Josiah Nummler's long pole rested on the counter at his side, and his
great red hands were spread out to drink in the heat from the glowing
bowl of the stove.
"It's a-blowin' up most a-mighty, ain't it?" he said, cheerfully. "Any
news, Elmer?"
"Oh now, go home," grunted Mr. Spiker, rolling his pipe around so the
burning tobacco scattered over his knees. "See what you've done!" he
snapped angrily, brushing away the sparks.
"I didn't notice you was in the middle of a word, Elmer, really I
didn't," pleaded old Mr. Nummler.
"I wasn't in the middle of a word," retorted Elmer, as he drove his
little finger into his pipe in an effort to save some of the tobacco.
"I was just beginnin' a new piece. Things is gittin' so there ain't a
place left in this town for a man to read in peace and comfort. Here I
am, tryin' to post up on the local doin's, on polytics and religion,
and ringin' in my ears all the time is 'lickin' the teacher, lickin'
the teacher, lickin' the teacher.' S'pose every man here did lick the
teacher in his time--what of it, I says, what of it?"
"Yes, what of it?" said I, closing the door with a bang.
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