If he ever saw that
travelling Parnassus he'd fall for it like snap. And I knew Mr.
Decameron was after him for a new book anyway. (I'd intercepted one
of his letters suggesting another "Happiness and Hayseed" trip just
a few weeks before. Andrew was away when the letter came. I had a
suspicion what was in it; so I opened it, read it, and--well, burnt
it. Heavens! as though Andrew didn't have enough to do without
mooning down the road like a tinker, just to write a book about it.)
As I worked around the kitchen I could see Mr. Mifflin making
himself at home. He unhitched his horse, tied her up to the fence,
sat down by the wood pile, and lit a pipe. I could see I was in for
it. By and by I couldn't stand it any longer. I went out to talk to
that bald-headed pedlar.
"See here," I said. "You're a pretty cool fish to make yourself so
easy in my yard. I tell you I don't want you around here, you and
your travelling parcheesi. Suppose you clear out of here before my
brother gets back and don't be breaking up our happy family.
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