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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..886aa08 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50494 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50494) diff --git a/old/50494-0.txt b/old/50494-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9477569..0000000 --- a/old/50494-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10656 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Abner Daniel, by Will N. Harben - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Abner Daniel - A Novel - -Author: Will N. Harben - -Release Date: November 19, 2015 [EBook #50494] -Last Updated: March 12, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABNER DANIEL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - -ABNER DANIEL - -By Will N. Harben - -Author Of “Westerfelt” - -New York and London - -Harper And Brothers - -1902 - -TO - -MY SISTER - -MRS. RAY KNIGHT - - - - -ABNER DANIEL - - - - -I - - -[Illustration: 9007] - -HE young man stood in the field road giving -directions to a robust negro who was ploughing the corn, which, in -parallel rows, stretched on to the main road a quarter of a mile -distant. The negro placed the point of his ploughshare a few inches from -the first stalk of corn, wound the line around his wrist, and clucked -to his horse. With a jangling jerk of the trace-chains the animal -lunged ahead: the polished ploughshare cut into the mellow soil and sped -onward, curling the gray earth like shavings, and uprooting and burying -the tenacious crab-grass and succulent purslane. - -It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, but the atmosphere -had dropped a dim veil over the near-by mountain. Even the two-storied -farm-house, with its veranda and white columns, to which the field road -led up a gradual slope, showed only its outlines. However, Alan Bishop, -as he steadied his gaze upon the house, saw the figure of an elderly -woman come out of the gate and with a quick step hurry down to him. It -was his mother; she was tall and angular, and had high cheek-bones and -small blue eyes. She had rather thin gray hair, which was wound into a -knot behind her head, and over it she wore only a small red breakfast -shawl which she held in place by one of her long hands. - -“Alan,” she said, panting from her brisk walk, “I want you to come to -the house right off. Mr. Trabue has come to see yore pa again an' I -can't do a thing with 'im.” - -“Well, what does he want with him?” asked the young man. His glance -was on the ploughman and his horse. They had turned the far end of the -corn-row and were coming back, only the nodding head of the animal being -visible beyond a little rise. - -“He's come to draw up the papers fer another land trade yore pa's -makin'. He's the lawyer fer the Tompkins estate. Yore pa tried to buy -the land a yeer ago, but it wasn't in shape to dispose of. Oh, Alan, -don't you see he's goin' to ruin us with his fool notions? Folks all -about are a-laughin' at him fer buyin' so much useless mountain-land. I'm -powerful afeered his mind is wrong.” - -“Well, mother, what could I do?” Alan Bishop asked impatiently. “You -know he won't listen to me.” - -“I reckon you can' t stop 'im,” sighed the woman, “but I wish you'd come -on to the house. I knowed he was up to some 'n'. Ever'day fer the last -week he's been ridin' up the valley an' rollin' and tumblin' at night an' -chawin' ten times as much tobacco as he ort. Oh, he's goin' to ruin us! -Brother Abner says he is buyin' beca'se he thinks it's goin' to advance in -value, but sech property hain't advanced a speck sence I kin remember, -an' is bein' sold ever' yeer fer tax money.” - -“No, it's very foolish of him,” said the young man as the two turned -towards the house. “Father keeps talking about the fine timber on such -property, but it is entirely too far from a railroad ever to be worth -anything. I asked Rayburn Miller about it and he told me to do all -I could to stop father from investing, and you know he's as sharp a -speculator as ever lived; but it's his money.” - -There was a paling fence around the house, and the enclosure was alive -with chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks, and peafowls. In the sunshine on -the veranda two pointers lay sleeping, but at the sound of the opening -gate they rose, stretched themselves lazily, and gaped. - -“They are in the parlor,” said Mrs. Bishop, as she whisked off her -breakfast shawl. “Go right in, I 'll come in a minute. I want to see how -Linda is makin' out with the churnin'. La! I feel like it's a waste o' -time to do a lick o' work with him in thar actin' like a child. Ef we -both go in together it 'll look like we've concocked somethin', but we -must stop 'im ef we kin.” - -Alan went into the parlor on the left of the wide, uncarpeted hall. The -room had white plastered walls, but the ceiling was of boards planed -by hand and painted sky blue. In one corner stood a very old piano -with pointed, octagonal legs and a stool with hair-cloth covering. -The fireplace was wide and high, and had a screen made of a decorated -window-shade tightly pasted on a wooden frame. Old man Bishop sat near a -window, and through his steel-framed nose-glasses was carefully reading -a long document written on legal-cap paper. He paid no attention to the -entrance of his son, but the lawyer, a short, fat man of sixty-five with -thick black hair that fell below his coat-collar, rose and extended his -hand. - -“How's Alan?” he asked, pleasantly. “I saw you down in the field as I -come along, but I couldn't catch your eye. You see I'm out after some -o' your dad's cash. He's buying hisse'f rich. My Lord! if it ever _does_ -turn his way he 'll scoop in enough money to set you and your sister up -for life. Folks tell me he owns mighty near every stick of timber-land -in the Cohutta Valley, and what he has he got at the bottom figure.” - -“If it ever turns his way,” said Alan; “but do you see any prospect of -it's ever doing so, Mr. Trabue?” The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. “I -never bet on another man's trick, my boy, and I never throw cold water -on the plans of a speculator. I used to when I was about your age, but -I saw so many of 'em get rich by paying no attention to me that I quit -right off. A man ought to be allowed to use his own judgment.” Old -Bishop was evidently not hearing a word of this conversation, being -wholly absorbed in studying the details of the deed before him. “I -reckon it's all right,” he finally said. “You say the Tompkins children -are all of age?” - -“Yes, Effie was the youngest,” answered Trabue, “and she stepped over -the line last Tuesday. There's her signature in black and white. The -deed's all right. I don't draw up any other sort.” - -Alan went to his father and leaned over him. “Father,” he said, softly, -and yet with firmness, “I wish you'd not act hastily in this deal. You -ought to consider mother's wishes, and she is nearly distracted over -it.” - -Bishop was angry. His massive, clean-shaven face was red. “I'd like to -know what I'd consult her fer,” he said. “In a matter o' this kind a -woman's about as responsible as a suckin' baby.” - -Trabue laughed heartily. “Well, I reckon it's a good thing your wife -didn't hear that or she'd show you whether she was responsible or not. -I couldn't have got the first word of that off my tongue before my wife -would 'a' knocked me clean through that wall.” - -Alfred Bishop seemed not to care for levity during business hours, for -he greeted this remark only with a frown. He scanned the paper again and -said: “Well, ef thar's any flaw in this I reckon you 'll make it right.” - -“Oh yes, I 'll make any mistake of mine good,” returned Trabue. “The -paper's all right.” - -“You see,” said Alan to the lawyer, “mother and I think father has -already more of this sort of property than he can carry, and--” - -“I wish you and yore mother'd let my business alone,” broke in Bishop, -firing up again. “Trabue heer knows I've been worryin' 'im fer the last -two months to get the property in salable shape. Do you reckon after he -gets it that away I want to listen to yore two tongues a-waggin' in open -opposition to it?” - -Trabue rubbed his hands together. “It really don't make a bit of -difference to me, Alan, one way or the other,” he said, pacifically. -“I'm only acting as attorney for the Tompkins estate, and get my fee -whether there's a transfer or not. That's where I stand in the matter.” - -“But it's not whar I stand in it, Mr. Trabue,” said a firm voice in the -doorway. It was Mrs. Bishop, her blue eyes flashing, her face pale and -rigid. “I think I've got a right--and a big one--to have a say-so in -this kind of a trade. A woman 'at 's stayed by a man's side fer thirty -odd yeer an' raked an' scraped to he'p save a little handful o' property -fer her two children has got a right to raise a rumpus when her husband -goes crooked like Alfred has an' starts in to bankrupt 'em all jest fer -a blind notion o' his'n.” - -“Oh, thar you are!” said Bishop, lifting his eyes from the paper -and glaring at her over his glasses. “I knowed I'd have to have a -knock-down-an'-drag-out fight with you 'fore I signed my name, so sail in -an' git it over. Trabue's got to ride back to town.” - -“But whar in the name o' common-sense is the money to come from?” the -woman hurled at her husband, as she rested one of her bony hands on the -edge of the table and glared at him. “As I understand it, thar's about -five thousand acres in this piece alone, an' yo're a-payin' a dollar -a acre. Whar's it a-comin' from, I'd like to know? Whar's it to come -from?” - -Bishop sniffed and ran a steady hand over his short, gray hair. “You see -how little she knows o' my business,” he said to the lawyer. “Heer she's -raisin' the devil an' Tom Walker about the trade an' she don't so much -as know whar the money's to come from.” - -“How _was_ I to know?” retorted the woman, “when you've been tellin' me -fer the last six months that thar wasn't enough in the bank to give the -house a coat o' fresh paint an' patch the barn roof.” - -“You knowed I had five thousand dollars wuth o' stock in the Shoal River -Cotton Mills, didn't you?” asked Bishop, defiantly, and yet with the -manner of a man throwing a missile which he hoped would fall lightly. - -“Yes, I knowed that, but--” The woman's eyes were two small fires -burning hungrily for information beyond their reach. - -“Well, it happens that Shoal stock is jest the same on the market as -ready money, up a little to-day an' down to-morrow, but never varyin' -more'n a fraction of a cent on the dollar, an' so the Tompkins heirs -say they'd jest as lieve have it, an' as I'm itchin' to relieve them of -the'r land, it didn't take us long to come together.” - -If he had struck the woman squarely in the face, she could not have -shown more surprise. She became white to the lips, and with a low cry -turned to her son. “Oh, Alan, don't--don't let 'im do it, it's all we -have left that we can depend on! It will ruin us!” - -“Why, father, surely,” protested Alan, as he put his arm around his -mother, “surely you can't mean to let go your mill investment which -is paying fifteen per cent, to put the money into lands that may never -advance in value and always be a dead weight on your hands! Think of the -loss of interest and the taxes to be kept up. Father, you must listen -to--” - -“Listen to nothin',” thundered Bishop, half rising from his chair. -“Nobody axed you two to put in. It's my business an' I'm a-goin' to -attend to it. I believe I'm doin' the right thing, an' that settles it.” - -“The right thing,” moaned the old woman, as she sank into a chair and -covered her face with her hands. “Mr. Trabue,” she went on, fiercely, -“when that factory stock leaves our hands we won't have a single thing -to our names that will bring in a cent of income. You kin see how bad it -is on a woman who has worked as hard to do fer her children as I have. -Mr. Bishop always said Adele, who is visitin' her uncle's family in -Atlanta, should have that stock for a weddin'-gift, ef she ever married, -an' Alan was to have the lower half of this farm. Now what would we have -to give the girl--nothin' but thousands o' acres o' hills, mountains an' -gulches full o' bear, wild-cats, and catamounts--land that it ud break -any young couple to hold on to--much less put to any use. Oh, I feel -perfectly sick over it.” - -There was a heavy, dragging step in the hall, and a long, lank man of -sixty or sixty-five years of age paused in the doorway. He had no beard -except a tuft of gray hair on his chin, and his teeth, being few and far -between, gave to his cheeks a hollow appearance. He was Abner Daniel, -Mrs. Bishop's bachelor brother, who lived in the family. - -“Hello!” he exclaimed, shifting a big quid of tobacco from one cheek -to the other; “plottin' agin the whites? Ef you are, I 'll decamp, as the -feller said when the bull yeerlin' butted 'im in the small o' the back. -How are you, Mr. Trabue? Have they run you out o' town fer some o' yore -legal rascality?” - -“I reckon your sister thinks it's rascality that's brought me out -to-day,” laughed the lawyer. “We are on a little land deal.” - -“Oh, well, I 'll move on,” said Abner Daniel. “I jest wanted to tell -Alan that Rigg's hogs got into his young corn in the bottom jest now -an' rooted up about as many acres as Pole Baker's ploughed all day. Ef -they'd a-rooted in straight rows an' not gone too nigh the stalks -they mought 'a' done the crap more good than harm, but the'r aim or -intention, one or t'other, was bad. Folks is that away; mighty few of -'em root--when they root at all--fer anybody but the'rse'ves. -Well, I 'll git along to my room.” - -“Don't go, brother Ab,” pleaded his sister. “I want you to he'p me stand -up fer my rights. Alfred is about to swap our cotton-mill stock fer some -more wild mountain-land.” - -In spite of his natural tendency to turn everything into a jest--even -the serious things of life--the sallow face of the tall man lengthened. -He stared into the faces around him for a moment, then a slow twinkle -dawned in his eye. - -“I've never been knowed to take sides in any connubial tustle yet,” he -said to Trabue, in a dry tone. “Alf may not know what he's about right -now, but he's Solomon hisse'f compared to a feller that will undertake -to settle a dispute betwixt a man an' his wife--more especially the -wife. Geewhilikins! I never shall forget the time old Jane Hardeway come -heer to spend a week an' Alf thar an' Betsy split over buyin' a hat-rack -fer the hall. Betsy had seed one over at Mason's, at the camp-ground, -an' determined she'd have one. Maybe you noticed that fancy contraption -in the hall as you come in. Well, Alf seed a nigger unloadin' it from a -wagon at the door one mornin', an' when Betsy, in feer an' tremblin', -told 'im what it was fer he mighty nigh had a fit. He said his folks -never had been above hangin' the'r coats an' hats on good stout nails an' -pegs, an' as fer them umbrella-pans to ketch the drip, he said they was -fancy spit-boxes, an' wanted to know ef she expected a body to do the'r -chawin' an' smokin' in that windy hall. He said it jest should not stand -thar with all them prongs an' arms to attack unwary folks in the dark, -an' he toted it out to the buggy-shed. That got Betsy's dander up an' -she put it back agin the wall an' said it ud stay thar ef she had to -stand behind it an' hold it in place. Alf wasn't done yet; he 'lowed ef -they was to have sech a purty trick as that on the hill it had to stay -in the best room in the house, so he put it heer in the parlor by the -piano. But Betsy took it back two or three times an' he larnt that he -was a-doin' a sight o' work fer nothin', an' finally quit totin' it about. -But that ain't what I started in to tell. As I was a-sayin', old Jane -Hardeway thought she'd sorter put a word in the dispute to pay fer her -board an' keep, an' she told Betsy that it was all owin' to the way the -Bishops was raised that Alf couldn't stand to have things nice about -'im. She said all the Bishops she'd ever knowed had a natural stoop -that they got by livin' in cabins with low roofs. She wasn't spreadin' 'er -butter as thick as she thought she was--ur maybe it was the sort she was -spreadin '--fer Betsy blazed up like the woods afire in a high wind. It -didn't take old Jane long to diskiver that thar was several breeds -o' Bishops out o' jail, an' she spent most o' the rest o' her visit -braggin' on some she'd read about. She said the name sounded like the -start of 'em had been religious an' substanch.” - -“Brother Abner,” whined Mrs. Bishop, “I wisht you'd hush all that -foolishness an' help me 'n the children out o' this awful fix. Alfred -always would listen to you.” - -“Well,” and the old man smiled, and winked at the lawyer, “I 'll give you -both all the advice I kin. Now, the Shoal River stock is a good thing -right now; but ef the mill was to ketch on fire an' burn down thar'd be -a loss. Then as fer timber-land, it ain't easy to sell, but it mought -take a start before another flood. I say it mought, an' then agin it -moughtn't. The mill mought burn, an' then agin it moughtn't. Now, ef -you-uns kin be helped by this advice you are welcome to it free o' -charge. Not changin' the subject, did you-uns know Mrs. Richardson's -heffer's got a calf? I reckon she won't borrow so much milk after hers -gits good.” - -Trabue smiled broadly as the gaunt man withdrew; but his amusement was -short-lived, for Mrs. Bishop began to cry, and she soon rose in despair -and left the room. Alan stood for a moment looking at the unmoved -face of his father, who had found something in the last clause of the -document which needed explanation; then he, too, went out. - - - - -II - - -[Illustration: 9017] - -LAN found his uncle on the back porch washing his -face and hands in a basin on the water-shelf. The young man leaned -against one of the wooden posts which supported the low roof of the -porch and waited for him to conclude the puffing, sputtering operation, -which he finally did by enveloping his head in a long towel hanging from -a wooden roller on the weather-boarding. - -“Well,” he laughed, “yore uncle Ab didn't better matters in thar overly -much. But what could a feller do? Yore pa's as bull-headed as a young -steer, an' he's already played smash anyway. Yore ma's wastin' breath; -but a woman seems to have plenty of it to spare. A woman' s tongue's -like a windmill--it takes breath to keep it a-goin', an' a dead calm ud -kill her business.” - -“It's no laughing matter, Uncle Ab,” said Alan, despondently. “Something -must have gone wrong with father's judgment. He never has acted this way -before.” - -The old man dropped the towel and thrust his long, almost jointless -fingers into his vest pocket for a horn comb which folded up like a -jack-knife. “I was jest a-wonderin',” as he began to rake his shaggy -hair straight down to his eyes--“I was jest a-wonderin' ef he could -'a' bent his skull in a little that time his mule th'owed 'im agin the -sweet-gum. They say that often changes a body powerful. Folks do think -he's off his cazip on the land question, an' now that he's traded his -best nest-egg fer another swipe o' the earth's surface, I reckon they 'll -talk harder. But yore pa ain't no fool; no plumb idiot could 'a' managed -yore ma as well as he has. You see I know what he's accomplished, fer -I've been with 'em ever since they was yoked together. When they was -married she was as wild as a buck, an' certainly made our daddy walk a -chalk-line; but Alfred has tapered 'er down beautiful. She didn't want -this thing done one bit, an' yet it is settled by this time”--the -old man looked through the hall to the front gate--“yes, Trabue's -unhitchin'; he's got them stock certificates in his pocket, an' yore pa -has the deeds in his note-case. When this gits out, moss-backs from heer -clean to Gilmer 'll be trapsin' in to dispose o' land at so much a front -foot.” - -“But what under high heaven will he do with it all?” - -“Hold on to it,” grinned Abner, “that is, ef he kin rake an' scrape -enough together to pay the taxes. Why, last yeer his taxes mighty nigh -floored 'im, an' the expenses on this county he's jest annexed will push -'im like rips; fer now, you know, he 'll have to do without the income -on his factory stock; but he thinks he's got the right sow by the yeer. -Before long he may yell out to us to come he'p 'im turn 'er loose, but -he's waltzin' with 'er now.” - -At this juncture Mrs. Bishop came out of the dining-room wiping her eyes -on her apron. - -“Mother,” said Alan, tenderly, “try not to worry over this any more than -you can help.” - -“Your pa's gettin' old an' childish,” whimpered Mrs. Bishop. “He's heerd -somebody say timber-land up in the mountains will some day advance, -an' he forgets that he's too old to get the benefit of it. He's goin' to -bankrupt us.” - -“Ef I do,” the man accused thundered from the hall, as he strode out, -“it 'll be my money that's lost--money that I made by hard work.” - -He stood before them, glaring over his eye-glasses at his wife. “I've -had enough of yore tongue, my lady; ef I'd not had so much to think -about in thar jest now I'd 'a' shut you up sooner. Dry up now--not -another word! I'm doin' the best I kin accordin' to my lights to provide -fer my children, an' I won't be interfered with.” - -No one spoke for a moment. However, Mrs. Bishop finally retorted, as her -brother knew she would, in her own time. - -“I don't call buyin' thousands o' acres o' unsalable land providin' fer -anything, except the pore-house,” she fumed. - -“That's beca'se you don't happen to know as much about the business as -I do,” said Bishop, with a satisfied chuckle, which, to the observant -Daniel, sounded very much like exultation. “When you all know what I -know you 'll be laughin' on t'other sides o' yore mouths.” - -He started down the steps into the yard as if going to the row of -bee-hives along the fence, but paused and came back. He had evidently -changed his mind. “I reckon,” he said, “I 'll jest _have_ to let you all -know about this or I won't have a speck o' peace from now on. I didn't -tell you at fust beca'se nobody kin keep a secret as well as the man it -belongs to, an' I was afeerd it ud leak out an' damage my interests; but -this last five thousand acres jest about sweeps all the best timber in -the whole Cohutta section, an' I mought as well let up. I reckon you all -know that ef--I say _ef_--my land was nigh a railroad it ud be low at -five times what I paid fer it, don't you? Well, then! The long an' short -of it is that I happen to be on the inside an' know that a railroad -is goin' to be run from Blue Lick Junction to Darley. It 'll be started -inside of the next yeer an' 'll run smack dab through my property. Thar -now, you know more'n you thought you did, don't you?” - -The little group stared into his glowing face incredulously. - -“A railroad is to be built, father?” exclaimed Alan. - -“That's what I said.” - -Mrs. Bishop's eyes flashed with sudden hope, and then, as if remembering -her husband's limitations, her face fell. - -“Alfred,” she asked, sceptically, “how does it happen that you know -about the railroad before other folks does?” - -“How do I? That's it now--how do I?” and the old man laughed freely. -“I've had my fun out o' this thing, listenin' to what every crank said -about me bein' cracked, an' so on; but I was jest a-lyin' low waitin' -fer my time.” - -“Well, I 'll be switched!” ejaculated Abner Daniel, half seriously, half -sarcastically. “Geewhilikins! a railroad! I've always said one would pay -like rips an' open up a dern good, God-fersaken country. I'm glad you -are a-goin' to start one, Alfred.” - -Alan's face was filled with an expression of blended doubt and pity for -his father's credulity. “Father,” he said, gently, “are you sure you got -your information straight?” - -“I got it from headquarters.” The old man raised himself on his toes and -knocked his heels together, a habit he had not indulged in for many a -year. “It was told to me confidentially by a man who knows all about the -whole thing, a man who is in the employ o' the company that's goin' to -build it.” - -“Huh!” the exclamation was Abner Daniel's, “do you mean that Atlanta -lawyer, Perkins?” - -Bishop stared, his mouth lost some of its pleased firmness, and he -ceased the motion of his feet. - -“What made you mention his name?” he asked, curiously. - -“Oh, I dunno; somehow I jest thought o' him. He looks to me like he -mought be buildin' a railroad ur two.” - -“Well, that's the man I mean,” said Bishop, more uneasily. - -Somehow the others were all looking at Abner Daniel, who grunted -suddenly and almost angrily. - -“I wouldn't trust that skunk no furder'n I could fling a bull by the -tail.” - -“You say you wouldn't?” Bishop tried to smile, but the effort was a -facial failure. - -“I wouldn't trust 'im nuther, brother Ab,” chimed in Mrs. Bishop. “As soon -as I laid eyes on 'im I knowed he wouldn't do. He's too mealy-mouthed an' -fawnin'. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth; he bragged on ever'thing we -had while he was heer. Now, Alfred, what we must git at is, what was his -object in tellin' you that tale.” - -“Object?” thundered her husband, losing his temper in the face of the -awful possibility that her words hinted at. “Are you all a pack an' -passle o' fools? If you must dive an' probe, then I 'll tell you he owns -a slice o' timber-land above Holley Creek, j'inin' some o' mine, an' -so he let me into the secret out o' puore good will. Oh, you all cayn't -skeer me; I ain't one o' the skeerin' kind.” - -But, notwithstanding this outburst, it was plain that doubt had actually -taken root in the ordinarily cautious mind of the crude speculator. His -face lengthened, the light of triumph went out of his eyes, leaving the -shifting expression of a man taking desperate chances. - -Abner Daniel laughed out harshly all at once and then was silent. -“What's the matter?” asked his sister, in despair. - -“I was jest a-wonderin',” replied her brother. - -“You are?” said Bishop, angrily. “It seems to me you don't do much -else.” - -“Folks 'at wonders a lot ain't so apt to believe ever'thing they heer,” - retorted Abner. “I was just a-wonderin' why that little, spindle-shanked -Peter Mosely has been holdin' his head so high the last week or so. I 'll -bet I could make a durn good guess now.” - -“What under the sun's Peter Mosely got to do with my business?” burst -from Bishop's impatient lips. - -“He's got a sorter roundabout connection with it, I reckon,” smiled -Abner, grimly. “I happen to know that Abe Tompkins sold 'im two thousand -acres o' timber-land on Huckleberry Ridge jest atter yore Atlanta man -spent the day lookin' round in these parts.” - -Bishop was no fool, and he grasped Abner's meaning even before it was -quite clear to the others. - -“Looky heer,” he said, sharply, “what do you take me fur?” - -“I'ain't tuck you fer nothin',” said Abner, with a grin. “Leastwise, -I'ain't tuck you fer five thousand dollars' wuth o' cotton-mill stock. -To make a long story short, the Atlanta jack-leg lawyer is akin to -the Tompkins family some way. I don't know exactly what kin, but Joe -Tompkins's wife stayed at Perkins's house when she was down thar havin' -er spine straightened. I'd bet a new hat to a ginger-cake that Perkins -never owned a spoonful o' land up heer, an' that he's jest he'pin' the -Tompkins folks on the sly to unload some o' the'r land, so they kin move -West, whar they've always wanted to go. Peter Mosely is a man on the -watch-out fer rail soft snaps, an' when Perkins whispered the big secret -in his yeer, like he did to you, he started out on a still hunt fer -timbered land on the line of the proposed trunk line due west vy-ah -Lickskillet to Darley, with stop-over privileges at Buzzard Roost, an' -fifteen minutes fer hash at Dog Trot Springs. Then, somehow or other, -by hook or crook--mostly crook--Abe Tompkins wasn't dodgin' anybody about -that time; Peter Mosely could 'a' run agin 'im with his eyes shut on -a dark night. I was at Neil Fulmore's store when the two met, an' ef a -trade was ever made quicker betwixt two folks it was done by telegraph -an' the paper was signed by lightnin'. Abe said he had the land an' -wouldn't part with it at any price ef he hadn't been bad in need o' -money, fer he believed it was chuck-full o' iron ore, soapstone, black -marble, an' water-power, to say nothin' o' timber, but he'd been troubled -so much about cash, he said, that he'd made up his mind to let 'er slide -an' the devil take the contents. I never seed two parties to a deal -better satisfied. They both left the store with a strut. Mosely's strut -was the biggest, fer he wasn't afeerd o' nothin'. Tompkins looked like -he was afeerd Mosely ud call 'im back an' want to rue.” - -“You mean to say--” But old Bishop seemed unable to put his growing fear -into words. - -“Oh, I don't know nothin' fer certain,” said Abner Daniel, -sympathetically; “but ef I was you I'd go down to Atlanta an' see -Perkins. You kin tell by the way he acts whether thar's anything in -his railroad story or not; but, by gum, you ort to know whar you stand. -You've loaded yorese'f from hind to fore quarters, an' ef you don't -plant yore feet on some'n you 'll go down.” - -Bishop clutched this proposition as a drowning man would a straw. “Well, -I will go see 'im,” he said. “I 'll go jest to satisfy you. As fer as I'm -concerned, I know he wasn't tellin' me no lie; but I reckon you all never -'ll rest till you are satisfied.” - -He descended the steps and crossed the yard to the barn. They saw him -lean over the rail fence for a moment as if in troubled thought, and -then he seemed to shake himself, as if to rid himself of an unpleasant -mental burden, and passed through the little sagging gate into the -stable to feed his horses. It was now noon. The sun was shining broadly -on the fields, and ploughmen were riding their horses home in their -clanking harnesses. - -“Poor father,” said Alan to his uncle, as his mother retired slowly into -the house. “He seems troubled, and it may