Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher. Gates Eleanor
offen that little bicycle of hisn.
“Cupid,” he says, and he was whiter’n chalk-rock, “is the baby worse? And Rose––”
I pulled him up on to the porch. “Now’s you’ chanst, Billy,” I answers. “Do you’ darnedest!”
Rose opened the door, and her face was as white as hisn. “Aw, Billy!” was all she says.
Then up come that ole fool paw of hern, totin’ the kid. “What’s this?” he ast, mad as a hornet. “And where’s Doc Simpson?”
It was me that spoke. “Doc Simpson’s had a turrible accident,” I answers. “His gasoline plug got to misbehavin’ down the road a piece, and plumb tore her insides out. He got awful shook up, and couldn’t come no further, so–knowin’ the baby was so sick–I went fer Bill.”
“Bill!” says the ole man, disgusted. “Thun-deration!”
But Billy had his tools out a’ready and was a-reachin’ fer the kid. Sewell let him have her–cussin’ like a mule-skinner.
“That’s right,” he says to Rose; “that’s right,–let him massacree her!”
Rose didn’t take no notice. “Aw, Billy!” she kept sayin’, and “Aw, baby!”
Billy got to doin’ things. He picked somethin’ shiny outen his kit and slipped it into a pocket. Next, he lay the kid lookin’ up and put his finger into her mouth.
“See here,” he says to me.
I peeked in where he pointed and seen a reg’lar little hawg-back of gum, red on the two slopes, but whitish in four spots along the ridge, like they’d been a snowfall. Billy grinned, took out that shiny instrument, and give each of them pore little gum buttes the double cross–zip-zip, zip-zip, zip-zip, zip-zip. And, jumpin’ buffaloes! out pops four of the prettiest teeth a man ever seen!
Bugs?–rats!
“Now, a little Bella Donnie,” says Bill, “and the baby’ll be O. K.”
“O. K.!” says Rose. “Aw, Billy!” And such a kissin’!–the baby, a-course.
Ole man Sewell stopped swearin’ a minute. “What’s the matter?” he ast.
“Teeth,” says Billy.
Think of that! Why, the trouble was so clost to Simpson that if it’d been a rattler, it’d ’a’ bit him!
“Teeth!” says the ole man, like he didn’t believe it.
“Come look,” says Billy.
Sewell, he walked over to the baby and stooped down. Then all of a suddent, I seen his jaw go open, and his eyes stick out so far you could ’a’ knocked ’em off with a stick. Then, he got red as a turkey gobbler–and let out a reg’lar war-whoop.
“Look at ’em!” he yelped. “Rose! Rose!–look at ’em! Four all to oncet!” And he give the doc such a wallop on the back that it come nigh to knockin’ him down.
“I know,” I says sarcastic, “but, shucks! a baby ain’t all teeth. This is a mighty puzzlin’ case, and Simpson––”
“Close you’ fly-trap,” says the ole man, “and look at them teeth! Four of a kind–can y’ beat it?”
“Wa-a-al,” I says, sniffin’, “they’s so, so, I reckon, but any kid––”
“Any kid!” yells the ole man, plumb aggervated. And he was just turnin’ round to give me one when–in limps Simpson!
“Mister Sewell,” he says, “I come to make a complaint”–he shook his fist at me–“agin this here ruffian. He––”
“Wow!” roars Sewell. “Don’t you trouble to make no complaints in this house. Here you been a-treatin’ this baby fer bugs when it was just teeth. Say! you ain’t got sense enough to come in when it rains!”
That plumb rattled Simpson. He was gittin’ a reception he didn’t reckon on. But he tried t’ keep up his game.
“This cow-boy here is responsible fer damages to my auto,” he says. “The dashboard’s smashed into matches, the tumblin’-rods is broke, the spark-condenser’s kaflummuxed, and the hull blamed business is skew-gee. This man was actin’ in you’ behalf, and if he don’t pay, I’ll sue you.”
“Sue?” says Sewell; “sue? You go guess again! You send in you’ bill, that’s what you do. You ain’t earned nothin’–but, by jingo, it’s worth money just to git shet of such a dog-goned shyster as you. Git.”
And with that, out goes Mister Bugs.
Then, grandpaw, he turns round to the baby again, plumb took up with them four new nippers. “Cluck, cluck,” he says like a chicken, and pokes the kid under the chin. Over one shoulder, he says to Billy, “And, Trowbridge, you can make out you’ bill, too.”
Billy didn’t answer nothin’. Just went over to a table, pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil, and begun t’ write. Pretty soon, he got up and come back.
“Here, Mister Sewell,” he says.
I was right byside the ole man, and–couldn’t help it–I stretched to read what Billy’d writ. And this was what it was:
“Mister Zach Sewell, debtor to W. A. Trowbridge, fer medical services–the hand of one Rose Andrews in marriage.”
Sewell, he read the paper over and over, turnin’ all kinds of colours. And Silly and me come blamed nigh chokin’ from holdin’ our breaths. Rose was lookin’ up at us, and at her paw, too, turrible anxious. As fer that kid, it was a-kickin’ its laigs into the air and gurglin’ like a bottle.
Fin’lly, the ole man handed the paper back. “Doc,” he says, “Rose is past twenty-one, and not a’ idjit. Also, the kid is hern. So, bein’ this bill reads the way it does, mebbe you’d better hand it t’ her. If she don’t think it’s too steep a figger––”
Billy took the paper and give it over to Rose. When she read it, her face got all blushy; and happy, too, I could see that.
“Rose!” says Billy, holdin’ out his two arms to her.
I took a squint through the winda at the scenery–and heerd a sound like a cow pullin’ its foot outen the mud.
“Rose,” goes on Billy, “I’ll be as good as I know how to you.”
When I turned round again, here was ole man Sewell standin’ in the middle of the floor, lookin’ back and forth from Rose and Billy to the kid–like it’d just struck him that he was goin’ t’ lose his gal and the baby and all them teeth. And if ever a man showed that he was helpless and jealous and plumb hurt, why, that was him. Next, here he was a-gazin’ at me with a queer shine in his eyes–almost savage. And say! it got me some nervous.
“Seems Mister Cupid Lloyd is a-runnin’ things ’round this here ranch-house,” he begun slow, like he was holdin’ in his mad.
I–wal, I just kinda stood there, and swallered oncet ’r twicet, and tried t’ grin. (Didn’t know nothin’ t’ say, y’ savvy, that’d be likely t’ hit him just right.)
“So Cupid’s gone and done it again!” he goes on. “How accommodatin’! Haw!” And he give one of them short, sarcastic laughs.
“Wal, just let me tell you,” he continues, steppin’ closter, “that I, fer one, ain’t got no use fer a feller that’s allus a-stickin’ in his lip.”
“Sewell,”