She was
perpetually displeased with Todd.
His Christian name was James, but she did not speak Christian to him.
When she hailed him from the house she called him "Jay-eems"--the
"eems" an octave higher than the "Jay."
He would drop the grease-can or the monkey-wrench to rush to her side.
"Look at your sleeves!" she would say. "Your best shirt!" Words
failing her, she would sigh and go into a silence that was worse
than words. He was a great burden to her.
Humbly he entreated her one day for an obsolete tooth-brush.
"I want to clean spark-plugs with it," he explained.
"Next," she replied, icily, "you'll be taking your little pet to the
dentist, I suppose."
From such encounters Jay-eems would creep back to the barn and seek
consolation in tinkering around me.
He liked to take the lid off my transmission-box and gaze at my
wondrous works. He was always tightening my axle-burrs, or dosing me
with kerosene through my hot-air pipe, or toying with my timer.
While he was never so smart as Willie about such things, he was
intelligent and quick to learn; and this was not surprising to me
after I discovered the nature of his occupation in life.
I had taken him to be a retired silk-worm fancier, a chronic juryman,
or something of the sort.
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