It was the imp's older brother.
"Here's Lute, teacher!" cried Harvey; "he wouldn't come in 'cause he
wasn't slicked up. But I tell him clo's don't make much difference with a
humly dog, anyway. Come along, Lute, and put them blushes in your
pocket to keep yer hands warm in cold weather. Teacher, this is our
champion fiddler, inventor, whale-fisher, cranberry-picker, and
potato-bugger,--Luther Larkin Cradlebow!"
The youth of the tuneful and birdlike name dealt his tormentor a hearty
though affectionate cuff on the ears, and being thus suddenly thrust
forward, he doffed his broad souwester, took the hand I held out to him,
and, stooping down, kissed me, quite in a simple and audible manner, on
the cheek.
It was done with such gentle, serious embarrassment, and Luther Larkin
Cradlebow was so boyish and quaint looking, withal, that I felt not the
slightest inclination to blush, but I heard Harvey's saucy giggle.
"Gad!" said he; "hear the old women talk about Lute's being bashful and
not knowin' how to act with the girls! Now I call them party easy
manners, eh, Lovell? What do you think, Lovell?"
"Ahem, certainly,--" responded Lovell, smiling in vague sympathy with the
laughing group.
Pages:
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78