An Embarrassment of Riches by James Howard Kunstler Read Free Book Online Page B

island’s woods, the solitary thrush (Hylocichla guttata) lifted his flutelike song. The path to the door was cobbled with flat rocks. Altogether the habitation seemed hardly the den of murderous rascals it was, but the abode of any earnest and humble folk as might be found in the countryside of Suffolk County, New York.
    â€œLook, brother,” said I to Uncle, “a new species of larkspur.”
    â€œHmmmph,” Uncle replied.
    We followed Bilbo up the path. He approached the front door gingerly, then crept to the side, stooped down, and peeked around the paneless window casement.
    â€œIndians,” he explained with a rueful grin. “One can never be too careful in this neck o’the woods. I always fasten a blade of grass twixt the door and jamb. If it’s broke, one had better be ready for jack-in-the-box.”
    â€œWhen were you last molested by redskins?” I inquired, more to ingratiate ourselves with this ruffian than gain an answer.
    â€œOne invasion per week is the usual. We are dispatching the brutes like so many wasps in the pantry. Ain’t that right, Neddy?”
    â€œRowf, rowf,” the dwarf said.
    â€œGentlemen,” Bilbo said, removing his hat and holding open the door, “welcome to our snug harbor.”
    We entered. The cottage was as pleasant inside as it was charming without. The furnishings were of surprising gentility, though all stolen, no doubt. The plank floor was covered by an handsome Baghdad rug. A cherrywood breakfront was well stocked with Delft and pewter wares. A stuffed lynx, mounted upon a birch log, snarled beside a ticking clock on the mantelpiece. On the walls were several paintings of the pastoral kind (cows, windmills, et cetera), and a portrait of a lady in dress fashionable before the revolution. There was even a library of an half dozen books on a sidetable; among them, Tristram Shandy, Robinson Crusoe , and The Annual Report of Litchfield County, Connecticut ; these also, doubtless, the purloined effects of hapless settlers. At each end of the cottage’s interior was a sleeping loft, a bedstead of mahogany visible in one and of brass in the other.
    Of our own pilfered valuables, Captain Bilbo brought in the whiskey cask first, set it in the log bin to the left of the hearth, and stood back admiringly.
    â€œLooks just like the old Fraunces Tavern,” he observed, then filled three pewter cups with whiskey and placed them on the cherrywood dining table. “Have a drink, my hearties. It’ll drive the chill off.”
    I was, indeed, shivering, and reached for a cup.
    â€œSammy!” Uncle remonstrated me.
    â€œNo point in catching pneumonia … brother,” I replied and downed the liquor.
    â€œThat’s the spirit, lad,” Bilbo toasted me and then stooped to charge the fireplace. “Go on, get out of those wet clothes. Bessie shall find you something warm and dry.”
    I glanced over at Bilbo’s daughter. She smiled, and a smile on such a face as hers is a thing one does not soon forget.
    â€œIf thee intends to put a bullet ’twixt mine ears, then thee might as well deliver it now,” Uncle declared.
    â€œThere we go, my lambs,” Bilbo ignored Uncle’s remark and stood back from the hearth, where a cheerful fire now blazed. He excused himself momentarily and retired to his loft above to change his own wet clothes. Bessie rummaged through an old trunk across the parlor. Neddy sat upon his haunches by the fire and growled evilly.
    â€œFor Godsake, play along, Uncle!” I implored him. “Think of the plan!”
    â€œThy plan is a farrago,” Uncle whispered back.
    The ladder creaked and Bilbo descended from above. He was caparisoned now in a tattered but elaborate red silk dressing robe complete with mink collar and cuffs. Upon the lapels were embroidered two snorting griffons. Bessie soon returned with a pair of kersey nightshirts and two robes, one of bearskin,