mean our ruin--absolute ruin.” - -“It ain't no triflin' matter,” admitted Daniel. “Thar's no tellin' how -many thousand acres he may have bought; he's keepin' somethin' to hisse'f. -I remember jest when that durn skunk of a lawyer put that flea in his -yeer. They was at Hanson's mill, an' talked confidential together mighty -nigh all mornin'. But let's not cross a bridge tell we git to it. Let's -talk about some'n else. I hain't never had a chance to tell you, but I -seed that gal in town yesterday, an' talked to 'er.” - -“Did you, Uncle Ab?” the face of the young man brightened. His tone was -eager and expectant. - -“Yes, I'd hitched in the wagon-yard an' run into Hazen's drug-store to -git a box o' axle-grease, an' was comin' out with the durn stuff under -my arm when I run upon 'er a-settin' in a buggy waitin' to git a clerk to -fetch 'er out a glass o' sody-water. She recognized me, an' fer no other -earthly reason than that I'm yore uncle she spoke to me as pleasin' as -a basket o' chips. What was I to do? I never was in such a plight in my -life. I'd been unloadin' side-meat at Bartow's warehouse, an' was kivered -from head to foot with salt and grease. I didn't have on no coat, -an' the seat o' my pants was non est--I don't think thar was any est -about 'em, to tell the truth; but I knowed it wouldn't be the part of a -gentleman to let 'er set thar stretchin' 'er neck out o' socket to call -a clerk when I was handy, so I wheeled about, hopin' an' prayin' ef she -did look at me she'd take a fancy to the back o' my head, an' went in -the store an' told 'em to git a hustle on the'r-se'ves. When I come out, -she hauled me up to ax some questions about when camp-meetin' was goin' -to set in this yeer, and when Adele was comin' home. I let my box o' -axle-grease drap, an' it rolled like a wagon-wheel off duty, an' me -after it, bendin'--_bendin_' of all positions--heer an' yan in the most -ridiculous way. I tell you I'd never play croquet ur leapfrog in them -pants. All the way home I thought how I'd disgraced you.” - -“Oh, you are all right, Uncle Ab,” laughed Alan. “She's told me several -times that she likes you very much. She says you are genuine--genuine -through and through, and she's right.” - -“I'd ruther have her say it than any other gal I know,” said Abner. -“She's purty as red shoes, an', ef I'm any judge, she's genuwine too. -I've got another idee about 'er, but I ain't a-givin' it away jest now.” - -“You mean that she--” - -“No,” and the old man smiled mischievously, “I didn't mean nothin' o' -the sort. I wonder how on earth you could 'a' got sech a notion in yore -head. I'm goin' to see how that black scamp has left my cotton land. -I 'll bet he hain't scratched it any deeper'n a old hen would 'a' done -lookin' fer worms.” - - - - -III - - -[Illustration: 0026] - -HE next morning at breakfast Alfred Bishop announced -his intention of going to Atlanta to talk to Perkins, and incidentally -to call on his brother William, who was a successful wholesale merchant -in that city. - -“I believe I would,” said Mrs. Bishop. “Maybe William will tell you what -to do.” - -“I'd see Perkins fust,” advised Abner Daniel. “Ef I felt shore Perkins -had buncoed me I'd steer cleer o' William. I'd hate to heer 'im let out -on that subject. He's made his pile by keepin' a sharp lookout.” - -“I hain't had no reason to think I have been lied to,” said Bishop, -doggedly, as he poured his coffee into his saucer and shook it about to -cool. “A body could hear his death-knell rung every minute ef he'd jest -listen to old women an'--” - -“Old bachelors,” interpolated Abner. “I reckon they _are_ alike. The -longer a man lives without a woman the more he gits like one. I reckon -that's beca'se the man 'at lives with one don't see nothin' wuth -copyin' in 'er, an' vice-a-versy.” - -Mrs. Bishop had never been an appreciative listener to her brother's -philosophy. She ignored what he had just said and its accompanying -smile, which was always Abner's subtle apology for such observations. - -“Are you goin' to tell Adele about the railroad?” she asked. - -“I reckon I won't tell 'er to git up a' excursion over it, 'fore the -cross-ties is laid,” retorted Bishop, sharply, and Abner Daniel -laughed--that sort of response being in his own vein. - -“I was goin' to say,” pursued the softly treading wife, “that I wouldn't -mention it to 'er, ef--ef--Mr. Perkins ain't to be relied on, beca'se -she worries enough already about our pore way o' livin' compared to her -uncle's folks. Ef she knowed how I spent last night she'd want to come -back. But I ain't a-goin' to let brother Ab skeer me yet. It is jest too -awful to think about. What on earth would we do? What would we, I say?” - -That afternoon Bishop was driven to Darley by a negro boy who was to -bring the buggy back home. He first repaired to a barber-shop, where he -was shaved, had his hair cut, and his shoes blacked; then he went to the -station half an hour before time and impatiently walked up and down the -platform till the train arrived. - -It was six o'clock when he reached Atlanta and made his way through the -jostling crowd in the big passenger depot out into the streets. He -had his choice of going at once to the residence of his brother, on -Peachtree Street, the most fashionable avenue of the city, or looking -up Perkins in his office. He decided to unburden his mind by at once -calling on the lawyer, whose office was in a tall building quite near at -hand. - -It was the hour at which Perkins usually left for home, but the old -planter found him in. - -“Oh, it's you, Mr. Bishop,” he said, suavely, as he rose from his desk -in the dingy, disordered little room with its single window. He pushed -a chair forward. “Sit down; didn't know you were in town. At your -brother's, I reckon. How are the crops up the road? Too much rain last -month, I'm afraid.” - -Bishop sank wearily into the chair. He had tired himself out thinking -over what he would say to the man before him and with the awful -contemplation of what the man might say to him. - -“They are doin' as well as can be expected,” he made answer; but he -didn't approve of even that platitude, for he was plain and outspoken, -and hadn't come all that distance for a mere exchange of courtesies. -Still, he lacked the faculty to approach easily the subject which had -grown so heavy within the last twenty-four hours, and of which he now -almost stood in terror. - -“Well, that's good,” returned Perkins. He took up a pen as he resumed his -seat, and began to touch it idly to the broad nail of his thumb. He was -a swarthy man of fifty-five or sixty, rather tall and slender, with -a bald head that sloped back sharply from heavy, jutting brows, under -which a pair of keen, black eyes shone and shifted. “Come down to see -your daughter,” he said. “Good thing for her that you have a brother in -town. By-the-way, he's a fine type of a man. He's making headway, too; -his trade is stretching out in all directions--funny how different you -two are! He seems to take to a swallow-tail coat and good cigars like -a duck to water, while you want the open sky above you, sweet-smelling -fields around, an' fishing, hunting, sowing, reaping, and chickens--fat, -juicy ones, like your wife fried when I was there. And her apple-butter! -Ice-cream can' t hold a candle to it.” - -“I 'lowed I'd see William 'fore I went back,” said Bishop, rather -irrelevantly, and, for the lack of something else to do, he took out his -eye-glasses and perched them on his sharp nose, only, on discovering -the inutility of the act, to restore them clumsily to his pocket. He was -trying to persuade himself, in the silence that followed, that, if -the lawyer had known of his trade with the Tompkins heirs, he would -naturally have alluded to it. Then, seeing that Perkins was staring at -him rather fixedly, he said--it was a verbal plunge: “I bought some more -timber-land yesterday!” - -“Oh, you did? That's good.” Perkins's eyes fluttered once or twice -before his gaze steadied itself on the face of the man before him. -“Well, as I told you, Mr. Bishop, that sort of a thing is a good -investment. I reckon it's already climbing up a little, ain't it?” - -“Not much yet.” It struck Bishop that he had given the lawyer a splendid -opportunity to speak of the chief cause for an advance in value, and his -heart felt heavier as he finished. “But I took quite a slice the last -time--five thousand acres at the old figure, you know--a dollar a acre.” - -“You don't say! That _was_ a slice.” - -Bishop drew himself up in his chair and inhaled a deep breath. It was as -if he took into himself in that way the courage to make his next remark. - -“I got it from the Tompkins estate.” - -“You don't say. I didn't know they had that much on hand.” - -There was a certain skill displayed in the lawyer's choice of questions -and observations that somehow held him aloof from the unlettered man, -and there was, too, something in his easy, bland manner that defied the -open charge of underhand dealing, and yet Bishop had not paid out his -railroad fare for nothing. He was not going back to his home-circle no -wiser than when he left it. His next remark surprised himself; it was -bluntness hardened by despair. - -“Sence I bought the land I've accidentally heerd that you are some kin -o' that family.” - -Perkins started slightly and raised his brows. - -“Oh yes; on my wife's side, away off, some way or other. I believe -the original Tompkins that settled there from Virginia was my wife's -grandfather. I never was much of a hand to go into such matters.” - -The wily lawyer had erected as strong a verbal fence as was possible on -such short notice, and for a moment it looked as if Bishop's frankness -would not attempt to surmount it; but it did, in a fashion. - -“When I heerd that, Perkins, it was natural fer me to wonder why you, -you see--why you didn't tell _them_ about the railroad.” - -The sallow features of the lawyer seemed to stiffen. He drew himself up -coldly and a wicked expression flashed in his eyes. - -“Take my advice, old man,” he snarled, as he threw down his pen and -stared doggedly into Bishop's face, “stick to your farming and don't -waste your time asking a professional lawyer questions which have no -bearing on your business whatever. Now, really, do I have to explain to -you my personal reasons for not favoring the Tompkins people with a--I -may say--any piece of information?” - -Bishop was now as white as death; his worst suspicions were confirmed; -he was a ruined man; there was no further doubt about that. Suddenly he -felt unable to bridle the contemptuous fury that raged within him. - -“I think I know _why_ you didn't tell 'em,” was what he hurled at the -lawyer. - -“You think you do.” - -“Yes, it was beca'se you knowed no road was goin' to be built. You told -Pete Mosely the same tale you did me, an' Abe Tompkins unloaded on 'im. -That's a way you have o' doin' business.” - -Perkins stood up. He took his silk hat from the top of his desk and put -it on. “Oh yes, old man,” he sneered, “I'm a terribly dishonest fellow; -but I've got company in this world. Now, really, the only thing that has -worried me has been your unchristian act in buying all that land from -the Tompkins heirs at such a low figure when the railroad will advance -its value so greatly. Mr. Bishop, I thought you were a good Methodist.” - -“Oh, you kin laugh an' jeer all you like,” cried Bishop, “but I can -handle you fer this.” - -“You are not as well versed in the law as you are in fertilizers, Mr. -Bishop,” sneered the lawyer. “In order to make a case against me, you'd -have to publicly betray a matter I told to you in confidence, and then -what would you gain? I doubt if the court would force me to explain -a private matter like this where the interests of my clients are -concerned. And if the court did, I could simply show the letters I have -regarding the possible construction of a railroad in your section. If -you remember rightly, I did not say the thing was an absolute certainty. -On top of all this, you'd be obliged to prove collusion between me and -the Tompkins heirs over a sale made by their attorney, Mr. Trabue. There -is one thing certain, Mr. Bishop, and that is that you have forfeited -your right to any further confidence in this matter. If the road is -built you 'll find out about it with the rest of your people. You think -you acted wisely in attacking me this way, but you have simply cut off -your nose to spite your face. Now I have a long car-ride before me, and -it's growing late.” - -Bishop stood up. He was quivering as with palsy. His voice shook and -rang like that of a madman. - -“You are a scoundrel, Perkins,” he said--“a dirty black snake in the -grass. I want to tell you that.” - -“Well, I hope you won't make any charge for it.” - -“No, it's free.” Bishop turned to the door. There was a droop upon -his whole body. He dragged his feet as he moved out into the unlighted -corridor, where he paused irresolutely. So great was his agony that he -almost obeyed an impulse to go back and fall at the feet of Perkins and -implore his aid to rescue him and his family from impending ruin. The -lawyer was moving about the room, closing his desk and drawing down the -window-shade. Up from the street came the clanging of locomotive bells -under the car-shed, the whir of street-cars, the clatter of cabs on the -cobble-stones. - -“It's no use,” sighed Bishop, as he made his way down-stairs. “I'm -ruined--Alan an' Adele hain't a cent to their names, an' that devil--” - Bishop paused on the first landing like an animal at bay. He heard the -steady step of Perkins on the floor above, and for a moment his fingers -tingled with the thought of waiting there in the darkness and choking -the life out of the subtle scoundrel who had taken advantage of his -credulity. - -But with a groan that was half a prayer he went on down the steps and -out into the lighted streets. At the first corner he saw a car which -would take him to his brother's, and he hastened to catch it. - -William Bishop's house was a modern brick structure, standing on a -well-clipped lawn which held a gothic summer-house and two or three -marble statues. It was in the best portion of the avenue. Reaching it, -the planter left the car and approached the iron gate which opened on to -the granite steps leading up the terrace. It was now quite dark and many -pedestrians were hurrying homeward along the sidewalks. Obeying a sudden -impulse, the old man irresolutely passed by the gate and walked farther -up the street. He wanted to gain time, to think whether it would be -best for him in his present state of mind to meet those fashionable -relatives--above all, his matter-of-fact, progressive brother. - -“Somehow I don't feel one bit like it,” he mused. “I couldn't tell -William. He'd think I wanted to borrow money an' ud git skeerd right -off. He always was afeerd I'd mismanage. An' then I'd hate to sp'ile -Adele's visit, an' she could tell thar was some'n wrong by me bein' heer -in sech a flurry. I reckon I _do_ show it. How could a body he'p it? Oh, -my Lord, have mercy! It's all gone, all--all me'n Betsy has saved.” - -He turned at the corner of his brother's property and slowly retraced -his halting steps to the gate, but he did not pause, continuing his -way back towards the station. A glance at the house showed that all the -lower rooms were lighted, as well as the big prismatic lamp that hung -over the front door. Bishop saw forms in light summer clothing on the -wide veranda. “I 'll bet that tallest one is Sis,” he said, pathetically. -“I jest wish I could see 'er a little while. Maybe it ud stop this awful -hurtin' a little jest to look at 'er an' heer 'er laugh like she always -did at home. She'd be brave; she wouldn't cry an' take on; but it would -hurt 'er away down in 'er heart, especially when she's mixin' with sech -high-flyers an' money-spenders. Lord, what 'll I do fer cash to send 'er -next month? I'm the land-porest man in my county.” - -As he went along he passed several fashionable hotels, from which -orchestral music came. Through the plate-glass windows he saw men and -women, amid palms and flowers, dining in evening dress and sparkling -jewels. - -Reaching the station, he inquired about a train to Darley, and was told -that one left at midnight. He decided to take it, and in the mean time -he would have nothing to occupy him. He was not hungry; the travel and -worry had killed his appetite; but he went into a little café across -the street from the depot and ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee. He -drank the coffee at a gulp, but the food seemed to stick in his throat. -After this he went into the waiting-room, which was thronged with tired -women holding babies in their arms, and roughly clad emigrants with -packs and oil-cloth bags. He sat in one of the iron-armed seats without -moving till he heard his train announced, and then he went into the -smoking-car and sat down in a corner. - -He reached Darley at half-past three in the morning and went to the only -hotel in the place. The sleepy night-clerk rose from his lounge behind -the counter in the office and assigned him to a room to which a colored -boy, vigorously rubbing his eyes, conducted him. Left alone in his room, -he sat down on the edge of his bed and started to undress, but with a -sigh he stopped. - -“What's the use o' me lyin' down almost at daybreak?” he asked -himself. “I mought as well be on the way home. I cayn't sleep nohow.” - -Blowing out his lamp, he went down-stairs and roused the clerk again. -“Will I have to pay fer that bed ef I don't use it?” he questioned. - -“Why, no, Mr. Bishop,” said the clerk. - -“Well, I believe I 'll start out home.” - -“Is your team in town?” asked the clerk. - -“The team I'm a-goin' to use is. I'm goin' to foot it. I've done the -like before this.” - -“Well, it's a purty tough stretch,” smiled the clerk. “But the roads are -good.” - - - - -IV - - -[Illustration: 9035] - -T was a little after sunrise; the family had just -left the breakfast-table when Bishop walked in; his shoes and trousers -were damp with dew and covered with the dust of the road. His wife saw -him entering the gate and called out to him from the hall: - -“Well, I declare! Didn't you go to Atlanta?” - -He came slowly up the steps, dragging his feet after him. He had the -appearance of a man beaten by every storm that could fall upon a human -being. - -“Yes, I went,” he said, doggedly. He passed her and went into the -sitting-room, where his brother-inlaw stood at the fireplace lighting -his pipe with a live coal of fire on the tip of a stick. Abner Daniel -looked at him critically, his brows raised a little as he puffed, but he -said nothing. Mrs. Bishop came in behind her husband, sweeping him from -head to foot with her searching eyes. - -“You don't mean to tell me you walked out heer this mornin',” she cried. -“Lord have mercy!” - -“I don't know as I've prepared any set speech on the subject,” said her -husband, testily; “but I walked. I could 'a' gone to a livery an' ordered -out a team, but I believe thar's more'n one way o' wearin' sackcloth -an' ashes, an' the sooner I begin the better I 'll feel.” Abner Daniel -winked; the scriptural allusion appealed to his fancy, and he smiled -impulsively. - -“That thar is,” he said. “Thar's a whole way an' a half way. Some folks -jest wear it next to the skin whar it don't show, with broadcloth ur -silk on the outside. They think ef it scratches a little that 'll satisfy -the Lord an' hoodwink other folks. But I believe He meant it to be whole -hog or none.” - -Mrs. Bishop was deaf to this philosophy. “I don't see,” she said, in her -own field of reflection--“I don't see, I say, how you got to Atlanta; -attended to business; seed Adele; an' got back heer at sunrise. Why, -Alfred--” - -But Bishop interrupted her. “Have you all had prayers yet?” - -“No, you know we hain't,” said his wife, wondering over his strange -manner. “I reckon it can pass jest this once, bein' as you are tired an' -hain't had nothin' to eat.” - -“No, it can't pass, nuther; I don't want to touch a mouthful; tell the -rest of 'em to come in, an' you fetch me the Book.” - -“Well!” Mrs. Bishop went out and told the negro woman and her daughter -to stop washing the dishes and go in to prayer. Then she hurried out to -the back porch, where Alan was oiling his gun. - -“Something's happened to yore pa,” she said. “He acts queer, an' says -sech strange things. He walked all the way from Darley this morning, an' -now wants to have prayers 'fore he touches a bite o' breakfast. I reckon -we are ruined.” - -“I'm afraid that's it,” opined her son, as he put down his gun and -followed her into the sitting-room. Here the two negroes stood against -the wall. Abner Daniel was smoking and Bishop held the big family Bible -on his quivering knees. - -“Ef you mean to keep it up,” Abner was saying, argumentatively, “all -right an' good; but I don't believe in sudden spurts o' worship. My -hosses is hitched up ready to haul a load o' bark to the tannery, an' -it may throw me a little late at dinner; but ef you are a-goin' to make a -daily business of it I'm with you.” - -“I'm a-goin' to be regular from now on,” said Bishop, slowly turning the -leaves of the tome. “I forgot whar I read last.” - -“You didn't finish about Samson tyin' all them foxes' tails together,” - said Abner Daniel, as he knocked the hot ashes from his pipe into -the palm of his hand and tossed them into the chimney. “That sorter -interested me. I wondered how that was a-goin' to end. I'd hate to have -a passle o' foxes with torches to the'r tails turned loose in my wheat -jest 'fore cuttin' time. It must 'a' been a sight. I wondered how that -was a-goin' to end.” - -“You 'll wonder how _yo're_ a-goin' to end if you don't be more -respectful,” said his sister. - -“Like the foxes, I reckon,” grinned Abner, “with a eternal torch tied -to me. Well, ef I am treated that away, I 'll go into the business o' -destruction an' set fire to everything I run across.” - -“Ain' t you goin' to tell us what you did in Atlanta 'fore you have -prayer?” asked Mrs. Bishop, almost resentfully. - -“No, I hain't!” Bishop snapped. “I 'll tell you soon enough. I reckon I -won't read this mornin'; let's pray.” - -They all knelt reverently, and yet with some curiosity, for Bishop often -suited his prayers to important occasions, and it struck them that he -might now allude to the subject bound up within him. - -“Lord, God Almighty,” he began, his lower lip hanging and quivering, -as were his hands clasped in the seat of his chair, “Thou knowest the -struggle Thy creatures are makin' on the face of Thy green globe to live -up to the best of the'r lights an' standards. As I bend before Thee this -mornin' I realize how small a bein' I am in Thy sight, an' that I ort -to bow in humble submission to Thy will, an' I do. For many yeers this -family has enjoyed Thy bounteous blessings. We've had good health, -an' the influence of a Bible-readin', God-fearin' community, an' our -childern has been educated in a way that raised 'em head an' shoulders -above many o' the'r associates an' even blood kin. I don't know exactly -whar an' how I've sinned; but I know I have displeased Thee, fer Thy -scourge has fallen hard an' heavy on my ambitions. I wanted to see my -boy heer, a good, obedient son, an' my daughter thar in Atlanta, able to -hold the'r heads up among the folks they mix with, an' so I reached out. -Maybe it was forbidden fruit helt out by a snake in the devil's service. -I don't know--Thou knowest. Anyways, I steered my course out o' the calm -waters o' content an' peace o' soul into the whirlpool rapids o' -avarice an' greed. I'lowed I was in a safe haven an' didn't dream o' -the storm-clouds hangin' over me till they bust in fury on my head. Now, -Lord, my Father, give them hearts of patience an' forgiveness fer the -blunders of Thy servant. What I done, I done in the bull-headed way that -I've always done things; but I meant good an' not harm. These things we -ask in the name o' Jesus Christ, our blessed Lord an' Master. Amen.” - -During the latter part of the prayer Mrs. Bishop had been staring at her -husband through her parted fingers, her face pale and agitated, and as -she rose her eyes were glued to his face. - -“Now, Alfred,” she said, “what are you goin' to tell us about the -railroad? Is it as bad as brother Ab thought it would be?” - -Bishop hesitated. It seemed as if he had even then to tear himself from -the clutch of his natural stubbornness. He looked into all the anxious, -waiting faces before he spoke, and then he gave in. - -“Ab made a good guess. Ef I'd 'a' had his sense, or Alan' s, I'd 'a' made -a better trader. It's like Ab said it was, only a sight wuss--a powerful -sight wuss!” - -“Wuss?” gasped his wife, In fresh alarm. “How could it be wuss? Why, -brother Ab said--” - -“I never have told you the extent o' my draim's,” went on Bishop in the -current of confession. “I never even told Perkins yesterday. Fust -an' last I've managed to rake in fully twenty thousand acres o' -mountain-land. I was goin' on what I'lowed was a dead-shore thing. -I secured all I could lay my hands on, an' I did it in secret. I was -afeerd even to tell you about what Perkins said, thinkin' it mought leak -out an' sp'ile my chances.” - -“But, father,” said Alan, “you didn't have enough money to buy all that -land.” - -“I got it up”--Bishop's face was doggedly pale, almost defiant of his -overwhelming disaster--“I mortgaged this farm to get money to buy Maybry -and Morton's four thousand acres.” - -“The farm you was going to deed to Alan?” gasped his wife. “You didn't -include that?” - -“Not in _that_ deal,” groaned Bishop. “I swapped that to Phil Parsons -fer his poplar an' cypress belt.” The words seemed to cut raspingly into -the silence of the big room. Abner Daniel was the only one who seemed -unmoved by the confession. He filled his pipe from the bowl on the -mantel-piece and pressed the tobacco down with his forefinger; then he -kicked the ashes in the chimney till he uncovered a small five coal. He -eyed it for a moment, then dipped it up in the shovel, rolled it into -his pipe, and began to smoke. - -“So I ain't a-goin' to git no yeerly pass over the new road,” he said, -his object being to draw his brother-in-law back to Perkins's action in -the matter. - -“Perkins was a-lyin' to me,” answered Bishop. “He hain't admitted it yet; -but he was a-lyin'. His object was to he'p the Tompkins sell out fer a -decent price, but he can' t be handled; he's got me on the hip.” - -“No,” said Abner. “I'd ruther keep on swappin' gold dollars fer -mountain-land an' lettin' it go fer taxes 'an to try to beat a lawyer at -his own game. A court-house is like the devil's abode, easy to git into, -no outlet, an' nothin' but scorch while you are thar.” - -“Hush, fer the name o' goodness!” cried Mrs. Bishop, looking at her -husband. “Don't you see he's dyin' from it? Are you all a-goin' to kill -'im? What does a few acres o' land ur debts amount to beside killin' a -man 'at's been tryin' to help us all? Alfred, it ain't so mighty awful. -You know it ain't! What did me 'n' you have when we started out but -a log-house boarded up on the outside? an' now we've got our childern -educated an' all of us in good health. I railly believe it's a sin agin -God's mercy fer us to moan an' fret under a thing like this.” - -“That's the talk,” exclaimed Abner Daniel, enthusiastically. “Now you -are gittin' down to brass tacks. I've always contended--” - -“For God's sake, don't talk that way!” said Bishop to his wife. “You -don't mean a word of it. You are jest a-sayin' it to try to keep me from -seein' what a fool I am.” - -“You needn't worry about me, father,” said Alan, firmly. “I am able -to look out for myself an' for you and mother. It's done, and the best -thing to do is to look at it in a sensible way. Besides, a man with -twenty thousand acres of mountain-land paid for is not broken, by a long -jump.” - -“Yes, I'm gone,” said Bishop, a wavering look of gratitude in his eye as -he turned to his son. “I figured on it all last night. I can't pay the -heavy interest an' come out. I was playin' for big stakes an' got left. -Thar's nothin' to do but give up. Me buyin' so much land has made it -rise a little, but when I begin to try to sell I won't be able to give -it away.” - -“Thar's some'n in that,” opined Abner Daniel, as he turned to leave the -room. “I reckon I mought as well go haul that tan-bark. I reckon you -won't move out 'fore dinner.” - -Alan followed him out to the wagon. - -“It's pretty tough, Uncle Ab,” he said. “I hadn't the slightest idea it -was so bad.” - -“I wasn't so shore,” said Daniel. “But I was jest a-thinkin' in thar. -You've got a powerful good friend in Rayburn Miller. He's the sharpest -speculator in North Georgia; ef I was you, I'd see him an' lay the whole -thing before him. He 'll be able to give you good advice, an' I'd take -it. A feller that's made as much money as he has at his age won't give a -friend bad advice.” - -“I thought of him,” said Alan; “but I am a little afraid he will think -we want to borrow money, and he never lets out a cent without the best -security.” - -“Well, you needn't be afeerd on that score,” laughed the old man, as -he reached up on the high wagon-seat for his whip. “I once heerd 'im say -that business an' friendship wouldn't mix any better'n oil an' water.” - - - - -V - - -[Illustration: 9042] - -HE following Saturday Alan went to Darley, as he -frequently did, to spend Sunday. On such visits he usually stayed at the -Johnston House, a great, old-fashioned brick building that had survived -the Civil War and remained untouched by the shot and shell that hurtled -over it during that dismal period when most of the population had -“refugeed farther south.” It had four stories, and was too big for the -town, which could boast of only two thousand inhabitants, one-third of -whom were black. However, the smallness of the town was in the hotel's -favor, for in a place where no one would have patronized a second-class -hotel, opposition would have died a natural death. The genial proprietor -and his family were of the best