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Show JfCopyrlsht by S. S. McClure Co.) vNE DAT -when summer was not ffl grown old she paused to take a 8w backward glance at 9prlng, and lol'upon her faco there fell the quiet radiance o the bygone June. Through all the long: forenoons the -voois beckoned, and hill and valley and river called to Uncle Joe. So ho thought , in his soul. But after his 12 o'clock, dln- I ner, when he had wended his way across sis fl street arfd waa seated, with Uncle m Billy on the back porch, he only said ; jl fl 'Dill, what say to trampln' down to-Iffj to-Iffj r,-ards the river this ev'nin'? It's fair 1 shady 'long the hedge row an' I wnnt to " IK& see if the squirrel crop ain't glttin' ripe. ytlli It's a leetle bit airly, but the corn's in li'i Eod roastin' ear, an' it'll be mighty I easy to locate the nests." I "Jest as lief as not. Joe. Fact if, 1 I've got a wild blackberry patch lo-f lo-f cated down In the timber an' I'd like to y see 'f they ain't glttin' ripe." j A little later Uncle Joe and Uncle Billy .! were wending their way toward the . ! river. As Nancy Ann watched them climb over the orchard wall she yald aloud; ' ' v I ! 'If them old boys ain't two of a kfnd !,l 'there never was any." and, with a smile, I I began her afternoon's Ironing. I They loitered along, watching the ' edges of the cornfields by the timber for squirrel signs, and discussing crop pros- pects, post and prospective. Each owned a comfortable farm and each had "mon- ' ey on interest." Each was a widower, .living with a married daughter. Each ' j had left his farm and come to town for the purpose of "taking life easy." But , "loalln' around" soon got very tiresome to the two old men, who had led active I country lives until ,old age came. Their I Idea of "enjoyin " thertselvc3 was to j wander out along the river on a day like ; i this, fishing, hunting anything to kill ; the time and to be In the country. I j-ney naa Deen Doys togetner. xny were ralwd on adjoining farms. They had swapped work in hay harvest and traded and mnde money together. In their old days the bond of companionship companion-ship grew stronger, and the day rarely .went by that they were not together. They differed in politics and in religious re-ligious views. Uncle Billy was- a Republican Re-publican and had been a "etand-by" In , the Methodist church for fifty years. Uncle Joe, when Interrogated, would say, "Oh, I belong to the big church," In politics he called himself a Jackeon Democrat. In his earlier day9 he was ' profane, but ns hio grandchildren grew up around him lie quit swearing and contented himself with those mild expletives ex-pletives which even church people sometimes some-times glean from the Bible Both men seemed to have tasted of the spring of perennial youth, and their daughters often referred to them afftc-s afftc-s tlonately as "them two old boys." After Inspecting the edges of the cornfields corn-fields to their satisfaction and finding plenty of ears that had been attacked , by the squlrrely, they wnndered through the limber, locating the nests. Then they visited Uncle Billy's berry patch if and found the berrleB ripening in a most ,x satisfactory way. They "cut" across then to the big road, climbed up on a ' rail fence and sat there under tho shade A -of the old elm to resU y- "Squirrels '11 do to i'hoot in 'bout ten 't , daya," remarked Uncle Joe. "I don't I 'vlsh my life away, but that ten days ! J can't get hero any too eoon My mouth's ' J fairly waterln' for a mess of young fried Bqulrrela." '"Well, I ain't cravln' fried squirrel ! myself, not partlckller," responded Un- cle Billy. J "Don't you like 'em?" ' "Not partickller, not partlckller. Fact Is, I got turned agin' 'em' once an' I've staid turned." I "How's that?" X. T011- 'ou remember whsn I went to : in Calrforny m -.19?" ' 3rJ j'Yce." yft' "Well, one day, crossln' the Is'mus, Wtf we stopped at a place they culled a ho-mW ho-mW t It was KaEy eomethln' or other, lit. clean fergIL I was powerful fond of II J'i?unB s?