When Egypt Went Broke | Page 2

the tale begins and
unwound a towel from his jowls--for the new Magnetic Hair Restorer
had an ambitious way of touching up the pillow-slip with color--he
beheld a memento, composed of assembled objects, "sacred to the
memory of Mehitable." In a frame, under glass, on black velvet were
these items: silver plate from casket, hair switch, tumbler and spoon
with which the last medicine had been administered, wedding ring and
marriage certificate; photograph in center. The satirists had their
comment for that memento--they averred that it was not complete
without the two dish towels to which Hittie had been limited.
Mr. Britt inspected the memento and sighed; that was before he had
touched up his beard with a patent dye comb.
After he had set the scratch wig on his glossy poll and had studied
himself in the mirror he looked more cheerful and pulled a snapshot
photograph from a bureau drawer, gazed on it and sighed again. It was
the picture of a girl, a full-length view of a mighty pretty girl whose
smiling face was backed by an open sunshade. She was in white garb
and wore no hat.
"Vona," said Mr. Britt, talking out as if the sound of his voice fortified
his faith, "you're going to see this thing in the right way, give you time.
I'm starting late--but I'm blasted wide awake from now on. I have gone
after money, but money ain't everything. I reckon that by to-night I can
show you honors that you'll share with me--they've been waiting for me,

and now I'll reach out and take 'em for your sake. Hittie didn't know
what to do with money--honors would have bothered her. But with a
girl like you I can grab in and relish living for the rest of this life."
Then Mr. Britt went over to the tavern to get his breakfast.
By eating his three meals per day at the tavern he was indulging his
new sense of liberty. He and Hittie always used to eat in the kitchen
--meals on the dot, as to time. The tavern was little and dingy, and
Egypt was off the railroad line, and there were few patrons, and old
Files cut his steak very close to the critter's horn. But after the years of
routine at a home table there was a sort of clubman, devil- may-care
suggestion about this new regime at the tavern; and after his meals Britt
sat in the tavern office and smoked a cigar. Furthermore, he held a
mortgage on the tavern and Files was behind on the interest and was
eagerly and humbly glad to pay his creditor with food. In order to
impress a peddler or other transient guest the creditor was in the habit
of calling in Files and ordering him to recook portions.
In his new sense of expansion as a magnate, Tasper Britt took his time
about eating and allowed men with whom he had dealings to come into
the dining room and sit down opposite and state their cases.
That morning Ossian Orne came in and sat at the table without asking
for permission to be admitted to such intimacy. He came with the air of
a man who was keeping an appointment, and Mr. Britt's manner of
greeting Orne showed that this was so.
Mr. Orne did not remove the earlapper cap which the nippy February
day demanded; nor did he shuck off the buffalo coat whose baldness in
the rear below the waistline suggested the sedentary habits of Mr. Orne.
He selected a doughnut from the plate at Britt's elbow and munched
placidly.
Landlord Files, who was bringing ham and eggs to a commercial
drummer, was amazed by this familiarity and stopped and showed that
amazement. He was more astonished by what he overheard. Mr. Orne
was saying, "As your manager, Britt--"

Mr. Britt scowled at Mr. Files, and the latter slap-slupped on his
slippered way; it was certainly news that Britt had taken on a manager.
Such a personage must be permitted to be familiar. When Mr. Files
looked again, Mr. Orne was eating a second doughnut. He was laying
down the law to a nodding and assenting Mr. Britt on some point, and
then he took a third doughnut and rose to his feet.
"I'll be back to-night, with full details and further instructions to you,
Britt," declared Mr. Orne, who was known in the county political
circles as "Sniffer" Orne. He combined politics with nursery-stock
canvassing and had a way of his own in getting under the skins of men
when he went in search of information. "If I ain't back to-night I'll
report to-morrow. I may have to take a run over into Norway, Vienna,
and Peru to make sure of how things stand generally."
He trudged