blood, and the Johnston House was a sort -of social club-house, where the church people held their affairs and the -less serious element gave dances. To be admitted to the hotel without -having to pay for one's dinner was the hallmark of social approval. It -was near the ancient-looking brick car-shed under which the trains of -two main lines ran, and a long freight warehouse of the same date -and architecture. Around the hotel were clustered the chief financial -enterprises of the town--its stores, post-office, banks, and a hall -for theatrical purposes. Darley was the seat of its county, and another -relic of the days before the war was its court house. The principal -sidewalks were paved with brick, which in places were damp and green, -and sometimes raised above their common level by the undergrowing roots -of the sycamore-trees that edged the streets. - -In the office of the hotel, just after registering his name, Alan -met his friend Rayburn Miller, for whose business ability, it may be -remembered, Abner Daniel had such high regard. He was a fine-looking man -of thirty-three, tall and of athletic build; he had dark eyes and hair, -and a ruddy, out-door complexion. - -“Hello,” he said, cordially. “I thought you might get in to-day, so I -came round to see. Sorry you've taken a room. I wanted you to sleep with -me to-night. Sister's gone, and no one is there but the cook. Hello, I -must be careful. I'm drumming for business right under Sanford's nose.” - -“I 'll make you stay with me to make up for it,” said Alan, as the clerk -behind the counter laughed good-naturedly over the allusion to himself. - -“Blamed if I don't think about it,” said Miller. “Come round to the -office. I want to talk to you. I reckon you've got every plough going -such weather as this.” - -“Took my horse out of the field to drive over,” said Alan, as they -went out and turned down to a side street where there was a row of law -offices, all two-roomed buildings, single-storied, built of brick, and -bearing battered tin signs. One of these buildings was Miller's, which, -like all its fellows, had its door wide open, thus inviting all the -lawyers in the “row” and all students of law to enter and borrow books -or use the ever-open desk. - -Rayburn Miller was a man among ten thousand in his class. Just after -being graduated at the State University he was admitted to the bar and -took up the practice of law. He could undoubtedly have made his way at -this alone, had not other and more absorbing talents developed within -him. Having had a few thousand dollars left him at his father's death, -he began to utilize this capital in “note shaving,” and other methods -of turning over money for a handsome profit furnished by the unsettled -conditions, the time, and locality. He soon became an adept in many -lines of speculation, and as he was remarkably shrewd and cautious, it -is not to be wondered at that he soon accumulated quite a fortune. - -“Take a seat,” he said to Alan, as they went into the office, and he -threw himself into the revolving-chair at his littered desk. “I want to -talk to you. I suppose you are in for some fun. The boys are getting -up a dance at the hotel and they want your dollar to help pay the band. -It's a good one this time. They've ordered it from Chattanooga. It will -be down on the seven-thirty-five. Got a match?” - -Alan had not, and Miller turned his head to the open door. An old negro -happened to be passing, with an axe on his shoulder. - -“Heigh, there, Uncle Ned!” Miller called out. - -The negro had passed, but he heard his name called and he came back and -looked in at the door. - -“Want me, Marse Rayburn?” - -“Yes, you old scamp; get me a match or I 'll shoot the top of your head -off.” - -“All right, suh; all right, Marse Rayburn!” - -“You ought to know him,” said Miller, with a smile, as the negro hurried -into the adjoining office. “His wife cooks for Colonel Barclay; he -might tell you if Miss Dolly's going to-night, but I know she is. Frank -Hillhouse checked her name off the list, and I heard him say she'd -accepted. By-the-way, that fellow will do to watch. I think he and the -Colonel are pretty thick.” - -“Will you never let up on that?” Alan asked with a flush. - -“I don't know that I shall,” laughed Rayburn. “It seems so funny to see -you in love, or, rather, to see you think you are.” - -“I have never said I was,” said Alan, sharply. - -“But you show it so blamed plain,” said Miller. - -“Heer 'tis, Marse Rayburn. Marse Trabue said you could have a whole box -ef you'd put up wid sulphur ones.” - -Miller took the matches from the outstretched hand and tossed a cigar -to Alan. “Say, Uncle Ned,” he asked, “do you know that gentleman?” - indicating Alan with a nod of his head. - -A quizzical look dawned in the old negro's eyes, and then he gave a -resounding guffaw and shook all over. - -“I reckon I know his hoss, Marse Rayburn,” he tittered. - -“That's a good one on you, Alan,” laughed Miller. “He knows your -'hoss.'I 'll have to spring that on you when I see you two together.” - -As the negro left the office Mr. Trabue leaned in the doorway, holding -his battered silk hat in his hand and mopping his perspiring face. - -He nodded to Alan, and said to Miller: “Do you want to write?” - -“Not any more for you, thanks,” said Miller. “I have the back-ache now -from those depositions I made out for you yesterday.” - -“Oh, I don't mean that,” the old lawyer assured him, “but I had to -borrow yore ink just now, and seein' you at yore desk I thought you -might need it.” - -“Oh, if I do,” jested Miller, “I can buy another bottle at the -book-store. They pay me a commission on the ink I furnish the row. They -let me have it cheap by the case. What stumps me is that you looked -in to see if I needed it. You are breaking the rule, Mr. Trabue. They -generally make me hunt for my office furniture when I need it. They've -borrowed everything I have except my iron safe. Their ignorance of the -combination, its weight, and their confirmed laziness is all that saved -it.” - -When the old lawyer had gone the two friends sat and smoked in silence -for several minutes. Alan was studying Miller's face. Something told him -that the news of his father's disaster had reached him, and that Miller -was going to speak of it. He was not mistaken, for the lawyer soon -broached the subject. - -“I've been intending to ride out to see you almost every day this week,” - he said, “but business has always prevented my leaving town.” - -“Then you have heard--” - -“Yes, Alan, I'm sorry, but it's all over the country. A man's bad luck -spreads as fast as good war news. I heard it the next day after your -father returned from Atlanta, and saw the whole thing in a flash. The -truth is, Perkins had the cheek to try his scheme on me. I'm the first -target of every scoundrel who has something to sell, and I've learned -many of their tricks. I didn't listen to all he had to say, but got rid -of him as soon as I could. You must not blame the old man. As I see it -now, it was a most plausible scheme, and the shame of it is that no one -can be handled for it. I don't think the Tompkins heirs knew anything of -Perkins's plans at all, except that he was to get a commission, perhaps, -if the property was sold. Trabue is innocent, too--a cat's-paw. As for -Perkins, he has kept his skirts clear of prosecution. Your father will -have to grin and bear it. He really didn't pay a fabulous price for -the land, and if he were in a condition to hold on to it for, say, -twenty-five years, he might not lose money; but who can do that sort -of thing? I have acres and acres of mountain-land offered me at a much -lower figure, but what little money I've made has been made by turning -my capital rapidly. Have you seen Dolly since it happened?” - -“No, not for two weeks,” replied Alan. “I went to church with her Sunday -before last, and have not seen her since. I was wondering if she had -heard about it.” - -“Oh yes; she's heard it from the Colonel. It may surprise you, but the -thing has rubbed him the wrong way.” - -“Why, I don't understand,” exclaimed Alan. “Has he--” - -“The old man has had about two thousand acres of land over near your -father's purchases, and it seems that he was closely watching all your -father's deals, and, in spite of his judgment to the contrary, Mr. -Bishop's confidence in that sort of real-estate has made him put a -higher valuation on his holdings over there. So you see, now that your -father's mistake is common talk, he is forced to realize a big slump, -and he wants to blame some one for it. I don't know but that your father -or some one else made him an offer for his land which he refused. So you -see it is only natural for him to be disgruntled.” - -“I see,” said Alan. “I reckon you heard that from Miss Dolly?” - -Miller smoked slowly. - -“Yes”--after a pause--“I dropped in there night before last and she told -me about it. She's not one of your surface creatures. She talks sensibly -on all sorts of subjects. Of course, she's not going to show her heart -to me, but she couldn't hide the fact that your trouble was worrying her -a good deal. I think she'd like to see you at the ball to-night. Frank -Hillhouse will give you a dance or two. He's going to be hard to -beat. He's the most attentive fellow I ever run across. He's got a new -buggy--a regular hug-me-tight--and a high-stepping Kentucky mare for the -summer campaign. He 'll have some money at his father's death, and all -the old women say he's the best catch in town because he doesn't drink, -has a Sunday-school class, and will have money. We are all going to wear -evening-suits to-night. There are some girls from Rome visiting Hattie -Alexander, and we don't want them to smell hay in our hair. You know how -the boys are; unless all of us wear spike-tails no one will, so we took -a vote on it and we 'll be on a big dike. There 'll be a devilish lot of -misfits. Those who haven't suits are borrowing in all directions. Frank -Buford will rig out in Colonel Day's antebellum toggery. Did you bring -yours?” - -“It happens to be at Parker's shop, being pressed,” said Alan. - -“I've had three in the last six years,” laughed Miller. “You know how -much larger Todd Selman is than I am; he bursted one of mine from collar -to waist last summer at the Springs, and sweated so much that you could -dust salt out of it for a month afterwards. I can't refuse 'em, God -bless 'em! Jeff Higgins married in my best Prince Albert last week and -spilled boiled custard on it; but he's got a good wife and a fair job on -a railroad in Tennessee now. I'd have given him the coat, but he'd never -have accepted it, and been mad the rest of his life at my offer. Parker -said somebody had tried to scrape the custard off with a sharp knife, -and that he had a lot of trouble cleaning it. I wore the coat yesterday -and felt like I was going to be married. Todd must have left some of -his shivers in it I reckon that's as near as I 'll ever come to the -hitching-post.” - -Just then a tall, thin man entered. He wore a rather threadbare -frock-coat, unevenly bound with braid, and had a sallow, sunken, and -rather long face. It was Samuel Craig, one of the two private bankers of -the town. He was about sixty years of age and had a pronounced stoop. - -“Hello!” he said, pleasantly; “you young bloods are a-goin' to play -smash with the gals' hearts to-night, I reckon. I say go it while you -are young. Rayburn, I want to get one of them iron-clad mortgage-blanks. -I've got a feller that is disposed to wiggle, an' I want to tie 'im up. -The inventor of that form is a blessing to mankind.” - -“Help yourself,” smiled Miller. “I was just telling Mr. Trabue that I -was running a stationery store, and if I was out of anything in the line -I'd order it for him.” - -The banker laughed good-humoredly as he selected several of the blanks -from the drawer Rayburn had opened in the desk. - -“I hope you won't complain as much of hard times as Jake Pitner does,” - he chuckled. “I passed his store the other day, where he was standin' -over some old magazines that he'd marked down. - -“'How's trade?' I asked 'im. 'It's gone clean to hell,' he said, and I -noticed he'd been drinking. 'I 'll give you a sample of my customers,' -he went on. 'A feller from the mountains come in jest now an' asked the -price of these magazines. I told him the regular price was twenty-five -cents apiece, but I'd marked 'em down to five. He looked at 'em for about -half a hour an' then said he wasn't goin' out o' town till sundown an' -believed he'd take one if I'd read it to him.'” - -Craig laughed heartily as he finished the story, and Alan and Miller -joined in. - -“I want you to remember that yarn when you get to over-checkin' on me,” - said Craig, jestingly. “I was just noticing this morning that you have -drawn more than your deposit.” - -“Over-checked?” said Miller. “You 'll think I have when all my checks get -in. I mailed a dozen to-day. They 'll slide in on you in about a week and -you 'll telegraph _Bradstreet's_ to know how I stand. This is a _fine_ -banker,” Miller went on to Alan. “He twits me about over-checking -occasionally. Let me tell you something. Last year I happened to have -ten thousand dollars on my hands waiting for a cotton factory to begin -operations down in Alabama, and as I had no idea when the money would -be called for I placed it with his nibs here 'on call.'Things got in a -tangle at the mill and they kept waiting, and our friend here concluded -I had given it to him.” - -“I thought you had forgotten you had it,” said Craig, with another of -his loud, infectious laughs. - -“Anyway,” went on Miller, “I got a sudden order for the amount and ran -in on him on my way from the post-office. I made out my check and stuck -it under his nose. Great Scott! you ought to have seen him wilt. I don't -believe he had half of it in the house, but he had ten million excuses. -He kept me waiting two days and hustled around to beat the band. He -thought I was going to close him up.” - -“That was a close shave,” admitted Craig. “Never mind about the -over-checking, my boy; keep it up, if it will help you. You are doing -altogether too much business with the other bank to suit me, anyway.” - - - - -VI - - -[Illustration: 9051] - -HE young people assembled slowly at the dance that -evening. Towards dark it had begun raining, and according to custom two -livery-stable carriages, called “hacks,” were engaged to convey all the -couples to and from the hotel. There was no disputing over who should -have the first use of the vehicles, for the young ladies who had the -reputation of getting ready early on such occasions were gone after -first, and those who liked to take their time in making preparations -were left till later. - -Everything in life is relative, and to young people who often went to -even less pretentious entertainments this affair was rather impressive -in its elegance. Lamps shone everywhere, and bunches of candles blazed -and sputtered in nooks hung about with evergreens. The girls were -becomingly attired in light evening-gowns, and many of them were -good-looking, refined, and graceful. All were soft-spoken and easy in -their manners, and either wore or carried flowers. The evening-suits of -the young men were well in evidence, and more noticeable to the wearers -themselves than they would have been to a spectator used to conventional -style of dress. They could be seen in all stages of inadaptability to -figures too large or too small, and even after the dance began -there were several swaps, and a due amount of congratulation on the -improvement from the appreciative fair sex. The young lady accompanying -each young man had pinned a small bouquet on his lapel, so that it -would have been impossible to tell whether a man had a natural taste for -flowers or was the willing victim to a taste higher than his own. - -Rayburn Miller and Alan sat smoking and talking in the room of the -latter till about half-past nine o' clock, and then they went down. As -a general rule, young men were expected to escort ladies to dances, when -the young men went at all; but Alan was often excused from so doing -on account of living in the country, and Miller had broken down every -precedent in that respect and never invited a girl to go with him. He -atoned for this shortcoming by contributing most liberally to every -entertainment given by the young people, even when he was out of town. -He used to say he liked to graze and nibble at such things and feel free -to go to bed or business at will. - -As the two friends entered the big parlor, Alan espied the girl about -whom he had been thinking all day. She was seated in one of the deep, -lace-curtained windows behind the piano. Frank Hillhouse was just -presenting to her a faultlessly attired travelling salesman. At this -juncture one of the floor-managers with a white rosette on his lapel -called Miller away to ask his advice about some details, and Alan turned -out of the parlor into the wide corridor which ran through the house. He -did this in obedience to another unwritten law governing Darley's social -intercourse--that it would be impolite for a resident gentleman to -intrude himself upon a stranger who had just been introduced to a lady. -So he went down to the ground floor and strolled into the office. It was -full of tobacco smoke and a throng of men, some of whom were from the -country and others from the town, drawn to the hotel by the festivities. -From the office a door opened into a bar and billiard room, whence came -the clicking of ivory balls and the grounding of cues. Another door led -into the large dining-room, which had been cleared of its tables that it -might be used for dancing. There was a sawing of fiddles, the twanging -of guitars, the jingle of tambourines, and the groaning of a bass-viol. -The musicians, black and yellow, occupied chairs on one of the tables, -which had been placed against the wall, and one of the floor-managers -was engaged in whittling paraffine-candles over the floor and rubbing -it in with his feet. Seeing what he was doing, some of the young men, -desirous of trying their new patent-leather pumps, came in and began to -waltz singly and in couples. - -When everything was in readiness the floor-managers piloted the dancers -down-stairs. From the office Alan saw them filing into the big room and -taking seats in the chairs arranged against the walls on all sides. -He saw Frank Hillhouse and Dolly Barclay sit down near the band; the -salesman had disappeared. Alan threw his cigar away and went straight to -her. - -“Oh, here you are,” laughed Frank Hillhouse, as Alan shook hands with -her. “I told Miss Dolly coming on that the west wind would blow you this -way, and when I saw Ray Miller just now I knew you'd struck the town.” - -“It wasn't exactly the wind,” replied Alan. “I'm afraid you will forget -me if I stay on the farm all the time.” - -“We certainly are glad to have you,” smiled Miss Barclay. - -“I knew she'd say that--I knew it--I knew it,” said Hillhouse. “A girl -can always think of nicer things to say to a feller than his rival can. -Old Squire Trabue was teasing me the other day about how hard you was -to beat, Bishop, but I told him the bigger the war the more victory for -somebody; and, as the feller said, I tote fair and am above board.” - -Alan greeted this with an all but visible shudder. There was much in his -dignified bearing and good appearance to commend him to the preference -of any thinking woman, especially when contrasted to Hill-house, who -was only a little taller than Dolly, and was showing himself even at -a greater disadvantage in his unrefined allusions to his and Alan' s -attentions to her. Indeed, Alan was sorry for the spectacle the fellow -was making of himself, and tried to pass it over. - -“I usually come in on Saturdays,” he explained. - -“That's true,” said Dolly, with one of her rare smiles. - -“Yes”--Hillhouse took another header into forbidden waters--“he's about -joined your church, they tell me.” - -Alan treated this with an indulgent smile. He did not dislike Hillhouse, -but he did not admire him, and he had never quite liked his constant -attentions to Miss Barclay. But it was an acknowledged fact among the -society girls of Darley that if a girl refused to go out with any young -man in good standing it was not long before she was left at home oftener -than was pleasant. Dolly was easily the best-looking girl in the room; -not, perhaps, the most daintily pretty, but she possessed a beauty which -strength of character and intellect alone could give to a face already -well featured. Even her physical beauty alone was of that texture which -gives the beholder an agreeable sense of solidity. She was well formed, -above medium height, had a beautiful neck and shoulders, dark-gray eyes, -and abundant golden-brown hair. - -“May I see your card?” asked Alan. “I came early to secure at least -one.” - -At this Frank Hillhouse burst out laughing and she smiled up at Alan. -“He's been teasing me all evening about the predicament I'm in,” she -explained. “The truth is, I'm not going to dance at all. The presiding -elder happened in town to-day, on his way through, and is at our house. -You know how bitter he is against church-members dancing. At first -mamma said I shouldn't come a step; but Mr. Hillhouse and I succeeded in -getting up a compromise. I can only look on. But my friends are having -pity on me and filling my card for what they call stationary dances.” - -Alan laughed as he took the card, which was already almost filled, and -wrote his name in one of the blank spaces. Some one called Hillhouse -away, and then an awkward silence fell upon them. For the first time -Alan noticed a worried expression on her face, now that it was in -repose, but it lighted up again when she spoke. - -“You have no button-hole bouquet,” she said, noticing his bare lapel. -“That's what you get for not bringing a girl. Let me make you one.” - -“I wish you would,” he said, thoughtfully, for as she began to search -among her flowers for some rosebuds and leaves he noted again the -expression of countenance that had already puzzled him. - -“Since you are so popular,” he went on, his eyes on her deft fingers, -“I'd better try to make another engagement. I'd as well confess that -I came in town solely to ask you to let me take you to church tomorrow -evening.” - -He saw her start; she raised her eyes to his almost imploringly, and -then she looked down. He saw her breast heave suddenly as with tightened -lips she leaned forward to pin the flowers on his coat. The jewels in -her rings flashed under his eyes; there was a delicate perfume in the -air about her glorious head. He had never seen her look so beautiful -before. He wondered at her silence at just such a moment. The tightness -of her lips gave way and they fell to trembling when she started to -speak. - -“I hardly know what to say,” she began. “I--I--you know I said the -presiding elder was at our house, and--” - -“Oh, I understand,” broke in Alan; “that's all right. Of course, use -your own--” - -“No, I must be plain with you,” she broke in, raising a pair of -helpless, tortured eyes to his; “you will not think I had anything to do -with it. In fact, my heart is almost broken. I'm very, very unhappy.” - -He was still totally at sea as to the cause of her strange distress. -“Perhaps you'd rather not tell me at all,” he said, sympathetically; his -tone never had been so tender. “You need not, you know.” - -“But it's a thing I could not keep from you long, anyway,” she said, -tremulously. “In fact, it is due you--an explanation, I mean. Oh, Alan, -papa has taken up the idea that we--that we like each other too much, -and--” - -The life and soul seemed to leave Alan' s face. - -“I understand,” he heard himself saying; “he does not want me to visit -you any more.” - -She made no reply; he saw her catch a deep breath, and her eyes went -down to her flowers. The music struck up. The mulatto leader stood -waving his fiddle and calling for “the grand march” in loud, melodious -tones. There was a scrambling for partners; the young men gave their -left arms to the ladies and merrily dragged them to their places. - -“I hope you do not blame me--that you don't think that I--” but the -clatter and clamor ingulfed her words. - -“No, not at all,” he told her; “but it's awful--simply awful I I know -you are a true friend, and that's some sort of comfort.” - -“And I always shall be,” she gulped. “You must try not to feel hurt. You -know my father is a very peculiar man, and has an awful will, and nobody -was ever so obstinate.” - -Then Alan' s sense of the great injustice of the thing rose up within -him and his blood began to boil. “Perhaps I ought to take my name off -your card,” he said, drawing himself up slightly; “if he were to hear -that I talked to you to-night he might make it unpleasant for you.” - -“If you do I shall never--_never forgive you_,” she answered, in a voice -that shook. There was, too, a glistening in her eyes, as if tears were -springing. “Wouldn't that show that you harbored ill-will against me, -when I am so helpless and troubled?” - -“Yes, it would; and I shall come back,” he made answer. He rose, for -Hillhouse, calling loudly over his shoulder to some one, was thrusting -his bowed arm down towards her. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said to Dolly. “I didn't know they had called -the march. We've got some ice-cream hid out up-stairs, and some of us -are going for it. Won't you take some, Bishop?” - -“No, thank you,” said Alan, and they left him. - - - - -VI - - -[Illustration: 9058] - -LAN made his way along the wall, out of the track of the promenaders, -into the office, anxious to escape being spoken to by any one. But here -several jovial men from the mountains who knew him intimately gathered -around him and began to make laughing remarks about his dress. - -“You look fer the world like a dirt-dauber.” This comparison to a kind -of black wasp came from Pole Baker, a tall, heavily built farmer with -an enormous head, thick eyebrows, and long, shaggy hair. He lived on -Bishop's farm, and had been brought up with Alan. “I 'll be derned ef -you ain't nimble on yore feet, though. I've seed you cut the pigeon-wing -over on Mossy Creek with them big, strappin' gals 'fore you had yore -sights as high as these town folks.” - -“It's that thar vest that gits me,” said another. “I reckon it's cut -low so you won't drap saft victuals on it; but I guess you don't do much -eatin' with that collar on. It don't look like yore Adam's-apple could -stir a peg under it.” - -With a good-natured reply and a laugh he did not feel, Alan hurried out -of the office and up to his room, where he had left his lamp burning. -Rayburn Miller's hat and light overcoat were on the bed. Alan sat down -in one of the stiff-backed, split-bottom chairs and stared straight in -front of him. Never in his life had he suffered as he was now suffering. -He could see no hope ahead; the girl he loved was lost to him. Her -father had heard of the foolhardiness of old man Bishop, and, like many -another well-meaning parent, had determined to save his daughter from -the folly of marrying a penniless man, who had doubtless inherited his -father's lack of judgment and caution. - -There was a rap on the closed door, and immediately afterwards Rayburn -Miller turned the knob and came in. His kindly glance swept the face of -his friend, and he said, with forced lightness: - -“I was doing the cake-walk with that fat Howard girl from Rome when I -saw you leave the room. She can' t hide the fact that she is from a city -of ten thousand population. She kept calling my attention to what our -girls had on and sniggering. She's been to school in Boston and looked -across the ocean from there. You know I don't think we lead the world, -but it makes me fighting mad to have our town sneered at. When she was -making so much fun of the girls' dresses, I came in an inch of asking -her if she was a dressmaker. By God, I did! You remember,” Miller went -on lightly, as if he had divined Alan' s misery and was trying to cheer -him up--“you remember how Percy Lee, Hamilton's shoe-clerk, hit back -at that Savannah girl. She was stopping in this house for a month one -summer, and he called on her and took her driving several times; but one -day she let herself out. 'Everything is so different up here, Mr. -Lee,' she giggled. 'Down home, girls in good society never receive young -men in your business.'It was a lick between the eyes; but old North -Georgia was ready for it. 'Oh,' said Percy, whose mother's blood is as -blue as indigo, 'the Darley girls draw the line, too; I only get to go -with hotel girls.'” - -Alan looked up and smiled, but his face seemed frozen. Miller sat down, -and an awkward silence fell for several minutes. It was broken by the -lawyer. - -“I don't want to bore you, old man,” he said, “but I just had to follow -you. I saw from your looks as you left the ballroom that something was -wrong, and I am afraid I know what it is.” - -“You think you do?” asked Alan, flashing a glance of surprise upward. - -“Yes. You see, Colonel Barclay is a rough, outspoken man, and he made a -remark the other day which reached me. I wasn't sure it was true, so I -didn't mention it; but I reckon my informant knew what he was talking -about.” - -Alan nodded despondently. “I asked her to go to church with me to-morrow -night. She was awfully embarrassed, and finally told me of her father's -objections.” - -“I think I know what fired the old devil up,” said Miller. - -“You do?” - -“Yes, it was that mistake of your father's. As I told you, the Colonel -is as mad as a wet hen about the whole thing. He's got a rope tied to -every nickel he's got, and he intends to leave Dolly a good deal of -money. He thinks Frank Hillhouse is just the thing; he shows that -as plain as day. He noticed how frequently you came to see Dolly and -scented danger ahead, and simply put his foot down on it, just as -fathers have been doing ever since the Flood. My dear boy, you've got -a bitter pill to take, but you've got to swallow it like a man. You've -reached a point where two roads fork. It is for you to decide which one -you 'll take.” - -Alan made no reply. Rayburn Miller lighted a cigar and began to smoke -steadily. There was a sound of boisterous laughter in a room across -the corridor. It had been set aside as the dressing-room for the male -revellers, and some of them were there, ordering drinks up from the bar. -Now and then from below came muffled strains of music and the monotonous -shuffling of feet. - -“It's none of my business,” Miller burst out, suddenly; “but I'm friend -enough of yours to feel this thing like the devil. However, I don't know -what to say. I only wish I knew how far you've gone into it.” - -Alan smiled mechanically. - -“If you can' t look at me and see how far I've gone you are blind,” he -said. - -“I don't mean that,” replied Miller. “I was wondering how far you -had committed yourself--oh, damn it!