Janice Day at Poketown | Page 4

a whine crept into Mrs. Day's voice.
"He can't git along with 'Rill Scattergood, so he won't go to school. His
fingers is gettin' all stained yaller from suthin'--d'you 'xpect it's them
cigarettes, Jase?"
Her husband was rising slowly to his feet. "Gimme the pail," he
grunted, without replying to her last question. "I'll git the water for ye
this onc't. But that's Marty's job an' he's got to l'arn it, too!"
"Here, Jase! take two pails," urged Mrs. Day. "An' I wish you would git
Pringle to cut ye a new pump-leather."
But Mr. Day ignored the second pail. "I don't feel right peart to-day,"
he said, shambling off down the path. "And there's a deal of heft to a
pail of water--uphill, too. An' by-me-by I got ter go down to the dock, I
s'pose, when the boat comes in, to meet Broxton's gal. I 'xpect she'll be
a great nuisance, 'Mira."
"I'll stand her bein' some nuisance if you give me the twenty dollars a
month your brother wrote that he'd send for her board and keep,"
snapped Mrs. Day. "You understand, Jase. That money's comin' to me,
or I don't scrub and slave for no relation of yourn. Remember that!"

Jason shuffled on as though he had not heard her. That was the most
exasperating trait of this lazy man--so his wife thought; he was too lazy
to quarrel.
He went out at the gate, which hung by one hinge to the gatepost, into
the untidy back lane upon which one end of his rocky little farm
abutted. Had he glanced back at the premises he would have seen a
weed-grown, untidy yard surrounding the old house, with decrepit
stables and other outbuildings in the rear, a garden which was almost a
jungle now, although in the earlier spring it had given much promise of
a summer harvest of vegetables. Poorly tilled fields behind the front
premises terraced up the timber-capped hill.
Jason Day always "calkerlated ter farm it" each year, and he started in
good season, too. The soil was rich and most of his small fields were
warm and early; but somehow his plans always fell through before the
season was far advanced. So neither the farm nor the immediate
premises of the old Day house were attractive.
The house itself looked like a withered and narly apple left hanging
upon the tree from the year before. In its forlorn nakedness it actually
cried out for a coat of paint. Each individual shingle was curled and
cracked. Only the superior workmanship of a former time kept the Day
roof tight and defended the family from storms.
Some hours later the Constance Colfax came into view around a distant
point in the lake shore. Mr. Day had camped upon the identical bench
again and was still sucking at the stem of his corncob pipe.
"Wal," he groaned, "I 'xpect I've got to go down to meet that gal of
Broxton's. And the sun's mighty hot this mawnin'."
"You wouldn't feel it so, if ye hadn't been too 'tarnal lazy to change yer
seat," sniffed his wife. "Now, you mind, Jase! That board money comes
to me, or you can take Broxton's gal to the ho-tel."
Mr. Day shambled out of the front gate without making reply.

"Drat the man!" muttered his wife. "If I could jes' git a rise out o' him
onc't----"
It was not far to the dock. Indeed, Poketown was so compactly built on
the steep hillside that there was scarcely a house within its borders from
which a boy could not have tossed a pebble into the waters of the cove.
Jason strolled along in the shade, passing the time of day with such
neighbors as were equally disengaged, and spreading the news of his
niece's expected arrival.
As he passed along the lane which later debouched upon the main
thoroughfare of Poketown, it was evident to the most casual glance that
the old Day house was not the only dwelling far along in a state of
decay. Poketown was full of such.
On the street leading directly to the dock there were several
well-cared-for estates--some of them wedged in between blocks of
two-story frame buildings, the first floors of which were occupied by
stores of various kinds. The post office had a building to itself. The
Lake View Inn was not unattractive, its side piazza overlooking the
cove and the lake spread beyond.
But the rutty, dusty road showed that it had been rutty and muddy in
the earlier spring. The flagstones of the sidewalks were broken, and the
walks themselves ill kept. The gutters were overgrown with grass and
weeds. Before the shops the undefended tree trunks were gnawed into
grotesque patterns by the farmers' hungry beasts. Hardware was at a