THE COMMOTION AT MOTHER ATTERSON'S
By chance that evening Hiram got home to his boarding house in good season. The early boarders--"early birds" Crackit always termed them--had not yet sat down to the long table in the dingy dining-room.
Indeed, the supper gong had not been pounded by Sister, and some of the young men were grouped impatiently in the half-lighted parlor.
Through the swinging door into the steaming kitchen Hiram saw a huge black woman waddling about the range, and heard her husky voice berating Sister for not moving faster. Chloe only appeared when a catastrophe happened at the boarding-house--and a catastrophe meant the removal of Mrs. Atterson from her usual orbit.
"She's gone to the funeral. That Uncle Jeptha of hern is dead," whispered Sister in Hiram's ear when she put his soup in front of him.
"Ah-ha!" observed Mr. Crackit, eyeing Hiram with his head on one "side, secrets, eh? Inside information of what's in the pudding "sauce?"Nothing went right at the boarding-house during the next two days. And for Hiram Strong nothing seemed to go right anywhere!
He demanded--and got the permission, with another ten-cent tax-- another hour off to visit the market. But he found nobody who would hire a boy at once. Some of the farmers doubted if he knew as much about farm-work as he claimed to know. He was, after all, a boy, and some of them would not believe that he had even worked in the country.
Affairs at the Emporium were getting strained, too. Daniel Dwight was as shrewd a man as the next one. He saw plainly that his junior clerk was getting ready--like the many who had gone before him--for a flitting.
He knew the signs of discontent, although Hiram prided himself on doing his work just as well as ever.
Then, there was a squabble with Dan, Junior. The imp was always underfoot on Saturdays. He was supposed to help--to run errands, and take out in a basket certain orders to nearby customers who might be in a hurry.
But usually when you wanted the boy he was in the alley pitching buttons with loafing urchins of his own kind--"alley rats" his father angrilycalledthem--orleadingapredatorygangofthesameunsavory companions in raids on other stores in the neighborhood.
And Dan, Junior "had it in" for Hiram. He had not forgiven the bigger boy for pitching him into the puddle.
"An' them was my best clo'es, and now maw says I've got to wear 'em just the same on Sunday, and they're shrunk and stained," snarled the younger Dan, hovering about Hiram as the latter re-dressed the fruit stand during a moment's let-up in the Saturday morning rush. "Gimme an orange.""What! At five cents apiece?" exclaimed Hiram. "Guess not. Go look in the basket under the bench; maybe there's a specked one there.""Nope. Dad took 'em all home last night and maw cut out the specks and sliced 'em for supper. Gimme a good orange.""Ask your father," said Hiram.
"Naw, I won't!" declared young Dwight, knowing very well what his father's answer would be.
He suddenly made a grab for the golden globe on the apex of Hiram's handsomest pyramid.
"Let that alone, Dan!" cried Hiram, and seized the youngster by the wrist.
Dan, Junior, was a wiry little scamp, and he twisted and turned, and kicked and squalled, and Hiram was just wrenching the orange from his hand when Mr. Dwight came to the door.
"What's this? What's this?" he demanded. "Fighting, are ye? Why don't you tackle a fellow of your own size, Hi Strong?"At that Dan, Junior, saw his chance and broke into woeful sobs. He was a good actor.
