"This gale of
wind would blow a dog away, bark and all. Whew! I'm all out of
breath. It's some consider'ble of a drive over from Wapatomac.
Comin' across that stretch of marsh road by West Ostable I didn't
know but the little flivver would turn herself into a flyin'-
machine and go up."
Jed stopped in the middle of the first note of a hymn.
"What in the world sent you autoin' way over to Wapatomac and back
this day?" he asked.
His friend bit the end from a cigar. "Oh, diggin' up the root of
all evil," he said. "I had to collect a note that was due over
there."
"Humph! I don't know much about such things, but I never
mistrusted 'twas necessary for you to go cruisin' like that to
collect notes. Seems consider'ble like sendin' the skipper up town
to buy onions for the cook. Couldn't the--the feller that owed the
money send you a check?"
Captain Sam chuckled. "He could, I cal'late, but he wouldn't," he
observed. "'Twas old Sylvester Sage, up to South Wapatomac, the
'cranberry king' they call him up there. He owns cranberry bogs
from one end of the Cape to the other. You've heard of him, of
course."
Jed rubbed his chin. "Maybe so," he drawled, "but if I have I've
forgot him. The only sage I recollect is the sage tea Mother used
to make me take when I had a cold sometimes. I COULDN'T forget
that.
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