"World Famous Dietitian and Food Specialist"—see more advertisin’, with a tintype of the Doctor in the corner.

Nigh as I could find out the diet was a queer one. It give me dyspepsy just to think of it. Breakfast at seven sharp, consistin’ of a dozen nut meats, two raw prunes, some "whole wheat bread"—whatever that is—and a pint of hot water. Luncheon at quarter to eleven, with another assortment of similar truck. Afternoon snack at three and dinner at half-past seven. He had two soft b’iled eggs for dinner, or else a two-inch slice of rare steak, and, with them exceptions, the whole bill of fare was, accordin’ to my notion, more fittin’ for a goat than a human bein’. He mustn’t smoke and he mustn’t drink: Considerin’ what he’d been used to afore the "World Famous" one hooked him it ain’t much wonder that he was as crabbed and cranky as a liveoak windlass.

However, it—or somethin’ else—had made him feel better since he landed in Ostable and he swore by that Conquest Payne man and everybody connected with him. And if he once took a notion into his tough old head, nothin’ short of a surgeon’s operation could get it out. He’d decided to make Abubus postmaster and he’d move heaven and earth to do it. All right, then, it was up to me to do some movin’ likewise. I can be a little mite pig-headed myself, if I set out to be.

And I set out right then. It may seem funny to say so, but I was about as good a friend as the Major had in Ostable. Course he had a tremendous influence with the selectmen and the like of that, owin’ to his soldier record and his pompousness and the amount of taxes he paid. And he and I never agreed on one single p’int. But just the same he spent the heft of his evenin’s at the store and I was always glad to see him. I respected the cantankerous old critter, and liked him, in a way. And I’m inclined to think he respected and liked me. I cal’late both of us enjoyed fightin’ with somebody that never tried for an under-holt or quit even when he was licked.

So that night, when he comes puffin’ in and sets down, as usual, in the most comfortable chair, I went over and come to anchor alongside of him.

"Hello," he grunts, "you old salt hayseed. Any closer to bankruptcy than you was yesterday?"

"Your bill’s a little bigger and more overdue, that’s all," says I. "See here, I want to talk politics with you. Mary Blaisdell, Henry’s sister, is goin’ to have the post-office now he’s gone, and I want you to put your name on her petition. Not that she needs it, or 

 Prev. P 24/171 next