--made love, and all that sort of -thing.” - -“I've never spoken to her on the subject,” Alan informed him, gloomily. - -“Good, good! Splendid!” - -Alan stared in surprise. - -“I don't understand,” he said. “She knows--that is, I think she knows -how I feel, and I have hoped that--” - -“Never mind about that,” interrupted Miller, laconically. “There is a -chance for both of you if you 'll turn square around like sensible human -beings and look the facts in the face.” - -“You mean--” - -“That it will be stupid, childish idiocy for either or both of you to -let this thing spoil your lives.” - -“I don't understand you.” - -“Well, you will before I'm through with you, and I 'll do you up brown. -There are simply two courses open to you, my boy. One is to treat -Colonel Barclay's wishes with dignified respect, and bow and retire just -as any European gentleman would do when told that his pile was too small -to be considered.” - -“And the other?” asked Alan, sharply. - -“The other is to follow in the footsteps of nearly every sentimental -fool that ever was born, and go around looking like a last year's -bird's-nest, looking good for nothing, and being good for nothing; or, -worse yet, persuading the girl to elope, and thus angering her father so -that he will cut her out of what's coming to her and what is her right, -my boy. She may be willing to live on a bread-and-water diet for a -while, but she 'll lose flesh and temper in the long run. If you don't -make as much money for her as you cause her to lose she 'll tell you -of it some day, or at least let you see it, an' that's as long as it's -wide. You are now giving yourself a treatment in self-hypnotism, telling -yourself that life has not and cannot produce a thing for you beyond -that particular pink frock and yellow head. I know how you feel. I've -been there six different times, beginning with a terrible long first -attack and dwindling down, as I became inoculated with experience, till -now the complaint amounts to hardly more than a momentary throe when -I see a fresh one in a train for an hour's ride. I can do you a lot -of good if you 'll listen to me. I 'll give you the benefit of my -experience.” - -“What good would your devilish experience do me?” said Alan, -impatiently. - -“It would fit any man's case if he'd only believe it. I've made a study -of love. I've observed hundreds of typical cases, and watched marriage -from inception through protracted illness or boredom down to dumb -resignation or sudden death. I don't mean that no lovers of the ideal, -sentimental brand are ever happy after marriage, but I do believe that -open-eyed courtship will beat the blind sort all hollow, and that, in -nine cases out of ten, if people were mated by law according to the -judgment of a sensible, open-eyed jury, they would be happier than they -now are. Nothing ever spoken is truer than the commandment, 'Thou shalt -have no other God but me.'Let a man put anything above the principle -of living right and he will be miserable. The man who holds gold as the -chief thing in life will starve to death in its cold glitter, while a -pauper in rags will have a laugh that rings with the music of immortal -joy. In the same way the man who declares that only one woman is suited -to him is making a god of her--raising her to a seat that won't support -her dead, material weight. I frankly believe that the glamour of love -is simply a sort of insanity that has never been correctly named and -treated because so many people have been the victims of it.” - -“Do you know,” Alan burst in, almost angrily, “when you talk that way -I think you are off. I know what's the matter with you; you have simply -frittered away your heart, your ability to love and appreciate a good -woman. Thank Heaven! your experience has not been mine. I don't see how -you could ever be happy with a woman. I couldn't look a pure wife in the -face and remember all the flirtations you've indulged in--that is, if -they were mine.” - -“There you go,” laughed Miller; “make it personal, that's the only way -the average lover argues. I am speaking in general terms. Let me finish. -Take two examples: first, the chap crazily in love, who faces life -with the red rag of his infatuation--his girl. No parental objection, -everything smooth, and a car-load of silverware--a clock for every room -in the house. They start out on their honeymoon, doing the chief cities -at the biggest hotels and the theatres in the three-dollar seats. They -soon tire of themselves and lay it to the trip. Every day they rake away -a handful of glamour from each other, till, when they reach home, -they have come to the conclusion that they are only human, and not the -highest order at that. For a while they have a siege of discontent, -wondering where it's all gone. Finally, the man is forced to go about -his work, and the woman gets to making things to go on the backs of -chairs and trying to spread her trousseau over the next year, and they -begin to court resignation. Now if they had not had the glamour attack -they would have got down to business sooner, that's all, and they -would have set a better example to other plungers. Now for the second -illustration. Poverty on one side, boodle on the other; more glamour -than in other case, because of the gulf between. They get married--they -have to; they've inherited the stupid idea that the Lord is at the -bottom of it and that the glamour is His smile. Like the other couple, -their eyes are finally opened to the facts, and they begin to secretly -wonder what it's all about; the one with the spondoolix wonders harder -than the one who has none. If the man has the money, he will feel good -at first over doing so much for his affinity; but if he has an eye for -earthly values--and good business men have--there will be times when he -will envy Jones, whose wife had as many rocks as Jones. Love and capital -go together like rain and sunshine; they are productive of something. -Then if the woman has the money and the man hasn't, there's tragedy--a -slow cutting of throats. She is irresistibly drawn with the rest of the -world into the thought that she has tied herself and her money to an -automaton, for such men are invariably lifeless. They seem to lose the -faculty of earning money--in any other way. And as for a proper title -for the penniless young idiot that publicly advertises himself as worth -enough, in himself, for a girl to sacrifice her money to live with -him--well, the unabridged does not furnish it. Jack Ass in bill-board -letters would come nearer to it than anything that occurs to me now. I'm -not afraid to say it, for I know you'd never cause any girl to give up -her fortune without knowing, at least, whether you could replace it or -not.” - -Alan rose and paced the room. “That,” he said, as he stood between the -lace curtains at the window, against which the rain beat steadily--“that -is why I feel so blue. I don't believe Colonel Barclay would ever -forgive her, and I'd die before I'd make her lose a thing.” - -“You are right,” returned Miller, relighting his cigar at the lamp, “and -he'd cut her off without a cent. I know him. But what is troubling me -is that you may not be benefited by my logic. Don't allow this to go any -further. Let her alone from to-night on and you 'll find in a few months -that you are resigned to it, just like the average widower who wants to -get married six months after his loss. And when she is married and has a -baby, she 'll meet you on the street and not care a rap whether her hat's -on right or not. She 'll tell her husband all about it, and allude to you -as her first, second, or third fancy, as the case may be. I have faith -in your future, but you've got a long, rocky row to hoe, and a thing -like this could spoil your usefulness and misdirect your talents. If -I could see how you could profit by waiting I'd let your flame burn -unmolested; but circumstances are agin us.” - -“I'd already seen my duty,” said Alan, in a low tone, as he came away -from the window. “I have an engagement with her later, and the subject -shall be avoided.” - -“Good man!” Miller's cigar was so short that he stuck the blade of his -penknife through it that he might enjoy it to the end without burning -his fingers. “That's the talk! Now I must mosey on down-stairs and dance -with that Miss Fewclothes from Rome--the one with the auburn tresses, -that says 'delighted' whenever she is spoken to.” - -Alan went back to the window. The rain was still beating on it. For a -long time he stood looking out into the blackness. The bad luck which -had come to his father had been a blow to him; but its later offspring -had the grim, cold countenance of death itself. He had never realized -till now that Dolly Barclay was so much a part of his very life. For a -moment he almost gave way to a sob that rose and struggled within him. -He sat down again and clasped his hands before him in dumb self-pity. He -told himself that Rayburn Miller was right, that only weak men would act -contrary to such advice. No, it was over--all, all over. - - - - -VIII - - -[Illustration: 9067] - -FTER the dance Frank Hillhouse took Dolly home in one of the drenched -and bespattered hacks. The Barclay residence was one of the best-made -and largest in town. It was an old-style Southern frame-house, painted -white, and had white-columned verandas on two sides. It was in the edge -of the town, and had an extensive lawn in front and almost a little farm -behind. - -Dolly's mother had never forgotten that she was once a girl herself, and -she took the most active interest in everything pertaining to Dolly's -social life. On occasions like the one just described she found it -impossible to sleep till her daughter returned, and then she slipped -up-stairs, and made the girl tell all about it while she was disrobing. -To-night she was more alert and wide-awake than usual. She opened the -front door for Dolly and almost stepped on the girl's heels as she -followed her up-stairs. - -“Was it nice?” she asked. - -“Yes, very,” Dolly replied. Reaching her room, she turned up the -low-burning lamp, and, standing before a mirror, began to take some -flowers out of her hair. Mrs. Barclay sat down on the edge of the -high-posted mahogany bed and raised one of her bare feet and held it -in her hand. She was a thin woman with iron-gray hair, and about fifty -years of age. She looked as if she were cold; but, for reasons of her -own, she was not willing for Dolly to remark it. - -“Who was there?” she asked. - -“Oh, everybody.” - -“Is that so? I thought a good many would stay away because it was a bad -night; but I reckon they are as anxious to go as we used to be. Then you -all did have the hacks?” - -“Yes, they had the hacks.” There was a pause, during which one pair of -eyes was fixed rather vacantly on the image in the mirror; the other -pair, full of impatient inquiry, rested alternately on the image and its -maker. - -“I don't believe you had a good time,” broke the silence, in a rising, -tentative tone. - -“Yes, I did, mother.” - -“Then what's the matter with you?” Mrs. Barclay's voice rang with -impatience. “I never saw you act like you do to-night, never in my -life.” - -“I didn't know anything was wrong with me, mother.” - -“You act queer; I declare you do,” asserted Mrs. Barclay. “You generally -have a lot to say. Have you and Frank had a falling out?” - -Dolly gave her shoulders a sudden shrug of contempt. - -“No, we got along as well as we ever did.” - -“I thought maybe he was a little mad because you wouldn't dance -to-night; but surely he's got enough sense to see that you oughtn't -to insult brother Dill-beck that way when he's visiting our house and -everybody knows what he thinks about dancing.” - -“No, he thought I did right about it,” said Dolly. - -“Then what in the name of common-sense is the matter with you, Dolly? -You can' t pull the wool over my eyes, and you needn't try it.” - -Dolly faced about suddenly. - -“I reckon you 'll sit there all night unless I tell you all about it,” - she said, sharply. “Mother, Alan Bishop was there.” - -“You don't say!” - -“Yes, and asked me to let him take me to church to-morrow evening.” - -“Oh, he did?” - -“Yes, and as I didn't want father to insult him, I--” - -“You told him what your pa said?” - -“No, I just told him father didn't want me to receive him any more. -Heaven knows, that was enough.” - -“Well, that was the best thing for you to do.” Mrs. Barclay took a deep -breath, as if she were inhaling a delicious perfume. “It's much better -than to have him plunge in here some day and have your father break out -like he does in his rough way. What did Alan say?” - -“He said very little; but he looked it. You ought to have seen -him. Frank came up just about that time and invited me to have some -ice-cream, and I had to leave him. He was as white as a sheet. He had -made an engagement with me to sit out a dance, and he didn't come in the -room again till that dance was called, and then he didn't even mention -it. He acted so peculiarly, I could see it was nearly killing him, but -he wouldn't let me bring up the subject again. I came near doing it; but -he always steered round it.” - -“He's a sensible young man,” declared Mrs. Barclay. “Any one can see -that by looking at him. He's not responsible for his father's foolhardy -venture, but it certainly leaves him in a bad fix as a marrying man. -He's had bad luck, and he must put up with the consequences. There are -plenty of girls who have no money or prospects who would be glad to have -him, but--” - -“Mother,” broke in Dolly, as if she had been listening to her own -troubled thoughts rather than her mother's words; “he didn't act as if -he wanted to see me alone. The other couples who had engagements to talk -during that dance were sitting in windows and out-of-the-way corners, -but he kept me right where I was, and was as carefully polite as if we -had just been introduced. I was sorry for him and mad at the same time. -I could have pulled his ears.” - -“He's sensible, very sensible,” said Mrs. Barclay, in a tone of warm -admiration. “A man like that ought to get along, and I reckon he will do -well some day.” - -“But, mother,” said Dolly, her rich, round voice rising like a wave and -breaking in her throat, “he may never think about me any more.” - -“Well, that really would be best, dear, under the circumstances.” - -“Best?” Dolly blurted out. “How can you say that, when--when--” - -“Dolly, you are not really foolish about him, are you?” Mrs. Barclay's -face dropped into deeper seriousness. - -Dolly looked away and was silent for a moment; then she faltered: “I -don't know, mother, I--I'm afraid if I keep on feeling like I do now -I 'll never get over it.” - -“Ah, but you 'll not keep on feeling like you do now,” consoled the older -woman. “Of course, right now, just after seeing how hard he took it, you -will kind o' sympathize with him and want to help him; but that will all -pass away. I remember when I was about your age I had a falling out with -Will Despree--a young man my father didn't like because his grandfather -had been an overseer. And, do you know, I thought I would actually kill -myself. I refused to eat a bite and threatened to run away with Will. To -this day I really don't know what I would have done if your grandfather -hadn't scared him away with a shot-gun. Will kept writing notes to me. I -was afraid to answer them, but my father got hold of one and went after -him on a fast horse. Will's family heard what was up and they kept him -out in the swamp for a few days, and then they sent him to Texas. The -whole Despree family took it up and talked scand'lous about us.” - -“And you soon got over it, mother?” asked Dolly, almost in a tone of -dismay. - -“Well,” said Mrs. Barclay, reflectively, “Will acted the fool so -terribly; he wasn't out in Texas three months before he sent back a -marked paper with an article in it about his engagement to the -daughter of a rich man who, we found out afterwards, used to keep a -livery-stable; then I reckon hardly any girl would keep caring for a boy -when his folks was telling such lies about her family.” - -Dolly was staring studiously at the speaker. - -“Mother,” she asked, “don't you believe in real love?” - -Mrs. Barclay laughed as if highly amused. “I believe in a different sort -to the puppy love I had for that boy. Then after that there was another -young man that I thought more of, if anything, than I did of Will; but -he was as poor as Job's turkey, and my folks was all crazy for me 'n' -your pa, who I'd never seen, to get married. I held out against the -idea, just like you are doing with Frank, I reckon; but when your pa -come with his shiny broadcloth coat and spotted silk vest--no, it was -satin, I think, with red spots on it--and every girl in town was crazy -to catch him, and there was no end of reports about the niggers he owned -and his high connections--well, as I say, it wasn't a week before I was -afraid he'd see Joe Tinsley and hear about me 'n' him. My father was in -for the match from the very jump, and so was your pa's folks. He put up -at our house with his nigger servant and didn't want to go about town -much. I reckon I was pleased to have him pick me out, and so we soon -fixed it up. Lordy, he only had to mention Joe Tinsley to me after we -got married to make me do anything he wanted. To this day he throws him -up to me, for Joe never did amount to anything. He tried to borrow -money from your pa after you was born. The neighbors had to feed his -children.” - -“But you loved father, didn't you?” Dolly breathed, in some relief over -what she thought was coming. - -“Well, I can' t say I did,” said Mrs. Barclay. “We had a terrible time -getting used to one another's ways. You see, he'd waited a good while, -and was some older than I was. After a while, though, we settled down, -and now I'm awful glad I let my father manage for me. You see, what your -pa had and what my father settled on me made us comfortable, and if a -couple is that it's a sight more than the pore ones are.” - -Dolly stood before her mother, close enough to touch her. Her face wore -an indescribable expression of dissatisfaction with what she had heard. - -“Mother, tell me one thing,” she said. “Did you ever let either of those -boys--the two that you didn't marry, I mean--kiss you?” - -Mrs. Barclay stared up at her daughter for an instant and then her face -broke into a broad smile of genuine amusement. She lowered her head to -her knee and laughed out. - -“Dolly Barclay, you are _such_ a fool!” she said, and then she laughed -again almost immoderately, her face in her lap. - -“I know what _that_ means,” said Dolly, in high disgust. “Mother, I -don't think you can do me any good. You'd better go to bed.” - -Mrs. Barclay rose promptly. - -“I think I'd better, too,” she said. “It makes your pa awful mad for -me to sit up this way. I don't want to hear him rail out like he always -does when he catches me at it.” - -After her mother had gone, Dolly sat down on her bed. “She never was -in love,” she told herself. “Never, never, never! And it is a pity. She -never could have talked that way if she had really loved anybody as much -as--” But Dolly did not finish what lay on her tongue. However, when she -had drawn the covers up over her the cold tears rose in her eyes and -rolled down on her pillow as she thought of Alan Bishop's brave and -dignified suffering. - -“Poor fellow!” she said. “Poor, dear Alan!” - - - - -IX - - -[Illustration: 9074] - -HERE is a certain class of individuals that will gather around a man in -misfortune, and it differs very little, if it differs at all, from the -class that warms itself in the glow of a man' s prosperity. It is made -up of human failures, in the first instance, congratulating themselves -on not being alone in bad luck; in the second, desirous of seeing how a -fortunate man would look and act and guessing at his feelings. From the -appearance of Bishop's home for the first fortnight after his return -from Atlanta, you would have thought that some one was seriously ill in -the house or that some general favorite had returned to the family after -a long absence. - -Horses were hitched to the fence from the front gate all the way round -to the side entrance. The mountain people seemed to have left their -various occupations to subtly enjoy the spectacle of a common man like -themselves who had reached too far after forbidden fruit and lay maimed -and torn before them. It was a sort of feast at which the baser part of -their spiritual natures was fed, and, starved as they were, it tasted -good. Many of them had never aspired to bettering their lot even with -small ventures such as buying Jersey cows at double the value of common -cattle when it was reported that the former gave four times as much -milk and ate less, and to these cautious individuals Bishop's visible -writhing was sweet confirmation of their own judgment. - -Their disapproval of the old man's effort to hurry Providence could not -have been better shown than in the failure of them all to comment on -the rascally conduct of the Atlanta lawyer; they even chuckled over -that part of the incident. To their minds Perkins was a sort of far-off -personification of a necessary evil--who, like the devil himself, was -evidently created to show mortals their limitations. They were not going -to say what the lawyer had a right to do or should avoid doing, for they -didn't pretend to know; but they did know what their old neighbor ought -to have done, and if they didn't tell him so to his face they would -let him see it by their actions. Yes, Bishop was a different thing -altogether. He belonged to them and theirs. He led in their meetings, -prayed in public, and had till now headed the list in all charitable -movements. - -The Reverend Charles B. Dole, a tall, spare man of sixty, who preached -the first, second, third, and fourth Sundays of each month in four -different meetinghouses within a day's ride of Bishop's, came around as -the guest of the farm-house as often as his circuit would permit. He -was called the “fightin' preacher,” because he had had several fearless -hand-to-hand encounters with certain moonshiners whose conduct he had -ventured to call ungodly, because unlawful. - -On the second Saturday after Bishop's mishap, as Dole was to preach the -next day at Rock Crest meetinghouse, he rode up as usual and turned his -horse into the stable and fed him with his own hands. Then he joined -Abner Daniel on the veranda. Abner had seen him ride up and purposely -buried his head in his newspaper to keep from offering to take the -horse, for Abner did not like the preacher “any to hurt,” as he would -have put it. - -Dole did not care much for Abner either. They had engaged in several -doctrinal discussions in which the preacher had waxed furious over some -of Daniel's views, which he described as decidedly unorthodox. Daniel -had kept his temper beautifully and had the appearance of being amused -through it all, and this Dole found harder to forgive than anything -Abner had said. - -“You all have had some trouble, I heer, sence I saw you last,” said the -preacher as he sat down and began to wipe his perspiring brow with a big -handkerchief. - -“Well, I reckon it mought be called that,” Abner replied, as he -carefully folded his newspaper and put it into his coat-pocket. “None of -us was expectin' of it an' it sorter bu'sted our calculations. Alf had -laid out to put new high-back benches in Rock Crest, an' new lamps -an' one thing another, an' it seems to me”--Abner wiped his too facile -mouth--“like I heerd 'im say one day that you wasn't paid enough -fer yore thunder, an' that he'd stir around an' see what could be -done.” Abner's eyes twinkled. “But lawsy me! I reckon ef he kin possibly -raise the scads to pay the tax on his investment next yeer he 'll do all -the Lord expects.” - -“Huh, I reckon!” grunted Dole, irritated as usual by Abner's double -meaning. “I take it that the Lord hain't got much to do with human -speculations one way or other.” - -“Ef I just had that scamp that roped 'im in before me a minute I'd fix -'im,” said Abner. “Do you know what denomination Perkins belongs to?” - -“No, I don't,” Dole blurted out, “an' what's more, I don't care.” - -“Well, I acknowledge it sorter interests me,” went on our philosopher, -in an inscrutable tone, “beca'se, brother Dole, you kin often trace -a man' s good ur bad doin' s to his belief in Bible matters. Maybe you -don't remember Jabe Lynan that stold Thad Wilson's stump-suckin' hoss -an' was ketched an' put up. I was at the court-house in Darley when he -received his sentence. His wife sent me to 'im to carry his pipe an' one -thing or other--a pair o' socks an' other necessary tricks--a little can -o' lye-soap, fer one thing. She hadn't the time to go, as she said she -had a patch o' young corn to hoe out. I found 'im as happy as ef he was -goin' off on a excursion. He laughed an' 'lowed it ud be some time 'fore -he got back, an' I wondered what could 'a' made him so contented, so I -made some inquiries on that line. I found that he was a firm believer in -predestination, an' that what was to be was foreordained. He said that -he firmly believed he was predestinated to go to the coal-mines fer -hoss-stealin', an' that life was too short to be kickin' agin the Lord's -way o' runnin' matters; besides, he said, he'd heerd that they issued a -plug o'.tobacco a week to chawin' prisoners, an' he could prove that he -was one o' that sort ef they'd look how he'd ground his jaw-teeth down -to the gums.” - -“Huh!” grunted Dole again, his sharp, gray eyes on Abner's face, as if -he half believed that some of his own theories were being sneered at. -It was true that he, being a Methodist, had not advocated a belief in -predestination, but Abner Daniel had on more than one occasion shown a -decided tendency to bunch all stringent religious opinions together -and cast them down as out of date. When in doubt in a conversation with -Abner, the preacher assumed a coldness on the outside that was often not -consistent with the fires within him. “I don't see what all that's got -to do with brother Bishop's mistake,” he said, frigidly, as he leaned -back in his chair. - -“It sets me to wonderin' what denomination Perkins belongs to, that's -all,” said Abner, with another smile. “I know in reason he's a big -Ike in some church in Atlanta, fer I never knowed a lawyer that wasn't -foremost in that way o' doin' good. I 'll bet a hoe-cake he belongs to -some highfalutin crowd o' worshippers that kneel down on saft cushions -an' believe in scoopin' in all they kin in the Lord's name, an' that -charity begins at home. I think that myse'f, brother Dole, fer thar -never was a plant as hard to git rooted as charity is, an' a body ought -to have it whar they kin watch it close. It 'll die a heap o' times ef -you jest look at it, an' it mighty nigh always has bad soil ur a drougth -to contend with.” - -Just then Pole Baker, who has already been introduced to the reader, -rode up to the fence and hitched his horse. He nodded to the two men on -the veranda, and went round to the smoke-house to get a piece of bacon -Bishop had promised to sell him on credit. - -“Huh!” Dole grunted, and he crossed his long legs and swung his foot up -and down nervously. He had the look of a man who was wondering why such -insufferable bores as Abner should so often accompany a free dinner. He -had never felt drawn to the man, and it irritated him to think that just -when his mental faculties needed rest, Abner always managed to introduce -the very topics which made it necessary for him to keep his wits about -him. - -“Take that feller thar,” Abner went on, referring to Baker. “He's about -the hardest customer in this county, an' yet he's bein' managed right -now. He's got a wife an' seven children an' is a holy terror when he -gits drunk. He used to be the biggest dare-devil moonshiner in all these -mountains; but Alan kept befriendin' 'im fust one way an' another tell -he up one day an' axed Alan what he could do fer 'im. Alan ain't none -o' yore shoutin' kind o' Christians. He shakes a nimble toe at a shindig -when he wants to, an' knows the ace from a ten-spot; but he gits thar -with every claw in the air when some 'n' has to be done. So, when Pole -axed 'im that, Alan jest said, as quiet as ef he was axin' 'im fer a -match to light a cigar, 'Quit yore moonshinin', Pole.' That was all he -said. Pole looked 'im straight in the eye fer a minute, an' then said: - -“'The hell you say! By God, Alan Bishop, you don't mean that!' - -“'Yes, I do, Pole,' said Alan, 'quit! Quit smack off!' - -“'You ax that as a favor?' said Pole. - -“'Yes, as a favor,' said Alan, 'an' you are a-goin' to do it, too.' - -“Then Pole begun to contend with 'im. 