Back to the Woods | Page 5

man's house? S'cat!" and I reached for a shoe.
"Cut it!" cried Tacks, indignantly. "Didn't the janitor say he'd miss me dreadful, and how can he miss me 'less'n he sees my loving rememberments all over the place every time he shows this compartment to somebody else? And it is impolite to go 'way forever and ever amen without farewelling the janitor!"
"Where do you think you're going?" I inquired, trying hard to be calm.
"To the country to live, sister told me," Tacks bubbled; "and we ain't never coming back to this horrid city, sister told me; and you bought the house for a surprise, sister told me; and it has a pizzazus all around it, sister told me; and a cow that gives condensed milk, sister told me; and they's hens and chickens and turkey goblins and a garden to plant potato salad, and they's a barn with pigeons in the attic, and they's a lawn with a barbers wire fence all around it, sister told me; and our trunks are all packed, and we ain't never coming back here no more, sister told me; and I must hurry and farewell them two doors!"
Tacks was slightly in the lead when my shoe reached the door, so he won.
At breakfast we were joined by Uncle Peter and Aunt Martha, both of whom fairly oozed enthusiasm and Clara J.'s pulse began to climb with excitement and anticipation.
I was on the bargain counter, marked down from 30 cents.
Every time Uncle Peter sprang a new idea in reference to his garden, and they came so fast they almost choked him, I felt a burning bead of perspiration start out to explore my forehead.
Presently to put the froth of fear upon my cup of sorrow there came a telegram from "Bunch" which read as follows:
New York ----
John Henry No. 301 W. 109th St.
Sister and family will move in country house tomorrow be sure to play your game to-day good luck.
Bunch.
"Poor John! you look so worried," said Clara J., anxiously; "I really hope it is nothing that will call you back to town for a week at least. It will take us fully a week to get settled, don't you think so, Aunt Martha?"
I dove into my coffee cup and stayed under a long time. When I came to the surface again Uncle Peter was explaining to Tacks that baked beans grew only in a very hot climate, and in the general confusion the telegram was forgotten by all except my harpooned self.
Clara J. and Aunt Martha were both tearful when we left the flat to ride to the station, but to my intense relief no mention was made of the trunks, consequently I began to lift the mortgage from my life and breathe easier.
On the way out Tacks left a small parcel with one of the hall boys with instructions to hand it to the janitor as soon as possible.
"It's a little present for the janitor in loving remembrance of his memory," Tacks explained with something that sounded like a catch in his voice.
"Hasn't that boy a lovely disposition?" Aunt Martha beamed on Tacks; "to be so forgiving to the janitor after the horrid man had sworn at him and blamed him for putting a cat in the dumb waiter and sending it up to the nervous lady on the seventh floor who abominated cats and who screamed and fell over in a tub of suds when she opened the dumb-waiter door to get her groceries and the cat jumped at her. Mercy! how can the boy be so generous!"
Tacks bore up bravely under this panegyric of praise and his face wore a rapt expression which amounted almost to religious fervor.
"What did you give the janitor, Angel-Face?" I asked.
"Only just another remembrance," Tacks answered, solemnly. "I happened to find a poor, little dead mouse under the gas range and I thought I'd farewell the janitor with it."
Aunt Martha sighed painfully and Uncle Peter chuckled inwardly like a mechanical toy hen.
On the train out to Jiggersville Clara J. was a picture entitled, "The Joy of Living"--kind regards to Mrs. Pat Campbell; Ibsen please write.
As for me with every revolution of the wheels I grew more and more like a half portion of chipped beef.
"Oh, John!" said Clara J., her voice shrill with excitement; "I forgot to tell you! I left my key with Mother, and she's going to superintend the packing of the furniture this afternoon. By evening she expects to have everything loaded in the van and we won't have to wait any time for our trunks and things!"
"Great Scott!" I yelled; "maybe you won't like the house! Maybe it's only a shanty with holes in the roof--er, I mean, maybe you'll be disappointed with the lay-out! What's the blithering sense of being in such a