CHAPTER XIV
When I told Tallow and Binney how we'd harpooned Mr. Skip for twohundred dollars they were so tickled they almost jumped out of theirshoes. Tallow wanted to go over and stand in front of theFive-and-Ten-Cent Store to gibe at Jehoshaphat, but Mark wouldn't haveit. He said Skip didn't know who was at the bottom of the scheme, andwasn't going to find out yet. Mark had his reasons, and, because heowned the scheme, so to speak, we did as he said.
Two hundred dollars! That made up for the hundred we had to send motherand gave us an extra hundred into the bargain--and about a milliondollars' worth of satisfaction. It beats all how you can make money ifyou happen to know how. Mark Tidd didn't spend more than a couple ofhours earning this--but I suppose he did two hundred dollars' worth ofthinking, or he wouldn't have made a go of it. He says if you want tomake money you've either got to do the money's worth of work or themoney's worth of figuring. I expect he's right.
Business was pretty fair the rest of the day. We didn't close untilhalf past ten, and we were good and tired, I can tell you. Our beautycontest was getting along fine. Nobody forgot to ask for votes whenthey bought a dime's worth, and the big talk of the day was about OldMiller and his thousand votes. I don't suppose there was anybody inthat contest who didn't hope to pry those votes away from Old Mose, andeverybody was looking for a hint about how to go at it. Mark Tidd wasthe chief hinter. He told every one the same thing.
"If I was you," says he to everybody that asked his advice, "I'dw-w-wait till sometime when Mose was likely to be alone. Sometime likeSunday afternoon. Then I'd go out to his place like I was j-just makin'him a call. 'Twouldn't do any harm to talk about cats. Just mentioncats casual-like. It'll s'prise you how it'll strike him. Then youmight edge along and m-mention that you got a kitten. Tell him you hateto spare that kitten, but, seein' who he is and what a high regard yougot for him, you'll fetch it out for him. Don't mention votes yet. Seeif you can't git him to m-mention 'em himself. Yes, sir, if I was youI'd go out about half past two; he'll be through dinner then andfeelin' perty good."
That's the answer Mark had for everybody. Cats! We found out a coupleof months ago how Old Mose hates cats--hates 'em and is afraid of 'em.He'd rather pet a rattlesnake than a cat.
That night as we were walking home Mark says:
"Guess we b-better meet about two o'clock and slide out to Old Mose's.Shouldn't be s'prised if there was somethin' there to see that 'u'd beworth watchin'."
We wouldn't be surprised, either, and you can bet we agreed to meet him.
Sunday morning everybody in Wicksville went to church and the youngfolks stayed to Sunday-school. I hurried through my dinner and was atMark's house before he was through. _He_ didn't hurry his dinner. Notmuch! Anybody that finds Mark Tidd slighting a meal wants to report it,for it'll be one of the wonders of the world. No, he wasn't through yetand Mrs. Tidd made me come in and eat a piece of apple-pie. Mark wasjust finishing up his second piece and was looking covetous-like at thethird, but his mother put her foot down and wouldn't let him have it.So he finished off with an apple and a banana and a bit of rice-puddingleft from yesterday and then said he guessed he'd put half a dozencookies in his pocket to eat on the way.
By that time Tallow and Binney came along and we started out the riverroad to Old Mose's.
We began going cautious before we got in sight of the farm, because wedidn't want Mose to see us and we didn't want anybody from Wicksvilleto know we had put up a joke on them--that would be bad for business.So we turned off the road and dodged closer, all the time keeping outof sight behind shocks of corn in the field that was next to Old Mose'sfarm-yard. We crept up behind a clump of lilac-bushes and then cranedour necks to see where we could find a good place to hide and watchwhat went on.
Old Mose was out on his porch, playing his phonograph. He had one ofthose talking-records going--we could hear it plain as could be.
All at once we heard him yell:
"Shut up! Shut up! I tell you. Hain't you been jawin' enough? Say!Hain't you goin' to give a man no peace?"
