Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 12, 1927 — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

THE MEANEST MAN. He pulled himself together, began to rebearse some of the better of his exploits. He did not think it wise to mention the filching of the baked fowl from the fire escape; this, and kindred choice morsels, might savor too much of criminality in this prim old lady’s code of ethics. But he dwelt upon his depredations in the way of babies’ milk bottles and children’s all-day suckers. It seemed to George, watching her eager- ly for approval, that she was not as im- pressed as she should have been. Indeed, when he paused to draw breath, she re- marked quietly: “‘ But you see, these are all more or less childish, Mr. Bangs! And anyhow, my husband is not addicted to modified milk, nor to candy.” ‘Your husband?” echoed George blank- ly. ‘ What’s he got to do with it?” “ Everything,” declared Mrs. Sproul. “ Perhaps before we go further into your gifts of meanness, I might as well outline the situation which confronts me.” She settled herself more comfortably, drew a long breath, and launched into a recital with which she was evidently per- fectly familiar, and the details of which gave her genuine satisfaction. “T am the last of the Millers, of Miller’s Creek, which, as you know, is up near the New Hampshire State line. We have al- ways been the first family of the town, or village rather. I still have the deed by which the Indian -chieftain, Hoseas, trans- ferred thirty thousand acres of land, em- bracing the old township, to my great-great- grandfather, Thomas. He paid Hoseas a callon of rum and two beaver hats.” “ Yeah,”’ commented George. “ And I bet when old chief Whoosis had finished the rum he couldn’t wear either hat!” “Tt was a very fair price indeed,” Mrs. Sproul went on primly. “A very great number of the early settlers seized the land from the Indians without paying them any- thing at all for it. But please don’t inter- rupt me! What I am trying to explain to you is that we Millers have always main- tained a certain position in Miller’s Creek. None of us have been rich, but neither were any of us ever poor. 29 { live in the old Miller homestead, built on the same cellar hole left when the first set- tler, Thomas, lost his home by fire way back in the French and Indian Wars. I sit on Sundays in the same pew in the Con- gregational Church that we have held for more than a hundred and fifty years. It is high-backed, with.a little wooden door and a brass lock.” “To keep you from sneakin’ out during the long prayer,” guessed George; but his pleasantry passed unnoticed as Mrs. Sproul continued her story. “As I remarked, I am the last of my race. And about five years ago I was fool- ish enough to get myself married. It was sort of lonesome in the big old house; I wasn’t in love—my time for romance had long since elapsed. And I didn’t expect any children. But it seemed as if it would be sociable to have a man around that be- longed to me. There was a hired man and a girl, but I wanted some one of my own. And so I got myself married to Mr. Sproul, Ernest Sproul, who was a comparative new- comer to our town, having arrived about fif- teen years previously, and opened a store. ‘“““ Hardware, Soft Drinks, and Dry Goods’ his sign read; and he did a fair business. But I guess he didn’t have much get-up and get to him. Soon as he was married he sold out and retired; and it seems that he didn’t have anywheres near the money folks thought he had. Mind you, I hadn’t married him for his money! Had all I needed. But at the same time I didn’t calculate to support a healthy man on money earned by my own Godfearing for- bears.” She paused, looked into George’s sleepy eyes to see if her tale was registering. It was. “ Looks like this Ernest man figured he was marrying an heiress, and easing himself into a soft berth, ma’am!” Mrs. Sproul nodded. “That’s so. And a more useless critter about a home you never saw. Cluttering up the place with his old pipes and every cheap fiction magazine that comes out, reading and dozing and eating like all get- out! Crabbed, too. Always got out of bed the wrong side, the least bit of overeating “ And now, I am the last one of the lot. <- rates Ne late in ae <-- a i P < = Pe ate See 5 =i eS, nt Se ee a ee <= < - a i Cape en ee oars. a ~ —< = a 22% -, ~ 9 Eee - OO RS — » nF He i Re + <> > ee , os - ot Tel iS Tig rng ar oh a eee - —and he was forever doing that—gave him