CHAPTER XIX.
THE COURT'N OF SKIM CLARK.
By this time the summer was well advanced, and the rich people at theWegg farm had ceased to be objects of wonder to the Millville folk. Thegirls were still regarded with curious looks when they wandered into thevillage on an errand, and Mr. Merrick and Major Doyle inspired a certainamount of awe; but time had dulled the edge of marvelous invasion andthe city people were now accepted as a matter of course.
Peggy McNutt was still bothering his head over schemes to fleece thestrangers, in blissful ignorance of the fact that one of his neighborswas planning to get ahead of him.
The Widow Clark was a shrewd woman. She had proven this by becoming oneof the merchants of Millville after her husband's death. The poor manhad left an insurance of five hundred dollars and the little framebuilding wherein he had conducted a harness shop. Mrs. Clark couldn'tmake and repair harness; so she cleared the straps and scraps andwax-ends out of the place, painted the interior of the shop brightyellow, with a blue ceiling, erected some shelves and a counter andturned part of the insurance money into candy, cigars, stationery, and ameager stock of paper-covered novels.
Skim, her small son, helped her as far as he was able, and between themthey managed things so frugally that at the end of eight years the widowstill had her five hundred dollars capital, and the little store hadpaid her living expenses.
Skim was named after his uncle, Peter Skimbley, who owned a farm nearWatertown. The widow's hopeful was now a lank, pale-faced youth ofeighteen, whose most imposing features were his big hands and a longnose that ended in a sharp point. The shop had ruined him for manuallabor, for he sat hunched up by the stove in winter, and in summer hungaround Cotting's store and listened to the gossip of the loungers. Hewas a boy of small conversational powers, but his mother declared thatSkim "done a heap o' thinkin' that nobody suspected."
The widow was a good gossip herself, and knew all the happenings in thelittle town. She had a habit of reading all her stock of paper-coverednovels before she sold them, and her mind was stocked with the mass ofromance and adventure she had thus absorbed. "What I loves more'n eat'n'or sleep'n'," she often said, "is a rattlin' good love story. Theredon't seem to be much love in real life, so a poor lone crittur like mehas to calm her hankerin's by a-readin' novels."
No one had been more interested in the advent of the millionaire at theWegg farm than the widow Clark. She had helped "fix up" the house forthe new owner and her appreciative soul had been duly impressed by thedisplay of wealth demonstrated by the fine furniture sent down from thecity. She had watched the arrival of the party and noticed with eagereyes the group of three pretty and stylishly dressed nieces whoaccompanied their rich uncle. Once or twice since the young ladies hadentered her establishment to purchase pens or stationery, and on suchoccasions the widow was quite overcome by their condescension.
All this set her thinking to some purpose. One day she walked over tothe farm and made her way quietly to the back door. By good fortune shefound blind Nora hemming napkins and in a mood to converse. Nora was anespecially neat seamstress, but required some one to thread her needles.Mary the cook had been doing this, but now Mrs. Clark sat down besideNora to "hev a little talk" and keep the needles supplied with thread.
She learned a good deal about the nieces, for old Nora could not praisethem enough. They were always sweet and kind to her and she loved totalk about them. They were all rich, too, or would be; for their unclehad no children of his own and could leave several millions to each onewhen he died.
"An' they're so simple, too," said the old woman; "nothin' cityfied nerstuck-up about any on 'em, I kin tell ye. They dresses as fine as theQueen o' Sheba, Tom says; but they romp 'round just like they was bornedin the country. Miss Patsy she's learnin' to milk the cow, an' Miss Bethtakes care o' the chickens all by herself. They're reg'lar girls, MarthyClark, an' money hain't spiled 'em a bit."
This report tended to waken a great ambition in the widow's heart. Orperhaps the ambition had already taken form and this gossip confirmedand established it. Before she left the farm she had a chance tosecretly observe the girls, and they met with her full approval.
