Aunt Jane's Nieces at Millville
Both these extremities rested on the rail
of the porch, while McNutt smoked a corncob pipe and stared at his
approaching visitors with his disconcerting, protruding eyes.
"Good morning, Mr. McNutt," said Louise, pleasantly. "We've come to see
if you have any books to sell."
The agent drew a long breath. He had at first believed they had come to
reproach him for his cruel deception; for although his conscience was
wholly dormant, he had at times been a bit uneasy concerning his
remarkable book trade.
"Uncle is making a collection of the 'Lives of the Saints.'" announced
Patsy, demurely. "At present he has but three varieties of this work,
one with several pages missing, another printed partly upside down, and
a third with a broken corner. He is anxious to secure some further
variations of the 'dee looks' Lives, if you can supply them."
Peggy's eyes couldn't stare any harder, so they just stared.
"I--I hain't got no more on hand," he stammered, fairly nonplussed by
the remarkable statement.
"No more? Oh, how sad. How disappointed we are," said Beth.
"We were depending so much on you. Mr. McNutt," added Louise, in a tone
of gentle reproach.
McNutt wiggled the toes of his good foot and regarded them reflectively.
These city folks were surely the "easiest marks" he had ever
come across.
"Ef ye could wait a few days," he began, hopefully, "I might----"
"Oh, no; we can't possibly wait a single minute," declared Patsy.
"Unless Uncle can get the Saints right away he will lose interest in the
collection, and then he won't care for them at all."
McNutt sighed dismally. Here was a chance to make good money by fleecing
the lambs, yet he was absolutely unable to take advantage of it.
"Ye--ye couldn't use any duck eggs, could ye?" he said, a sudden thought
seeming to furnish him with a brilliant idea.
"Duck eggs?"
"I got the dum-twistedest, extry fine lot o' duck eggs ye ever seen."
"But what can we do with duck eggs?" inquired Beth, wonderingly, while
Patsy and Louise tried hard not to shriek with laughter.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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