'You are a-axin' that beca'se you -think I 'll be ketched up with,' he said; 'but I tell you the' ain't no -man on the face o' the earth that could find my still now. You could -stand in two feet of the door to it all day an' not find it if you -looked fer it with a spy-glass. I kin make bug-juice all the rest o' my -life an' sell it without bein' ketched.' - -“'I want you to give it up,' said Alan, an' Pole did. It was like -pullin' an eye-tooth, but Pole yanked it out. Alan is workin' on 'im now -to git 'im to quit liquor, but that ain't so easy. He could walk a crack -with a gallon sloshin' about in 'im. Now, as I started to say, Alan -'ain't got no cut-and-dried denomination, an' don't have to walk any -particular kind o' foot-log to do his work, but it's a-goin' on jest the -same. Now I don't mean no reflection on yore way o' hitchin' wings on -folks, but I believe you could preach yore sermons--sech as they are--in -Pole Baker's yeers till Gabriel blowed his lungs out, an' Pole ud still -be moonshinin'. An' sometimes I think that sech fellers as Alan Bishop -ort to be paid fer what they do in betterin' the world. I don't see -why you fellers ort always to be allowed to rake in the jack-pot unless -you'd accomplish more'n outsiders, that jest turn the'r hands to the job -at odd times.” - -Dole drew himself up straight and glared at the offender. - -“I think that is a rather personal remark, brother Daniel,” he said, -coldly. - -“Well, maybe it is,” returned Abner; “but I didn't mean fer it to -be. I've heerd you praise up certain preachers fer the good they was -a-doin', an' I saw no harm in mentionin' Alan's method. I reckon it's -jest a case o' the shoe bein' on another foot. I was goin' to tell you -how this misfortune o' Alf's had affected Pole; he's been like a crazy -man ever since it happened. It's been all Alan could do to keep 'im from -goin' to Atlanta and chokin' the life out o' Perkins. Pole got so mad -when he wouldn't let 'im go that he went off cussin' 'im fer all he was -worth. I wonder what sort of a denomination a man ud fit into that 'll -cuss his best friends black an' blue beca'se they won't let 'im fight -fer 'em. Yes, he 'll fight, an' ef he ever does jine the ranks above he 'll -do the work o' ten men when thar's blood to spill. I seed 'im in a row -once durin' election when he was leggin' fer a friend o' his'n; he stood -right at the polls an' wanted to slug every man that voted agin 'im. He -knocked three men's teeth down the'r throats an' bunged up two more so -that they looked like they had on false-faces.” - -Here the preacher permitted himself to laugh. Being a fighting man -himself, his heart warmed towards a man who seemed to be born to that -sort of thing. - -“He looks like he could do a sight of it,” was his comment. - -At this juncture the subject of the conversation came round the house, -carrying a big piece of bacon wrapped in a tow grain-bag. - -“Say thar, Pole,” Abner called out to the long, lank fellow. “We are -a-goin' to have preachin' at Rock Crest to-morrow; you'd better have a -shirt washed an' hung out to dry. They are a-beatin' the bushes fer yore -sort.” - -Pole Baker paused and brushed back his long, thick hair from his heavy -eyebrows. - -“I've been a-waitin' to see ef meetin' ever'd do you any good, Uncle -Ab,” he laughed. “They tell me the more you go the wuss you git to be. -Neil Filmore said t'other day ef you didn't quit shootin' off yore mouth -they'd give you a trial in meetin'.” - -Abner laughed good-naturedly as he spat over the edge of the veranda -floor to the ground. - -“That's been talked, I know, Pole,” he said, “but they don't mean it. -They all know how to take my fun. But you come on to meetin'; it will do -you good.” - -“Well, maybe I will,” promised Pole, and he came to the steps, and, -putting his bacon down, he bent towards them. - -“It's a powerful hard matter to know exactly what's right an' what's -wrong, in some things,” he said. “Now looky heer.” Thrusting his hand -down into the pocket of his trousers he drew out a piece of quartz-rock -with a lump of yellow gold about the size of a pea half embedded in it. -“That thar's puore gold. I got it this away: A feller that used to be my -right bower in my still business left me when I swore off an' went over -to Dalonega to work in them mines. T'other day he was back on a visit, -an' he give me this chunk an' said he'd found it. Now I know in reason -that he nabbed it while he was at work, but I don't think I'd have a -right to report it to the minin' company, an' so I'm jest obleeged to -receive stolen goods. It ain't wuth more'n a dollar, they tell me, an' -I 'll hang on to it, I reckon, ruther'n have a laborin' man discharged -from a job. I'm tryin' my level best to live up to the line now, an' -I don't know how to manage sech a thing as that. I've come to the -conclusion that no harm will be done nohow, beca'se miners ain't too -well paid anyway, an' ef I jest keep it an' don't git no good out of it, -I won't be in it any more'n ef I'd never got hold o' the blamed thing.” - -“But the law, brother Baker,” said Dole, solemnly; “without the law we'd -be an awful lot o' people, an' every man ort to uphold it. Render the -things that are Caesar's unto Caesar.” - -Pole's face was blank for a moment, and Abner came to his rescue with a -broad smile and sudden laugh. - -“I reckon you don't remember him, Pole,” he said. “He's dead. He was a -nigger that used to belong to old man Throgmartin in the cove. He used -to be sech an awful thief during slavery days that it got to be a common -sayin' that everything lyin' round mought as well be his'n, fer he'd -take it sooner ur later, anyways.” - -“I've heerd o' that nigger,” said Pole, much to the preacher's disgust, -which grew as Pole continued: “Well, they say a feller that knows the -law is broke an' don't report it is as guilty as the man who does the -breakin'. Now, Mr. Dole, you know how I come by this nugget, an' ef you -want to do your full duty you 'll ride over to Dalonega an' report it to -the right parties. I can't afford the trip.” - -Abner laughed out at this, and then forced a serious look on his face. -“That's what you railly ort to do, brother Dole,” he said. “Them Cæsars -over thar ud appreciate it.” - -Then Mrs. Bishop came out to shake hands with the preacher, and invited -him to go to his room to wash his face and hands. As the tall man -followed his hostess away, Abner winked slyly at Pole and laughed under -his long, scrawny hand. - -“Uncle Ab, you ort to be killed,” smiled Pole. “You've been settin' heer -the last half-hour pokin' fun at that feller, an' you know it. Well, I'm -goin' on home. Sally's a-goin' to fry some o' this truck fer me, an' I'm -as hungry as a bear.” - -A few minutes after he had gone, Dole came out of his room and sat down -in his chair again. “That seems to be a sorter bright young man,” he -remarked. - -“As bright as a new dollar,” returned Abner, in a tone of warm -admiration. “Did you notice that big, wedge-shaped head o' his'n? It's -plumb full o' brains. One day a feller come down to Filmore's store. -He made a business o' feelin' o' heads an' writin' out charts at -twenty-five cents apiece. He didn't waste much time on the rest o' the -scabs he examined; but when he got to Pole's noggin he talked fer a good -hour. I never heerd the like. He said ef his talents had been properly -directed Pole ud 'a' made a big public man. He said he hadn't run across -sech a head in a month o' Sundays. He was right, you bet, an' every -one o' the seven brats Pole's got is jest as peert as he is. They are -a-growin' up in idleness an' rags, too. I wisht I could meet some -o' them dum big Yankees that are a-sendin' the'r money down heer an' -buildin' fine schools to educate niggers an' neglectin' the'r own race -beca'se it fit agin 'em. You cayn't hardly beat larnin' into a nigger's -head, an' it ud be only common-sense to spend money whar it ud do the -most good. I 'ain't got nothin' agin a nigger bein' larnt to read an' -write, but I cayn't stomach the'r bein' forced ahead o' deservin' white -folks sooner 'n the Lord counted on. Them kind o' Yankees is the -same sort that makes pets o' dogs, an' pampers 'em up when pore white -children is in need of food an' affection.” - -“Pole looks like he had natural capacity,” said Dole. He was fond of -conversing with Abner on any topic except that of religious matters. - -“He'd make a bang-up detective,” laughed Abner. “One day I was at -Filmore's store. Neil sometimes, when he's rushed, gits Pole to clerk -fer 'im, beca'se he's quick at figures. It happened that Pole had the -store to 'imse'f one day when Neil had gone off to cut down a bee-tree -with a passle o' neighbors, an' a triflin' feller come in an' begun to -nose about. An' when Pole's back was turned to weigh up some cotton -in the seed he stole a pocket-book out o' the show-case. I reckon Pole -didn't like his looks much nohow, fer as soon as the skunk had gone he -begun to look about to see ef he'd tuck anything. All at once he missed -the pocket-book, an' told Neil that night that he was mighty nigh shore -the feller lifted it, but he couldn't railly swear to it. About a week -after that he seed the same feller comin' down the road headed fer the -store on his gray mule. Me 'n' Neil was both thar an' Pole hustled us in -the back room, an' told us to stay thar. He said he was a-goin' to find -out ef the feller stold the book. Neil was afeerd of a row an' tried to -prevent 'im, but he jest shoved us back an' shet the door on us. Neil -got 'im a crack in the partition an' I found me a knothole. - -“The feller hitched an' come in an' said howdy-do, an' started to take a -cheer nigh the door, but Pole stopped 'im. - -“'Come heer to the show-case,' ses he; 'I want to show you some 'n'.'The -feller went, an' I seed Pole yank out the box 'at had the rest o' -the pocket-books in it. 'Look y'heer,' Pole said, in a loud, steady -voice--you could 'a' heerd 'im clean to the creek--'look y'heer. The -regular price o' these books is fifty cents; that's what we sell 'em -fer; but you've got to run yore hand down in yore pocket an' give me a -dollar fer one quicker'n you ever made a trade in yore life.' - -“'What in the hell do you mean?' the feller said. - -“'I mean exactly what I said, an' you are a-losin' time.' said Pole, -talkin' louder an' louder. 'The price is fifty cents; but you got to -gi'me a dollar fer one. Haul 'er out, my friend; haul 'er out! It 'll be -the cheapest thing you ever bought in yore life.' - -“The feller was as white as a sheet. He gulped two or three times 'fore -he spoke, then he said: 'I know what you think; you think I took one -t'other day when I was lookin' in the show-case; but you are mistaken.' - -“'I never said a word about you takin' one,' Pole yelled at 'im, 'but -you'd better yank out that dollar an' buy one; you need it.' - -“The feller did it. I heerd the money clink as he laid it on the glass -an' I knowed he was convicted. - -“'They are only wuth fifty cents,' he said, kinder faint-like. - -“'Yo're a liar,' Pole yelled at 'im, 'fer you've jest paid a dollar fer -one on yore own accord. Now I 'll jest give you two minutes to straddle -that mule. Ef you don't I 'll take you to the sheriff myself, you damned -thief. - -“'I've always done my tradin' heer,' said the feller, thinkin' that ud -sorter pacify Pole, but he said: 'Yes, an' yore stealin', too, I reckon, -you black-livered jailbird. Git out, git out!' - -“Me 'n' Neil come in when the feller'd gone, but Pole was actually too -mad to speak. 'He got off too durned light,' he said, after a while. 'I -could 'a' sold 'im a big bill o' goods at a hundred per cent, profit, -fer he had plenty o' money. Now he's ridin' off laughin' at me.'” - - - - -X - - -[Illustration: 9086] - -EIL FILMORE'S store was about half a mile from Bishop's house, at the -crossing of the Darley road and another leading into East Tennessee. -Alan had gone down there one day to engage white labor to work in his -growing cotton, negroes being scarce, owing to the tendency of that race -to flock into the towns. With the aid of Pole Baker, who was clerking -that day for Filmore, he soon employed the men he wanted and started -to walk back home. On the way he was overtaken by his uncle, who was -returning from Darley in his wagon. - -“Hold on thar,” the old man called out; “ef you are a-goin' home I 'll -rest yore legs.” - -Alan smiled as he climbed up into the seat by the old man. - -“I shall certainly appreciate it,” he said. “I'm tired out to-day.” - -“I sorter thought you looked flabbergasted,” returned Abner, as he swung -his whip over the backs of his sleek horses. “Well, I reckon I could -afford to give you a ride. I hauled that cuss Dole three miles goin' -t'other way. He had the cheek to yell at me from Habbersham's gin-house -an' axed me ef I'd haul 'im. Then he kept me waitin' till he'd helt -prayer an' read to the family.” - -“You don't seem to like him,” said Alan. “I've noticed that for some -time.” - -“I reckon I don't to any great extent,” said Abner, clucking to his -tired horses; “but it ain't raily to my credit. A feller's wrong -som 'er's, Alan, that allows hisse'f to hate anything the Lord ever made. -I've struggled agin that proposition fer twenty-five yeer. All this talk -about the devil makin' the bad an' the Lord the good is talk through -a hat. Bad things was made 'fore the devil ever jumped from his high -estate ur he'd never preferred a fork to a harp. I've tuck notice, too, -that the wust things I ever seed was sometimes at the root o' the best. -Manure is a bad thing, but a cake of it will produce a daisy bigger 'n -any in the field. Dole makes me gag sometimes; but as narrer as he is -twixt the eyes, he may do some good. I reckon that hell-fire sermon he -give us last August made some of the crowd sweat out a little o' the'r -meanness. I'd 'a' been more merciful on sech a hot day, though. He -mought 'a' reserved that harangue fer some cold day in December when -the stove-flues wouldn't work. Ef I'd 'a' been a-goin' tell about future -torment that hot day I'd 'a' said that every lost soul was made to -set on a cake o' ice in a windy spot through all eternity, an' I'd 'a' -started out by singin' 'On Greenland's Icy Mountain.' But that ain't -what I axed you to git in my wagon fer.” - -“You didn't intend to try to convert me, then?” - -“No, I didn't, fer you are jest my sort of a Christian--better'n me, a -sight, fer you don't shoot off yore bazoo on one side or t'other, an' -that's the habit I'm tryin' to quit. Ef I could hold in when Dole gits -to spoutin' I'd be a better man. I think I 'll do better now. I've got a -tenpenny nail in my pocket an' whenever he starts in I'm goin' to bite -it an' keep my holt on it till he stops. Yes, you are jest my sort of -a Christian. You believe in breathin' fresh air into yore windpipe, -thankin' God with a clear eye an' a good muscle, an' takin' what He -gives you an' axin' 'Im to pass more ef it's handy. You know the Lord -has sent you a invite to His table, an' you believe in eatin' an' -drinkin' an' makin' merry, jest like you'd have a body do that was -stoppin' over night with you. Yes, I wanted to say some 'n' else to you. -As I got to the widder Snowden's house, a mile this side o' Darley, she -came out an' axed me ef I'd object to deliverin' a couple o' smoke-cured -hams to a feller in town that had ordered 'em. Of course that's what a' -old bach' like me 's heer fer, so I let 'er fling 'em in the back end.” - -The speaker paused and smiled knowingly, and Alan noticed that he slowed -his horses up by drawing firmly on the reins as if he feared that their -arrival at the farm-house might interrupt what he had to say. - -“Well,” said Alan, “you delivered the hams?” - -“Yes.” Abner was looking straight ahead of him. “They was fer Colonel -Seth Barclay. I driv' up to the side gate, after I'd helloed in front -till I was hoarse, an' who do you reckon come trippin' out o' the -dinin'-room? - -It was _her_. Ef you hain't never ketched 'er off'n her guard round the -house, you've missed a treat. Durned ef I don't like 'er better without -a hat on than with all the fluffy flamdoodle that gals put on when they -go out. She was as neat as a new pin, an' seemed powerful glad to see -me. That made me bless the widder Snowden fer sendin' me thar. She said -the cook was off som 'er's, an' that old nigger Ned, the stable-man, was -in the garden-patch behind the house, so she was thar by 'erse'f. She -actually looked like she wanted to tote in the hams 'erse'f ruther'n -bother me; but you bet my old bones hopped off'n this seat quicker'n -you could say Jack Robinson with yore mouth open. I was afeerd my team -wouldn't stand, fer fellers was a-scootin' by on bicycles; but I tuck -the hams to the back porch an' put 'em on a shelf out'n re'ch o' the -dogs. Then I went back to my wagon. She follered me to the fence, an' I -noticed that some 'n' was wrong with 'er. She looked so funny, an' droopy -about the mouth, an' kept a-talkin' like she was afeerd I'd fly off. She -axed all about Adele an' how she was a-makin' out down in Atlanta, an' -said she'd heerd that Sis was mighty popular with the young men, an' -from that she axed about my craps an' the meetin' goin' on at Big -Bethel. Finally she got right white about the mouth, an' said, kinder -shaky, that she was afeerd you was mad about some 'n' her pa'd said about -you, an' I never seed a woman as nigh cryin' as she was without doin' of -it. - -“I told 'er I was at the fust of it; but I'd noticed how worried you've -looked heer of late, an' so I told 'er I'd been afeerd some 'n' had come -betwixt you two. Then she put her head down on the top rail o' the fence -an' helt it thar fer a good minute. After a while she looked up an' told -me all about it an' ended by axin' me ef I thought she was to blame in -the matter. I told 'er no; but her old skunk of a daddy had acted sech -a fool that I couldn't hold in. I reckon I told 'er jest about what I -thought o' him an' the more I raked up agin 'im the better she seemed -pleased. I tried to pin' er down to what she'd be willin' to do in a -pinch ef her pa continued to hold out agin you, but she was too sharp to -commit 'erse'f. It jest looked like she wanted to make up with you an' -didn't want no row nuther.” - -The horses stopped to drink at a clear stream of water which ran across -the road on a bed of brown pebbles. The bridles were too tight to allow -them to lower their heads, so Alan went out on the heavy tongue between -the pair and unfastened the reins. When he had regained his seat he told -the old man in detail all that had happened at the dance at the hotel, -ending with the advice he had received from Rayburn Miller. - -“I don't know about that,” Abner said. “Maybe Miller could call a halt -like that an' go on like nothin' had happened. I don't say he could nur -couldn't; but it's fool advice. You mought miss it, an' regret it to -yore dyin' day.” - -Alan looked at him in some surprise; he had hardly expected just that -stand on the part of a confirmed old bachelor like his uncle. The old -man's glance swept dreamily over the green fields on either side of the -road across which the red rays of the setting sun were streaming. Then -he took a deep breath and lowered the reins till they rested on the -backs of the horses. - -“My boy,” he began, “I'm a good mind to tell you some 'n' that I hain't -mentioned fer mighty nigh forty yeer. I don't believe anything but my -intrust in that town gal an' you would make me bring it up. Huh! Ray -Miller says you kin pass 'er over jest as ef you'd never seed 'er, does -he? An' go on an' pick an' choose agin. Huh! I wasn't as old as you are -by five yeer when the one I'm talkin' about passed away, jest a week -after me 'n' her 'd come to a understandin'. I've seed women, women, -women, sence I seed 'er corpse that day amongst all that pile o' wild -flowers that old an' young fetched from the woods whar me 'n' 'er used to -walk, but ef I live to be as old as that thar hill I 'll never forget my -feelin'. I kin see 'er right now as plain as I did then, an' sometimes -my heart aches as bad. I reckon you know now why I never got married. -Folks has poked a lots o' fun at me, an' I tuck it as it was intended, -but a lots o' times what they said made me suffer simply awful. They've -picked out this un an' that un, from spring chickins to hags o' all -ages, shapes, an' sizes; but the very thought o' givin' anybody her -place made me sick. Thar never was but one fer me. I may be a fool, but -I believe I was intended fer her. Shucks! Sech skip-abouts as Miller -may talk sech bosh as that, but it's because the Lord never give 'em the -glory o' the other thing. It larnt me the truth about the after-life; I -know thar's a time to come, an' a blessed one, ur the Lord never would -'a' give me that taste of it. She's som 'er's out o' harm's way, an' when -me 'n' her meet I 'll not have a wrinkle, an' I 'll be able to walk as -spry an' hopeful as I did when she was heer. Thar ort to be punishment -reserved fer hard-headed fools that separate lovin' young folks beca'se -one ur t'other hain't jest so many dollars tied in a rag. Don't you -listen to Miller. I don't say you ort to plunge right in an' make the -old man mad; but don't give up. Ef she's what I think she is, an' she -sees you ain't a-goin' to run after no fresh face, she 'll stick to you -like the bark on a tree. The wait won't hurt nuther one of you, either. -My wait ain't a-hurtin' me, an' yore'n won't you. I never seed a young -woman I liked better 'n I do the one you selected, an' I've sent up many -a petition that you'd both make it all right.” - -The old man raised his reins and clucked to his horses. - -“Uncle Ab,” said Alan, “you've made a better man of me. I've had a lot -of trouble over this, but you make me hope. I've tried to give her up, -but I simply cannot do it.” - -“She ain't a-goin' to give you up, nuther,” replied Abner; “that's -the purty part about it. Thar ain't no give up in 'er. She ain't that -sort. She's goin' to give that daddy o' her'n a tussle.” - - - - -XI - - -[Illustration: 9092] - -NE morning early in July, as Alan was passing Pole Baker's cabin, on his -way to Darley, Pole's wife came out to the fence and stopped him. She -was a slender, ill-clad woman, who had once been pretty, and her face -still had a sort of wistful attractiveness that was appealing to one who -knew what she had been through since her marriage. - -“Are you goin' to town, Mr. Alan?” she asked, nervously. - -“Yes, Mrs. Baker,” Alan answered. “Is there anything I can do for you?” - -She did not reply at once, but came through the little gate, which swung -on wooden hinges, and stood looking up at him, a thin, hesitating hand -on his bridle-rein. - -“I'm afeerd some 'n' s happened to Pole,” she faltered. “He hain't been -home fer two whole days an' nights. It's about time fer 'im to spree -agin, an' I'm powerful afeerd he's in trouble. I 'lowed while you was -in town that you mought inquire about 'im, an' let me know when you come -back. That ud sorter free my mind a little. I didn't close my eyes all -last night.” - -“I 'll do all I can, Mrs. Baker,” Alan promised. “But you mustn't worry; -Pole can take care of himself, drunk or sober. I 'll be back to-night.” - -Alan rode on, leaving the pathetic figure at the gate looking after him. -“I wonder,” he mused, “what Uncle Ab would say about love that has that -sort of reward. Poor woman! Pole was her choice, and she has to make the -best of it. Perhaps she loves the good that's in the rascal.” - -He found Rayburn Miller at his desk, making out some legal document. -“Take a seat,” said Miller, “I 'll be through in a minute. What's the -news out your way?” he asked, as he finished his work and put down his -pen. - -“Nothing new, I believe,” said Alan. “I've been away for two days. Not -having anything else to do, I made it my business to ride over every -foot of my father's big investment, and, to tell you the truth, I've -come to you with a huge idea. Don't laugh; I can't help it. It popped in -my head and sticks, that's all.” - -“Good. Let me have it.” - -“Before I tell you what it is,” said Alan, “I want you to promise not to -ridicule me. I'm as green as a gourd in business matters; but the idea -has hold of me, and I don't know that even your disapproval will make me -let it loose.” - -“That's a good way to put it,” laughed Miller. “The idea has hold of you -and you can't let it loose. It applies more closely to investments -than anything else. Once git into a deal and you are afraid to let it -go--like the chap that held the calf and called for help.” - -“Well, here it is,” said Alan. “I've made up my mind that a railroad -can--and shall--be built from these two main lines to my father's lumber -bonanza.” Miller whistled. A broad smile ingulfed the pucker of his -lips, and then his face dropped into seriousness. A look almost of pity -for his friend's credulity and inexperience came into his eyes. - -“I must say you don't want a little thing, my boy,” he said, -indulgently. “Remember you are talking to a fellow that has rubbed up -against the moneyed world considerable for a chap raised in the country. -The trouble with you, Alan, is that you have got heredity to contend -with; you are a chip off the old block in spite of your belonging to a -later generation. You have inherited your father's big ideas. You are a -sort of Colonel Sellers, who sees millions in everything you look at.” - -Alan' s face fell, but there remained in it a tenacious expression that -won Miller's admiration even while he deplored it. There was, too, a -ring of confidence in the young farmer's tone when he replied: - -“How much would a railroad through that country, eighteen miles in -length, cost?” - -“Nothing but a survey by an expert could answer that, even -approximately,” said the lawyer, leaning back in his creaking chair. “If -you had the right of way, a charter from the State, and no big tunnels -to make nor long bridges to build, you might, I should say, construct -the road alone--without locomotives and rolling-stock generally--for a -little matter of one hundred and fifty thousand. I don't know; I'm only -guessing; but it wouldn't fall under that estimate.” - -“I didn't think it would,” replied Alan, growing more enthusiastic. “Now -then, if there _was_ a railroad to my father's property, how much would -his twenty thousand acres be worth?” - -Miller smiled again and began to figure on a scrap of paper with a -pencil. “Oh, as for that,” he said, “it would really be worth--standing -uncut, unsawn, including a world of tan-bark--at least twenty-five -dollars an acre, say a clear half million for it all. Oh, I know it -looks as plain as your nose on your face; things always do on paper. It -looks big and it shines; so does a spider-web in the sunshine to a -fly; but you don't want to be no fly, my boy; and you don't want any -spider-webs--on the brain, anyway.” - -Alan stood up and walked to the door and back; finally he shrugged his -broad shoulders. “I don't care what you say,” he declared, bringing his -hand down firmly on Miller's desk. “It will pay, as sure as I'm alive. -There's no getting around the facts. It will take a quarter of a million -investment to market a half-million-dollar bunch of timber with the land -thrown in and the traffic such a road would secure to help pay expenses. -There are men in the world looking for such opportunities and I'm going -to give somebody a chance.” - -“You have not looked deep enough into it, my boy,” mildly protested -Miller. “You haven't figured on the enormous expense of running such a -road and the dead loss of the investment after the lumber is moved out. -You'd have a railroad property worth a quarter of a million on your -hands. I can't make you see my position. I simply say to you that I -wouldn't touch a deal like that with a ten-foot pole.” - -Alan laughed good-naturedly as he laid his hand on his friend's -shoulder. “I reckon you think I'm off,” he said, “but sooner or later -I'm going to put this thing through. Do you hear me? I 'll put it through -if it takes ten years to do it. I want to make the old man feel that -he has not made such a fool of himself; I want to get even with the -Thompson crowd, and Perkins, and everybody that is now poking fun at a -helpless old man. I shall begin by raising money some way or other to -pay taxes, and hold on to every inch of the ground.” - -Miller's glance fell before the fierce fire of Alan's eyes, and for the -first time his tone wavered. - -“Well,” he said, “you may have the stuff in you that big speculators are -made of, and I may simply be prejudiced against the scheme on account -of your father's blind plunging, and what some men would call -over-cautiousness on my part. I may be trying to prevent what you really -ought to do; but I am advising you as a friend. I only know _I_ would be -more cautious. Of course, you may try. You'd not lose in doing that; in -fact, you'd gain experience. I should say that big dealers in lumber -are the men you ought to see first. They know the values of such -investments, and they are reaching out in all directions now. They have -cleaned up the timber near the railroads.” - - - - -XII - - -[Illustration: 9097] - -ILLER accompanied Alan to the door. Old Trabue stood in front of his -office in his shirt-sleeves, his battered silk hat on the back part of -his head. He was fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan and freely using -his handkerchief on his brow. He bowed cordially to Alan and came -towards him. - -“I want to ask you,” he began, “as Pole Baker any way of raisin' money?” - -“Not that I know of,” laughed Alan. “I don't know whether he's got a -clear title to the shirt on his back. He owes everybody out our way. My -father is supplying him on time now.” - -“That was my impression,” said Trabue. “He wanted me to defend 'im the -other day, but he couldn't satisfy me about the fee, an' I let him go. -He first said he could give me a lien on a mule, but he finally admitted -that it wasn't his.” - -“He's not in trouble, is he?” exclaimed Alan, suddenly recalling Mrs. -Baker's uneasiness. - -Trabue looked at Miller, who stood leaning in the doorway, and laughed. -“Well, I reckon he might call it that. That chap owned the town two days -ago. He got blind, stavin' drunk, an' wanted to whip us from one end o' -the place to the other. The marshals are afraid of 'im, for they know -he 'll shoot at the drop of a hat, an' the butt of it was stickin' out o' -his hippocket in plain sight. Was you thar, Rayburn? Well, it was better -'n a circus. Day before yesterday thar was a sort o' street temperance -lecturer in front o' the Johnston House, speakin' on a dry-goods box. -He had a lot o' gaudy pictures illustratin' the appearance of a drinkin' -man' s stomach an' liver, compared to one in a healthy condition. He was -a sort of a snide faker, out fer what he could git dropped in a hat, an' -Pole was sober enough to git on to his game. Pole stood thar with the -rest, jest about able to stand, an' that was all. Finally, when the -feller got warmed up an' got to screechin', Pole begun to deny what he -was sayin'. As fast as he'd make a statement Pole would flatly deny it. -The feller on the box didn't know what a tough customer he had to handle -or he'd 'a' gone slow. As it was, he p'inted a finger o' scorn at Pole -an' helt 'im up fer a example. Pole wasn't sober by a long shot, but -you'd 'a' thought he was, fer he was as steady as a post. He kept -grinnin', as cool as a cucumber, an' sayin', 'Now you know yo' re -a-lyin', stranger--jest a-lyin' to get a few dimes drapped in yore hat. -You know nobody's stomach don't look like that durn chromo. You never -seed inside of a drinkin' man, an' yo' re the biggest liar that ever -walked the earth.' This made the crowd laugh at the little, dried-up -feller, an' he got as mad as Old Nick. He begun to tell Pole his liver -was swelled from too much whiskey, an' that he'd bet he was jest the -sort to beat his wife. Most of us thought that ud make Pole jump on 'im, -but he seemed to enjoy naggin' the feller too much to sp'ile it by -a fight. A nigger boy had been carryin' round a bell and a sign -advertisin' Webb's auction sale, an' stopped to see the fun. Pole -heerd the tinkle of the bell, an' tuck it an' begun to ring it in the -lecturer's face. The harder the feller spoke the harder Pole rung. It -was the damnedest racket ever heerd on a public square. Part of the -crowd--the good church folks--begun to say it was a disgrace to the town -to allow a stranger to be treated that away, sence thar was no law agin -public speakin' in the streets. They was in fer callin' a halt, but -all the rest--the drinkin' men, an' I frankly state I was one--secretly -hoped Pole would ring 'im down. When the pore devil finally won I felt -like yellin' hooray, fer I glory in the pluck even of a dare-devil, if -he's a North Georgian an' white. The lecturer had to stop without his -collection, an' went off to the council chamber swearin' agin the town -fer allowin' him to be treated that away. Thar wasn't anything fer the -mayor to do but order Pole's arrest, but it took four men--two regulars -and two deputized men--to accomplish it. - -“The trial was the richest thing I ever attended. Pole had sobered up -jest enough to be witty, an' he had no more respect fer Bill Barrett's -court than he had fer the lecturer's platform. Him an' Barrett used to -fish an' hunt together when they was boys, an' Pole kept callin' him -Bill. It was Bill this an' Bill that; an' as Barrett had only been -in office a month, he hardly knew how to rise to his proper dignity, -especially when he saw the crowd was laughin' at his predicament. When -I declined to defend 'im, Pole attempted to read the law on the case -to Barrett an' show whar he was right. Barrett let 'im talk because he -didn't know how to stop 'im, an' Pole made the best defence I ever heerd -from a unlettered man. It kept the crowd in a roar. For a while I swear -it looked like Pole was goin' to cleer hisse'f, but Barrett had to do -his duty, an' so he fined Pole thirty dollars, or in default thereof to -break rock on the streets fer ten days. You ort to 'a' heerd Pole snort. -'Looky heer, Bill!' he said, 'you know as well as yo're a-settin' cocked -up thar, makin' folks say 'yore honor' ever' breath they draw, that I -ain't a-goin' to break no rock in that br'ilin' sun fer ten day 'ca'se -I beat that skunk at his own game!' - -“You 'll have to do it if you don't pay out,” Barrett told 'im. - -“'Well, I jest won't pay out, an' I won't break rock nuther,' Pole -said. 