Evening Republican, Volume 15, Number 176, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 July 1911 — SIXTEEN BARRELS OF CIDER [ARTICLE]

SIXTEEN BARRELS OF CIDER

By C.B. LEWIS

Deacon Prosper Brown and Deacon Farwell Hazlett lived in the same village, and were neighbors and good men. When the former lost his wife by death the latter was effusive in his condolences. The day finally came, at the end of a year or more, when he dared drop a hint that his brother deacon ought to marry again. He pointed out that Deacon Brown was a lone man—a man who had to make his own bed and cook his own meals—a man who had to sit by himself of evenings and think sad thoughts and sigh sad sighs. Deacon Brown bashfully agreed with him. Yes, he was tired of pots and pans and ket tles. He was tired of the rusty old washboard and the one broken-handled flat iron. He wanted some one to help feed the pigs, wind up the clock and prepare the lamp-black and tallow for greasing bis boots. Deacon Hazlett didn’t press matters too far. He sowed the seed and then turned to potato-bugs, and waited for a lightning-rod man to come along. He had to wait for a couple of weeks before one appeared, but he felt well repaid for the delay. “Do I know of a widow that would marry again if she had a good chance?” repeated the man of thunder and lightning, as he winked a wicked wink at the deacon. “Of course I do. There’s a widow living over at Strongsville that is a splendid catch for any man, and there’s half a dozen widowers after her. You’d best hustle if you want her." After supper that evening, the deacon climbed the fence between his garden and that of his brother deacon, and after some preliminary conversation he got around to say: “Deacon, you remember what we were talking about a few days ago? There’s them as thinks it your duty." "I don’t know but it is," was the reply, "but can’t think of nobody around here I'd want.” “That’s just it, Deacon Brown — that’s just it. There really hain’t nobody, and you can’t go bunting around the country yourself like a man wanting to buy a cow.” “But what’ll I do?” “That’s what I’m going to tell you. I’m going to act for you In this case. I’m going to find a widow who is lonely who feels it her duty to marry again—who is a great hand to wash, bake, iron and make peach pickles and soft soap. Fm going to find her and tell her of you, and then It'll be for you to go and see her and plead your case." “That’s dreadful kind of you,’’ said the widower as he extended his hand. “Oh, I’m allus willing to obleege, deacon —alius willing, hut I was thinking you’ll have lots of cider apples this fall. If I could brtog this ’ere matter about I don’t think you are the man to begrudge me eight bar’ls of cider." < v y “Cider will be |4 a bar’l at the mill this fall," replied Deaoon Brown as "his commercial instincts were appealed to. “Jest so, dsacon, but hain’t a smart wife worth f&2 and a leetle more? She may bring you over a thousand dollars’ worth of property to start on." After offering six, and going up to seven and banging there for half an hour, the deacon finally made It eight, and the next day the matchmaker rode over to Strongsville. The widow, whose address he had, lived on a farm just outside the village, and he boldly made his way to her house and presented his errand. She was properly shocked for a few minutes, and then began to talk business. She made many Inquiries, and the interview finally terminated with her saying that Deacpn Brown might come along and she would look him over. After she had spoken thus her caller said: "Now, widow, I’m doing this to make you both happy. I’m a great hand to see that cooing doves get a chance to coo around. I’m also a great hand for cider. It jest fits my .system. You’ve got a big orchard, a cider mill and lots of apples. If this thing comes off and the doves coo, I reckon you'll feel like presenting me with about eight bar'ls of cider for my reward." • . The widow thought six enough, being she had so many other chances to get married, bnt flnilty they agreed on eight, and Deacon Haxlett left for home firmly believing that he had 16 barrels of cider as good as bought and paid for. That evening he spread his news before Deacon Brown so vividly and enthusiastically that the good man never slept a wink all night Nothing was too good to be said of the widow. She was good looking; she didn’t have a great appetite; she was saving; she wasn’t one to talk hack, and no chicken buyer or tin peddler could get the best of her In a trade. Next morning the two deacons got into a buggy, side by side, to ride f*wr , rad make the ealL Deacon Brown was wearing the same suit—his heat—that he had worn at his wife’s funeral, with the mourning band left off hit haL He was agitated. and be had spells of 1 being solemn and gay—solemn when he thought the widow might turn him down on account c t his bow logs and lop shoulders, and gay when be thought of her farm coming to him. It was a sort of cross between going to a funeral and following a circus pro-

