He Fell In Love With His Wife | Page 6

always ready
to "take a bite."--The farmer had never heard of the camel who first got
his head into the tent, but it gradually dawned upon him that he was

half supporting the whole Irish tribe down at the shanty. Every evening,
while he shivered in his best room, he was compelled to hear the coarse
jests and laughter in the adjacent apartment. One night his bitter
thoughts found expression: "I might as well open a free house for the
keeping of man and beast."
He had endured this state of affairs for some time simply because the
woman did the essential work in her offhand, slapdash style, and left
him unmolested to his brooding as long as he did not interfere with her
ideas of domestic economy. But his impatience and the sense of being
wronged were producing a feeling akin to desperation. Every week
there was less and less to sell from the dairy; chickens and eggs
disappeared, and the appetites of those who dropped in to "kape Bridgy
from bein' a bit lonely" grew more voracious.
Thus matters had drifted on until this March day when he had taken
two calves to market. He had said to the kitchen potentate that he
would take supper with a friend in town and therefore would not be
back before nine in the evening. This friend was the official keeper of
the poorhouse and had been a crony of Holcroft's in early life. He had
taken to politics instead of farming, and now had attained to what he
and his acquaintances spoke of as a "snug berth." Holcroft had
maintained with this man a friendship based partly on business
relations, and the well-to-do purveyor for paupers always gave his old
playmate an honest welcome to his private supper table, which differed
somewhat from that spread for the town's pensioners.
On this occasion the gathering storm had decided Holcroft to return
without availing himself of his friend's hospitality, and he is at last
entering the lane leading from the highway to his doorway. Even as he
approaches his dwelling he hears the sound of revelry and readily
guesses what is taking place.
Quiet, patient men, when goaded beyond a certain point, are capable of
terrible ebullitions of anger, and Holcroft was no exception. It seemed
to him that night that the God he had worshiped all his life was in
league with man against him. The blood rushed to his face, his chilled
form became rigid with a sudden passionate protest against his
misfortunes and wrongs. Springing from the wagon, he left his team
standing at the barn door and rushed to the kitchen window. There
before him sat the whole tribe from the shanty, feasting at his expense.

The table was loaded with coarse profusion. Roast fowls alternated
with fried ham and eggs, a great pitcher of milk was flanked by one of
foaming cider, while the post of honor was occupied by the one
contribution of his self-invited guests--a villainous-looking jug.
They had just sat down to the repast when the weazen-faced patriarch
of the tribe remarked, by way of grace, it may be supposed, "Be jabers,
but isn't ould Holcroft givin' us a foine spread the noight! Here's bad
luck to the glowerin' ould skinflint!" and he poured out a bumper from
the jug.
The farmer waited to see and hear no more. Hastening to a parlor
window, he raised it quietly and clambered in; then taking his rusty
shotgun, which he kept loaded for the benefit of the vermin that
prowled about his hen-roost, he burst in upon the startled group.
"Be off!" he shouted. "If you value your lives, get out of that door, and
never show your faces on my place again. I'll not be eaten out of house
and home by a lot of jackals!"
His weapon, his dark, gleaming eyes, and desperate aspect taught the
men that he was not to be trifled with a moment, and they slunk away.
Bridget began to whine, "Yez wouldn't turn a woman out in the noight
and storm."
"You are not a woman!" thundered Holcroft, "you are a jackal, too! Get
your traps and begone! I warn the whole lot of you to beware! I give
you this chance to get off the premises, and then I shall watch for you
all, old and young!"
There was something terrible and flame-like in his anger, dismaying
the cormorants, and they hastened away with such alacrity that Bridget
went down the lane screaming, "Sthop, I tell yees, and be afther waitin'
for me!"
Holcroft hurled the jug after them with words that sounded like an
imprecation. He next turned to the viands on the table with an
expression of loathing, gathered them up, and carried them to the hog
pen.