The Trouble Maker

If "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" a man spurned in love
sometimes runs a close second.

One day in March Lyman Mertzheimer came home for the week-end. His
first thought was to call at the Reist home.

Amanda, outwardly improved--Millie said, "All because of that there
boneset tea"--welcomed spring and its promise, but she could not extend
to Lyman Mertzheimer the same degree of welcome.

"It's that Lyman again," Millie reported after she had opened the door
for the caller. "He looks kinda mad about something. What's he hangin'
round here for all the time every time he gets home from school when
abody can easy see you don't like him to come?"

"Oh, I don't know. He just drops in. I guess because we were youngsters
together."

"Um, mebbe," grunted Millie wisely to herself as Amanda went to see her
visitor. "I ain't blind and neither did I come in the world yesterday.
That Lyman's wantin' to be Amanda's beau and she don't want him. Guess
he'll stand watchin' if he gets turned down. I never did like them
Mertzheimers--all so up in the air they can hardly stand still to look
at abody."

Lyman was standing at the window, looking out gloomily. He turned as
Amanda came into the room.

"I had to come, Amanda--hang it, you keep a fellow on pins and needles!
You wouldn't answer my letters--"

"I told you not to write."

"But why? Aren't you going to change your mind? I made up my mind long
ago that I'd marry you some day and a Mertzheimer is a good deal like a
bulldog when it comes to hanging on."