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to buy him an automobile. There was one
stipulation however — it must be kept in a barn across the
street, not on the main place. Charlie could hardly believe his ears —
especially when Grampa announced, "We'll go in and choose it tomorrow."
Consulting several friends to get the names of the most reliable
Ford agencies, Charlie listed them methodically in case Grampa should
ask for advice. Monday morning arrived, and they took
the train to Boston from Cherry Brook. Charlie had his dealer
list safely in a pocket, but said nothing about it to Grampa for
fear of being presumptuous. Grampa, independent as always,
never asked for advice. They got onto a street car at the North Station
and went directly to the Cadillac agency.
"Which one do you like?" Grampa asked his dumbfounded grandson.
Charlie, wondering if it was all a dream, looked the field
over and pointed to a sporty touring car. "I like that one," he
said.
"So do I," said Grampa, and he bought it.
The property on Merriam Street beyond the Merriam farm
was owned by Mr. and Mrs. Lilly. Mr. Lilly, a jovial soul, had a
particularly loud voice, which earned him the nickname of "Whispering
John". The first time I met him I was sitting in our automobile in front
of Cutting's store. He came up to me and asked — or rather
shouted — "What's your name?" When I told him he said, "Oh yes — your
father and I are good friends. We're going fishing tomorrow — along with
Mr. Merriam."
A few days later I learned the details of the fishing trip.
After wading around for an hour or two and getting no bites,
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