Here Samuel Hill purposely dropped his fork upon the floor and was obliged to get under the table to recover it, Betsy assisting him in the search.  When they emerged from under the table their faces were red with their exertions.

As we have seen on other occasions, the Professor was very quick in rescuing himself from any dilemma into which he might be thrown.  He saw an opportunity to divert attention from himself and speedily improved it.

“I think I’ll have to walk over and see Miss Tilly James this afternoon,” said the Professor.

At this shot at Samuel Hill and Betsy everybody laughed, including Quincy, and thus the ice was broken.

“I’ve heard some pretty big lies told in my life,” said Robert Wood, “but I think Abel Coffin, yer know him, Professor, old Jonathan Coffin’s son, the one that goes carpenterin’, he lives over in Montrose, yer know, can beat anybody we’ve got in this town, not exceptin’ you, Stiles;” and he gave the latter a nudge with his elbow that nearly knocked him out of his chair.

“Tell us the story, Robert,” said the Professor, who had recovered his self-complacency; “we’re dyin’ to hear it.”

“Well,” continued Robert Wood, “Abel had been shinglin’ a house, and I told him there wuz a place where he’d left off a shingle.  Abel laughed and, sez he, ’If I hadn’t better eyesight than you’ve got I’d carry a telescope ‘round with me.’  ‘Well,’ sez I, thinkin’ I’d fool him, ’let’s see which one of us has got the best eyesight.’  I pointed up to the ridgepole of the house, which was ’bout a hundred feet off from where we stood, and sez I to Abel, ‘Can you see that fly walkin’ along on the ridgepole near the chimney?  I ken.’  Abel put his hand up back of his ear, and sez he, ‘No, I can’t see him, but I can hear him walkin’ ‘round.’”

As Robert concluded, a loud shout of laughter went up from the table.  Quincy had no desire to be considered “stuck up,” so he joined in the laugh, although he had heard the story in a different form before.

So had the Professor, and he never allowed an old story to be told in his presence without working in two lines of doggerel which he had composed, and of which he was very proud.  So, turning to Robert Wood he said patronizingly, “That was very well told, Robert.  The story is an old one, but you worked it up very nicely; but,” continued the Professor, “as I have often remarked on similar occasions: 

    It makes no difference whether a story’s new or old,
    Everything depends on the way it’s told.”

Turning quickly to Quincy he said, “No doubt Mr. Sawyer can favor us with a story that we’ve never heard before.”