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Stories of a Western Town by Octave Thanet
page 8 of 160 (05%)

"No."

Olsen shook his head. "I hate to trouble you, Mr. Lieders,"
said he in his slow, undecided tones, "please excuse me,"
with which he gathered up the little man into his strong arms and slung
him over his shoulders, as easily as he would sling a sack of meal.
It was a vent for Mrs. Olsen's bubbling indignation to make
a dive for Lieders's heels and hold them, while Carl backed
down-stairs. But Lieders did not make the least resistance.
He allowed them to carry him into the room indicated by his wife,
and to lay him bound on the plump feather bed. It was not his bedroom
but the sacred "spare room," and the bed was part of its luxury.
Thekla ran in, first, to remove the embroidered pillow shams and
the dazzling, silken "crazy quilt" that was her choicest possession.

Safely in the bed, Lieders opened his eyes and looked from one face
to the other, his lip curling. "You can't keep me this way all the time.
I can do it in spite of you," said he.

"Well, I think you had ought to be ashamed of yourself,
Mr. Lieders!" Mrs. Olsen burst out, in a tremble between wrath
and exertion, shaking her little, plump fist at him.

But the placid Carl only nodded, as in sympathy, saying, "Well, I am
sorry you feel so bad, Mr. Lieders. I guess we got to go now."

Mrs. Olsen looked as if she would have liked to exhort Lieders further;
but she shrugged her shoulders and followed her husband in silence.

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