"Walk in, Mister Gambler, Mr. Hookey--walk in--paw is waitin' fur you," she said, smirking.
The Deacon stood in the door, silent, grim, determined. In his hand were well-seasoned hickories. By him stood his wife more silent, more grim, more determined.
"Pull off yo' coat, Archie B.," said the Deacon, "I'm gwinter lick you fur gamblin'."
"Pull off yo' coat, Archie B.," said his mother, "I'm goin' to lick you fur playin' hookey."
"Pull it off, Archie B.," said his sister bossily, "I'm goin' to stan' by an' see."
Archie B. pulled off his coat deliberately.
"That's all right," he said, "Many a man has been licked befo' fur bein' on the Lord's side."
"You mean to tell me, Archie B. Butts, you bet on a dorg fight sho' nuff," said his father, nervously handling his hickories.
"An' played hookey?" chimed in his mother.
"Tell it, Archie B., tell the truth an' shame the devil," mocked Patsy.
"Yes, I done all that--fur charity," he said boldly, and with a victorious ring in his voice.
"Did you put up that ten dollars yo' Granny lef' you?" screamed his mother.
His father paled at the thought of it: "An' lost it, Archie B., lost it, my son. Oh, I mus' teach you how sinful it is to gamble."
Archie B. replied by running his hand deep down into his pocket and bringing up a handful of gold--five eagles!
His father dropped the switches and stared. His mother sat down suddenly in a chair and Patsy reached out, took it and counted it deliberately:--
"One--two--three--fo'--five--an' all gold--my gracious, Maw!"
"That's jes' ha'f of it," said Archie B. indifferently. "I gave the old Bishop five of 'em--fur--charity. Here's his note."
The Deacon read it and rubbed his chin thoughtfully: "That's a different thing," he said after a while. "Entirely different proposition, my son."
"Yes, it 'pears to be," said his mother counting the gold again. "We'll jes' keep three of 'em, Archie B. They'll come in handy this winter."
"Put on yo' coat, my son," said the Deacon gently.
"Patsy, fetch him in the hot waffles an' syrup--the lad 'pears to be a leetle tired," said his mother.
"How many whippings did you git, Archie B.?" whispered his brother as Archie B., after entertaining the family for an hour, all about the great fight, crawled into bed: "I got three," went on Ozzie B. "Triggers fust, then paw, then maw."