('u,r,l in them days, an' '.when the Mexican Injun brings 'on a " plate of fried game we thought it taeted like squlr'l, an' mighty tender an' nice at that Bill Dobbs asked the Injun, in United States, what it was. The Injun didn't understand, an' answers, 'no sab-bj" sab-bj" Spanish lingo for 'don't understand.' under-stand.' Then I asked him. I p'Inted to the dish, raised my eyebrows, and p'Inted to the trees. The Injun caught on In a minute. He grlnried, nodded, an' made his fingers go so, JeVlike a squlr'l running up a tree. Tet?, say I to Dobbs. lt'a squlr'l.' We eat It all up an' I ain't wanted any sencel" "Ginnerolly that way when a man makes a hog of hlsself." ."But I didn't make.no bog o myself." my-self." "How can you turn ag'ln squirrel then?" "Well, you see, it was-, like this: After dinner I went to pokin around the house, lookln' at the scenery an' other et cct'ry, an' I run on to the place where they'd bin sklnnln' them squlr'l. They had the fresh hides stretched over .boards heady left on an' they wa'nt squlr'l whatsumever, They was young monkeys!" "Jumpln" Jebosephatf' . "Fact! Since then I've never keered partlckler fer squlr'l. But'le'a jog 'long down the river. We aln't.-bin down thar fer a whole-week." They crossed the road,, climbed another anoth-er rail fence, and soon-were under the shade of the old sycamore by the swimming swim-ming hole. "Bill, when was you' In swimmin' last?" - ' "Las' summer." The two looked at each other In silence. si-lence. Then each looked out wistfully-at the placid running river. A rain-crow broke the silence with Us "Kow, kow, kow!" "Goln' to rain Inside o' three days. Never knew the sign to fall this tlrhe.o' year," remarked Uncle Joe. "Sure sign!" agreed Billy. Silence for another minute. "Then Uncle Billy said: - . . . "Joe, let's go swimmin'." "S'pose the water s warm enougnr "Yes, of course it is! Jes" try your hand In It." ' Uncle Joe stooped down, rippled his hund for a bit In the water, squinted one eye at the descending sun, and answered: an-swered: "I believe the water Is warm enough, Billy. I'd shorely. enjoy a swim this hot "afternoon, but I've got to be awful keerful 'bout atayln' In too long. My rheumatlz ain't bothered me much lately, an' I don't want to do any fool thing that'll make me wuss agin." (Here he squinted ono eye again at the sun.) "I gucss the sun's low enough not to sunburn. Cold sweet cream'll cure sunburn, but I can't rub it on my old back myself, an' Dlza Jane'd never git through makln fun o' me fer goln' swimmin' like a boy. She says that half the time I act like a ten-year-old boy. But I always tell her, 'What's the use o' livln' ef you can't have a good timer Then she'll laugh an' aay, 'Pap, you're the youngest one of the hull family, spite o' your three score an' .ten an' live to carry' " And the old man chuckled at the thought. "I'm one year les3 an' you," mused .Uncle Billy. "Sometimes when I ain't shaved for three days I look Into the glass an say to myself: 'William Bateman, you're glttin to be an old man. You ain't good fer nothln' but to set around the fire In winter an 'nuss j the gran'children to sleep, or else hoe In the garden in spring an' keep the grass cut in the yard. Jest a-swingln' your scythe alongside old Father TImo an' expectln' every swath he cuts that he'll make a mlsllck nn' take you In the next swing.' An' then, when I git out along the river on a day like this, an' ceo tho same old swimmin' holo where we used to swim, an' duck, an' dive, an' the old sycamore that ain't changed a mlto In the last sixty years, it don't su:-m posHlble- thut I am counted an old man. Well, here got! us Tom Ward used to say." The old man hastily disrobed and began be-gan to wade out In the water. "Wet your knees, Billy. It'll keep you from huvlti' cramps." cautioned Uncle Joe. "Don't you s'pose I know that?" -re- sponded Uncle Billy. . "Where do you think I's raised? O-o-o-o-o! It's sorter cold!" "No, It ain't. Jest - feels that way. Take a quick souse