A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill

								

“You get off to the Orient this week, I suppose,” went on Dillingham.
“Lucky devil! Decker asked me to go along. If it hadn't been for the
paternal grandparent I'd have gone in a minute, but he put his foot
down. When do you sail?”
“I've given up the trip. I'm going to buy a farm out near the Wickers',
and get down to work.”
Dillingham whistled incredulously:
“Yes, I see you doing it! You are counting on pulling off the Derby, I
suppose?”
“No, I'm not going to enter my horse.”
“What! Why Lickety-Split could win that race in a walk. All the crowd
say you stand to win. Here, this is the shanty; at least it's where he
used to live.”
A bright light streamed from the uncurtained window of a small cottage,
revealing a family group within. A fat, smiling woman in curl papers,
with a baby in her arms, and six youngsters in varying stages of Sabbath
cleanliness, hung upon the words of a man who sat in a large, plush
self-rocker, and read from a highly colored picture book. In the head
of the family Dillingham recognized Richard Sheeley, ex-pugilist, and
present proprietor of the Cant-Pass-It.
“Well, if it ain't Mr. Dillingham!” exclaimed Sheeley, throwing open
the door in answer to their knock. “Soaked through, ain't you? Little
somethin' to warm you up? Sure. Just come in and wait 'til I git on my
shoes and find an umbrella and I'll go over with you. Don't keep a drop
here,” he added in a whisper, behind a hand so large that he evidently
regarded it as sound proof. “Missus won't stand fer it, 'count of the
kids, eh?”
“That's him, Ma, the one I was telling you about,” Richard Sheeley,
Jr.,--yclept “Skeeter”--tugged at his mother's sleeve, nodding his
head at Donald, who was making love to the smallest and shyest of the
daughters of the house.
“She ain't as meek as she looks!” Mrs. Sheeley was saying, as she tried
to get the child from behind her skirts. “She's got her popper's temper
along with his smartness. They ain't either one of them got a grain of
sense when they git mad. I never seen a child with such a temper, did
you, Popper?”
But Sheeley did not heed her; he was busy doing the honors to one he
evidently considered an honored guest.
“Sit right down here, Mr. Dillingham, lemme take the book out of the
chair. I was just reading to the Missus and the kids a book Skeeter
brought home from Sunday School, all about Dan'l and the lions' den.
Tall tale that, Mr. Dillingham. About one of the raciest animal articles
I ever come acrost.”
When they were ready to go, Mrs. Sheeley followed them anxiously to the
door.
“It's a awful stormy night, Popper; you ain't going to stay, are you?”
“Not long. I'll be back to finish the story. So long, kids!” He swung
himself down the wooden steps, between his two well-groomed companions,
looking back now and then at the bright, open doorway, where the smiling
fat woman stood surrounded by half a dozen tow-headed children.