My reappearance brought her back to earth, however, and in the
presence of so many new excitements she didn't even question me
with regard to my City trip.
As the evening wore on my nervousness increased and I began to
wonder if Bunch would really turn the trick or give me the loud
snicker and leave me flat.
I had gone too far now to confess everything to Clara J. She'd
never forgive me.
If I told her the facts in the case the long Arctic Winter Night
would set in, and I'd be playing an icicle on the window frame.
I felt as lonely as a coal scuttle during the strike.
About six o'clock Uncle Peter waded into the sitting room, flushed
and happy as a school boy. "I've just left the garden," he
chuckled.
"No, you haven't," I said, glancing at his shoes; "you've brought
most of it in here with you."
I never touched him. The old gentleman sat down in a loud rocker
and began to tell me a lot of things I didn't want to hear. Uncle
Peter always intersperses his remarks on current topics with bits
of parboiled philosophy that make one want to get up and drive him
through the carpet with a tack hammer. When it comes to wise saws
and proverbial stunts Uncle Peter has Solomon backed up in the
corner.
"John," he said, "this country life is great. Early to bed and
early to rise makes a man's stomach digest mince pies--how's that?
Notice the air out here? How pure and fresh and bracing! You
ought to go out and run a mile, John!"
"I'd like to run ten miles," I answered, truthfully.
Pages:
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33