Then he jumped up and shut off the machine. Of course the talkingstopped. Old Mose grinned proud-like, just as if he'd done somethingworth while.
"Haw!" says he, "you will, eh? You will set there and jaw and jaw! I'llshow you. Jest like all folks, hain't you? Want to keep wagglin' yourtongue all the time. But I kin shut you up. Old Mose is the feller thatkin turn you off."
He sat down and chuckled and talked to himself and paid his respects tothe way folks like to talk for quite a spell. Then he got up andstarted off another talking-record. He let it run about two minutes andthen up and began yelling at _it_.
"Whoa-up! You've talked enough, mister. Close your mouth and give abody a chance to think." And up he jumped to turn off the machineagain. He acted just as tickled this time as he did before. I never sawanybody get so much pleasure out of anything.
"He d-didn't buy that phonograph to run," says Mark. "He bought it tosh-sh-shut off."
Yes, sir, that was it. The thing he wanted that machine for was to havesomething that talked that he could shut up whenever he wanted to. Thesatisfaction he got out of ordering wax records to keep quiet and thenmaking them mind him was a caution.
About a dozen feet to our right was a shed with a roof that sloped backtoward the fence. The front of it wasn't over eight feet from theporch. A clump of sumach grew toward the road and would hide anybodywho was of a mind to lie on top of it, and a maple-tree grew right upbehind. It was the bulliest kind of a hiding-place. We made for it oneat a time, and in three minutes and a half we were all up there, lyingin a row, overlooking Old Mose and his porch and his phonograph. Wecould see and hear everything that went on without a bit of danger ofanybody seeing us.
"'Most t-time the folks were comin'," says Mark in a whisper.
"Yes," says I. "Here comes a buggy up the road now."
Sure enough, there was a buggy, only there were two of them, and theywere coming pell-mell for election. It was a race. We could hear thedrivers yelling at their horses and leaning over the dashboards tolarrup them with their whips. Side by side they came, rolling andpitching and looking for all the world as if they were going to banginto each other or turn bottom side up any minute. At first we couldn'tsee who was in them for the dust they kicked up, but pretty soon theycame near enough so we could tell it was Chet Weevil and Chancy Miller.
They galloped their horses right up to Old Mose's front gate and thenpulled them in so quick they almost busted the lines. Neither onewaited to tie up, but just jumped over the wheel and made for the gate.It wasn't a very wide gate, and it opened outward. Chet got there justa tenth of a second ahead, but before he could get the gate open Chancybanged into him and began clawing at him and pushing to get past. Chethung on to the gate and Chancy hung on to Chet. Old Mose got up andstood looking at them with his jaw dropped down and his eyes big asturnips. He was so surprised he couldn't even move.
Chet kept on hanging to the gate and fumbling for the catch. Chancytugged and jerked and braced his feet--and all at once the gate swungopen and down they went, with Chancy on the bottom. Chet's elbow wentkerplump into his stomach, and Chancy let loose a yell that wasmournfuler than a cow mooing when she's lost track of her calf. Chetjumped up quick to make a dash into the yard, but Chancy reached outand grabbed his foot, and down he went on his nose. Then it seemed likeboth of them forgot just why they came. For a while votes and Old Moseleft their minds entirely, and they set themselves to the job ofpulling each other to pieces.
By this time Old Mose was coming to a little, but hadn't got so hecould talk much yet. But his mad was getting up. First he began to stepup and down like the porch was too hot for his feet. Then he beganwaggling his head and working his jaw. Then he began sawing the airwith his arms. All that exercise cleared out his throat so it could beused, and out came a yell. It wasn't a word and didn't mean anything;it was just a yell, but it was a mad yell. I've heard a lot of yells atone time and an
other, but I don't remember any one of them that beatthis one of Mose's much.
