Hiram was used to hearing covert slurs and open flings at the Sawyer family, but had found replies only provocative of attacks upon himself, so he listened in silence. Mr. Strout took up the letter. “I wrote 'em 'bout startin' that new branch over to Westvale, and although they answered in a kinder top-lofty style--I reckon that young Merry writ the letter--I 'magine they're in for it, horse, foot, and dragoons. They'll put up the money. An' the question now is who'll go over and take charge of it.”
Hiram put his pipe on the table. “There's two folks that don't want to go, an' that's Mandy an' me. I don't s'pose the children would find any fault, but they're not old enough to vote on the question.”
Hiram knew that his partner was anxious to get him out of the Fernborough store, and so he filed his objections at once.
“Oh,” said Strout, “of course I didn't have no sech idee as askin' you to go, even if you did know who was the best man for the job. The snail thinks he's travelled a long ways when he goes a foot, an' some men are jus' like him.”
“Well, bein's you didn't want me to go, I s'pose you've somebody in mind. Suit yourself, as us'al.”
“Well, I've thought it all over, an' I think Billy Ricker's our man. He'll be over from Montrose to-morrow an' I'll talk it over with him. We've got that Montrose trade so solid he can be spared from there now. Guess there ain't any trade tonight or Bob would have called us in afore this.”
“Ef we sold cord wood we might be doin' somethin',” and, laughing in his old way at his own joke, Hiram started to follow his partner into the store.
“Say, Hiram,” called out Strout in a loud voice, “bring in them two chairs--everything's occupied out here 'cept the counter.”
As the proprietors took their seats, the store door was opened again, this time admitting Mr. Abner Stiles. His teeth were chattering, and he stamped his feet upon the floor, and beat his hands against his shoulders in old-fashioned country style.
“Moses Williams!” he cried. “I kinder think the North Pole must have slid down an' come to stop in this 'ere town. I say, Strout, if that organ of yourn was pumped to-night you'd have to play 'From Greenland's Icy Mountains,' or some sech tune.”