The Smalley residence, where Mrs.Luretta Smalley, relict of the late Zenas T., accommodated a few "paying guests," was nearly a mile from the windmill shop and on the Orham "lower road." Mr.
Winslow and his new acquaintance took the short cuts, through by-paths and across fields, and the young lady appeared to have thoroughly recovered from her misgivings concerning the dark--in reality it was scarcely dusk--and her doubts concerning her ability to carry the "heavy" swordfish without help.At all events she insisted upon carrying it alone, telling her companion that she thought perhaps he had better not touch it as it was so very, very brittle and might get broken, and consoling him by offering to permit him to carry Petunia, which fragrant appellation, it appeared, was the name of the doll.
"I named her Petunia after a flower," she explained."I think she looks like a flower, don't you?"If she did it was a wilted one.However, Miss Armstrong did not wait for comment on the part of her escort, but chatted straight on.Jed learned that her mother's name was Mrs.Ruth Phillips Armstrong."It used to be Mrs.Seymour Armstrong, but it isn't now, because Papa's name was Doctor Seymour Armstrong and he died, you know." And they lived in a central Connecticut city, but perhaps they weren't going to live there any more because Mamma had sold the house and didn't know exactly WHAT to do.And they had been in Orham ever since before the Fourth of July, and they liked it EVER so much, it was so quaint and--and "franteek"--Jed interrupted here."So quaint and what?" he demanded.
"Franteek." Miss Barbara herself seemed a little doubtful of the word.At any rate Mamma said it was something like that, and it meant they liked it anyway.So Mr.Winslow was left to ponder whether "antique" or "unique" was intended and to follow his train of thought wherever it chanced to lead him, while the child prattled on.They came in sight of the Smalley front gate and Jed came out of his walking trance to hear her say:
"Anyway, we like it all but the sal'ratus biscuits and the coffee and THEY are dreadful.Mamma thinks it's made of chickenry--the coffee, I mean."At the gate Jed's "queerness," or shyness, came upon him.The idea of meeting Mrs.Armstrong or even the members of the Smalley family he shrank from.Barbara invited him to come in, but he refused even to accompany her to the door.
"I'll just run along now," he said, hurriedly."Good night."The child put out her hand."Good night," she said."Thank you very much for helping me carry the fish home.I'm coming to see you again some day."She scampered up the walk.Jed, waiting in the shadow of the lilac bushes by the fence, saw her rattle the latch of the door, saw the door open and the child caught up in the arms of a woman, who cried: "Oh, Babbie, dear, where HAVE you been? Mamma was SOfrightened!"
He smiled over the memory of the little girl's visit more than once that evening.He was very fond of children and their society did not embarrass or annoy him as did the company of most grown-ups--strangers, that is.He remembered portions of Miss Barbara's conversation and determined to repeat them to Captain Sam Hunniwell, the next time the latter called.
And that next time was the following forenoon.Captain Sam, on the way to his office at the bank, stopped his car at the edge of the sidewalk and came into the shop.Jed, having finished painting wooden sailors for the present, was boxing an assorted collection of mills and vanes to be sent South, for a certain demand for "Winslow mills" was developing at the winter as well as the summer resorts.It was far from winter yet, but this purchaser was forehanded.
"Hello, Jed," hailed the captain, "busy as usual.You've got the busy bee a mile astern so far as real hustlin' is concerned."Jed took a nail from the half dozen held between his lips and applied its point to the box top.His sentences for the next few minutes were mumbled between nails and punctuated with blows of the hammer.
"The busy bee," he mumbled, "can sting other folks.He don't get stung much himself.Collectin' honey's easier, I cal'late, than collectin' money."Captain Sam grunted."Are you stung again?" he demanded."Who did it this time?"Jed pointed with the hammer to an envelope lying on a pile of wooden crows.The captain took up the envelope and inspected its contents.
"'We regret to inform you,' he read aloud, 'that the Funny Novelty Company of this town went into bankruptcy a month ago.
"'JOHN HOLWAY.'"
"Humph!" he sniffed."That's short and sweet.Owed you somethin', I presume likely?"Jed nodded."Seventeen dollars and three cents," he admitted, between the remaining nails.
"Sho! Well, if you could get the seventeen dollars you'd throw off the three cents, wouldn't you?""No-o."
"You wouldn't? Why not?"
Jed pried a crookedly driven nail out again and substituted a fresh one.
"Can't afford to," he drawled."That's the part I'll probably get.""Guess you're right.Who's this John Holway?""Eh....Why, when he ordered the mills of me last summer he was president of the Funny Novelty Company up there to Manchester.""Good Lord! Well, I admire his nerve.How did you come to sell these--er--Funny folks, in the first place?"Mr.Winslow looked surprised.
"Why, they wrote and sent an order," he replied.
"Did, eh? And you didn't think of lookin' 'em up to see whether they was good for anything or good for nothin'? Just sailed in and hurried off the stuff, I presume likely?"Jed nodded."Why--why, yes, of course," he said."You see, they said they wanted it right away."His friend groaned."Gracious king!" he exclaimed."How many times have I told you to let me look up credits for you when you get an order from a stranger? Well, there's no use talkin' to you.