He went hobbling down the path to the gate and slammed it shut. Outsidein the sand Chet and Chancy were wallowing and clawing around andpulling hair and kicking and trying to rub each other's faces in thedirt. Old Mose leaned over the gate and watched them. All of a suddenhe chuckled. It wasn't a good-natured chuckle, by any means, but thesort of a chuckle a mean man gives when he sees something disagreeablehappening to somebody he doesn't like. He leaned over farther and beganyelling at Chet and Chancy.
"Give it to him. That's the way. Come squabblin' around my gate, willyou! Git a holt on to his nose, there. Whee!... Shove his face in thedirt. Who! Consarn ye--both of ye! Hope ye git them dude clothes fixedfor once. Grab him by the collar. Ya-aah! Whoop!"
He was going on at a great rate when another buggy stopped and outclimbed Mrs. Bloom. She looked for a minute, and then swooped down onChancy and Chet like a mad turkey hen and grabbed each of them by thehandiest part she could get a hold of.
"Git right up," says she. "Hain't you ashamed of yourselves, fightin'like two roosters--and on Sunday afternoon! Where's the town marshal?Git right up out of a body's way. I want to git through that gate. Gitup, I say, and let a body by."
"Want to git through this gate, do ye?" says Old Mose. "I got somethin'to say about that. What d'ye want to git through this gate for? I don'twant ye. Hain't got no use for wimmin folks, anyhow, and special Ihain't got no use for gabblin' wimmin folks. You jest git into thatbuggy of yourn and go away from here."
"Why, Mr. Miller!" says she, sweet as honey all of a sudden. "I didn'tsee you standin' there. How be you this afternoon?"
"Sick," says Old Mose, "and gittin' worse fast."
Before Mrs. Bloom could say anything back two more buggies came to astop and out got Mrs. Peterson and two young women that were aftervotes for Professor Pilkins. By this time Chet and Chancy gotuntangled, and two such looking critters you never saw. Dirty! Andtheir clothes were torn, and their collars were half off, and they weredaubed and scratched and red and panting and pretty clost to crying.All they could do was lean on the fence and glare at each other and tryto get back their breath. The three last women started for the gate.Old Mose looked at them and began backing off. All of a sudden hestarted on a run for the house and slammed inside. In just a minute hecame back with a pail of steaming water. He was getting ready to defendhis fortification. He went down close to the gate and held the pailthreatening-like, and says:
"Don't ye open that gate, not any of ye. The fust one to set foot on myland gits this b'ilin' water. Git, now! Git right out of here 'fore Isend for the sheriff of this here county. Git!"
But nobody got. Instead of that more folks began arriving. As far as Icould see down the road buggies were coming--more than a dozen of them.There were men and women and kids, and they all congregated in a knotoutside of the gate. But nobody offered to go in--not with that pail ofboiling water to face.
Mrs. Peterson spoke up.
"Why, Mr. Miller," says she, "what's the meanin' of this? Here I drive'way out here of a Sunday afternoon just to fetch you this punkin-pie,and this is how I git treated." She glowered at the rest of the crowd."What's these folks doin' here? They ought to be ashamed ofthemselves--pesterin' a poor old defenseless man."
"Poor old defenseless man, eh? Jest you stick a foot this side of mygate and you'll see how defenseless I be. Jest stick a _toe_ inside!"
Everybody began to talk at once. They crowded up to the gate and sassedeach other and tried to be polite to Old Mose at the same time. 'Mosteverybody had brought him a pie or a cake or something. The old man wasso mad he just hopped up and down and raved at them.
Right there Mark Tidd made a noise like a cat. He could imitate akitten so it sounded more natural than the kitten doing it himself. OldMose straightened up and cocked his ear. Mark let him have it again.
"Scat!" he yelled, looking around scared-like. "Scat!"
Well, that reminded folks of the cat. Mrs. Bloom spoke up and says:
"Mr. Miller, I got the cunnin'est kitten to home. I set a heap of storeby it, but knowin' how fond you be of cats I dun'no' but I'd be willin'to give it to you--"
She never got any farther because everybody in the crowd--and therewere twenty if there was one--set up a yell about _their_ kittens. Acouple of folks actually had brought cats along and held them up in theair for Old Mose to see.
