Stickles. "Don't I know
'im, an' wot a mean sneak he is. He's suspicious of everybody, an' is
always lookin' fer trouble. An' as to meanness, why he hasn't a heart as
big as the smallest chicken. Ye could take a thousand hearts sich as his'n
an' stick 'em all to the wall with one tiny pin, an' then they wouldn't be
half way up to the head. Mean! Why didn't he once put a twenty-five cent
piece inter the kerlection plate by mistake, an' come back the next day to
git it, an' gave a cent in its place. If that ain't mean I'd like to know
whar ye'd find it," and Mrs. Stickles sniffed contemptuously as her
needles whirled and rattled between her nimble fingers.
"Yes," Mrs. Larkins replied, "he carries his meanness into everything. If
he even imagines that it was the parson's fault that the house burned
down, and the will was destroyed, his anger will burn like fire. He's very
revengeful, too, and has an old grudge to pay back. The parson, you know,
was the means of making him close up his liquor business some years ago,
and he has been waiting ever since for a chance to hit back. I tell you
this, Mrs. Stickles, that a man who tries to do his duty is bound to stir
up opposition, and sometimes I wonder why such a good man should have to
bear with vindictive enemies.
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