And the next morning Albert, peeping beneath Z.Snow and Co.'s office window shade, saw his heart's desire step aboard the train, saw that train puff out of the station, saw for just an instant a small hand waved behind the dingy glass of the car window.His own hand waved in reply.Then the raucous voice of Mr.Price broke the silence.
"Who was you flappin' your flipper at?" inquired Issachar."Girl, I'll bet you! Never saw such a critter as you be to chase after the girls.Which one is it this time?"Albert made no reply.Between embarrassment and sorrow he was incapable of speech.Issachar, however, was not in that condition;at all times when awake, and sometimes when asleep, Mr.Price could, and usually did, speak.
"Which one is it this time, Al?" demanded Issy."Eh? Crimus, see him get red! Haw, haw! Labe," to Mr.Keeler, who came into the office from the inner room, "which girl do you cal'late Al here is wavin' by-bye to this mornin'? Who's goin' away on the cars this mornin', Labe?"Laban, his hands full of the morning mail, absently replied that he didn't know.
"Yes, you do, too," persisted Issy."You ain't listenin', that's all.Who's leavin' town on the train just now?""Eh? Oh, I don't know.The Small folks are goin' to Boston, Ibelieve.And George Bartlett's goin' to Ostable on court business, he told me.Oh, yes, I believe Cap'n Lote said that Fosdick woman and her daughter were goin' back to New York.Back to New York--yes--yes--yes."
Mr.Price crowed triumphantly."Ah, ha!" he crowed."Ah, ha!
That's the answer.That's the one he's shakin' day-days to, that Fosdick girl.I've seen you 'round with her at the post office and the ice cream s'loon.I'm onto you, Al.Haw, haw! What's her name? Adeline? Dandelion? Madeline?--that's it! Say, how do you think Helen Kendall's goin' to like your throwin' kisses to the Madeline one, eh?"The assistant bookkeeper was still silent.The crimson, however, was leaving his face and the said face was paling rapidly.This was an ominous sign had Mr.Price but known it.He did not know it and cackled merrily on, "Guess I'll have to tell Helen when she comes back home," he announced."Cal'late I'll put a flea in her ear.'Helen,' I'll say, 'don't feel too bad now, don't cry and get your handkerchief all soakin', or nothin' like that.I just feel it's my duty to tell ye that your little Albert is sparkin' up to somebody else.
He's waitin' on a party by the name of Padeline--no, Madeline--Woodtick--no, Fosdick--and...' Here! let go of me! What are you doin'?"That last question was in the nature of a gurgle.Albert, his face now very white indeed, had strode across the office, seized the speaker by the front of his flannel shirt and backed him against the wall.
"Stop," commanded Albert, between his teeth."That's enough of that.Don't you say any more!""Eh? Ugh! Ur-gg! Leggo of my shirt."
Albert let go, but he did not step back.He remained where he was, exactly in front of Mr.Price.
"Don't you say any more about--about what you were saying," he repeated.
"Eh? Not say any more? Why not? Who's goin' to stop me, I'd like to know?""I am."
"I want to know! What'll you do?"
"I don't know.If you weren't so old, I would--but I'll stop you, anyhow."Albert felt a hand on his arm and heard Mr.Keeler's voice at his ear.
"Careful, Al, careful," it said."Don't hit him.""Of course I shan't hit him," indignantly."What do you think Iam? But he must promise not to mention--er--Miss Fosdick's name again.""Better promise, Is," suggested Laban.Issachar's mouth opened, but no promise came forth.
"Promise be darned!" he yelled furiously."Mention her name! I'll mention any name I set out to, and no Italyun Portygee is goin' to stop me, neither."Albert glanced about the office.By the wall stood two brimming pails of water, brought in by Mr.Price for floor-washing purposes.
He lifted one of the pails.
"If you don't promise I'll duck you," he declared."Let go of me, Keeler, I mean it.""Careful, Al, careful," said Mr.Keeler."Better promise, Is.""Promise nawthin'! Fosdick! What in time do I care for Fosdicks, Madelines or Padelines or Dandelions or--"His sentence stopped just there.The remainder of it was washed back and down his throat by the deluge from the bucket.Overcome by shock and surprise, Mr.Price leaned back against the wall and slid slowly down that wall until he reclined in a sitting posture, upon the floor.
"Crimustee," he gasped, as soon as he could articulate, "I'm--awk--I'm drownded."
Albert put down the empty bucket and picked up the full one.
"Promise," he said again.
Laban Keeler rubbed his chin.
"I'd promise if I was you, Is," he said."You're some subject to rheumatism, you know."Issachar, sitting in a spreading puddle, looked damply upward at the remaining bucket."By crimustee--" he began.Albert drew the bucket backward; the water dripped from its lower brim.
"I--I--darn ye, I promise!" shouted Issachar.Albert put down the bucket and walked back to his desk.Laban watched him curiously, smiling just a little.Then he turned to Mr.Price, who was scrambling to his feet.
"Better get your mop and swab up here, Is," he said."Cap'n Lote'll be in 'most any minute."When Captain Zelotes did return to the office, Issachar was industriously sweeping out, Albert was hard at work at the books, and Laban was still rubbing his chin and smiling at nothing in particular.
The next day Albert and Issachar made it up.Albert apologized.
"I'm sorry, Issy," he said."I shouldn't have done it, but you made me mad.I have a--rather mean temper, I'm afraid.Forgive me, will you?"He held out his hand, and Issachar, after a momentary hesitation, took it.