The old man just took one look and let his pail of water go swooshright into the crowd. Pretty lucky it had time to cool, but it was justas wet as ever. You never saw such a mess! Chet and Chancy got firstchoice of it, but everybody got all he had any use for. Those two youngfellows, though, looked like they had taken their Sunday baths withtheir clothes on. Nobody waited. Everybody decided he wanted to besomewhere else, and they scattered like a bunch of quail when you walkinto the middle of them.
Old Mose began yelling after them. Then he charged through the gate inpursuit, and first off he grabbed Chancy.
"Hey, you," says he, giving him a shake that must have loosened hiscurly hair, "what's this about, anyhow? What's the reason everybody inWicksville's pesterin' around my front door? Eh? What's the reason?" Hegave Chancy another shake. "Out with it. What's fetched this gang oflunatics here? Tell me 'fore I shake the ears off'n you."
Chancy choked and coughed and got his voice.
"Votes," says he in a sort of husky whisper.
"Votes?" says Old Mose. "What votes?"
"Beauty contest," says everybody, crowding around. "You got themthousand votes and nobody to vote 'em for.... Handsomest man inWicksville--"
"Huh!" says Old Mose. "And you lunatics come out here hopin' to prythem votes out of me, eh? Thought you'd fool Old Mose Miller with piesand cakes, eh? Votes.... I'll vote ye. If this here was thehomeliest-man contest, nobody'd git them votes, I can tell ye. Vote 'emmyself, then. Take study, though. Homeliest man in Wicksville. There'dbe a contest! Everybody could git into it. Hain't much to choose.Votes.... Jest stand there a minute, and don't a one of you dast stepon to my premises."
He turned and went into the house. In a couple of jiffies he was backwith his hands full of votes. The folks drew a long breath and crowdedcloser.
"Ye want votes, eh?" says he as he got to the fence. "Well, then, helpyourselves."
At that he began chucking handfuls of them into the faces of the crowd,and chuckling. Handful after handful he threw--and everybody began ascramble. It was the worst mix-up that ever happened within a hundredmiles of Wicksville. Everybody was in it--and in it to get votes. Inever saw such a tangle of human beings. I bet there wasn't one of themcould have sorted himself out and got his own arms and legs to save hislife. And noise! It's lucky it was so far out in the country. Squealingand gouging and kicking and scratching. My! my! And all the time OldMose leaned over the fence to sic them on and chuckle. The air was fullof votes and arms and legs and noises!
That sort of thing can't keep up long, but it's fine to watch while itkeeps on. In two or three minutes folks began to feel around to find ifthey were all there and to scramble out of the mess. It didn't takethem long to get separated--and there they stood, everybody clutching afew votes in his hand and glaring at everybody else. Then all of asudden it seemed like everybody got ashamed. A scurry for the buggiesset in, and the whole crowd, still as anything and, I expect, wishingthey hadn't come, started off for town. The only folks who were pleasedall the way through were Old Mose Miller and us fellows on top of theshed.
Mark Tidd was laughing that still laugh of his till I was afraid he'droll off the roof.
"B-b-beauty contest!" says he.
"Don't seem like folks would make such idiots of themselves over acontest that don't make any difference to anybody!" I says.
Mark chuckled again.
"'Tain't the reason for the c-c-contest that counts," he says, "it'sthat it _is_ a contest. The whole idee of the thing is that nobodylikes to have anybody else b-b-beat them at anything."
&
nbsp; "That's so," says I. "Seems like I'd be sorrier to have Jehoshaphat P.Skip beat us than I would be to lose the Bazar."
"Um!" says Mark. "Neither of these things is l-l-likely to happen."
And then we sneaked back home.
Mark Tidd in Business Page 14
