"WELL, Caleb," said Philip, on the day after Decoration Day, "how did the bath-house opening-day pan out?"

"First-rate—A 1," Caleb replied, rubbing his hands, and then laughing to himself a long time, although in a manner which implied that the excitement to laughter was of a confidential nature. But this merely piqued curiosity, so Philip said:—

"Do you think it fair to keep all the fun to yourself, you selfish scamp? Don't you know that things to laugh at are dismally scarce at this season of the year? As the boys say when another boy finds something, 'Halves.'"

"Well," said Caleb, "the fact is, some of the customers was scared to death, Black Sam says, for fear they'd catch cold after the bath. I'd expected as much of some of our G. A. R. boys,—mentionin' no names,—so I'd took down to the house a dozen sets o' thin underclothin' that I'd ordered on suspicion. I always wear it—I learned the trick from one of our hospital doctors in the army, an' it gives me so much comfort that I talked it up to other men, but 'twas a new idee 'round here, an' ev'rybody laughed at me. The baths, though, scared a lot o' the boys into tryin' it. All day long they were kind o' wonderin', out loud, whether it was the cleanin' up or the underclothes that made 'em feel so much better'n usual; so I says to 'em, 'What's the matter with both? No one thing's ev'rythin', unless mebbe it's religion, an' even that loses its holt if you squat down with it an' don't do nothin' else.' 'But,' says some of 'em, 'what's to be did when the underclothes gets dirty?' 'Put on some clean ones,' says I, 'or wash the old ones overnight, 'fore you go to bed—that's what I done ev'ry night, when I was so poor that I couldn't afford a change.' Well, some of 'em'll do it, 'cause they're too poor to buy, but you'd better telegraph for a stock o' them thin goods; for when they don't find thick shirts an' pants stickin' to 'em all day, while they're at work, they'll be so glad o' the change that they'll want to stock up. They'll find out, as I've always b'lieved, that underclothes, an' plenty of 'em, is a means o' grace."

"More business for the store, as usual," said Philip.

"Yes," said Caleb, "but 'twon't be a patch to the run there'd be on ice-cream machines—if there was plenty of ice to be had. Some o' the boys from the farmin' district stopped with me last night, thinkin' it was better to get some sleep 'fore sun-up than go out home an' wake their folks up halfway between midnight and daylight, to say nothin' o' scarin' all the dogs o' the county into barkin', and tirin' out hosses that's got a day's work before 'em. Well, 'fore turnin' in, they said lots o' nice things—though no nicer than they ought—about the way they had been treated at your house, an' 'bout the way you both acted, as if you an' them had been cut from the same piece, but—"

"Don't make me conceited, Caleb."

"I won't; for, as I was goin' to say, they come back ev'ry time to the friz milk, as they called it, an' how they wished their wives knew how to make it, an' what a pity 'twas there wa'n't ice-houses all over the county. Well—partly with an eye to business, knowin' that most any of 'em could stand the price of a freezer, an' the others could do it, too, if they'd save the price o' liquor they drink in a month or two—I says:—

"'Well, why don't you make 'em? You could do it o' slabs you could split out o' logs from your own woodland, an' the crick freezes ev'ry winter, when you an' your hosses has got next to nothin' to do. Besides havin' ice-cream from milk that you've all got more of than you know what to do with, you could kill a critter once in a while in the summer, an' keep the meat cool; you could have fresh meat off an' on, instead o' cookin' pork seven days o' the week in hot weather, when it sickens the women an' children to look at it.' They 'lowed that that was so, an' they jawed it over for a while, an'—well, three or four ice-houses are goin' up, between farms, next winter, an' we'll sell some freezers, an' some men'll let up on drinkin'; for the worst bum o' the lot 'lowed that he'd trade his thirsty any time, an' throw in a quart o' Bustpodder's best to boot, for a good square fill o' friz milk."

"So even ice-cream is a means of grace, Caleb—eh?" said Philip.

"That's what it is, an' I notice, too, that you don't laugh under your mustache, like you used to do, when mention's made o' means o' grace."

But what rose is without its thorn? In the course of a few days the word went about, among the very large class to whom everything is fuel for the flame of gossip, that a lot of the Grand Army men had been taken into the Somerton house, and found it a palace, the things in which must have cost thousands of dollars, and that it was a shame and an outrage that money should have been made out of the poor, overworked country people to support two young stuck-ups from the city in more luxury than Queen Elizabeth ever dreamed of; for who ever read in history books of Queen Elizabeth having ice-cream? and didn't the history books say that she had only rushes on her floors, instead of even a rag carpet, to say nothing of picture carpets like the Somertons'?

When the rumor reached the store, Philip ground his teeth, but Grace laughed.

"I believe you'd laugh, even if they called your husband a swindler," said Philip.

"Indeed I would, at anything so supremely ridiculous," Grace said. "Wouldn't you, Caleb?"

"I reckon I would. Anyhow, it sounds a mighty sight better than the noise Philip made; besides, it's healthier for the teeth. It shows 'em off better, too."

