The Touch of Abner. H. A. Cody
them may be the highfalutin' names, but I'm used to under-pinnin'. It comes more natural."
"But what has that to do with Social Service?"
"A darn sight, I should say. Ye can't do nuthin' if the under-pinnin' ain't right, any more'n I could stand fer long on that chair with the rickety box underneath. Lost Tribes was right when he said ye can't elevate a pig into nuthin' more'n a hog. Ye'd better allus be sure of ye'r under-pinnin', Jess, before ye begin any elevatin' process. Now, there's Ikey Dimock, fer instance. If he hasn't a——"
"What's all this nonsense about, anyway?" Mrs. Andrews interrupted. "We'll never get through with this room if you two keep talking about 'Social Service' and 'Under-pinnin' all the time."
"Well, I'm through fer the present, Tildy," Abner declared. "Guess I'll go outside fer a while an' shake off this Social Service dose. Jist leave the ceilin'; I'll finish it later."
He shuffled stiffly out of the room, and made his way to a pile of wood a short distance from the house. He started to sit down upon a block but, suddenly changing his mind, he leaned against the clothes-line post instead. Pulling out a plug of tobacco and a knife, he had just whittled off several slices when an auto came in sight, and stopped in front of the house. A young man, neatly dressed, alighted and, walking briskly into the yard, came over to where Abner was standing.
"Is the boss in?" he enquired.
"Yes, she was a few minutes ago."
"Whew! Hen rule, eh?"
"Seems so. Like to see her?"
"Not on your life. I want to see the old man. Is he around?"
"Guess he'll be around soon. Met with an accident ye see."
"That's too bad. Serious?"
"Pretty bad. His under-pinnin' gave way. Total collapse."
"My, my! Sudden?"
"Very. Any message?"
"You work for him, I suppose?"
"I sartinly do."
"Is he a good boss?"
"Didn't ye ever meet him?"
"No, never saw him. But I believe he's fixed all right by the way he forked over for that Orphan Home Slapped down a cool thousand at the first bang. The firm sent me out to try to sell him an auto. Do you think he wants one?"
"Sure; he wants one bad."
"He does? When do you suppose I could see him? He's a queer one, I understand."
"Yes, a regular divil when he gits goin'. Shoots at sight."
"You don't say so! Now, come to think of it, I did hear that he's a little touched in the head. Has strange notions of living a long time ago. Is that so?"
"Guess ye'r right. The old feller's not altogether himself. He's lived so many lives that he often gits mixed up an' thinks he's old man Astor, Julius Cæsar, or some other notable. He's not too bad then, but when he imagines he's one of them old pirates, ye'd better watch out. He's a holy terror, an' nuthin' will stop him when he gits on the rampage."
"Did he ever hurt you?" the young man anxiously asked.
"Oh, no. Him an' me are great chums. He's never shot at me yit. We're too good friends fer that. I'm his keeper, ye see, an' so he looks up to me fer most everything."
"What! Is he as bad as all that? Does he really need a keeper?"
"Sure. Why, I'm the only one who kin manage him, next to his wife. He allus minds me no matter how bad he is. He ginerally does everythin' I say."
"Well, that's interesting. I believe you're just the man I want. I suppose he'd buy a car if you advised him to do so?"
"Sure thing."
"That's great. Now, look here, if you'll speak a good word for me, I'll make it worth your while. And, say, here's something on account to prove that I mean business."
The young man thrust his hand into his pocket and brought forth a crisp bill, and handed it to Abner. "Don't say a word about this little transaction," he warned. "And you'll let me know when your boss is ready to buy, won't you?"
"Sure, sure; I'll let ye know. I'll put ye next to the old feller."
"That's good. Don't forget."
"Oh, I'll not fergit, not on ye'r life."
"Well, so long," and the salesman held out his hand. "It's a bargain, remember, and more to come when the car is bought."
As the young man started to leave, Jess came around the corner of the house carrying a rug, which she placed upon the clothes-line. At first she did not notice the two men, but stood for a few seconds looking down over the fields out upon the river. As she turned to re-enter the house by the back door, she espied the men, especially the stranger. In her brief glance she noted what a wretched object her father presented, with his old lime-bespattered clothes, by the side of the immaculately dressed young man. The latter noted the flush which mantled her face, and attributed it to shyness.
"Gee whiz!" he exclaimed, after Jess had entered the house. "Where did she drop from?"
"S-sh," Abner warned. "She's the old man's daughter; a chip of the same block."
"She is! Gad, she's a beaut."
"Yes, she's a trim craft, poor gal!" Here he heaved a deep sigh, which the stranger was not slow to notice.
"Why, what's wrong with her?" the young man enquired.
"Touched here, like her dad," and Abner placed the forefinger of his right hand to his head.
"You don't say so! My, my, that's too bad! Inherited, I suppose?"
"Partly. She's got Social Service on the brain, ye see. But, there, ye'd better go now. She was quite excited when she spotted you, an' if ye stay too long she might have a fit. Doesn't take much to set her off, poor thing."
Abner watched the salesman as he walked out of the yard, boarded his car, and set off down the road. Then his solemn face relaxed, and the sad expression fled from his eyes. The skin on his cheeks and under his eyes became suddenly corrugated, and his mouth expanded to a dangerous degree. His body shook, and he emitted a series of half-suppressed chuckles of merriment. He next unfolded the bill he was still holding in his hand, and looked at it.
"Whew! it's a ten-spot!" he exclaimed. "An' that guy thought he'd bribe me with this, did he? He wanted me to put him next to the old feller. So that's the way he works his game, eh? Heard I'm well fixed, too, an' was sent to sell me a car. A 'queer one,' an' a 'little touched in the head,' ho, ho! But mebbe he'll find the old feller's not so daft after all, an' that Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, is afflicted with a different kind of a touch. That's what he will learn, skiddy-me-shins, if he won't."
CHAPTER V
PLAIN FACTS
The morning sun struggled through the dust-covered window, and fell aslant the pine board which Zebedee Burns was carefully planing. It was a small workroom, littered with boards, tools, and shavings. Adjoining was the blacksmith shop, for Zebedee was a handy man, and combined carpentering with the smith-trade, besides tending his garden. He was seldom rushed with business, and found time to do extra work, such as trading in "Society" pigs.
He had just finished planing the board, and was measuring it with his two-foot rule when a form darkened the doorway.
"Mornin', Zeb," was the cheery greeting.
"Mornin', Abner," was the laconic reply.
"Busy, I see. Makin' a cage fer ye'r society pig, I s'pose," Abner bantered, as he sat down upon the tool-chest.
Zebedee deigned no reply, but went on with his work. He sawed a few inches off the planed board, laid it carefully aside and picked up another. Abner was surprised at his unusual manner, and studied his face most intently.
"What's wrong, Zeb?"