'You've heerd about the feller that could lead a hoss to water but -couldn't make 'im drink, hain't you? Well, I'm the hoss.' - -“Yesterday was Pole's fust day on the street. They put a ball an' chain -to one of his ankles an' sent 'im out with the nigger gang, but all -day yesterday an' to-day he hain't worked a lick. He's as stubborn as -a mule. Thar's been a crowd around 'im all the time. You kin see 'im -standin' up as straight as a post in the middle of the street from one -end of it to the other. I'm sorter sorry fer 'im; he looks like he's -ashamed at bottom, but don't want to give in. The funniest thing about -the whole thing is that Pole seems to know more about the law than the -mayor. He says unless they force him to work in the specified ten days -they can't hold him any longer, an' that if they attempt to flog 'im -he 'll kill the first man that lays hands on him. I think Bill Barrett -likes him too well to have 'im whipped, an' the whole town is guyin' -him, an' axin' 'im why he don't make Pole set in.” - -Alan went down the street to see Pole. He found him seated on a large -stone, a long-handled rock-hammer at his feet. He looked up from under -his broad-brimmed hat, and a crestfallen look came into his big, brown -eyes. - -“I'm sorry to see this, Pole,” said Alan. - -Pole stood up at his full height, the chain clanking as he rose. “They -hain't treated me right about this matter, Alan Bishop,” he said, half -resentfully, half as if he recognized his own error. “Bill knows he -hain't done the fair thing. I know I was full, but I jest wanted to have -my fun. That don't justify him in puttin' me out heer with these niggers -fer folks to gap' at, an' he knows it. He ain't a friend right. Me 'n' -him has slep' together on the same pile o' leaves, an' I've let 'im pull -down on a squirrel when I could 'a' knocket it from its perch; an' I've -lent 'im my pointer an' gun many an' many a time. But he's showed what -he is! He's got the wrong sow by the yeer, though, fer ef he keeps -me heer till Christmas I 'll never crack a rock, unless I do it by -accidentally step-pin' on it. Mark my words, Alan Bishop, thar 'll be -trouble out o' this.” - -“Don't talk that way, Pole,” said Alan. “You've broken the law and they -had to punish you for it. If they hadn't they would have made themselves -ridiculous. Why didn't you send me word you were in trouble, Pole?” - -The fellow hung his head, and then he blurted out: - -“Beca'se I knowed you would make a fool o' yorese'f an' try to pay me -out. Damn it, Alan Bishop, this ain't no business o' yore'n!” - -“I 'll make it my business,” said Alan. “How much is your fine? You ought -to have sent me word.” - -“Sent you hell, Alan Bishop,” growled the prisoner. “When I send you -word to he'p me out of a scrape that whiskey got me into I 'll do it -after I've decently cut my throat. I _say!_--when you've plead with me -like you have to quit the durn stuff!” - -At this point of the conversation Jeff Dukes, a man of medium size, -dressed in dark-blue uniform, with a nickel-plated badge shaped like a -shield and bearing the words “Marshal No. 2,” came directly towards them -from a stone-cutter's shop near by. - -“Look heer, Bishop,” he said, dictatorially, “whar'd you git the right -to talk to that man?” - -Alan looked surprised. “Am I breaking the law, too?” - -“You are, ef you hain't got a permit from the mayor in yore pocket.” - -“Well, I have no permit,” replied Alan, with a good-natured smile. “Have -you got another ball an' chain handy?” - -The officer frowned off his inclination to treat the matter as a jest. -“You ort to have more sense than that,” he said, crustily. “Pole's put -out heer to work his time out, an' ef everybody in town is allowed to -laugh an' joke with him he'd crack about as many rocks as you or me.” - -“You are a durn liar, Jeff Dukes,” said Pole, angrily. “You are a-makin' -that up to humiliate me furder. You know no law like that never was -inforced. Ef I ever git you out in Pea Vine Destrict I 'll knock a dent -in that egg-shaped head o' yor'n, an' make them eyes look two ways fer -Sunday. You know a gentleman like Alan Bishop wouldn't notice you under -ordinary circumstances, an' so you trump up that excuse to git his -attention.” - -The two men glared at each other, but Pole seemed to get the best of -that sort of combat, for the officer only growled. - -“You can insult a man when you are under arrest,” he said, “beca'se you -know I am under bond to keep the peace. But I'm not afeerd of you.” - -“They tell me you are afeerd o' sperits, though,” retorted the prisoner. -“They tell me a little nigger boy that was shot when a passle o' skunks -went to whip his daddy fer vagrancy stands at the foot o' yore bed ever' -night. Oh, I know what I'm a-talkin' about!” - -“Yes, you know a lots,” said the man, sullenly, as his eyes fell. - -To avoid encouraging the disputants further, Alan walked suddenly away. -The marshal took willing advantage of the opportunity and followed him. - -“I could make a case agin you,” he said, catching up, “but I know you -didn't mean to violate the ordinance.” - -“No, of course I didn't,” said Alan; “but I want to know if that fellow -could be released if I paid his fine.” - -“You are not fool enough to do it, are you?” - -“That's what I am.” - -“Have you got the money in yore pocket?” The officer was laughing, as if -at a good joke. - -“I have.” - -“Well”--the marshal laughed again as he swung his short club round by a -string that fastened it to his wrist--“well, you come with me, an' I 'll -show you a man that wants thirty dollars wuss than any man I know of. I -don't believe Bill Barrett has slept a wink sence this thing happened. -He 'll be tickled to death to git off so easy. The town has devilled the -life out of him. He don't go by whar Pole's at work--I mean, whar he -ain't at work--fer Pole yells at 'im whenever he sees 'im.” - -That night when Alan reached home he sent a servant over to tell Mrs. -Baker that Pole was all right and that he'd be home soon. He had eaten -his supper and had gone up-stairs to go to bed when he heard his name -called outside. Going to a window and looking out, he recognized Pole -Baker standing at the gate in the clear moonlight. - -“Alan,” he said, softly, “come down heer a minute. I want to see you.” - -Alan went down and joined him. For a moment Pole stood leaning against -the fence, his eyes hidden by his broad-brimmed slouch hat. - -“Did you want to see me, Pole?” Alan asked. - -“Yes, I did,” the fellow swallowed. He made a motion as if to reach out -his hand, but refrained. Then he looked straight into Alan's face. - -“I couldn't go to sleep till I'd said some 'n' to you,” he began, with -another gulp. “I laid down an' made a try at it, but it wasn't no go. -I've got to say it. I'm heer to swear that ef God, or some 'n' else, -don't show me a way to pay you back fer what you done to-day, I 'll never -draw a satisfied breath. Alan Bishop, yo're a man, _God damn it!_ a man -from yore outside skin to the marrow o' yore bones, an' ef I don't find -some way to prove what I think about you, I 'll jest burn up! I got into -that trouble as thoughtless as I'd play a prank with my baby, an' then -they all come down on me an' begun to try to drive me like a hog out'n -a field with rocks an' sticks, an' the very Old Harry riz in me an' -defied 'em. I reckon thar wasn't anything Bill could do but carry out -the law, an' I knowed it, but I wasn't ready to admit it. Then you come -along an' rendered a verdict in my favor when you needed the money you -did it with. Alan, ef I don't show my appreciation, it 'll be beca'se I -don't live long enough. You never axed me but one thing, an' that was -to quit drinkin' whiskey. I'm goin' to make a try at it, not beca'se -I think that 'll pay you back, but beca'se with a sober head I kin be a -better friend to you ef the chance ever comes my way.” - -“I'm glad to hear you say that, Pole,” replied Alan, greatly moved by -the fellow's earnestness. “I believe you can do it. Then your wife and -children--” - -“Damn my wife an' children,” snorted Pole. “It's _you_ I'm a-goin' to -work fer--_you_, I say!” - -He suddenly turned through the open gate and strode homeward across the -fields. Alan stood looking after him till his tall form was lost in the -hazy moonlight, and then he went up to his bed. - -Pole entered the open door of his cabin and began to undress as he sat -on the side of his crude bedstead, made of unbarked poles fastened to -the bare logs in one corner of the room. His wife and children slept on -two beds on the other side of the room. - -“Did you see 'im, Pole?” piped up Mrs. Baker from the darkness. - -“Yes, I seed 'im. Sally, say, whar's that bottle o' whiskey I had the -last time I was at home?” - -There was an ominous silence. Out of it rose the soft breathing of the -children. Then the woman sighed. “Pole, shorely you ain't a-goin' to -begin agin?” - -“No, I want to bu'st it into smithereens. I don't want it about--I don't -want to know thar's a drap in the house. I've swore off, an' this time -she sticks. Gi'me that bottle.” - -Another silence. Suddenly the woman spoke. “Pole, you've swore off as -many times as a dog has fleas. Often when I feel bad an' sick when you -are off, a drap o' whiskey makes me feel better. I don't want you to -destroy the last bit in the house jest be-ca'se you've tuck this turn, -that may wear off before daylight. The last time you emptied that keg on -the ground an' swore off you got on a spree an' helt the baby over the -well an' threatened to drap 'er in ef I didn't find a bottle, an' you'd -'a' done it, too.” - -Pole laughed softly. “I reckon yo' re right, old gal,” he said. -“Besides, ef I can' t--ef I ain't man enough to let up with a bottle -in the house I won't do it without. But the sight or smell of it is hell -itse'f to a lover of the truck. Ef I was to tell you what a little thing -started me on this last spree you'd laugh. I went to git a shave in a -barber shop, an' when the barber finished he soaked my face in bay-rum -an' it got in my mustache. I kept smellin' it all mornin' an' tried to -wipe it off, but she wouldn't wipe. All the time I kept walkin' up an' -down in front o' Luke Sell-more's bar. Finally I said to myself: 'Well, -ef you have to have a bar-room stuck under yore nose all day like a wet -sponge, old man, you mought as well have one whar it 'll taste better, -an' I slid up to the counter.” The woman sighed audibly, but she made no -reply. “Is Billy awake?” Pole suddenly asked. - -“No, you know he ain't,” said Mrs. Baker. - -“Well, I want to take 'im in my bed.” Pole stood out on the floor in the -sheet of moonlight that fell through the open door. - -“I wouldn't, Pole,” said the woman. “The pore little feller's been -toddlin' about after the others, draggin' bresh to the heap tell he's -tired. He drapped to sleep at the table with a piece o' bread in his -mouth.” - -“I won't wake 'im, God bless his little heart,” answered Pole, and he -reached down and took the limp child in his arms and pressed him against -the side of his face. He carried him tenderly across the room and laid -down with him. His wife heard him uttering endearing things to the -unconscious child until she fell asleep. - - - - -XIII - -[Illustration: 9107] - -T was the second Sunday in July, and a bright, clear day. In -that mountainous region the early mornings of dry summer days are -delightfully cool and balmy. Abner Daniel was in his room making -preparations to go to meeting at Rock Crest Church. He had put on one -of his best white shirts, black silk necktie, doeskin trousers, flowered -waistcoat, and long frock-coat, and was proceeding to black his shoes. -Into an old pie-pan he raked from the back of the fireplace a quantity -of soot and added to it a little water and a spoonful of sorghum -molasses from a jug under his bed, stirring the mixture into a paste. -This he applied to his shoes with a blacking-brush, rubbing vigorously -until quite a decent gloss appeared. It was a thing poverty had taught -him just after the war, and to which he still resorted when he forgot to -buy blacking. - -On his way to church, as he was crossing a broom-sedge field and -steering for the wood ahead of him, through which a path made a short -cut to Rock Crest Church, he overtook Pole Baker swinging along in his -shirt-sleeves and big hat. - -“Well, I 'll be bungfuzzled,” Abner exclaimed, “ef you hain't got on a -clean shirt! Church?” - -“Yes, I 'lowed I would, Uncle Ab. I couldn't stay away. I told Sally it -ud be the biggest fun on earth. She's a-comin' on as soon as she gits -the childern ready. She's excited, too, an' wants to see how it 'll come -out. She's as big a believer in you as I am, mighty nigh, an' she -'lowed, she did, that she'd bet you'd take hair an' hide off'n that gang -'fore they got good started.” - -Abner raised his shaggy eyebrows. If this was one of Pole's jokes it -failed in the directness that usually characterized the jests of the -ex-moonshiner. - -“I wonder what yo' re a-drivin' at, you blamed fool,” he said, smiling -in a puzzled fashion. - -Pole was walking in front, and suddenly wheeled about. He took off -his hat, and, wiping the perspiration from his high brow with his -forefinger, he cracked it into the broom-sedge like a whip. - -“Looky' heer, Uncle Ab,” he laughed, “what you givin' me?” - -“I was jest tryin' to find out what you was a-givin' me,” retorted the -rural philosopher, a dry note of rising curiosity dominating his voice. - -They had reached a rail fence which separated the field from the wood, -and they climbed over it and stood in the shade of the trees. Pole -stared at the old man incredulously. “By hunkley, Uncle Ab, you don't -mean to tell me you don't know what that passle o' hill-Billies is -a-goin' to do with you this mornin' at meetin'?” - -Abner smiled mechanically. “I can't say I do, Pole. I'm at the fust of -it, if thar is to be any--” - -Pole slapped his thigh and gave vent to a loud guffaw that rang through -the trees and was echoed back from a hidden hill-side. - -“Well, what they _are_ a-goin' to do with you 'll be a God's plenty. -They are a-goin' to walk yore log, ur make you do it on all fours so -they kin see you. You've made it hot fer them an' they are a-goin' to -turn t'other cheek an' git a swipe at you. They are a-goin' to show you -whar you come in--ur, ruther, whar you go out.” - -Abner's face was a study in seriousness. “You don't say!” he muttered. -“I _did_ notice that brother Dole kinder give our house a wide berth -last night. I reckon he sorter hated to eat at the same table with a -feller he was goin' to hit at to-day. Yes, Dole is at the bottom of it. -I know in reason I pushed 'im too fur the last time he was heer, but -when he rears back an' coughs up sanctimony like he was literally too -full of it fer comfort, I jest cayn't hold in. Seems to me I kin jest -close my eyes an' hit some spot in 'im that makes 'im wiggle like a -tadpole skeered in shallow water. But maybe I mought 'a' got a better -mark to fire at; fer this 'll raise no end of a rumpus, an' they may -try to make me take back water, but I never did crawfish. I couldn't do -that, Pole. No siree, I--I can' t crawfish.” - -Abner was a special object of regard as he and Pole emerged from the -wood into the opening in front of the little unpainted meeting-house, -where the men stood about among the buggies and horses, whittling, -gossiping, and looking strange and fresh-washed in their clean clothes. -But it was noticeable that they did not gather around him as had been -their habit. His standing in that religious community was at stake; his -continued popularity depended on the result of that day's investigation. -Pole could afford to stand by him, and he did. They sat down on a log -near the church door and remained silent till the cast-iron bell in the -little belfry, which resembled a dog-kennel, was rattled vigorously as -an announcement that the service was about to begin. They all scurried -in like sheep. Abner went in last, with slow dignity and deliberation, -leaving Pole in a seat near the door. - -He went up the narrow aisle to his accustomed seat near the long-wood -stove. Many eyes were on his profile and the back of his neck. Dole -was seated in the arm-chair behind the preacher's stand, but somehow he -failed to look at Abner as he entered, or even after he had taken his -seat. He seemed busy making notes from the big Bible which lay across -his lap. Abner saw Bishop and his wife come in and sit down, and knew -from the glances they gave him that they had heard the news. Mrs. Bishop -looked keenly distressed, but Bishop seemed to regard the matter only as -a small, buzzing incident in his own troubled career. Besides, Abner was -no blood relative of his, and Bishop had enough to occupy him in looking -after the material interests of his own family without bothering about -the spiritual welfare of a connection by marriage. - -Dole stood up and announced a hymn, and read it from beginning to end -in a mellow, sonorous voice. The congregation, all eying Abner, rose and -sang it energetically; even Abner, who sang a fair bass of the rasping, -guttural variety, popular in the mountains, found himself joining in, -quite unconcerned as to his future right to do so. After this, Dole -led in prayer, standing with both hands resting on the crude, unpainted -stand, the sole ornament of which was a pitcher of water, a tumbler, and -a glass lamp with a green paper shade on it. Abner remarked afterwards -that Dole, in this prayer, used the Lord as a cat's-paw to hit at him. -Dole told the Lord a few things that he had never had the courage to -tell Daniel. Abner was a black sheep in a flock earnestly striving to -keep itself white--a thing in human shape that soiled that with which -it came in contact. He had the subtle tongue of the serpent that blasted -the happiness of the primeval pair in the Garden of Eden. Under the -cloak of wit and wisdom he was continually dropping poison into the -beverages of earnest folk who had not the religious courage to close -their ears. As a member of a consecrated body of souls, it was the -opinion of many that Abner was out of place, but that was to be decided -after careful investigation in the Lord's presence and after ample -testimony pro and con had been submitted. Any one wishing to show that -the offending member had a right to remain in good standing would be -gladly listened to, even prayerfully. On the other hand, such members -as had had their religious sensibilities wounded should feel that a most -sacred duty rested on them to speak their minds. All this Dole said he -trusted the Lord would sanction and bless in the name of the Lord Jesus -Christ, the Saviour and Director of all men. - -Dole then started another hymn, and when it had been sung he announced -that no sermon would be preached that day, as the important business in -hand would consume all available time before the dinner-hour. Then he -courageously faced Abner. His countenance was pale and determined, -his tone perfunctory and sharp as a knife. - -“I reckon, brother Daniel,” he said, “that you have a idee who I've been -talkin' about?” - -Abner was slightly pale, but calm and self-possessed. The light of -merriment, always kindled by contact with Dole, danced in his eyes. “I -kinder 'lowed I was the one,” he said, slowly, “an' I'm sorter curis -to see who' ll speak an' what they 'll say. I 'll tell you now I ain't -a-goin' to do myse'f jestice. I 'ain't been to a debatin' club sence I -was a boy, but I 'll do my best.” - -Dole stroked his beard and consulted a scrap of paper in the palm of his -hand. “Brother Throg-martin,” he called out, suddenly, and a short, fat -man on a bench behind Abner rose and cleared his throat. - -“Now, brother Throgmartin,” went on the preacher, “jest tell some o' -the things you've heerd brother Daniel say that struck you as bein' -undoctrinal an' unbecomin' a member of this body.” - -“Well, sir,” Throgmartin began, in a thin, high voice that cut the -profound silence in the room like a rusty blade, “I don't raily, in -my heart o' hearts, believe that Ab--brother Daniel--has the right -interpretation of Scriptur'. I remember, after you preached last -summer about the sacred teachin' in regard to future punishment, that -Ab--brother Daniel--an' me was walkin' home together. Ever' now an' then -he'd stop in the road an' laugh right out sudden-like over what you'd -contended.” - -“Oh, he did, did he?” Dole's face hardened. He couldn't doubt that part -of the testimony, for it was distinctly Abner's method. - -“Yes, sir,” responded Throgmartin, sternly, “he 'lowed what you'd said -was as funny to him as a circus clown's talk, an' that it was all he -could do to hold in. He 'lowed ef you was to git up in a Darley church -with sech talk as that they'd make you preach to niggers. He 'lowed he -didn't believe hell was any hot place nohow, an' that he never could -be made to believe that the Lord ud create folks an' then barbecue 'em -alive through all eternity. He said it sorter turned his stomach to see -jest a little lamb roasted at a big political gatherin', an' that no God -he believed in would institute sech long torture as you spoke about when -you brought up the mustard-seed p'int.” - -“He deliberately gives the lie to Holy Scripture, then,” said Dole, -almost beside himself with rage. “What else did he say of a blasphemous -nature?” - -“Oh, I hardly know,” hesitated the witness, his brow wrinkled -thoughtfully. - -“Well,” snarled Dole, “you hain't told half you said to me this mornin' -on the way to meetin'. What was his remark about the stars havin' people -on 'em ever' bit an' grain as worthy o' salvation as us all?” - -“I disremember his exact words. Perhaps Ab--brother Daniel--will refresh -my memory.” Throg-martin was gazing quite respectfully at the offender. -“It was at Billy Malone's log-rollin', you know, Ab; me 'n' you'd eat a -snack together, an' you said the big poplar had strained yore side an' -wanted to git it rubbed.” - -Abner looked straight at Dole. The corners of his big, honest mouth were -twitching defiantly. - -“I said, I think,” he answered, “that no matter what some folks mought -believe about the starry heavens, no man ever diskivered a big world -with a tail to it through a spy-glass without bein' convinced that thar -was other globes in the business besides jest this un.” - -Dole drew himself up straight and gazed broadly over his congregation. -He felt that in the estimation of unimaginative, prosaic people like his -flock Abner's defence would certainly fall. - -“Kin I ax,” he asked, sternly, “how you happen to think like you do?” - -Abner grasped the back of the bench in front of him and pulled himself -up, only to sink back hesitatingly into his seat. “Would it be out o' -order fer me to stand?” he questioned. - -Dole spread a hard, triumphant smile over the congregation. “Not at all, -if it will help you to give a sensible answer to my question.” - -“Oh, I kin talk settin',” retorted the man on trial. “I jest didn't know -what was right an' proper, an' I 'lowed I could hit that spit-box better -standin' than I kin over brother Tarver's legs.” - -The man referred to quickly slid along the bench, giving Abner his place -near the aisle, and Abner calmly emptied his mouth in the wooden box -filled with sawdust and wiped his lips. - -“I hardly know why I think like I do about other worlds,” he answered, -slowly, “unless it's beca'se I've always had the notion that the -universe is sech a powerful, whoppin' big thing. Most folks believe that -the spot they inhabit is about all thar is to creation, anyway. That's -human natur'. About the biggest job I ever tackled was to drive a hungry -cow from bad grass into a good patch. She wants to stay thar an' eat, -an' that's about the way it is with folks. They are short-sighted. It -makes most of 'em mad to tell 'em they kin better the'r condition. I've -always believed that's the reason they make the bad place out so bad; -they've made up the'r minds to live thar, an' they ain't a-goin' to -misrepresent it. They are out o' fire-wood in this life an' want to have -a good sweat in the next.” - - - - -XIV - - -[Illustration: 9115] - -T looked as if Dole thought he could get down to the matter better out -of the pulpit, so he descended the steps on the side near Abner, and -stood on the floor inside the altar railing. - -“We didn't assemble heer to argue with brother Daniel,” he informed the -congregation, “fer that's evidently jest what he'd like. It would be -raily kind of you all to consider what he's jest said as the product of -a weak brain ruther 'n a bad heart. Brother Throgmartin, have you any -other charges to prefer agin brother Daniel?” Dole looked as if he had -already been apprised of the extent of the witness's testimony. - -“That's all I keer to say,” replied the man addressed, and he coughed. - -Dole consulted the scrap of paper in his hand, and while he did so Abner -stole a glance at Bishop and his wife. Mrs. Bishop had her handkerchief -to her eyes as if she were crying, and her husband's face wore the -impatient look of a man detained by trivialities. - -“Brother Daniel,” the preacher began, suddenly, “charges has been -preferred agin you on the score that you are a profane man. What have -you got to say on that line?” - -Abner bent his head and spat down into the hopper-shaped box in the -aisle. - -“I hardly know, brother Dole,” he said. “It's all owin' to what -profanity is an' what it hain't. I don't know that I ever used but one -word out o' the general run, an' that is 'dem.' I don't believe thar's -any more harm in sayin' 'dem' than 'scat,' ur gruntin' when thar's no -absolute call fer it. I don't know as anybody knows what it means. -I don't. I've axed a number o' times, but nobody could tell me, so I -knowed it wasn't patented anyway. Fer a long time I 'lowed nobody used -it but me. I met a feller from up in Yankeedom that said 'darn,' an' -another from out West that said 'dang,' so I reckon they are all three -in a bunch.” - -At this juncture some one in the rear of the church laughed out, and the -entire congregation turned its head. It was Pole Baker. He was red in -the face, had his big hand pressed tightly over his