cession, and the conversation sn root* was erratic and uninteresting. When the house was at last reached Deaoon Hazlett said: "Now. then, I'll take the boss to the barn and stay there, and you go right in and introduce yourself to the widow. This is a case Where you don’t want a third party around. If I was sitting around to there, she’d be so bashful that you couldn't git 10 words out of her. If there’s anything you wish to consult me about come out to the barn. It soon transpired that there was something. After about 20 minutes Deacon Brown came out looking vary grave and proceeded to say: “Wall, I kinder like her looks, and she kinder likes mine, but she says that if we git married she’s going to keep this farm in her own name and have all the bossing of it I can’t stand that, you know.” "But you won’t have to, not for long,” waa the reply. “Deacon, don’t you know that you’ve alius got to give in to a widder at the start? When you’ve been married six months you’ll be running that farm and bossing her and it to boot Lordy, but I thought you knowed widows!"^ Deacon Brown returned to the house, but within a quarter of an hour he was back again. He was looking i*>re solemn than ever. He picked up a straw to chew on rad observed: “She says I’ll have to hire the washing done and buy all the toft soap we use. She also sayg-that she won’t git up and build no fires on winter mornings. Further, that I’ve got to git wire screens for ail the winders and doors. We might as well go home." "We might as well do nothing of the kind ! I never saw a man like you before. Don’t yon understand that a woman has got to be humored a leetle, especially If she’s a widow and owns a farm? Give way to her now, and three months later you can lead her around with a rope. Go home —nonsense! You go right hack and tell her she can have her way. Also, pile on the love making. Let her see how your heart-strings are quivering."' j Deacon Brown walked back to the house with slow steps. This time he was absent a little longer, but the expression % on his face when he did reappear almost made the other deacon’* hair curL Sixteen barrels of cider for sure, and perhaps a. 17th, were* trembling In the balance. His chin, quivered so that he couldn’t say anything, but the other solemnly remarked: # “She says she’s to keep her own money, and I must do the same, and if I borry any of her, I must pay regular Interest. She also sqys I’m to cut off these whiskers, dse hair-dye rad go to every circus that comes along. Then I’ve got to refurnish the bouse and git her a hired gill* ‘Thunder!" exclaimed Deacon Haxlett for the first time in 20 yearn. “And she wants a red parasol and a hammock to swing in.” "But she can’t have ’em.” "But she will, rad she says no pitcher with a broken nose will ever be seen on her table.” “You must have got things all mixed up, Deacon Brown. Here—l'll go to the bouse with you and straighten them ouL” r * . ' 1 , Side by side tbe two deacons proceeded to the house, but they did not enter 1L The widow came out on the steps and barred their way rad said: “And I want the house and. fence painted, a piano in the parlor, a hook case and books, lace curtains, an ice box, a front pew in church, a bathtub and —” Deacon Brown groaned and his knees shook nnder him. Deacon Haxlett snorted rad mopped his perspiring forehead and said: “But, my dear widow, how can you expect —r “ —and a mirror reaching up to the ceiling, and white spreads and brass bedsteads, and white shades that roll np, and —and —” "You see—you hear!" exclaimed Deacon Brown in sepulchural tones as he pointed his finger at the other. "I do, deacon—l do,” answered the other. "She’s not for you. She’s not your cooing dove. She’s n-slmply tramping on your quivering heartstrings and crushing your palpitating heart beneath her Iron heels. Widow, I wouldn’t have thought It of you. Look Into his face rad see how he is suffering." "But 1 haven’t asked him to marry me." she replied. "No, but he comes over here with a heart fall of love for you. rad you have broken his apeerlt He may be in bed for two weeks on account or this. Won’t you talk It over, again and sorter give way?* “If I was to talk It over again. Td demand a nickel-plated cook stove for the kitchen. I forgot that And a real Bagdad cover for the lounge, and a pump with a blue handle In the well.’’ "And about the elder, widow—could you say four bar'ela for my good intentions?” "Not a one." "Then. Deacon Brown," he laid as he turned to the downcast rad dejected man. “it only remains tor'us to make our way homewards, but before | doing so I want to raise my face to g heaven and spread out my arms rad observe that whom Providence has put asunder, let no man jine together and be domed to ’em!" .• YYfep