There is plenty of me to be both abstract
and concrete, at the same time, and I thought of Uncle Peter.
Uncle Peter Is the most explosive and crusty person that ever happened
in Glendale, and it takes all of Aunt Augusta's energy, common-sense and
force of character to keep him and the two chips he carries on his
shoulders, as a defiance to the world in general, from being in a
constant state of combustion. He has been ostensibly the Mayor of
Glendale for twenty-five years, and Aunt Augusta has done the work of
the office very well indeed, while he has blown up things in general
with great energy. He couldn't draw a long breath without her, but of
course he doesn't realize it. He thinks he is in a constant feud with
her and her sex. His ideas on the woman question are so terrific that I
have always run from them, but I concluded that it would be a good
thing for me to liquefy some of my vague humanitarianism, and help Aunt
Augusta with him, while she wrestles with the City Council on the water
question. Anyway, I have always had a guarded fondness for the old chap.
I chose a time when I knew Aunt Augusta had to be busy with his report
of the disastrous concrete paving trade the whole town had been sold out
on, and I lay in wait to capture him and the chips. This morning I
waited behind the old purple lilac at the gate, which immediately got
into the game by sweeping its purple-plumed arms all around me, so that
not a tag of my dimity alarmed him as he came slowly down the street.
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