Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Own Company; Or, Barnstorming in the Middle West онлайн

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"That's right, Josiah!" cried the farmer's wife. "You're alwus doin' some fool thing, an' naow you've done the biggest fool thing of your life! If yeou'd let things alone yeou'd be better off."

The audience shouted with laughter once more, and Frank congratulated himself on the outcome of his little piece of legerdemain.

But the old farmer seemed ready to shed tears.

"Say," he quavered, "can't we do that thing over ag'in? I'd like to sneeze aout a few more dollars an' divide even with ye. I'll let yeou do all the dividin', too."

"I don't know about it," said Merry, doubtfully. "I seldom repeat anything before an audience, but——"

"But——"

"This time——"

"Yeou will?"

"My time is limited, but we'll see what we can do."

Frank took the hat and held it before the farmer.

"Now, sir," he urged.

The man wrinkled up his face, stared into the hat, scratched his nose with his index finger, and then shook his head.

"Gosh!" he said, in great disappointment. "I don't seem to want to sneeze naow."

"That's jest like him!" squawked the little woman, bobbing up excitedly. "He never wants to do the right thing at the right time! Sneeze, Josiah—sneeze! If yeou don't, I'll hev a few words to say to yeou when we git hum!"