“Oh, DO,” says Aunt Sally; “it ain’t a bit of trouble to us, not a bit in the world. You must stay. It’s a long, dusty three mile, and we can’t let you walk. And, besides, I’ve already told ’em to put on another plate when I see you coming; so you mustn’t disap- point us. Come right in and make yourself at home.”
So Tom he thanked them very hearty and handsome, and let himself be persuaded, and come in; and when he was in he said he was a stranger from Hicksville, Ohio, and his name was William Thompson — and he made another bow.
Well, he run on, and on, and on, making up stuff about Hicksville and everybody in it he could invent, and I getting a little nervious, and wondering how this was going to help me out of my scrape; and at last, still talking along, he reached over and kissed Aunt Sally right on the mouth, and then settled back again in his chair comfortable, and was going on talking; but she jumped up and wiped it off with the back of her hand, and says:
“You owdacious puppy!”
He looked kind of hurt, and says:
“I’m surprised at you, m’am.”
“You’re s’rp — Why, what do you reckon I am? I’ve a good notion to take and — Say, what do you mean by kissing me?”
He looked kind of humble, and says:
“I didn’t mean nothing, m’am. I didn’t mean no harm. I — I — thought you’d like it.”
“Why, you born fool!” She took up the spinning stick, and it looked like it was all she could do to keep from giving him a crack with it. “What made you think I’d like it?”
“Well, I don’t know. Only, they — they — told me you would.”
“THEY told you I would. Whoever told you’s ANOTHER lunatic. I never heard the beat of it. Who’s THEY?”
“Why, everybody. They all said so, m’am.”
It was all she could do to hold in; and her eyes snapped, and her fingers worked like she wanted to scratch him; and she says:
“Who’s ‘everybody’? Out with their names, or ther’ll be an idiot short.”
He got up and looked distressed, and fumbled his hat, and says:
“I’m sorry, and I warn’t expecting it. They told me to. They all told me to. They all said, kiss her; and said she’d like it. They all said it — every one of them. But I’m sorry, m’am, and I won’t do it no more — I won’t, honest.”
“You won’t, won’t you? Well, I sh’d RECKON you won’t!”
“No’m, I’m honest about it; I won’t ever do it again — till you ask me.”
“Till I ASK you! Well, I never see the beat of it in my born days! I lay you’ll be the Methusalem-num- skull of creation before ever I ask you — or the likes of you.”
“Well,” he says, “it does surprise me so. I can’t make it out, somehow. They said you would, and I thought you would. But –” He stopped and looked around slow, like he wished he could run across a friendly eye somewheres, and fetched up on the old gentleman’s, and says, “Didn’t YOU think she’d like me to kiss her, sir?”
“Why, no; I — I — well, no, I b’lieve I didn’t.”
Then he looks on around the same way to me, and says:
“Tom, didn’t YOU think Aunt Sally ‘d open out her arms and say, ‘Sid Sawyer –‘”
“My land!” she says, breaking in and jumping for him, “you impudent young rascal, to fool a body so –” and was going to hug him, but he fended her off, and says:
“No, not till you’ve asked me first.”
So she didn’t lose no time, but asked him; and hugged him and kissed him over and over again, and then turned him over to the old man, and he took what was left. And after they got a little quiet again she says:
“Why, dear me, I never see such a surprise. We warn’t looking for YOU at all, but only Tom. Sis never wrote to me about anybody coming but him.”
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