Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 121: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CLOWN AND left,” she hastily declared. supper.” “Then that’s all right,” he answered evenly. “I wish I could say the same. I haven’t tackled anything heavier than an egg shake and a bunch of grapes for five weeks. Gastritis. Just over it. That’s why I’m going to Linthrop—to rest up and get a strangle hold on a piece of beef again.” They had gone out on deck, and had now found seats on the lee side, abaft the beam. The sun had set, and the girl looked at him curiously in the wan- ing light. Where had she seen him before? ‘Have you ever been to Linthrop?”’ she asked. “Not guilty! All I know is what Jim Peters told me. He’s a chap I met in Boston. When he heard I was hunt- ing a quiet spot he came to me and said: ‘It’s Linthrop for yours, old sport. It’s so quiet up there that if you drop a pin on Main Street in the rush hours it'll set all the dogs to barking.’ ”’ Horace chuckled reminiscently, and then went on: “T guess I'll get the rest cure, all right, in Linthrop; and Peters says the fishing is good, only everything is so everlastingly quiet you can hear the worm wiggle on your hook; and if you scratch your ear it sounds like a horse running over a bridge. He says that when he came back to the city it was a week before he dared to raise his voice above a whisper for fear they’d think he was calling the police.” “Yes?” said Miss Randall, struggling with somé secret source of merriment. “And what did Mr. Peters say about the people themselves ?”’ Her companion grinned widely. “Why, Peters says he didn’t meet any of ’em. They were all asleep. There were only two ways of waking ’em up, and he shied at both. One was to set the meetinghouse afire, and the other was to make love to Miss Tabitha Brown—whoever the deuce she is. Peters wouldn’t tell me about her; he wanted me to find out for myself.” Kitty Randall threw back her head, “A hearty -blow away with half a breath. THE CLERGYMAN II] and laughed until Horace grew un- easy. ‘Put me next,” he demanded. ‘I can do a trick or two in that line my- self.” ‘Just a minute, please,” gasped Kitty, dabbing at her eyes with her handker- chief. Then, when she had recovered her composure: “I knew it was coming. I knew your friend wouldn’t fail to mention Miss Tabitha Brown. Nobody who has been to Linthrop ever does fail to mention her. She is a very prominent person—quite the big per- sonage of the town. You see, I know her well. I’ve been passing my vaca- tions in Linthrop for years. I go there for rest myself. I’m a working girl— a stenographer—and I get pretty well worn out by the time my holidays come around.” “Sure!” assented Horace. “But about this woman. What’s the joke? Let me in on it.” “Oh, I couldn’t!” mirthfully ex- claimed the girl. “I agree with Mr. Peters. You must wait and see Miss Tabitha Brown. I couldn’t begin to do her justice. Aunt Tabby I call her —everybody does—and I'll only say she’s a little old maid that you could She lives in a big house whose back garden runs right down to Lake Anabasca— and that makes me think! If you could get a room with her you would be much better off than at the hotel. She’s a famous cook.” “That listens good to me,” comment- ed Horace. “I’ve been dreaming of that country hotel—mostly nightmares. I’ve traveled about a bit, and know what it is to sleep on a mattress stuffed with an iron grating, and eat steak cut from a trunk strap. But does she take boarders ?” Kitty hesitated, and could he have seen her face clearly he would have noted its rising color. “No,” she said at length, “Aunt Tabby doesn’t exactly take boarders. The Methodist minister lives with her —a young man about your age, I should say 93 (C@ VOOLK (C@