Hiram The Young Farmer | Page 5

she would shuffle about the dining-room in a pair of Mrs.
Atterson's old shoes---
"By Jove! there she is now," exclaimed the startled youth.
At the corner of the street several "slices" of the brick block had been
torn away and the lot cleared for the erection of some business building.
Running across this open space with wild shrieks and spilling the milk
from the big pitcher she carried--milk for the boarders' tea, Hi
knew--came Mrs. Atterson's maid.
Behind her, and driving her like a horse by the ever present "pigtails,"
bounded a boy of about her own age--a laughing, yelling imp of a boy
whom Hiram knew very well.
"That Dan Dwight is the meanest little scamp at this end of the town!"
he said to himself.
The noise the two made attracted only the idle curiosity of a few people.
It was a locality where, even on Sundays, there was more or less noise.
Sister begged and screamed. She feared she would spill the milk and
told Dan, Junior, so. But he only drove her the harder, yelling to her to
"Get up!" and yanking as hard as he could on the braids.
"Here! that's enough of that!" called Hiram, stepping quickly toward
the two.
For Sister had stopped exhausted, and in tears.

"Be off with you!" commanded Hiram. "You've plagued the girl
enough."
"Mind your business, Hi-ram-Lo-ram!" returned Dan, Junior, grabbing
at Sister's hair again.
Hiram caught the younger boy by the shoulder and whirled him around.
"You run along to Mrs. Atterson, Sister," he said, quietly. "No, you
don't!" he added, gripping Dan, Junior, more firmly. "You'll stop right
here."
"Lemme be, Hi Strong!" bawled the other, when he found he could not
easily jerk away. "It'll be the worse for you if you don't."
"Just you wait until the girl is home," returned Hiram, laughing. It was
an easy matter for him to hold the writhing Dan, Junior.
"I'll fix you for this!" squalled the boy. "Wait till I tell my father."
"You wouldn't dare tell your father the truth," laughed Hi.
"I'll fix you," repeated Dan, Junior, and suddenly aimed a vicious kick
at his captor.
Had the kick landed where Dan, Junior, intended--under Hi's
kneecap--the latter certainly would have been "fixed." But the country
youth was too agile for him.
He jumped aside, dragged Dan, Junior, suddenly toward him, and then
gave him a backward thrust which sent the lighter boy spinning.
Now, it had rained the day before and in a hollow beside the path was a
puddle several inches deep. Dan, Junior, lost his balance, staggered
back, tripped over his own clumsy heels, and splashed full length into
it.
"Oh, oh!" he bawled, managing to get well soaked before he scrambled
out. " I'll tell my father on you, Hi Strong. You'll catch it for this!"

"You'd better run home before you catch cold," said Hiram, who could
not help laughing at the young rascal's plight. "And let girls alone
another time."
To himself he said: "Well, the goodness knows I couldn't be much
more in bad odor with Mr. Dwight than I am already. But this escapade
of his precious son ought to about 'fix' me, as Dan, Junior, says.
"Whether I want to, or not, I reckon I will be looking for another job in
a very few days."

CHAPTER TWO
AT MRS. ATTERSON'S
When you came into "Mother" Atterson's front hall (the young men
boarders gave her that appellation in irony) the ghosts of many ancient
boiled dinners met you with--if you were sensitive and unused to the
odors of cheap boarding houses--a certain shock.
He was starting up the stairs, on which the ragged carpet threatened to
send less agile persons than Mrs. Atterson's boarders headlong to the
bottom at every downward trip, when the clang of the gong in the
dining-room announced the usual cold spread which the landlady
thought due to her household on the first day of the week.
Hiram hesitated, decided that he would skip the meal, and started up
again. But just then Fred Crackit lounged out of the parlor, with Mr.
Peebles following him. Dyspeptic as he was, Mr. Peebles never missed
a meal himself, and Crackit said:
"Come on, Hi-Low-Jack! Aren't you coming down to the usual feast of
reason and flow of soul?"
Crackit thought he was a natural humorist, and he had to keep up his
reputation at all times and seasons. He was rather a dissipated-looking
man of thirty years or so, given to gay waistcoats and wonderfully knit

ties. A brilliant as large as a hazel-nut--and which, in some lights,
really sparkled like a diamond--adorned the tie he wore this evening.
"I don't believe I want any supper," responded Hiram, pleasantly.
"What's the matter? Got some inside information