d of dispepsy that
attacks families instid of stummicks. In both cases it means somethin'
is wrong."

"Can't cure a unhappy family with a dose of calomel," said the deacon,
acidly.

"Hain't so sure. Bet that identical remedy' u'd fix up three out of ten.
But somethin' else is wrong with them young Lewises. A dose of somethin'
'u'd cure 'em, if only a feller could figger out what 'twas."

"Might try soothin' syrup," said the deacon, with an ironic grin.
"Sounds like it ought to git results.... Soothin' syrup--eh? Have to
tell the boys that one. Soothin' syrup. Perty good f'r an old man. Don't
call to mind makin' no joke like that f'r twenty year."

"Do it often, Deacon," said Scattergood, gravely. "You won't have to
take so much sody followin' meals to sweeten you up.... G'-by,
Deacon.... Soothin' syrup. Um!... I swanny...."

He looked across the square and saw that Pliny Pickett was delighting an
audience with apochryphal reminiscences, doubtless of a gallant and
spicy character. It is characteristic of Scattergood that he waited
until Pliny had reached his climax, shot it off, and was doubled up with
laughter at his own narration, before he lifted up his voice and
summoned the stage driver.

"Hey, Pliny! Step over here a minute."

"Comin'," said Pliny, with alacrity. Then in an aside to his audience:
"See that? Can't let an evenin' pass without a conference with me. Sets
a heap of store by my judgment."

"Sets more store by your laigs," said Old Man Bogle. "They kin run
errants, anyhow."

Pliny hastened across the square, and in careful imitation of
Scattergood said, "Evening Scattergood."

"Evening Pliny. Flow of language good as usual to-night? Didn't meet
with no trouble sayin' what you had to say?"

"Not a mite, Scattergood."

"Come through Bailey to-day?"

"Calculated to."

"Any news?"

"Nary."

"What's become of that What's-his-name baby you was a-tellin' about? The
one that lost his ma and was bein' cared for by neighbors?"

"Nothin' hain't become of him. Calc'late he'll be took to a
institution."

"Um! Likely-lookin' two-year-old, was he? Take note of any blemishes?"

"I hear tell by them that knows as how he was sound in wind and limb."

"Who's keepin' him, Pliny?"

"Mis' Patterson's sort of shuffled him in with her seven. Says she don't
notice no difference to speak of. Claims 'tain't possible f'r eight
childern to be no noisier 'n what seven be."

"Um!... G'-by, Pliny. Ever dea