"A crank, a crank for my car.I motored over from the camp and stopped at the telegraph office.When I came out my car refused to go; the self-starter appears to have gone on a strike.I had left my crank at the camp and my only hope seemed to be to buy or borrow one somewhere.I asked the two or three fellows standing about the telegraph office where I might be likely to find one.No one seemed to know, but just then the old grouch--excuse me, person who keeps the hardware store came along.""Eh? Phin Babbitt? Little man with the stub of a paint brush growin' on his chin?""Yes, that's the one.I asked him where I should be likely to find a crank.He said if I came across to this shop I ought to find one.""He did, eh?...Hum!"
"Yes, he did.So I came."
"Hum!"
This observation being neither satisfying nor particularly illuminating, Major Grover waited for something more explicit.He waited in vain; Mr.Winslow, his eyes fixed upon the toe of his visitor's military boot, appeared to be mesmerized.
"So I came," repeated the major, after an interval.
"Eh?...Oh, yes, yes.So you did, so you did....Hum!"He rose and, walking to the window, peeped about the edge of the shade across and down the road in the direction of the telegraph office.
"Phineas," he drawled, musingly, "and Squealer and Lute Small and Bluey.Hu-u-m!...Yes, yes."He turned away from the window and began intoning a hymn.Major Grover seemed to be divided between a desire to laugh and a tendency toward losing patience.
"Well," he queried, after another interval, "about that crank?
Have you one I might borrow? It may not fit, probably won't, but Ishould like to try it."
Jed sighed."There's a crank here," he drawled, "but it wouldn't be much use around automobiles, I'm afraid.I'm it.""What? I don't understand."
"I say I'm it.My pet name around Orham is town crank.That's why Phineas sent you to my shop.He said you OUGHT to find a crank here.He was right, I'm 'most generally in."This statement was made quietly, deliberately and with no trace of resentment.Having made it, the speaker began picking up the vanes and sailors he had spilled when he proffered his visitor the chair.
Major Grover colored, and frowned.
"Do you mean to tell me," he demanded, "that that fellow sent me over here because--because--""Because I'm town crank? Ye-es, that's what I mean.""Indeed! That is his idea of a joke, is it?""Seems to be.He's an awful comical critter, Phin Babbitt is--in his own way.""Well, it's not my way.He sends me over here to make an ass of myself and insult you--""Now, now, Major, excuse me.Phin didn't have any idea that you'd insult me.You see," with the fleeting smile, "he wouldn't believe anybody could do that."Grover turned sharply to the door.Mr.Winslow spoke his name.
"Er--Major Grover," he said, gently, "I wouldn't."The major paused."Wouldn't what?" he demanded.
"Go over there and tell Phin and the rest what you think of 'em.
If 'twould do 'em any good I'd say, 'For mercy sakes, go!' But 'twouldn't; they wouldn't believe it."Grover's lips tightened.
"Telling it might do ME some good," he observed, significantly.
"Yes, I know.But maybe we might get the same good or more in a different way....Hum!...What--er--brand of automobile is yours?"The major told him.Jed nodded.
"Hum...yes," he drawled."I see....I see."Grover laughed."I'll be hanged if I do!" he observed.
"Eh!...Well, I tell you; you sit down and let Babbie talk Petunia to you a minute or two.I'll be right back."He hurried into the back shop, closing the door after him.Amoment later Grover caught a glimpse of him crossing the back yard and disappearing over the edge of the bluff.
"Where in the world has the fellow gone?" he soliloquized aloud, amused although impatient.Barbara took it upon herself to answer.
Uncle Jed had left the caller in her charge and she felt her responsibilities.
"He's gone down the shore path," she said."I don't know where else he's gone, but it's all right, anyway.""Oh, is it? You seem quite sure of it, young lady.""I am.Everything Uncle Jed does is right.Sometimes you don't think so at first, but it turns out that way.Mamma says he is petunia--no, I mean peculiar but--but very--re-li-a-ble," the last word conquered after a visible struggle."She says if you do what he tells you to you will be 'most always glad.I think 'always'
without any 'most,'" she added.
Major Grover laughed."That's a reputation for infallibility worth having," he observed.
Barbara did not know what he meant but she had no intention of betraying that fact.
"Yes," she agreed.A moment later she suggested: "Don't you think you'd better sit down? He told you to, you know.""Great Scott, so he did! I must obey orders, mustn't I? But he told you to talk--something or other to me, I think.What was it?""He told me to talk Petunia to you.There she is--up there."The major regarded Petunia, who was seated upon the heap of mill-sides, in a most haphazard and dissipated attitude.
"She is my oldest daughter," continued Barbara."She's very advanced for her years.""Dear me!"
"Yes.And...oh, here comes Mamma!"
Mrs.Armstrong entered the shop.The major rose.Barbara did the honors.