"Now, Mr. Crosspatch, how do you feel?"

"Utterly crushed. But what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to make those gossips ashamed of themselves."

"How?"

"By refurnishing the parlor for the summer. The dust is ruining our nice things, so the change will be an economy. I'll do it so cheaply that almost any farmer in the county can afford to copy it, to the great delight of his wife, as well as himself. Let—me—see—" and Grace dropped her head over a bit of paper and a pencil, and Caleb looked at her admiringly, and winked profoundly at Philip, and then hurried into the back room so that his impending substitute for an ecstatic dance should not disturb the planner of the coming parlor decorations.

For some reason—perhaps excitement over the bath-house, or surprise at the uniforming of his Grand Army command, or the heat, or the debilitating effect of old wounds—Philip pretended to believe it was the effect of Grace's ice-cream upon a system not inured to such compounds—Caleb suddenly became disabled by a severe malarial attack with several complications. He did not take to his bed, but his movements were mechanical, his manner apathetic, and his tongue almost silent. He did not complain; and when questioned, he insisted that he suffered no pain. Philip and Grace endeavored to tempt his appetite, for he ate scarcely anything, and they tried to rally him by various mental means, but without effect. He noted their solicitude, and its sincerity impressed him so deeply that he said one day:—

"The worst thing about this attack is that I can't get words to tell you how good you both are bein' to me. But I'm the same as a man that's been hit with a club."

Then Philip and Grace insisted that Doctor Taggess should do something for Caleb, and the Doctor said nothing would give him more pleasure; for anything that would restore Caleb to health would probably be serviceable in other cases of the same kind, of which there were several on his hands. After listening to much well-meant but worthless suggestion, the Doctor said:—

"There's a new treatment of which I've heard encouraging reports, but it is quite costly. It is called the sea treatment. It is said, on good authority, that a month at sea, anywhere in the temperate zone, will cure any chronic case of malaria, and that the greater the attack of sea-sickness, the more thorough will be the cure."

"Caleb shall try it, no matter what the cost," said Philip.

The Doctor smiled, shook his head doubtfully, and said:—

"What if he won't? He is so bound up in you and your business, and his own many interests and duties, that he will make excuses innumerable."

"Quite likely, but I ought to be ingenious enough to devise some way of making it appear a matter of duty."

"I hope you can, and that you'll begin at once, if only for my sake, professionally, so that I may study the results."

Then, for a day, Philip became almost as silent as Caleb, and Grace assisted him. The next morning, he said:—

"Caleb, I want to start a new enterprise that will revolutionize this part of the country and part of Europe, too, if it succeeds, but it won't work unless you join me in it."

"You know I'm yours to command," Caleb replied, at the same time forcing a tiny gleam of interest.

"That's kind of you, but this project of mine is so unusual that I almost fear to suggest it. You know that the farmers of this section plant far more corn than anything else."

"Yes, 'n always will, I reckon, no matter how small the price of what they can't put into pork. The idee o' corn-plantin' 's been with 'em so long that I reckon it's 'petrified in their brain structure,' as a scientific sharp I once read about, said about somethin' else."

"Quite so, and we can't hope to change it unless labor and horses should suddenly become cheaper and more plentiful. Now I propose that we take advantage of this state of affairs by making some money and getting some glory, besides indirectly helping the farmers, by increasing the future demand for corn. You yourself once told me that if the people of Europe could learn to eat corn-bread, 'twould be money in their own pockets, relieve corn-bins here of surplus stock, and perhaps lessen the quantity of the corn spoiled by being made into whiskey."

"That's a fact," said Caleb.

"Very well. Corn never was cheaper here than it is now,—so I'm told,—nor were the mills ever so idle. I can buy the best of corn-meal, barrelled, and deliver it in London or Liverpool, freight paid, at less than two dollars per barrel, and I can buy all I want of it on my note at six months. If you'll go into the enterprise with me, every barrel shall be labelled 'Claybanks Western Corn-Flour: trademark registered by Philip Somerton.'"

"Hooray for Claybanks! Hooray for the West!" shouted Caleb, becoming more like his old self.

"Thank you. But as I've quoted to you about your bath-house project, 'You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.' Meal has often been sent to the English market, and some dealers have even sent careful cooking and bread-making directions. The different methods of making good food from corn-meal must, I am satisfied, be shown, practically, before the eyes of possible consumers. So my plan is this: to send over, say, two hundred barrels to London; hire for a month a small shop in a district thickly inhabited by people who know the value of a penny saved, cook in various forms—hasty pudding, hoe-cake, dodgers, muffins, corn-bread, etc., at the rate of a barrel of meal a day, or as much as can be sold, or even given away as an advertisement of the 'Claybanks Western Corn-Flour'—meanwhile persuading grocers in the vicinity to keep the meal for sale to persons who are sensible enough to appreciate it. And finally, as you know how to make all sorts of good things of corn-meal, I'd like you to go over to England and manage the entire business."

"Wh-e-e-e-e-e-ew!"

"That's somewhat non-committal, isn't it?"

