The All-Story, March 1914 — page 174: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE DEVIL AND DR. FOSTER. The thought of Ike turned Jeose in the vard without supervision — cis- turbed Sant so much that a mument later he excused hinselr and went in search of the lad. Ike was not in the side yard, and the tarmer continued his search toward the barn. Here he found Ike. He came upon him from behind and stood tor a mo- ment transfixed by the odd spectacle the lad presented. {ke had found Sans three - tined pitchfork leaning against the barn door, Where the fariner had carelesslv left it after chasing Gideon Tarbell’s bull out of Huldah’s fower-beds. and was juggling it as a skiltul drum major juggles his baton, Evidently it was a toy greatly to his taste. He swung it round his head in dan- gerous circles, tossed it high into the air, and caught it before it touched the eround, and then attacked with the tines some imaginary enemy, stabbing and prodding with meaningless teroc- ity. Following this performance, he balanced the fork on his chin, his forehead, and the tip of a finger. san stood by, amazed. It had never occurred to him before that any one could look on a pitehtork as otherwise than an implement of labor. Even Satan, in the pictures which adorned the old illustrated Bible hand- ed down in the Tupper tamily. car- ried his pitchfork in an extremely businesslike way. The sight he was witnessing started his speculations in their old groove again. After a few minutes, tiring of his sport, the boy leaned on his pitchtork to rest. Sam concluded it might be sate to address him. “What you doing. Ike?” he quired affably. Ike jumped, dropped the tork, and in- turned an abashed face toward the farmer. “T wa'n’t doing nothing.’ he re- plied. and added petulantly: “ Seems though you’re always spying on ime, Sam Tupper.” * Mebbe so and not,” mebbe re- 647 turned Sam guardedily. Anyway, Ssoinetimes | dhinie youll bear w ately me. ‘\Vhere's the lad asked. Augusta was the name ot the cat which had met with misfortune dur- ing the afternoon, and Ike's question struck Sam as significant. He par- leved. “What do vou want to know for?” * Oh, nothing!” the boy turned. him off. “Say, Alr. Tupper, about that spruce now—” “TI don't know what you're pester- ing me about that spruce for, Ike Jackson,” Sam interrupted with heat. “TIT told vou I'd made up my mind to do as the parson says —and_ that’s enough, aint it? \Vhat difference dloes it make to vou, anyway? You never went to church in the old one except once, and then vou disgraced Mis’ jackson by saving the Lerd’s Praver backward.” * Mebhe Ud have to go to the new one 1f they built it,’ Ike explained. ‘Anyway. Mrs. Jackson cried every Sunday because [ didn’t go, and it sort or spoiled my appetite.” \ugusta, Mr. Tupper?” “So much more in Uncle Pete's pocket, thought aan to himself, Say, “Well, “what 1S 127 “I could make it worth your while not to give Dr. Foster that spruce timber.” "Whi, vou gosh-all-hemlock little cuss!" Sam cried, swearing the worst oath he knew at tlre boy’s persistence. “How could vou make anything worth anybody's while? You ain't got noth- ing, and Uncle Pete wouldn't help you. And him a professor himself.” It was true that, under the moral suasion of his wife's tears, Uncle Peter had become a fairly steady churchgoer since his return to Ox- ville, though to call him a professor was perhaps straining the fact. But the argument was ineffective with Ike. ‘Suppose I knew soinething you didn't know—something tidinep, veurs