narrative, “could not silence Sam Twitty.

“‘Now I tell you, cap’n,’ he said, as he assisted in taking the horse out of the wagon, ‘don’t you go and miss a chance. Here’s a fust-rate woman, with red cheeks and mighty pretty hair, and a widow, too. Even if you don’t take her now, it’s my advice that you look at her sharp with the idea that if things don’t turn out in Thompsontown as you’d like them to, it would be mighty comfortin’ to you to pick her up on your way back.’

“When Captain Abner and Sam returned from the stable they looked up and down the far-stretching road, and then, at the invitation of the toll-gate woman, they seated themselves on a bench at the back of the toll-house.

“”Tisn’t a very good time for people to be passin’,’ said she. ‘Not many folks is on the road between twelve and one. They’re generally feedin’ themselves and their horses. But if you can make yourselves comfortable here in the shade, I don’t think you’ll have to wait very long. I’ll jes step in and see if my dinner ain’t cooked. There ain’t nobody in sight.’

“Sam Twitty rubbed his hands together. ‘In my opinion,’ said he, ‘that woman is a fust-class housekeeper.’

“In a very few minutes she returned. ‘If you gentlemen don’t mind,’ said she, ‘I can give you your dinner here at the same price you’d have to pay anywhere else. I always cook a lot on Mondays, so’s I can have something cold for the rest of the week. It’s on the table now, and you can go in and wait on yourselves.’

“Sam gave a quick glance at Abner. ‘You go in with her,’ said he, ‘and eat your dinner. I’m not hungry, and I’ll wait out here and keep the toll-gate. Afterwards I’ll get a bite.’

“The toll-gate woman smiled. ‘Perhaps it would be better for me to go in and wait on one of you at a time; but I don’t think it’s likely there’ll be anybody passin’.’

“Abner did not object–he was hungry; and he followed the toll-gate woman into her house. Sam Twitty made a motion as if he would dance a little in his slippered feet.

“‘That’s jes like runnin’ across a dead whale what’s jes expired of too much fat. All you’ve got to do is to cut it up and try it down. The fust thing Cap’n Abner does is to run into a widow woman that’ll suit him, I believe, better than anybody he’ll meet, if he cruises around Thompsontown for a week.’

“Sam sat down on the bench and pictured things in his mind: he took the toll-gate woman all over Captain Abner’s house, even into the unmarried part, and everywhere he saw her the same bright-cheeked, pleasantly smiling woman she was here in her own house. The picture pleased him so much that he withdrew his senses from the consideration of everything else, and therefore it was he did not hear wheels on the road, and was awakened from his pleasant dreams by a voice outside the door. He bounced to his slippered feet, and entered the toll-house.