joy; the presence of a
retired Hamlet among the foliage of the family tree was funny now that
he had got used to it; and Amzi had a sense of humor. This little
company expected him to explode and he must not disappoint them. The
color mounted to his bald dome and his eyes bulged.

"Thunder! Rose, play that jiggly funeral march of a marionette!"

"I refuse," said Rose, spreading her skirts on the divan, "to do
anything so cruel!"

"And besides," said Nan, "I bought a share of stock in his brickyard."

"Nan Bartlett," said Amzi, planting himself before her, "I will give you
a peck of parsnips for that share."

"Couldn't take advantage of you, Amzi; and we never eat parsnips.
They're bad for the complexion."

"Thunder!" he snorted contemptuously.

"Thunder" was his favorite, almost his only, expletive, but his thunder
was only a single boom without reverberations. His four auditors
understood him perfectly, however. Fosdick was always "starting"
something. He had even attempted to organize a new cemetery association,
which, as Greenlawn was commodious, and as any amount of land adjacent
made possible its indefinite expansion, Amzi regarded as an absurd and
unholy project. With Fosdick, Amzi had no business relations of any
kind. He belonged to the Commercial Club, to be sure, but this was a
concession on his part; he never attended any of its meetings. And he
had, it was said, requested his enterprising brother-in-law to withdraw
his patronage from the Montgomery Bank for reasons never wholly clear to
the curious. Fosdick had talked about it in bitterness of spirit; Amzi
had not. Amzi never talked of his business. He rarely lost a customer;
and if a citizen transferred his account to the First or the Citizens'
National, it was assumed that Amzi no longer cared particularly to have
that individual on his ledgers. Such a transfer aroused in cautious
minds a degree of suspicion, for horses rarely died in Amzi's stable.

"Thunder! It's time to go home. Guess the rain's stopped."

Amzi set out for home with the Kirkwoods. He was in capital spirits, and
kept up a steady give and take with Phil. Just before reaching his own
gate they passed Kirkwood's former home. Amzi's sisters persistently
demanded that something be done about the abandoned house, which, with
its neglected garden, was a mournful advertisement of their sister's
ill-doings. It had been a shock to them to discover, a few years after
her flight, that it h