under the water like this." and Uncle Joe exemplified by dropping down into the water, only hla head being unaubmerged. "Souse, Billy, souse! Don't atand there shlverlp". You'll be S.l .right when you souse!" "Oh. Joe, I c-a-n-'t! It's too-o-o-o chilly!" Chilly! Shucks! I'll take the thill off of you!" And Uncle Joe began to spray water all-over Uncle Bllly.'uslng v.nnlo lll-n 'i nnnnlA nf middle wheels. ". "O-o-o-o! Oh! Don't don't," begged Uncle Billy. , "Say 'Please, please, purty please!' " "P-p-please, please, purty, please!" "All right; I'll not. thrown another drop." And Uncle Joe, making a sudden sud-den -dive, grasped Uncle Billy by the ankles. In three, seconds Uncle Billy's head and feet had changed positions. With a whoop Uncle Joe swam away, and Uncle Billy righted himself, sputtering sput-tering and choking. "Joe Graham, if you' don't play fair I won't stay in a minute longer. That wan't fair, so lfwan't!" ' "I didn't suppose you'd' let me ketch you that way, ,.I s'nos.ed,youd git out of the road, when you saw. me. dive." explained Uncle-Joe lp .a conciliatory tone., "Say. BUly,. let!s;swlm across an' back like we used to." Undo Billy was conciliated and agreed. ' They both " had " been good swimmers r In their youth, and they made It across and back in fair time, albeit both were pufllng like porpoises. "Got Warm, Billy?". ' ' "You-bet,, But don't you think we'd better git out? We ortn't stay in too , long. It's close on to dog days." "Well, we ain't had -a diving match ylt." "Id ruther not. I don't like to git water wa-ter in my ears. If ain't good fer my hearin'." ' "All 'right,-then. I'll jest take' one old-fashioned dive fer luck." Uncle Joe climbed upon the slanting trunk of tho old sycamore. "Now.' Billy, you count, one, two, three Jest as you use' to, .you' understand. under-stand. See how , many you' git counted while I'm undcK" and putting- his hands together -wIth a -whoop and a plash, -.Uncle Joe disappeared from view. ' Uncle Billy watched the spot and bc-gam bc-gam counting. "One, two, three, four, five, six!" "Twenty-one. twenty-two twenty-nine, twenty-nine, thirty!" "Forty!" , Then Uncle .Billy became Interested. He kept on counting aloud In-measured voice "Fifty fifty-five sj'xtyl" . Wnen.he reached sixty 'he paused to mutter,. "Doln" as well as he used to when we was pardners."' "On 'he "counted, "count-ed, , ."Seventy -five seventy- nine eighty'" ,Now he' was, visibly anxious. "But then," he reflected, "Joe used to be a'good' dlver,".and so he kept on until un-til he pronounced "One hundred!" He paused again and then he recalled re-called now- Joe once had stayed under, sixty years ago, until he had counted one hundred and twenty-five. With renewed re-newed confidence he. began,-"One hundred, hun-dred, one hundred and one, one-hundred and two "and he kept It. up with unsteady un-steady voice, until ,he. reached "One hundred and twenty-five!" That was the limit. Joe's record had never gone beyond tht. . Could it be that Joe had been seized with cramp3 down there in the bottom of Sycamore hole? Siirqly nbl.'for haU.hc.not seen Joe wet his knees tojeeep away the cramps? He could wait no longer. "Joe! Oh, Joe!" ..." No. answer. . .' "Joe. you've stayed down long enough! Come up!" ... No Joe appeared on .the surface in 'response 're-sponse to this admonition. "Joe, come up! Don't act, the fool! You've already broke your record!" But this did not seduce Uncle Joe from the cool depths of the pool. "Joe, cf you don't come up I'm comin' in after you!" He would wait no longer. Uncle Billy swam out to the point where Uncle Joe had gone down. With a linger in each ear to keep out the water lie dropped down, until his feet touched bottom and then worked his feet here and there in an endeavor to touch Uncle Joe. He came up pulling, without finding a trace of him. Pausing only long enough to draw two full breaths, he tried it again. He did not stay down so long, and again his quest was fruitless, Then, warned by his failing strength, he swam for the