A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill | Page 7

by the combat.
"I'll be damned if you don't," said Miss Lady, equally determined.
The skirmish was fierce but short, and by the time Don got to them,
Miss Lady had restored the spoils to the lawful victor, and was
assisting the vanquished foe to wipe the dust from his eyes.
"Well, partner," said Donald to Chick, "what have you got to say to the

young lady for taking your part?"
"He ain't got nothin' to say," said Skeeter glibly. "He's dumb. Nobody
but me can't understand him. He says thank you, ma'am."
Chick having uttered no sound, it was evident that Skeeter depended
upon telepathy.
"He's a ash-barrel baby," went on Skeeter, eager to impart information;
"he ain't got no real folks, and he's been to the Juvenile Court twict;
onct for hopping freights and onct fer me and him smashin' winders."
All eyes were turned upon the hero, who immediately became absorbed
in his whip-handle. He was small, and exceedingly thin, and
exceedingly dirty. The most conspicuous things about him were his
large, wistful eyes, and his broad smile that showed where his teeth
were going to be. Across his narrow chest a ragged elbowless coat was
hitched together by one button, while a pair of bare, spindling legs
dwindled away respectively into a high black shoe, and a low-cut tan
one, both of which were well ventilated at the heels.
"I don't believe he's very bad," smiled Miss Lady, catching his chin in
her hand and turning his face up to hers. "Are you, Chick?"
He made a queer guttural sound in his throat but, his official interpreter
being by this time absorbed in the horses, was unable to make himself
understood.
"It must be awful for a boy not to be able to ask questions!" she went
on, looking down at him, then seeing something in his face that other
people missed, she suddenly drew him to her and gave him a little
motherly squeeze.
The ride home was somewhat leisurely, for the accident, slight as it was,
had sobered the riders, and there was, moreover, a subject under
discussion that called for considerable earnest expostulation on one
side, and much tantalizing evasion on the other.

"It all depends upon you," Donald was saying, as they climbed the last
hill. "Cropsie Decker starts for the coast to-morrow but the steamer
doesn't sail for ten days. Shall I go or stay?"
"But you were so mad about it two weeks ago, you could scarcely wait
to start."
"Lots of things can happen in two weeks. Shall I stay?"
"What do your family think about it?"
"My family? Oh, you mean my sister. She doesn't make a habit of
losing sleep over my affairs. She'd probably say go. I am rather
unpopular with her just now, because I don't approve of this affair
between my niece Margery and Fred Dillingham. I fancy she'd be
rather relieved to get me out of the way. In fact, everybody says go,
except Doctor Queerington. He is a cousin of ours, used to be my
English professor, up at the university. He has always harbored the
illusion that I can write. Wants me to settle down some place in the
country and go at it in earnest."
"You don't mean John Jay Queerington, the author?" Miss Lady said
eagerly. "Is he really your cousin? Daddy went to school to his father,
and has told me so much about him, that without seeing him, I could
write a book on the subject."
"Great old chap in his way, an authority on heaven knows how many
subjects, yet he scarcely makes enough money to take care of his
children."
"But think of the books he is giving to the world! He told Daddy he
was on his thirteenth volume!"
"Yes, he swims around most of the time in a sea of declensions,
conjugations, and syntaxes, in Greek, Latin and English."
"I think he's magnificent!" cried Miss Lady, trying to hold Prince down
to a walk. "I adore people who do great things and amount to

something."
"All of which I suppose is meant to reflect on a poor devil who doesn't
do things and doesn't amount to anything?"
"I never said so."
"See here," said Donald whimsically, "for two weeks you have been
getting me not to do things. When I think of all the things I have
promised you, I can feel my hair turning white. Having polished me off
on the don'ts, you aren't going to begin on the do's, are you?"
"Indeed I am. Does Doctor Queerington really think you could be a
writer?"
"He has been after me about it ever since I was a youngster. I'm always
scribbling at something, but there is nothing in it. Besides," he added
with a smile,