FOR JIMMY
Uncle Zeke's pipe had gone out—sure sign that Uncle Zeke's mind was not at rest. For five minutes the old man had occupied in frowning silence the other of my veranda rocking–chairs. As I expected, however, I had not long to wait.
"I met old Sam Hadley an' his wife in the cemetery just now," he observed.
"Yes?" I was careful to express just enough, and not too much, interest: one had to be circumspect with Uncle Zeke.
"Hm–m; I was thinkin'—" Uncle Zeke paused, shifted his position, and began again. This time I had the whole story.
"I was thinkin'—I don't say that Jimmy did right, an' I don't say that Jimmy did wrong. Maybe you can tell. 'Twas like this:
"In a way we all claimed Jimmy Hadley. As a little fellow, he was one of them big–eyed, curly–haired chaps that gets insid
