mean that he kept the scales and trimmin's of the
fish he sold to make chowder for himself and family. All hands called
him 'Stingy Gabe,' and the boy inherited the name along with the
fifteen hundred dollars that the old man left when he died. He cleared
out--young Gabe did--soon as the will was settled and afore the
outstandin' debts was, and nobody in this latitude see hide nor hair of
him till three years ago this comin' spring.

"Then, lo and behold you! he drops off the parlor car at the Orham
station and cruises down to South Orham, bald-headed and bay-windowed,
sufferin' from pomp and prosperity. Seems he'd been spendin' his life
cornerin' copper out West and then copperin' the corners in Wall Street.
The folks in his State couldn't put him in jail, so they sent him to
Congress. Now, as the Honorable Atkinson Holway, he'd come back to the
Cape to rest his wrist, which had writer's cramp from signin' stock
certificates, and to ease his eyes with a sight of the dear old home of
his boyhood.

"Bill Nickerson comes postin' down to me with the news.

"'Bailey,' says he, 'what do you think's happened? Stingy Gabe's struck
the town.'

"'For how much?' I asks, anxious. 'Don't let him have it, whatever
'tis.'

"Then he went on to explain. Gabe was rich as all get out, and 'twas
his intention to buy back his old man's house and fix it up for a summer
home. He was delighted to find how little change there was in South
Orham.

"'No matter if 'tain't but fifteen cents he'll get it, if the s'lectmen
don't watch him,' I says; and the bills, too. I know HIS tribe.'

"'You don't understand,' says Nickerson. 'He ain't no thief. He's rich,
I tell you, and he's cal'latin' to do the town good.'

"'Course he is,' I says. 'It runs in the family. His dad done it good,
too--good as 'twas ever done, I guess.'

"But next day Gabe himself happens along, and I see right off that I'd
made a mistake in my reckonin'. The Honorable Atkinson Holway wa'n't
figgerin' to borrow nothin'. When a chap has been skinnin' halibut,
minnows are too small for him to bother with. Gabe was full of fried
clams and philanthropy.

"'By Jove! Stitt,' he says, 'livin' here has been the dream of my life.'

"'You'll be glad to wake up, won't you?' says I. 'I wish I could.'

"'I tell you,' he says, 'this little old village is all right! All it
needs is a public-spirited resident to help it along. I propose to be
the P. S. R.'

"And on that program h