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"That's all right," said Strout. "Cuddent you guess who told him? 'Twas
that Hiram Maxwell. I've been pumping him about the city chap, and of
course, I've had to tell him somethin' for swaps. But to-morrow when I
meet him I'll tell him I don't want anythin' more to do with a
tittle-tattle tell-tale like him."
"What d'ye think of that pome 'bout the bumblebee?" drawled Abner.
"Oh, that was a put-up job," said Strout.
"How could that be?" asked Abner, "when you took it out of your own
box?"
"Well," rejoined Strout, "he'll find I'm the wustest kind of a bumblebee
if he stirs me up much more. When my dander's up a hornet's nest ain't a
patch to me."
"I kinder fancied," continued Abner, "that the reason he had them fancy
boxes sent down was because he sorter thought our pound packages would
be rather ornary."
"I guess you've hit it 'bout right," remarked Strout; "them city swells
would cheat their tailor so as to make a splurge and show how much money
they've got. I guess he thought as how I'd never seen ice cream, but I
showed him I knew all about it.


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