"Well!" said Caleb, "I reckon the malary's knocked plumb out o' me!"

"I hope so; but if it isn't, it will be; for Doctor Taggess says that a month at sea is the newest treatment prescribed for malaria, and that is said to be a sure cure. The trip over won't take a month, but a week or ten days of the ocean ought to make a beginning, and show you how 'twill act, and if the enterprise makes a hit, I'll show my appreciation by standing the expense of a trip up the Mediterranean and back by direct steamer to the United States. By the way, while you're up the Mediterranean, you might join one of Cook's tourist parties, and see the Holy Land. How does the entire plan strike you?"

"How—does it—strike me?" drawled Caleb. Then he pulled himself together and continued: "Why, it's struck me all of a heap. Say, Philip, you've got a mighty long head—do you know it? I ain't sayin' that I can't do the work middlin' well, though I have heard that it takes a pickaxe an' a corkscrew to get any new idee into the commoner kinds of the English skull. An' a trip through the Holy Land! But say—who'd look after my Sunday-school class while I was away?"

"Oh, I will, if you can't find a better substitute. You've been doing your best to get me into church work—you know you have, you sly scamp. Now's your chance."

"To break you into that sort o' work," said Caleb, slowly, "I'd be willin' to peddle ice in Greenland, an' live on the proceeds. But there's my other class—though I s'pose I could farm that out for a spell. Then there's a lot o' folks that's been lookin' to me for one thing an' another so long that—"

"That perhaps 'twould do them good to be obliged to depend upon themselves for a few weeks."

"Phil dear, don't be heartless! Caleb, couldn't you trust those people to a woman for a little while?"

"Oh, couldn't I! An' I thank you from the bottom of my heart besides. London! Then I could see Westminster Abbey, an' the Tower o' London, an' go to John Wesley's birthplace, an'—"

"Yes," said Philip, "and you could run over to Paris, too."

"No, sir!" exclaimed Caleb. "When I want to see Satan an' his kingdom, I won't have to travel three thousan' mile to do it. But—"

"But me no more buts, Caleb—unless you would rather not go."

"Rather not, indeed! If I was dyin' as hard of malary as I'm dyin' to see some things in England, I guess I'd turn up in kingdom-come in about three days, almanac-time. What I was 'buttin'' about was only this: are you plumb sure that I'm the right man for the job?"

"Quite sure; for you're entirely honest, industrious, and persistent; you're as corn-crazy as any other Western man; you've taught my wife and me how to work a lot of unsuspected delicacies out of corn-meal; and, more important than all else, for this purpose, you've the special Western faculty of taking a man's measure at once and treating him accordingly. If that won't work with the English,—and the worst of them can't be any stupider than certain people here,—nothing will. So the matter is settled, and you're to start at once—to-morrow, if possible; for first I want you to buy me a lot of goods in New York. My wife and I have determined to carry a larger stock and more variety, and—"

"Start to-morrow!" interrupted Caleb, incredulously.

"Yes; the longer you wait, the longer 'twill take you to get away. Besides, I want to keep the corn-meal enterprise a secret, and you're so honest that it'll leak from you if you don't get off at once."

"But I can't get—"

"Yes, you can, no matter what it is. And while you are attending to business in New York you must sleep down by the seaside, so that the sea air shall begin its fight with the malaria as soon as possible. I shall engage a room for you by telegraph to-day; you can reach it by rail within an hour from any part of the city, and return in the morning as early as you like."

"But, man alive, you haven't got the corn-meal yet."

"I shall have a lot of it on the rail by a week from to-day; the rest can follow. You'll need a fortnight in New York, to do the buying and see the sights, for the town is somewhat larger than Claybanks. Besides, no self-respecting American should go abroad until he has seen Niagara Falls, Independence Hall, Bunker Hill Monument, and the National Capital. The Falls are directly on your route East, Washington is a short and cheap trip from New York, with Philadelphia between the two cities, and you can take a steamer from Boston. Now pack your gripsack at once—there's a good fellow, and don't say a single good-by. I'm told they're dreadfully unlucky. After you've started, I'll explain to every one that you've gone East to buy some goods for me. At present I'll settle down to making you a route-book, with information about all sorts of things that you may wish, after you're off, that you'd asked about."

Caleb retired slowly to his room over the store; Philip and Grace took turns for an hour in watching the street for Doctor Taggess and in sending messengers in every direction for him, and when the Doctor arrived, they unfolded to him, under injunctions of secrecy, the entire plan regarding Caleb. The Doctor listened with animated face and twinkling eyes, until the story ended; then he relieved himself of a long, hearty laugh, and said:—

"What would your Uncle Jethro say to such an outlay of money?"

"If he's where I hope he is," Philip replied, "he knows that Caleb richly deserves it in addition to his salary, for his many years of service. Besides, we've earned the money, in excess of any previous half-year of trade; so even if the commercial project fails I shall be out only three or four hundred dollars."

"And without doubt," said the Doctor, "'twill be the remaking of Caleb."

"I hope so," Philip replied, "for he has been remaking me."