mouth, and was bent -over the bench towards the open doorway. Abner's eyes sparkled with -appreciative merriment as he saw him, but he did not permit himself -to smile. Dole could not hide his irritation, for Pole's unalloyed -enjoyment had communicated itself to some of the less rigid members, -and he felt that the reply which was stinging his tongue would fall less -forcefully than if the incident hadn't happened. - -He held up his hand to invoke silence and respect. “I believe such a -word, to say the least, is unbecoming in a Christian, and I think the -membership will back me up in it.” - -“I don't look at it that away,” argued Abner. “I'd be above takin' the -Lord's name in vain, but a little word that nobody cayn't find no fault -with or tell its origin shorely is different.” - -“Well, that 'll be a matter to decide by vote.” - -Dole paused a moment and then introduced another topic. - -“A report has gone round among the members that you said that red-handed -murderer who killed a man over in Fannin' an' was hung, an' passed -on without a single prayer fer pardon to his Maker--that he'd stand -a chance fer redemption. In all my experience I've never heerd sech a -dangerous doctrin' as that, brother Daniel--never, as I myself hope to -be redeemed.” - -“I said he'd have a chance--I _thought_,” said Abner. “I reckon I must -'a' got that idee from what Jesus said to the thief on the cross. You -see, brother Dole, I believe the Almighty gives us all equal chances, -an' I don't believe that feller in Fannin' had as good a opportunity to -git his heart saftened as the feller did that was dyin' right alongside -o' the great Redeemer o' the world. Nobody spoke a kind word to the -Fannin' man; on the contrary, they was hootin' an' spittin' at 'im night -an' day, an' they say the man he killed had pestered 'im all his life. -Scriptur' says we ort to forgive a man seventy times seven, an' that -is four hundred an' ninety. Why they didn't make it even five hundred -I never could tell. An' yet you-uns try to make folks believe the Lord -that made us, frail as we are an' prone to sin, won't forgive us once -ef we happen to die sudden. Shucks! that doctrine won't hold water; it's -hide-bound an' won't stretch one bit. It seems to me that the trouble -with yore--” - -“We haven't time to listen to a speech on the subject,” interrupted the -preacher, whose anger was inflamed by hearing Pole Baker sniggering. “If -thar is anybody else that has anything to say we'd be glad to hear from -'em.” - -Then Mrs. Bishop rose, wiping her eyes. She was pale and deeply -agitated. “I jest want to ax you all to be lenient with my pore -brother,” she began, her thin voice cracking under its strain. “I've -predicted that he'd bring disrepute down on us with his ready tongue an' -odd notions. I've tried an' tried to stop 'im, but it didn't do a bit o' -good.” - -“It's very good of you to speak in his behalf,” said Dole, as she sank -back into her seat. “I'm sure the membership will do its duty, sister -Bishop.” - -Then a little, meanly clad man behind Daniel stood up. It was Jasper -Marmaduke, a ne 'er-do-well farmer, who had a large family, few friends, -and no earthly possessions. He was greatly excited, and as white as if -he were on trial for his life. - -“I ain't no member,” he began. “I know I ort to be, but I hain't. I -don't know whether a outsider's got a right to chip into this or not, -but it seems to me I 'll bu'st wide open ef I don't git up heer an' say -as loud as I kin holler that Abner Daniel's the best man I ever seed, -knowed, ur heerd tell of.” Tears were on the man's face and his voice -shook with emotion. “He's fetched food an' medicine over to my folks an' -run after a doctor when all the rest o' humanity had turned the'r backs -on us. He made me promise not to cheep it to a soul, but I'm a-goin' to -tell it--tell it, ef he never speaks to me agin. I ain't no godly man, -an' this thing's makin' me so mad I feel like throwin' rocks!” And with -a sob bursting from him, Marmaduke strode from the church with a loud -clatter of his untied shoes. - -“Good! Good man!” spoke up Pole Baker, impulsively, unconscious of where -he was. “Jas', yo're the right stuff.” And then, in the dead silence -that followed his ejaculation, Pole realized what he had said and -lowered his head in red embarrassment, for Dole's fierce eyes were -bearing down on him. The preacher's pent-up wrath burst; he was really -more infuriated at the man who had just left the church, but he had to -make an example of some one, and Pole had laid himself open to attack. - -“This is no place fer rowdies,” he snarled. “That outlaw back thar who -has been continually disturbing these proceedings ort to be jailed. He's -undertakin' to bring his violations of decency into the very house of -God.” - -A vast surprise clutched the congregation, who, knowing Pole, scented -trouble. And Pole did not disappoint them. With his flabby hat in his -brawny grasp, Pole stood up, but his wife, who sat on the women's side -across the aisle from him with her three eldest children, stepped to -him and drew him back in his seat, sitting by him and whispering -imploringly. Dole stared fiercely for a moment, and then, seeing that -the disturbance was over, he shrugged his broad shoulders and applied -himself to the business in hand. - -“Is thar anybody else pro or con that ud like to be heerd?” - -It was the widow Pellham, sitting well towards the front, who now rose. -“I feel like Jas' Marmaduke does,” she began, falteringly. Her hearers -could not see her face, for she wore a black calico sunbonnet, and it -was tilted downward. “I believe I 'll be committin' of a grievous sin ef -I let my natural back'ard-ness keep me quiet. Abner Daniel was the fust, -last, an' only pusson that made me see the true way into God's blessed -sunshine out o' the pitch-black darkness that was over me. All of you, -especially them livin' nigh me, knowed how I acted when my daughter Mary -died. We'd lived together sence she was born, an' after her pa passed -away she was all I had. Then God up an' tuck 'er. I tell you it made a -devil out'n me. I liter'ly cussed my Maker an' swore revenge agin 'Im. -I quit meetin' an' closed my door agin my neighbors. They all tried to -show me whar I was wrong, but I wouldn't listen. Some nights I set up -from dark till daylight without candle or fire, bemeanin' my God fer the -way He'd done me. You remember, brother Dole, that you come a time or -two an' prayed an' read, but I didn't budge out'n my cheer an' wouldn't -bend a knee. Then that other little preacher, that was learnin' to -preach, an' tuck yore place when you went off to bury yore mother--he -come an' made a set at me, but every word he said made me wuss. I -ordered _him_ off the hill, an' told 'im ef he appeared agin I'd set my -dog on 'im. I don't know why everybody made me so mad, but they did. The -devil had me by the leg, an' was a-drag-gin' me as fast to his hole as -a dog kin trot. But one mornin' Abner Daniel come over with that thar -devilish twinkle in his eyes that ud make a cow laugh, an' begun to -banter me to sell 'im the hay off'n my little neck o' land betwixt the -creek an' the road. I kept tellin' 'im I didn't want to sell, but he -kept a-com-in' an' a comin', with no end o' fool talk about this un an' -that un, tell somehow I got to watchin' fer 'im, but still I wouldn't -let nobody else in. Then one day, after I'd refused to sell an' told -'im I'd _give_ 'im the hay, he growed serious an' said, ses he: 'Sister -Pellham, I don't want the hay on that patch. I've been deliberately -lyin'. I've been comin' over heer as a friend, to try to make you feel -better.' Then he set in, an', as God is my highest judge, ef thar 'll -be any more speritual talk on t'other shore it 'll be after Abner Daniel -gits thar. He jest rolled me about in his hands like a piece o' wheat -dough. He showed me what aileded me as plain as I could p'int out the -top o' old Bald Mountain to you on a cleer day. He told me, I remember, -that in grievin' like I was, I was sinnin' agin the Holy Ghost, an' jest -as long as I did it I'd suffer wuss an' wuss as a penalty. He said it -was a fight betwixt me an' my Maker an' that I was bound to be worsted. -He said that when my Mary come into the world I couldn't tell whar -she was from, nur why the Lord had fetched 'er, but I was jest pleased -beca'se it suited me to be pleased, but, ses he, when she went back into -the great mystery o' God's beautiful plan I wasn't satisfied beca'se it -didn't suit me to be. He said it was downright selfishness, that had -no part nur parcel in the kingdom o' heaven. He said to me, ses he, -'Sister, ef you 'll jest fer one minute make up yore mind that Mary is in -better hands 'an she was in yor'n '--an' you kin bet yore bottom dollar -she is--'you 'll feel as light as a feather. 'I had a tussle, but it -come, God bless him! it come. It was jest like a great light had bu'sted -over me. I fell down on my knees before 'im an' shouted an' shouted till -I was as limp as a wet rag. I had always thought I was converted away -back in the sixties when I was a gal, but I wasn't. I got my redemption -that day under Abner Daniel's talk, an' I shall bless 'im an' sing his -name on my dyin' bed. I don't want to entertain no spiteful feelin' s, -but ef he goes out I 'll have to. I wouldn't feel right in no church too -puore to fellowship with Abner Daniel.” - -“Good! Good woman!” shouted Pole Baker, as if he were at a political -speaking. She sat down. The house seemed profoundly moved. People were -thinking of the good things they had heard about Abner Daniel. However, -the turn of affairs did not suit Dole, who showed decided anger. His -eyes flashed as they rested on Pole Baker, who had offended him again. - -“I shall have to ax that law-breaker back thar to leave the church,” - he said. “I think it's come to a purty pass ef strong, able-bodied -church-members will set still an' allow the'r own house o' worship to be -insulted by such a rascal as that one.” - -Pole rose; many thought he was going to leave, but to the surprise of -all he walked deliberately up to the altar and laid his hand upon the -railing. - -“Looky' heer,” he said, “they call you the fightin' preacher. They say -you believe in hittin' back when yo' re hit. I'm heer to show you that -ef I am a outlaw I ain't afeerd o' you, an' I ain't a-goin' to be -abused by you when you are under the cloak o' this meetin'. When you -say some 'n' you think is purty good you wink at some brother in -the amen-corner an' he yells 'Amen 'loud enough to be heerd to the -cross-roads. Then you go on as if nothin' had happened. What I said back -thar was jest my way o' sayin' amen. Little Jas' Marmaduke hit you in a -weak spot; so did what Mis' Pellham said, an' yo' re tryin' to take yore -spite out on me. That won't work. I come heer to see fair play, an' I'm -a-goin' to do it. Uncle Ab's a good man an' I'm heer to testify to it. -He's come nigher--him an' Alan Bishop, that's a chip off'n 'im--to turn -me into the right way than all the shoutin'-bees I ever attended, an' -I've been to as many as thar are hairs on my head. I ain't bald, nuther. -Now ef you want to have it out with me jest wait an' meet me outside, -whar we 'll both have fair play.” - -Dole was quivering with rage. “I kin whip a dozen dirty scoundrels like -you,” he panted. “Men like you insult ministers, thinking they won't -fight, but after meetin' I 'll simply wipe up the ground with you.” - -“All right, 'nough said!” and Pole sat down. There was silence for a -moment. Dole's furious panting could be heard all over the room. -Then Abner Daniel rose. A vast change had come over him. The light of -quizzical merriment had faded from his face; nothing lay there except -the shadows of deepest regret. “I've been wrong--wrong--_wrong!_” he -said, loudly. “I'm dead wrong, ur Pole Baker never would 'a' wanted to -fight, an' brother Dole wouldn't 'a' been driv' to lose his temper in -the pulpit. I'm at the bottom o' all this rumpus that has kept you all -from listenin' to a good sermon. You've not found me hard to git along -with when I see my error, an' I promise that I 'll try from this day on -to keep from shovin' my notions on folks that ain't ready fer 'em. I want -to stay in the church. I think every sane man an' woman kin do good in a -church, an' I want to stay in this un.” - -The confession was so unexpected, and furnished Dole with such an easy -loop-hole for gracefully retiring from a most unpleasant predicament, -that he actually beamed on the speaker. - -“I don't think any more need be said,” he smiled. “Brother Daniel has -shown himself willing to do the right thing, an' I propose that -the charges be dropped.” Thereupon a vote was taken, and it went -overwhelmingly in Abner's favor. After the benediction, which followed -immediately, Pole Baker hurried across to Daniel. “I declare, you make -me sick, Uncle Ab,” he grumbled. “What on earth did you mean by takin' -back-water? You had 'im whar the wool was short; he was white at the -gills. You could 'a' mauled the life out'n 'im. Ef I'd--” - -But Abner, smiling indulgently, had a watchful eye on Dole, and was -moving forward to shake the preacher's outstretched hand. - -“Well, I 'll be damned!” Pole grunted, half aloud and in high disgust, as -he pushed his way through the crowd to the door. - -Abner found him waiting for him near the hitch-ing-post, where he had -been to untie Bishop's horse. - -“I reckon,” he said, “bein' as you got so mighty good yorese'f, 'at you -think I acted wrong.” - -“Not any wuss'n I did, Pole,” replied the old man, seriously. “My advice -to you is to go to Dole an' tell 'im you are sorry.” - -“Sorry hell!” - -“It ud be better fer you,” half smiled Abner. “Ef you don't, some o' -them hill-Billies 'll make a case at court agin you fer disturbin' -public worship. Before a grand jury o' mossbacks a man with yore record -ud not stand any better chance o' comin' cleer 'n a old bird-nest ud -o' makin' good soup. When you was a-runnin' of yore still it made you -powerful mad to have revenue men after you, didn't it? Well, this heer -shebang is Dole's still, my boy, whar he claims to make good sperits -out'n bad material, an' he's got a license, which is more 'n you could -'a' said.” - -“I reckon yo' re right,” said Pole. “I 'll wait fer 'im.” - - - - -XV - - -[Illustration: 9125] - -N the middle of the following week some of the young people of Darley -gave a picnic at Morley's Spring, a beautiful and picturesque spot about -a mile below Bishop's farm. Alan had received an urgent invitation to -join the party, and he rode down after dinner. - -It was a hot afternoon, and the party of a dozen couples had scattered -in all directions in search of cool, shady nooks. Alan was by no means -sure that Miss Barclay would be there, but, if the truth must be told, -he went solely with the hope of at least getting another look at her. He -was more than agreeably surprised, for, just as he had hitched his horse -to a hanging bow of an oak near the spring, Frank Hillhouse came -from the tangle of wild vines and underbrush on a little hill-side and -approached him. - -“You are just the fellow I'm looking for,” said Frank. “Miss Dolly's -over there in a hammock, and I want to leave somebody with her. Old man -Morley promised me the biggest watermelon in his patch if I'd come over -for it. I won't be long.” - -“Oh, I don't care how long you are,” smiled Alan. “You can stay all day -if you want to.” - -“I thought you wouldn't mind,” grinned Frank. “I used to think you were -the one man I had to fight, but I reckon I was mistaken. A feller in -love imagines everybody in creation is against him.” - -Alan made no reply to this, but hurried away to where Dolly sat, a new -magazine in her hands and a box of candies on the grass at her feet. -“I saw you riding down the hill,” she said, with a pretty flush and no -little excitement. “To tell the truth, I sent Frank after the melon when -I recognized you. He's been threatening to go all the afternoon, but I -insisted on it. You may be surprised, but I have a business message for -you, and I would have made Frank drive me past your house on the way -home if you hadn't come.” - -“Business,” Alan laughed, merrily; he felt very happy in her presence -under all her assurances of welcome. “The idea of your having a business -message! That's really funny.” - -“Well, that's what it is; sit down.” She made room for him in the -hammock, and he sat beside her, his foolish brain in a whirl. “Why, yes, -it is business; and it concerns you. I fancy it is important; anyway, it -may take you to town to-night.” - -“You don't mean it,” he laughed. She looked very pretty, in her light -organdie gown and big rustic hat, with its wide, flowing ribbons. - -“Yes, it is a message from Rayburn Miller, about that railroad idea of -yours.” - -“Really? Then he told you about that?” - -“Yes; he was down to see me last week. He didn't seem to think much -of it then--but”--she hesitated and smiled, as if over the memory of -something amusing--“he's been thinking of it since. As Frank and I drove -through the main street this morning--Frank had gone in a store to get -a basket of fruit--he came to me on his way to the train for Atlanta. He -hadn't time to say much, but he said if you were out here to-day to -tell you to come in town to-night without fail, so as to meet him at -his office early in the morning. He 'll be back on the midnight train. I -asked him if it was about the railroad, and he said it was--that he had -discovered something that looked encouraging.” - -“I'm glad of that,” said Alan, a thrill of excitement passing over him. -“Rayburn threw cold water on my ideas the other day, and--” - -“I know he did, and it was a shame,” said Dolly, warmly. “The idea of -his thinking he is the only man in Georgia with originality! Anyway, I -hope it will come to something.” - -“I certainly do,” responded Alan. “It's the only thing I could think of -to help my people, and I am willing to stake all I have on it--which is, -after all, nothing but time and energy.” - -“Well, don't you let him nor any one else discourage you,” said the -girl, her eyes flashing. “A man who listens to other people and puts his -own ideas aside is unworthy of the brain God gave him. There is another -thing”--her voice sank lower and her eyes sought the ground. “Rayburn -Miller is a fine, allround man, but he is not perfect by any means. He -talks freely to me, you know; he's known me since I was knee-high. Well, -he told me--he told me of the talk he had with you at the dance that -night. Oh, that hurt me--hurt me!” - -“He told you that!” exclaimed Alan, in surprise. “Yes, and it actually -disgusted me. Does he think all men ought to act on that sort of advice? -He might, for he has made an unnatural man of himself, with all his -fancies for new faces; but you are not that kind, Alan, and I'm sorry -you and he are so intimate--not that he can influence you _much_, but he -has already, _in a way_, and that has pained me deeply.” - -“He has influenced me?” cried Alan, in surprise. “I think you are -mistaken.” - -“You may not realize it, but he has,” said Dolly, with gentle and yet -unyielding earnestness. “You see, you are so very sensitive that it -would not be hard to make you believe that a young man ought not to keep -on caring for a girl whose parents object to his attentions.” - -“Ah!” He had caught her drift. - -There was a pause. At the foot of the hill a little brook ran merrily -over the water-browned stones, and its monotonous lapping could be heard -distinctly. Under the trees across the open some of the couples had -drawn together and were singing: - - “I see the boat go 'round the bend, - - Good-bye, my lover, good-bye.” - -Dolly had said exactly what he had never hoped to hear her say, and the -fact of her broaching such a subject in such a frank, determined way -sent a glow of happiness all over him. - -“I don't think,” he began, thoughtfully, “that Rayburn or any man could -keep me from”--he looked into her full, expectant eyes, and then plunged -madly--“could keep me from caring for you, from loving you with all my -heart, Dolly; but it really is a terrible thing to know that you are -robbing a girl of not only the love of her parents but her rightful -inheritance, when, when”--he hurried on, seeing that an impulse to speak -was urging her to protest--“when you haven't a cent to your name, and, -moreover, have a black eye from your father's mistakes.” - -“I knew that's what he'd said!” declared the girl, almost white with -anger. “I knew it! Oh, Alan, Rayburn Miller might be able to draw back -and leave a girl at such a time, but no man could that truly loves -as--as I believe you love me. I have known how you have felt all this -time, and it has nearly broken my heart, but I could not write to you -when you had never even told me, what you have to-day. You must not let -anybody or anything influence you, Alan. I'd rather be a poor man' s -wife, and do my own work, than let a paltry thing like my father's money -keep me from standing by the man I love.” - -Alan' s face was ablaze. He drew himself up and gazed at her, all his -soul in his eyes. “Then I shall not give you up,” he declared; “not for -anything in the world. And if there is a chance in the railroad idea I -shall work at it ten times as hard, now that I have talked with you.” - -They sat together in blissful ignorance of the passage of time, -till some one shouted out that Frank Hill-house was coming with the -watermelon. Then all the couples in sight or hearing ran to the spring, -where Hillhouse could be seen plunging the big melon into the water. -Hattie Alexander and Charlie Durant, who had been perched on a jutting -bowlder high up on the hill behind Dolly and Alan, came half running, -half sliding down, catching at the trees to keep from falling. - -“Better come get your teeth in that melon,” Hattie said, with a knowing -smile at Dolly. They lived next door to each other and were quite -intimate. - -“Come on, Alan.” Dolly rose. “Frank will never forgive me if I don't -have some.” - -“I sha 'n' t have time, if I go to town to-night,” replied Alan. “I have -something to do at home first.” - -“Then I won't keep you,” Dolly smiled, “for you must go and meet Rayburn -Miller. I'm going to hope that he has had good luck in Atlanta.” - -The world had never seemed so full of joy and hope as Alan rode -homeward. The sun was setting in glorious splendor beyond the towering -mountains, above which the sky seemed an ocean of mother-of-pearl and -liquid gold. Truly it was good to be alive. At the bars he met Abner -Daniel with a fishing-cane in his hands, his bait-gourd under his arm. - -“I know right whar you've been,” he said, with a broad smile, as he -threw down the bars for Alan to pass through. “I seed that gang drive -by in all the'r flurry this mornin', the queen bee in the lead with that -little makeshift of a man.” - -Alan dismounted to prevent his uncle from putting up the bars, and they -walked homeward side by side. - -“Yes, and I've had the time of my life,” said the young man. “I talked -to her for a solid hour.” - -“I could see that in yore face,” said Abner, quietly. “You couldn't hide -it, an' I 'll bet she didn't lose time in lettin' you know what she never -could hide from me.” - -“We understand each other better now,” admitted Alan. - -“Well, I've certainly set my heart on the match--on gittin' her in our -family,” affirmed Abner. “Durn-ed ef--I declare, sometimes I'm afeerd -I'm gone on 'er myse'f. Yes, I want you 'n' her to make it. I want to -set an' smoke an' chaw on yore front porch, an' heer her back in the -kitchen fryin' ham an' eggs, an',” the old man winked, “I don't know -as I'd object to trottin' some 'n' on my knee, to sorter pass the time -betwixt meals.” - -“Oh, come off, Uncle Ab!” said Alan, with a flush, “that's going too -far.” - -The old man whisked his bait-gourd round under his other arm. His eyes -twinkled, and he chuckled. “'Tain' t goin' as fur as havin' one on each -knee an' both pine blank alike an' exactly the same age. I've knowed -that to happen in my day an' time, when nobody wasn't even lookin' fer -a' increase.” - - - - -XVI - - -[Illustration: 9131] - -ATTIE ALEXANDER and Charlie Durant reached home before Dolly and -Hillhouse, and as Dolly alighted from the buggy at the front gate and -was going up the flower-bordered walk Hattie came to the side fence and -called out: - -“Oh, Dolly, come here quick; I've got some 'n' to tell you.” - -“Well, wait till I get my hat off,” answered Dolly. - -“No, I can't wait; come on, or you 'll wish you had.” - -“What is it, goosie?” Dolly smiled, as she tripped across the grass, her -face flushed from her rapid drive. - -“Doll, darling, I've got you in an _awful_ scrape. I know you 'll never -forgive me, but I couldn't help it. When Charlie left me at the gate -mother come out and asked me all about the picnic, who was there an' who -talked to who, and all about it. Among other things I told her about you -and Alan getting together for such a nice, long talk, and--” - -“Oh, I don't mind her,” broke in Dolly, as she reached for the skirt of -her gown to rescue it from the dew on the high grass. - -“Wait, wait; I'm not through by a jugful,” panted Hattie. “Just then -your pa came along an' asked if you'd got home. I told him you hadn't, -an' then he up and asked me if Alan Bishop was out there. I had to say -yes, of course, for you know how strict mother is about telling a fib, -and then what do you think he did? He come right out plain and asked -if Alan talked to you by yourself. I didn't know what on earth to do. -I reckon I actually turned white, and then mother chipped in and said: -'Tell the truth, daughter; a story never mends matters; besides, Colonel -Barclay, you must be more reasonable; young folks will be young folks, -and Alan Bishop would be my choice if I was picking out a husband for my -girl.' And then you ought to have heard your pa snort; it was as loud as -a horse kicking up his heels in the lot. He wheeled round an' made for -the house like he was shot out of a gun.” - -“I reckon he 'll raise the very Old Harry,” opined Dolly, grimly. “But I -don't care; he's driven me about as far as he can.” - -“I wouldn't make him any madder,” advised the innocent mischief-maker, -with a doleful expression. “It's all my fault. I--” - -“No, it wasn't,” declared Dolly. “But he can't run over me with his -unreasonable ideas about Alan Bishop.” - -With that she turned and went towards the house, her head down. On the -veranda she met her mother, who was waiting for her with a pleasurable -smile. “You've stirred up yore pa awful,” she said, laughing -impulsively, and then trying to veil it with a seriousness that sat -awkwardly on her. “You'd better dodge him right now. Oh, he's hot! He -was just saying this morning that he believed you and Frank were getting -on fine, and now he says Frank is an idiot to take a girl to a picnic to -meet his rival. How did it happen?” - -“Just as I intended it should, mother,” Dolly said. “I knew he was -coming, and sent Frank off after a watermelon. He didn't have sense -enough to see through my ruse. If I'd treated Alan that way he'd simply -have looked straight through me as if I'd been a window-pane. Mother, -I'm not going to put up with it. I tell you I won't. I know what there -is in Alan Bishop better than father does, and I am not going to stand -it.” - -“You ain't, heigh?” thundered Barclay across the hall, and he stalked -out of the sitting-room, looking over his eye-glasses, a newspaper in -his hand. “Now, my lady, let me say to you that Alan Bishop shall never -darken my door, and if you meet him again anywhere you shall go away and -stay.” - -“Father “--Dolly had never stood so tall in her high-heeled shoes nor so -straight--“Father, you insulted Alan just now before Mrs. Alexander and -Hattie, and I'm not going to have you do it any more. I love him, and I -shall never love any other man, nor marry any other man. I know he loves -me, and I'm going to stick to him.” - -“Then the quicker you get away from here the better,” said the old man, -beside himself with rage. “And when you go, don't you dare to come back -again.” - -The Colonel stalked from the room. Dolly glanced at her mother, who had -a pale smile of half-frightened enjoyment on her face. - -“I think you said 'most too much,” Mrs. Barclay said. “You'd better not -drive him too far.” - -Dolly went up to her room, and when supper was called, half an hour -later, she declined to come down. However, Mrs. Barclay sent up a tray -of delicacies by Aunt Milly, the old colored woman, which came back -untouched. - -It was the custom of the family to retire rather early at that season -of the year, and by half-past nine the house was dark and still. Mrs. -Barclay dropped to sleep quickly, but waked about one o' clock, and lay -unable to drift into unconsciousness again for the delightful pastime of -thinking over her daughter's love affair. She began to wonder if Dolly, -too, might not be awake, and the prospect of a midnight chat on that of -all topics made her pulse beat quickly. Slipping noiselessly out of bed, -so as not to wake her husband, who was snoring in his bed across the -room, she glided up-stairs. She had not been there a moment before the -Colonel was waked by a low scream from her, and then he heard her bare -feet thumping on the floor overhead as she crossed the hall into the -other rooms. She screamed out again, and the Colonel sprang up, grasped -his revolver, which always lay on the bureau, and ran into the hall. -There he met his wife, half sliding down the stairs. - -“Dolly's gone,” she gasped. “Her bed hasn't been touched. Oh, Seth, do -you reckon anything has happened to her?” - -The old man stared in the dim light of the hall, and then turned towards -the door which opened on the back veranda. He said not a word, but was -breathing hard. The cabin of old Ned and his wife, Aunt Milly, was near -by. - -“Ned; oh, Ned!” called out the Colonel. - -“Yes, marster!” - -“Crawl out o' that bed and come heer!” - -“Yes, marster; I'm a-comin'.” - -“Oh, Seth, do you reckon--do you--?” - -“Dry up, will you?” thundered Barclay. “Are you comin', Ned?” - -Uncle Ned's gray head was thrust out at the partly open door. - -“You want me, marster?” - -“Yes; what do you suppose I called you for if I didn't want you. Now I -don't want any lies from you. You know you can't fool me. I want to know -if you carried a note from this house to anybody since sundown.” - -“A note must have been sent,” ventured Mrs. Barclay, in an undertone. -“Dolly never would have gone to him. He must have been notified and come -after her.” - -“Dry up, for God's sake!” yelled the Colonel over his shoulder to the -spectre by his side. “Answer me, you black rascal.” - -“Marse Seth, young miss, she--” - -“She sent a note to Alan Bishop, didn't she?” interpolated the Colonel. - -“Marster, I didn't know it was any harm. I des 'lowed it was some prank -o' young miss'. Oh, Lordy!” - -“You might know you'd do suppen, you old sap-haid,” broke in Aunt Milly -from the darkness of the cabin. “I kin count on you ever' time.” - -“Get back in bed,” ordered the Colonel, and he walked calmly into his -room and lay down again. His wife followed him, standing in the middle -of the room. - -“Aren't you going to do anything?” she said. Her voice was charged with -a blending of tears and a sort of feminine eagerness that is beyond the -comprehension of man. - -“Do anything? What do you think I ought to do? Raise an alarm, ring the -church-bells, and call out the hook-and-ladder company? Huh! She's made -her bed; let her lie on it.” - -“You are heartless--you have no feeling,” cried his wife. The very core -of her desire was to get him to talk about the matter. If he was not -going to rouse the neighborhood, and thus furnish some one to talk to, -he, at least, ought to be communicative. - -“Well, you'd better go to bed,” snarled her husband. - -“No”--she scratched a match and lighted a candle--“I'm going up-stairs -and see if she left a note. Now, you see, _I_ had to think of that. The -poor girl may have written something.” - -There did seem to be a vestige of reason in this, and the old man said -nothing against it, throwing himself back on his pillow with a stifled -groan. - -After about half an hour Mrs. Barclay came back; she stood over him, -holding the candle so that its best rays would fall on his face. - -“She didn't write one word,” was her announcement. “I reckon she knew -we'd understand or find out from Uncle Ned. And just to think!”