"Whew! it’s a ten-spot!" he exclaimed. "An’ that guy thought he’d bribe me with this, did he? He wanted me to put him next to the old feller. So that’s the way he works his game, eh? Heard I’m well fixed, too, an’ was sent to sell me a car. A ’queer one,’ an’ a ’little touched in the head,’ ho, ho! But mebbe he’ll find the old feller’s not so daft after all, an’ that Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, is afflicted with a different kind of a touch. That’s what he will learn, skiddy-me-shins, if he won’t."
The morning sun struggled through the dust-covered window, and fell aslant the pine board which Zebedee Burns was carefully planing. It was a small workroom, littered with boards, tools, and shavings. Adjoining was the blacksmith shop, for Zebedee was a handy man, and combined carpentering with the smith-trade, besides tending his garden. He was seldom rushed with business, and found time to do extra work, such as trading in "Society" pigs.
He had just finished planing the board, and was measuring it with his two-foot rule when a form darkened the doorway.
"Busy, I see. Makin’ a cage fer ye’r society pig, I s’pose," Abner bantered, as he sat down upon the tool-chest.
Zebedee deigned no reply, but went on with his work. He sawed a few inches off the planed board, laid it carefully aside and picked up another. Abner was surprised at his unusual manner, and studied his face most intently.
"What’s wrong, Zeb?" he at length enquired. "Ye look as if ye’d been to a funeral. Haven’t lost one of the Chosen Tribes, have ye?"
"Quit ye’r foolin’, Abner," was the chiding reply. "I haven’t been to any funeral, though I expect to be at one to-morrow."
"Ye do!" and Abner’s eyes grew suddenly big. "Who’s dead?"
"Whew! Ye don’t tell! Never heard a word about it. When did he die?"
"Ye are, eh? Somewhat out of ye’r line, isn’t it? I thought the undertaker in town allus attended to sich affairs."
"He does if there’s any money in it. But this is a different case. Widder Denton’s too poor to buy a casket, so that’s why I’ve tackled the job. Guess there’ll be more to make fer the same family belong long, if I’m not mistaken."
"Holy smoke! Ye don’t say so! Didn’t know it’s as bad as that."
"Well, it is. That poor widder has been workin’ so hard to keep her family that she’s gone under. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s her coffin I’ll have to make next."