shore, where he lay on the warm sand, panting and almost exhausted. But it would never do to waste time. If help were only close by Joe's body might be found in time to resuscitate it. Joo dead! Lnd he had coaxed Joe to go swimming. Jbe hadn't said a word about It uuti: m hinlKlf had suggested it. True, he had tried to get Jo to come out before he took the last dive; but then, Joe would not have been In the water but for him. Uncle Billy sobbed aloud In agony. "Oh, Joe, to think that I should coax vou to your death! Oh, Joe'Joe!" " Then he heard the rattle of a wagon on . i the road, thirty rods away, and mado a wild dash for it, when he happened to remember that his clothing was on the river bank. He hesitated. It might bo a woman. And with a sense of shame that mado his whole body red, Undo Billy ran back to the river, grabbyi his shirt and began to pull it on with trembling tremb-ling hands. While his arms were extended upward In a vain and desperate attempt to forco them Into tho twlstcJ sleeves, "Spat!" j a handful of soft mud hit him In the ' stomach. For three seconds he was utterly be-wildored. be-wildored. Then the true Inwardness of the disappearance of Uncle Joe flashed across his mind. Clawing his shirt from before his eyes, he beheld Uncle Joe, squatted on the sycamore, calmly surveying sur-veying him. There art? times In life when poor, weak words are inadequate to express one's vocabulary which accompanies the "gift of tongues" might prove barren and uninteresting. It was such a timo for Uncle Billy. He looked at Uncle Joe fixedly, and finally Inquired: "Joseph, how long have you bet-n there?" "Well, Billy, I've been here an' hereabouts here-abouts fer quite a spell." "How long?" "Well, Billy, ef my memory don't fall me,- an' I guess it don't, I've been here an' hereabouts ever since you counted flftcenl" Uncle Billy walked into the water, washed off themud, waded out and proceeded pro-ceeded to put on his 6hlrt. "Goln to quit Jes when we're begln-nln' begln-nln' to have fun?" "Yes I'm going to quit Just when we're beglnnin' to have fun." "Sho,' Billy, don't git mad. That's the way wo used- to do when we wao pardners." "Yes, I'm a-goln' to quit! That's the way I used to do when we was pardners." pard-ners." "Well, If you must go, you must, 1 reckon." This In a tone of resignation. "Herc-'s a keepsake to take with you, Billy, In remembrance of the occasion," and he dexterously landed another handful of mud, this time on Billy's legs. "Good-bye, Billy! I'm goln' to swim across an' back Jest once more to take the chill off," and he began to paddle across, dog style. Uncle Billy had recovered his wind, but not his temper. That last handful of mud dissipated any kindly feelings toward Uncle Joe- He washed off the mud again, slipped on his clothing, watched Uncle Joe calmly floating on his back for a moment, and the desire to get even overpowered him. Hurriedly he filled Uncle Joe's shoes with sand, tied his shirt sleeves together to-gether In good, hard knots, and proceeded proceed-ed to eoak the knots well In the edge of the pool. Then he tied a knot in each leg of the overalls, slipped a stone In each Improvised bag, yelled, "Joe! Oh, Joe! Here's a little keepsake to remember remem-ber mc by," and flung them far out toward to-ward Uncle Joe. They fell short with a mighty plash, floated a moment, and then calmly sank to the bottom of the stream. Then Uncle Billy turned and fled. That night when Uncle Billy was eating eat-ing his "snak" which Nancy Ann had set out for him, for he had reached home too late for the 5 o'clock supper, Nancy Ann bestowed upon him a peculiarly pecu-liarly significant, searching glance. Repressing Re-pressing a smile, she asked: "Pap, how on earth did you come to got your shirt on wrong side out?" Uncle Billy blushed, guiltily, gulped a time or two under pretense that his coffee was too hot, and made answer: "Same-old way, I s'pose." "What same old way?" "Oh, Jest like I used to when a boy. Done It climbing through a fencer |