At supper that evening she said to her hopeful:
"Skim, I want ye to go courtin'."
Skim looked up in amazement.
"Me, ma?" he asked.
"Yes, you. It's time you was thinkin' of gittin' married."
Skim held his knife in his mouth a moment while he thought over thisstartling proposition. Then he removed the cutlery, heaved a deep sigh,and enquired:
"Who at, ma?"
"What's that?"
"Who'll I go courtin' at?"
"Skim, you 'member in thet las' book we read, 'The Angel Maniac'sRevenge,' there was a sayin' that fate knocks wunst on ev'ry man's door.Well, fate's knockin' on your door."
Skim listened, with a nervous glance toward the doorway. Then he shookhis head.
"All fool fancy, ma," he remarked. "Don't ye go an' git no rumanticnotions out'n books inter yer head."
"Skim, am I a fool, er ain't I?"
"'Tain't fer me ter say, ma."
"Fate's knockin', an' if you don't open to it, Skim, I'll wash my handso' ye, an' ye kin jest starve to death."
The boy looked disturbed.
"What's aggrivatin' of ye, then?" he enquired, anxiously.
"A millionaire is come right under yer nose. He's here in Millville,with three gals fer nieces thet's all got money to squander an's boundto hev more."
Skim gave a low whistle.
"Ye don't mean fer me to be courtin' at them gals, do ye?" he demanded.
"Why not? Yer fambly's jest as respectible as any, 'cept thet yer UncleMell backslided after the last revival, an' went to a hoss race. Yeryoung, an' yer han'some; an' there's three gals waitin' ready to be wonby a bold wooer. Be bold, Skim; take fate by the fetlock, an' yerfortun's made easy!"
Skim did not reply at once. He gulped down his tea and stared at theopposite wall in deep thought. It wasn't such a "tarnal bad notion,"after all, and so thoroughly impressed was he with his own importanceand merit that it never occurred to him he would meet with anydifficulties if he chose to undertake the conquest.
"Peggy says marri'ge is the mark of a fool; an' Peggy married money,too," he remarked slowly.
"Pah! money! Mary Ann Cotting didn't hev but a hundred an' fortydollars, all told, an' she were an old maid an' soured an' squint-eyedwhen Peggy hitched up with her."
"I hain't seen nuthin' o' the world, yit," continued Skim, evasively.
"Ner ye won't nuther, onless ye marry money. Any one o' them gals couldtake ye to Europe an' back a dozen times."
Skim reflected still farther.
"Courtin' ought to hev some decent clothes," he said. "I kain't set inthe nabob's parlor, with all thet slick furnitur', in Nick Thorne'scast-off Sunday suit."
"The cloth's as good as ever was made, an' I cut 'em down myself, an'stitched 'em all over."
"They don't look like store clothes, though," objected Skim.
The widow sighed.
"Tain't the coat that makes the man, Skim."
"It's the coat thet makes decent courtin', though," he maintained,stubbornly. "Gals like to see a feller dressed up. It shows he meansbusiness an' 'mounts to somethin'."
"I give Nick Thorne two dollars an' a packidge o' terbacker fer themclotlies, which the on'y thing wrong about was they'd got too snug fercomfert. Nick said so himself. But I'll make a bargain with ye, Skim. Efyou'll agree to give me fifty dollars after yer married, I'll buy yesome store clothes o' Sam Cotting, to do courtin' in."
"Fifty dollars!"
"Well, I've brung ye up, hain't I?" "I've worked like a nigger, mindin'shop." "Say forty dollars. I ain't small, an' ef ye git one o' them citygals, Skim, forty dollars won't mean no more'n a wink of an eye to ye."
Skim frowned. Then he smiled, and the smile disclosed a front toothmissing.
"I'll dream on't," he said. "Let ye know in
the mornin', ma. But I won'tcourt a minite, mind ye, 'nless I git store clothes."