The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1881-10-20
Cyrus reached out his horny hand and

hung near.
"Waal-now!" picking his teeth,
" 'tain't likely anybuddy 'ud give you
more'n hundred dollars fer it. Would
you sell for that2"
"Of course not" said Miss Mahala,
promptly, ''it's worth jest double-every
cent of it..
"Thun-" begun Cyrus, and knit his
brows.
cit will be building lot some day.
when the village grows. Then whoever
owned it could git $500 fer it, easy" said
Miss Mahala.
"Why don't you hold on tew it, lhen?"
asked Cyrus, quickly.
because I'd ruther sell it now," and
Miss Mahala snapped the clasp of her
old-fashoned reticule hanging on her
arm.
81 couldn't give 5000 fer it, no way at
all. Would you take $15O2"
"Call it $l75 and it's bargain. John
Haley 'ud jump at it eff he could git it at
that price,
Cyrus threw down the broom splinter
and reached for another.
Remember in a few years you may
git $500 fer itl"
81 mought-and then again l mought-
ent, said Cyrus, then, suddenly slapping
his knee, "Wall-call it trade at $l75l
Do ye want it all to-day, cash DOWN."
~ don't want any cash at all. I'll
give you deed O. the lot an 1925 in
cash beside, eff you'll trade me-"
The conclusion of her sentence had the
effect of an electric shock on her audit
| or.
''Thun-you don't mean it'll What in
kingdom be you thinkin' of, to take
hole O. such resky piece O. proputty ez
thatr'
81 hain't afread O. the resk, said Miss
Mahala, drawing forth s roll of green
backs from her reticule.
The bargain was made. They went
to the Squire's to have deed made out,
and, as Miss Mahala's stiff, straight fig
ure disappeared down the road, crafty
smile crept over Cyrus Deane's face, and
he slowly calculated:
Of-all-the- ternal- fools ON the
| face of the airth-the ternalest is a wom-
an-when she sets eout to tranzact biz
ness!"
A few hours later Miss MaLala stepped
softly across the threshold of Jerry
Deane's home.
81 hain't forgot that this is Cissy's
birthday. I've fetched her little pres
ent, sett1ng plate on the table. "'Ialn't
much to brag of, only loaf O. lection
cake, but Timothy Meadowses wife (she
was Liza Blynn) used to low that I was
the beatenest hand at lection cake that
she ever see. | don't say it to boast.
Go on with your dinner. I've ct mine"
She gave Cissy loving hug. and help
| ed herself to chair, receiving Mrs.
Deanes thanks with s'Sho, faint nuth-
In to speak of-only 1 thought I'd jest
like to celebrate. Cissy's perticler pet
o'mine, you know"
After pause, ''By the way, Loisy
Ann, you'd better put it on another plat
ter, It's ben on that one so long it's all
| got sweated down."
AS Mrs. Deane lifted it she discovered
folded paper underneath. ''What's
this?' she exclaimed, in surprise.
''Just open it an see," said Miss Ma
hala. "Didn't I tell you I wanted to
celebrated" and the rhadamanthus glass
es grew suspiciously cloudy. "Jerryl
Oh, Jerry! It's the mortgrgel How ever
did you get hold of it. Miss Mahala2"
"That's my affair."" said Miss Mahala.
"The only difference is that you kin pay
it off me instid O. Cyrus-an' you kin
take your own time to it, Jerry. I know
what kind O. stuff Luisy AIMS made of.
She'd work herself to shadow to git it
paid off, eff I'd let her. But tell you,
once for all, / don't cal'late tew."
Years later, when, in the inexorable
retribution Of events, Cyrus Deane, by
a peculiar succession of calamities, was
rendered homeless and ruined man, it
was his brothers roof that sheltered him
and hist was his brothers hand that
bestowed the wherewithal to start anew
it was his brothers hope and courage
that warded off despair, and saved him
from suicidal grave. More than this
it was his brothers voice that turned
him, late though it was, from the paths
of greed-his brothers influence that
sowed in the long neglected garden of
his soul the seeds that make for loving
kindness, peace and goodwill to men.
He lives to-day-a childless man still-but
every youngster in the village calls him
"Uncle Cyrus" and no man or woman
is afraid to seek favor at his hands,
| Springfield Republican.
| RUMFORD CHEMICAL, WORKS.