rdly said
the words before the door flung open behind me. It wasn't the
youngster, though, but Flo herself; and a flaming rage she was in.
'See here, boys,' she begins, 'this is a dirty game, and you'd better
be ashamed of yourselves! I'm ashamed of you, Bill, anyway,' she
says, tossing me back my letter; and then, turning short round on
Huz-and-Buz, 'If old Iniquity, here, started the racket, it's nateral
to him: he had a decent woman once for his wife, _and beat her_.
But there's others of you oughter know that your same reasons for
thinking light of a woman are reasons against driving the joke too
hard.' 'You're right, Flo,' says I, 'and I beg your pardon.'
'I dunno that I'll grant it,' she says. 'Lord knows,' she says,
'It ain't for any of us here to be heaving dirt at each other; but I
will say you oughter be feeling mean, the way you've served that
young man. Why, boys,' she says, opening her eyes wide, like as if
'twas a thing unheard of, 'he's _good_! And oh, boys, he's sick,
too!' 'Is he so?' I says; 'I feel cheap.' 'You oughter,' says she.
'What's to be done?' says I. 'Well, the first thing,' she says,
'that you've got to do is to come right along and paint my fence';
then, seeing I looked a bit puzzled--'Some of you boys have taken the
liberty to write up some pretty free compliments about my premises;
and as the most of you was born before spelling-bees came in fashion,
I don't want my new boarder to come down to-morrow and form his own
opinion about your education.' Well, sir, we went off in a party and
knocked up old Peter, and got a pot of paint, and titivated No. 67 by
the light of a couple of lanterns; and the Bishop--as we came to call
him--sleeping the sleep of the just upstairs all the time.
_Un_fortunately, Peter had made a mistake and given us green paint
instead of blue, and by that light none of us could tell the
difference; so I guess the Bishop next morning allowed that Miss
Montmorency had ideas of her own on 'mural decoration,' as
Huz-and-Buz calls it. When we got the job fixed, Flo steps inside
the gate, and says she, looking over it, 'Boys, I'm grateful.
And now I'm going to play a lone hand, and I look to you not to
interfere. Good night.' From that day to this, sir, she's kept
straight, and held off the drink in a manner you wouldn't credit.
The Bishop, he thinks her an angel on earth; and to see them
promenading down the sidewalk arm-in-arm of an afternoon is as good
as a d