--Mrs. -Barclay now sat down on a chair across the back of which lay the -Colonel's trousers, holding the candle well to the right that she might -still see the rigid torture of his face--“just to think, she's only -taken the dress she had on at the picnic. It will be a poor wedding for -her, when she's always said she wanted a lot of bridesmaids and ushers -and decorations. Poor child! Maybe they had to drive into the country -to get somebody to marry them. I know brother Lapsley wouldn't do it -without letting us know. I reckon she 'll send the first thing in the -morning for her trunk, if--” Mrs. Barclay gazed more steadily--“if she -don't come herself.” - -“Well, she needn't come herself,” grunted the reclining figure as it -flounced under the sheets to turn its face to the wall. - -“You wouldn't be that hard on our only child, just because she--” - -“If you don't go to bed,” the words rebounded from the white plastering -an inch from the speaker's lips, “you 'n' me 'll have a row. I've said -what I'd do, and I shall do it!” - -“Well, I'm going out to speak to Aunt Milly a minute,” said Mrs. -Barclay, and, drawing on a thin graywrapper and sliding her bare feet -into a pair of slippers, she shuffled out to the back porch. - -“Come here, Aunt Milly,” she called out, and she sat down on the highest -step and waited till the fat old woman, enveloped in a coarse gray -blanket, joined her. - -“Aunt Milly, did you ever hear the like?” she said. “She 'ain't made -off sho 'nough, have she, Miss Annie?” - -“Yes, she's gone an' done it; her pa drove her just a little too far. I -reckon she railly does love Alan Bishop, or thinks she does.” - -“I could take a stick an' baste the life out'n Ned,” growled the black -woman, leaning against the veranda post; she knew better than to sit -down in the presence of her mistress, even if her mistress had invited -her to talk. - -“Oh, he didn't know any better,” said Mrs. Barclay. “He always -would trot his legs off for Dolly, and”--Mrs. Barclay's tone was -tentative--“it wouldn't surprise me if Alan Bishop paid him to help -to-night.” - -“No, he didn't help, Miss Annie. Ned's been in bed ever since he come -back fum town des atter supper. He tol' me des now dat de young man was -in a room at de hotel playin' cyards wid some more boys an' he got up -an' writ Miss Dolly er note; but Ned went straight to bed when he got -home.” - -“Then, Alan must have got her to meet him at the front gate, don't you -reckon? He didn't drive up to the house either, for I think I would have -heard the wheels. He must have left his turn-out at the corner.” - -“Are you a-goin' to set there all night?” thundered the Colonel from his -bed. “How do you expect anybody to sleep with that low mumbling going -on, like a couple of dogs under the house?” - -Mrs. Barclay got up, with a soft, startled giggle. - -“He can' t sleep because he's bothered,” she said, in a confidential -undertone. “We'd better go in. I don't want to nag him too far; it's -going hard with Dolly as it is. I'm curious to see if he really will -refuse to let her come back. Do you reckon he will, Milly?” - -“I sw'ar I don't know, Miss Annie,” replied the dark human shape from -the depths of her blanket. “He sho is a caution, an' you kin see he's -tormented. I 'll bet Ned won't have a whole skin in de mornin'.” - -The Colonel, despite his sullen effort to conceal the fact from his -wide-awake wife, slept very little during the remainder of that night, -and when he rose at the usual hour he went out to see his horse fed. - -Mrs. Barclay was fluttering from the dining-room to the kitchen, -gossiping with the cook, who had run out of anything to say on the -subject and could only grunt, “Yes'um, and no'um,” according to the -reply she felt was expected. Aunt Milly was taking a plate of waffles -into the dining-room when a little negro boy, about five years of age, -the son of the cook at the Alexanders', crawled through a hole in the -fence between the two houses and sauntered towards the kitchen. On the -door-step he espied a black kitten that took his fancy and he caught it -and began to stroke it with his little black hand. - -“What you want _now?_” Aunt Milly hovered over him like an angry hen. -“Want ter borrow suppen, I boun' you; yo'-alls folks is de beatenes' -people ter borrow I ever lived alongst.” - -The boy seemed to have forgotten his errand in his admiration for the -kitten. - -“What you atter now?” snarled Aunt Milly, “eggs, flour, sugar, salt, -pepper, flat-iron? Huh, we-all ain't keepin' er sto'.” - -The boy looked up suddenly and drew his ideas together with a jerk. -“Miss Dolly, she say sen 'er Mother Hubbub wrappin' dress, hangin' on de -foot er her bed-post.” - -“What?” gasped Aunt Milly, and, hearing the exclamation, Mrs. Barclay -came to the door and paused to listen. - -“Miss Dolly,” repeated the boy, “she say sen 'er 'er wrappin' dress -off'n de foot-post er 'er bed; en, en, she say keep 'er two waffles hot -en, en dry--not sobby--en ter git 'er dat fresh cream fer 'er coffee in -'er lill pitcher whut she lef' in de ice-box.” - -“Dolly? Dolly?” cried Mrs. Barclay. “You are surely mistaken, Pete. -Where did you see her?” - -“Over 't we-all's house,” said the boy, grabbing the kitten which had -slid from his momentarily inattentive fingers. - -“Over 't yo'-all's house!” cried Milly, almost in a tone of horror, “en, -en is her husban' wid 'er?” - -The boy grinned contemptuously. - -“Huh, Miss Dolly ain't no married ooman--you know she ain't, huh! I -seh, married! Look heer”--to the kitten--“don't you scratch me, boy!” - -Mrs. Barclay bent over him greatly excited. “What was she doing over at -your house, Pete?” - -“Nothin' w'en I seed 'er 'cep'jest her en Miss Hattie lyin' in de bed -laughin' en car'yin' on.” - -“Oh, Lordy!” Mrs. Barclay's eyes were riveted on Aunt Milly's beaming -face, “do you reckon--?” - -“She's slep 'over dar many times before now, Miss Annie,” said Aunt -Milly, and she burst into a round, ringing laugh, her fat body shaking -like a mass of jelly. “She done it time en ergin--time en ergin.” - -“Well, ain't that a purty mess?” said Mrs. Barclay, almost in a tone of -disappointment. “I 'll get the wrapper, Pete, and you tell her to put it -on and hurry over here as soon as she possibly can.” - -A few minutes later Dolly came from the Alexander's and met her mother -at the gate. “Oh, Dolly,” Mrs. Barclay cried, “you've got us in an awful -mess. We missed you about midnight and we thought--your father made Ned -acknowledge that he took a note to Alan Bishop from you, and we thought -you had gone off to get married. Your father's in an awful temper, -swearing you shall never--” - -Dolly tossed her head angrily. “Well, you needn't say I got you into it; -you did it yourselves and I don't care how much you suffer. I say! When -I go to get married it will not be that way, you can depend on it. Now, -I reckon, it will be all over town that--” - -“No, it needn't get out of the family,” Mrs. Barclay assured her, in a -guilty tone of apology. “Your pa wouldn't let me raise any alarm. But -you _did_ send a note to Alan Bishop, Dolly.” - -“Yes, I knew he was in town, and would be here to-day, and I simply -wrote him that father was angry at our seeing each other again and that -I hoped he would avoid meeting him just now--that was all.” - -“Well, well, well.” Mrs. Barclay hurried through the house and out to -where Barclay stood at the lot fence watching Ned curry his horse. - -“What do you reckon?” she gasped. “Dolly didn't go off at all; she just -went to spend the night with Hattie Alexander.” - -His face changed its expression against his will; the blood flowed into -the pallor and a satisfied gleam shot from his half-closed eyes. He -turned from her, looking over the fence at the horse. - -“You're leavin' a splotch on that right hind leg,” he said. “Are you -stone blind?” - -“I was gittin' roun' to it, marster,” said the negro, looking his -surprise over such an unexpected reproof. “No; she just wrote Alan that -you was displeased at them getting together yesterday and advised him to -dodge you to-day while he is in town.” - -“Well, he'd better!” said the Colonel, gruffly, as they walked towards -the house. “You tell her,” he enjoined--“you tell her what I said when I -thought she _was_ gone. It will be a lesson to her. She can tell now how -I 'll do if she _does_ go against me in this matter.” - -“I reckon you are glad she didn't run off,” replied his wife -thoughtfully. “The Lord only knows what you'd do about writing your -letters without her help. I believe she knows more about your business -right now than you do, and has a longer head. You'd' a' saved a thousand -dollars by taking her advice the other day about that cotton sale.” - - - - -XVII - - -[Illustration: 9142] - -N his way to Rayburn Miller's office that morning Alan decided that he -would not allude to the note he had received the previous evening from -Dolly. He did not like the cynical mood into which such subjects seemed -to draw his friend. He knew exactly what Miller would say, and felt that -it would be too personal to be agreeable. - -He found the lawyer standing in the door of his little office building -waiting for him. - -“I reckon my message surprised you,” Miller said, tentatively, as he -shook hands. - -“It took me off my feet,” smiled Alan. “You see, I never hoped to get -you interested in that scheme, and when I heard you were actually going -to Atlanta about it, I hardly knew what to make of it.” - -Miller turned into his office, kicked a chair towards Alan and dropped -into his creaking rocker. - -“It was not due to you that I did get interested,” he said. “Do you -know, I can't think of it without getting hot all over with shame. To -tell you the truth, there is one thing I have always been vain about. I -didn't honestly think there was a man in Georgia that could give me any -tips about investments, but I had to take back water, and for a woman. -Think of that--a woman knocked me off my perch as clean and easy as she -could stick a hair-pin in a ball of hair. I'm not unfair; when anybody -teaches me any tricks, I acknowledge the corn an' take off my hat. -It was this way: I dropped in to see Miss Dolly the other evening. I -accidentally disclosed two things in an offhand sort of way. I told her -some of the views I gave you at the dance in regard to marriage and love -and one thing and another, and then, in complimenting you most highly in -other things, I confess I sort o' poked fun at your railroad idea.” - -“I thought you had,” said Alan, good-naturedly; “but go on.” - -“Well, she first read me a lecture about bad, empty, shallow men, whose -very souls were damned by their past careers, interfering with the pure -impulses of younger men, and I 'll swear I felt like crawling in a -hole and pulling the hole in after me. Well, I got through that, in -a fashion, because she didn't want me to see her real heart, and that -helped me. Then she took up the railroad scheme. You know I had -heard that she advised her father in all his business matters, but, -geewhilikins! I never dreamt she could give me points, but she did--she -simply did. She looked me straight in the eye and stared at me like a -national bank examiner as she asked me to explain why that particular -road could not be built, and why it would not be a bonanza for the -owners of the timber-land. I thought she was an easy fish at first, and -I gave her plenty of line, but she kept peppering me with unanswerable -questions till I lay down on the bank as weak as a rag. The first bliff -she gave me was in wanting to know if there were not many branch roads -that did not own their rolling stock. She said she knew one in the iron -belt in Alabama that didn't own a car or an engine, and wouldn't have -them as a free gift. She said if such a road were built as you plan -these two main lines would simply fall over each other to send out cars -to be loaded for shipment at competitive rates. By George! it was a -corker. I found out the next day that she was right, and that doing away -with the rolling stock, shops, and so forth, would cut down the cost of -your road more than half.” - -“That's a fact,” exclaimed Alan, “and I had not thought of it.” - -“She's a stronger woman than I ever imagined,” said Miller. “By George! -if she were not on your string, I'd make a dead set for her. A wife like -that would make a man complete. She's in love with you--or thinks she -is--but she hasn't that will o' the wisp glamour. She's business from -her toes to her fingertips. By George! I believe she makes a business -of her love affair; she seems to think she 'll settle it by a sum in -algebra. But to get back to the railroad, for I've got lots to tell you. -What do you reckon I found that day? You couldn't guess in a thousand -years. It was a preliminary survey of a railroad once planned from -Darley right through your father's purchase to Morganton, North -Carolina. It was made just before the war, by old Colonel Wade, who, in -his day, was one of the most noted surveyors in the State. This end of -the line was all I cared about, and that was almost as level as a floor -along the river and down the valley into the north end of town. It's -a bonanza, my boy. Why that big bottle of timber-land has never been -busted is a wonder to me. If as many Yankees had been nosing about -here as there have been in other Southern sections it would have been -snatched up long ago.” - -“I'm awfully glad to hear you say all this,” said Alan, “for it is the -only way out of our difficulty, and something has to be done.” - -“It may cost you a few years of the hardest work you ever bucked down -to,” said Miller, “and some sleepless nights, but I really believe you -have fallen on to a better thing than any I ever struck. I could make -it whiz. I've already done something that will astonish you. I happen -to know slightly Tillman Wilson, the president of the Southern Land and -Timber Company. Their offices are in Atlanta. I knew he was my man to -tackle, so when I got to Atlanta yesterday I ran upon him just as if -it were accidental. I invited him to lunch with me at the Capitol City -Club--you know I'm a non-resident member. You see, I knew if I put -myself in the light of a man with something to sell, he'd hurry away -from me; but I didn't. As a pretext, I told him I had some clients up -here who wanted to raise a considerable amount of money and that the -security offered was fine timber-land. You see that caught him; he -was on his own ground. I saw that he was interested, and I boomed the -property to the skies. The more I talked the more he was interested, -till it was bubbling out all over him. He's a New-Englander, who thinks -a country lawyer without a Harvard education belongs to an effete -civilization, and I let him think he was pumping me. I even left off my -g's and ignored my r's. I let him think he had struck the softest thing -of his life. Pretty soon he begun to want to know if you cared to sell, -but I skirted that indifferently as if I had no interest whatever in it. -I told him your father had bought the property to hold for an advance, -that he had spent years of his life picking out the richest timber spots -and buying them up. Then he came right out, as I hoped he would, and -asked me the amount you wanted to borrow on the property. I had to speak -quick, and remembering that you had said the old gentleman had put in -about twenty thousand first and last, I put the amount at twenty-five -thousand. I was taking a liberty, but I can easily get you out of it if -you decide not to do it.” - -“Twenty-five thousand! On that land?” Alan cried. “It would tickle my -father to death to sell it for that.” - -“I can arrange the papers so that you are not liable for any security -outside of the land, and it would practically amount to a sale if you -wished it, but you don't wish it. I finally told him that I had an idea -that you would sell out for an even hundred thousand.” - -“A hundred thousand!” repeated Alan, with a cheery laugh. “Yes, we'd let -go at that.” - -“Well, the figures didn't scarce him a bit, for he finally came right -out and asked me if it was my opinion that in case his company made the -loan, you would agree to give him the refusal of the land at one hundred -thousand. I told him I didn't know, that I thought it possible, but -that just then I had no interest in the matter beyond borrowing a little -money on it. He asked me how long I was going to stay in Atlanta. I told -him I was going to a bank and take the night train back. 'The banks will -stick you for a high rate of interest,' he said, jealously. 'They don't -do business for fun, while, really, our concern happens just now to have -some idle capital on hand. Do you think you could beat five per cent.? -I admitted that it was low enough, but I got up as if I was suddenly -reminded that the banks close early in the afternoon. 'I think we can -make the loan,' he said, 'but I must first see two or three of the -directors. Can't you give me two hours?' I finally gave in and promised -to meet him at the Kimball House at four. I went to a matinée, saw it -half over, and went in at the ladies' entrance of the hotel. I saw him -looking about for me and dodged him.” - -“Dodged him?” echoed Alan. “Why--” - -Miller laughed. “You don't suppose I'd let a big fish like that see me -flirting my hook and pole about in open sunlight, do you? I saw by his -manner that he was anxious to meet me, and that was enough; besides, you -can't close a deal like that in a minute, and there are many slips. I -went back to the club and threw myself on a lounge and began to smoke -and read an afternoon paper. Presently he came in a cab. I heard him -asking for me in the hall and buried my head in the paper. He came in -on me and I rose and looked stupid. I can do it when I try--if it _is_ -something God has failed at--and I began to apologize. - -“He didn't seem to care. 'If it had been a deal of your own,' he said -with a laugh, 'you'd have been more prompt,' and I managed to look -guilty. Then he sat down. - -“'Our directors are interested,' he said, confidentially. 'The truth is -there is not another concern in America that can handle that property as -cheaply as we can. We happen to have a railroad about that length up -in East Tennessee that has played out, and you see we could move it to -where it would do some good.' - -“As soon as he told me that I knew he was our meat; besides, I saw trade -in his eye as big as an arc-light. To make a long tale short, he is -coming up here tonight, and if your father is willing to accept the -loan, he can get the money, giving only the land as security--provided -we don't slip up. Here's the only thing I'm afraid of. When Wilson gets -here he may get to making inquiries around and drop on to the report -that your father is disgusted with his investment, and smell a mouse -and pull off. What I want to do is to get at him the first thing after -breakfast in the morning, so you'd better bring your father and mother -in early. If we once get Wilson's twenty-five thousand into it, we can -eventually sell out. The main thing is the loan. Don't you think so?” - -“I certainly do,” said Alan. “Of course, a good many things might -interfere; we'd have to get a right of way and a charter before the road -could be built, and I reckon they won't buy till they are sure of those -things.” - -“No it may take a long time and a lot of patience,” said Miller. “But -your father could afford to wait if he can get his money back by means -of the loan. I tell you that's the main thing. If I had offered to sell -Wilson the whole thing at twenty-five thousand he never would have come -up here, but he is sure now that the property is just what he is looking -for. Oh, we are not certain of him by a long jump! It all depends on -whether he will insist on going over there or not. If he does, those -moss-backs will bu'st the thing wide open. If he comes straight to my -office in the morning the deal may be closed, but if he lies around the -hotel talking, somebody will spoil our plans and Wilson will hang off to -make his own terms later--if he makes any at all. It's ticklish, but we -may win.” - -“It _is_ a rather ticklish situation,” admitted Alan, “but even if we do -get the loan on the property, don't you think Wilson may delay matters -and hope to scoop the property in for the debt?” - -“He might,” Miller smiled, “if he didn't want to move that railroad -somewhere else, and, besides, your father can keep the money in suitable -shape to pay off the note in any emergency and free himself.” - -“I don't know how to thank you, old man,” answered Alan. “If you had -been personally interested in this you could not have done more.” - -Miller threw himself back in his chair and smiled significantly. “Do I -look like a man with nothing in it?” he asked. - -“But you haven't anything in it,” retorted Alan, wonderingly. - -“That's all you know about it” Miller laughed. - -“If the road is built I 'll make by it. This is another story. As soon -as I saw you were right about putting a railroad into the mountains, I -began to look around for some of that timber-land. I didn't have long -to wait, for the only man that holds much of it besides Colonel -Barclay--Peter Mosely, whom Perkins fooled just as he did your -father--came in. He was laying for me, I saw it in his eye. The Lord had -delivered him to me, and I was duly thankful. He was a morsel I liked -to look at. He opened up himself, bless you! and bragged about his fine -body of virgin timber. I looked bored, but let him run on till he was -tired; then I said: - -“'Well, Mosely, what do you intend to do with your white elephant? You -know it's not just the sort Barnum is looking for.' - -“He kind o' blinked at that, but he said, 'I've half a notion to sell. -The truth is, I've got the finest investment open to me that I ever had. -If I could afford to wait a few years I could coin money out of this -property, but I believe in turning money quick.' - -“'So do I,' said I, and watched him flirt about in the frying-pan. Then -I said, 'What is the price you hold it at?' - -“'I thought,' said he, 'that I ought to get as much as I paid.' - -“'As much as you paid Abe Tompkins and Perkins?' I said, with a grin. -'Do you think you could possibly sell a piece of land for as much as -those sharks? If you can, you'd better go in the real-estate business. -You'd coin money. Why, they yanked two thousand out of you, didn't -they?' - -“'I don't really think Perkins had anything to do with it,' he said. -'That's just a report out about old man Bishop's deal. I bought my land -on my own judgment.' - -“'Well,' I said, 'how will fifteen hundred round wheels strike you?' - -“'I believe I 'll take you up,' he said. 'I want to make that other -investment.' So we closed and I went at once to have the deed recorded -before he had a chance to change his mind. Now, you see, I'm interested -in the thing, and I'm going to help you put it through. If your folks -want the loan, bring them in in the morning, and if we can manage our -Yankee just right, we 'll get the money.” - - - - -XVIII - - -[Illustration: 9151] - -FTER supper that evening the Bishops sat out on the veranda to get the -cool air before retiring. There was only one light burning in the house, -and that was the little, smoky lamp in the kitchen, where the cook was -washing the dishes. Bishop sat near his wife, his coat off and vest -unbuttoned, his chair tilted back against the weatherboarding. Abner -Daniel, who had been trying ever since supper to cheer them up in regard -to their financial misfortune, sat smoking in his favorite chair near -the banisters, on top of which he now and then placed his stockinged -feet. - -“You needn't talk that away, brother Ab,” sighed Mrs. Bishop. “Yo're -jest doin' it out o' goodness o' heart. We might as well face the truth; -we've got to step down from the position we now hold, an' present way o' -livin'. And thar's Adele. Pore child! She said in 'er last letter that -she'd cried 'er eyes out. She was bent on comin' home, but 'er uncle -William won't let 'er. He said she'd not do any good.” - -“An' she wouldn't,” put in Bishop, gruffly. “The sight o' you an' Alan -before me all the time is enough to show me what a fool I've been.” - -“You are both crossin' bridges 'fore you git to 'em,” said Abner. “A -lots o' folks has come out'n scrapes wuss'n what you are in, ten to one. -I'ain't never mentioned it, but my land hain't got no mortgage on it, -an' I could raise a few scads, to he'p keep up yore intrust an' taxes -till you could see yore way ahead.” - -“Huh!” snorted his brother-in-law. “Do you reckon I'd let as old a man as -you are, an' no blood kin, stake his little all to help me out of a hole -that is gittin' deeper an' wider all the time--a hole I deliberately got -myse'f into? Well, not much!” - -“I wouldn't listen to that nuther,” declared Mrs. Bishop, “but not many -men would offer it.” - -They heard a horse trotting down the road and all bent their heads to -listen. “It's Alan,” said Abner. “I was thinkin' it was time he was -showin' up.” - -Mrs. Bishop rose wearily to order the cook to get his supper ready, and -returned to the veranda just as Alan Was coming from the stable. He -sat down on the steps, lashing the legs of his dusty trousers with his -riding-whip. It was plain that he had something of importance to say and -they all waited in impatient silence. - -“Father,” he said, “I've had a talk with Rayburn Miller about your land; -he and I have lately been working on a little idea of mine. You know -there are people who will lend money on real-estate. How would it suit -you to borrow twenty-five thousand dollars on that land, giving that -alone as security.” - -There was a startled silence, and Bishop broke it in a tone of great -irritation. - -“Do you take me fer a plumb fool?” he asked. “When I want you an' Miller -to dabble in my business I 'll call on you. Twenty-five thousand, I say! -If I could exchange every acre of it fer enough to lift the mortgage on -this farm an' keep a roof over our heads I'd do it gladly. Pshaw!” - -There was another silence, and then Alan began to explain. He almost -seemed to his father and mother to be some stranger, as he sat there -in the half dark ness, his eyes hidden by the brim of his soft hat, -and told them how he had worried over their trouble till the idea of -building a railroad had come to him. Then Miller had become interested, -after discouraging him, and had gone to Atlanta to see Wilson, and it -remained for the next day to decide what the outcome would be in regard -to the big loan. - -While he talked Mrs. Bishop sat like a figure cut from stone, and Bishop -leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his big face in his hands. It -was as if a tornado of hope had blown over him, shaking him through and -through. - -“You been doin' this to he'p me out,” he gasped, “an' I never so much as -axed yore opinion one way or another.” - -“I'd rather see you make money out of that purchase than anything in the -world,” said his son, with feeling. “People have made fun of you in -your old age, but if we can build the road and you can get your hundred -thousand dollars some of these folks will laugh on the other side of -their faces.” - -Bishop was so full of excitement and emotion that he dared not trust his -voice to utterance. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, -pretending to be calm, though his alert wife saw that he was quivering -in every limb. - -“Oh, Alan,” she cried, “don't you see how excited your pa is? You ought -not to raise his hopes this way on such an uncertainty. As Mr. Miller -said, there may be some slip and we'd be right back where we was, and -feel wuss than ever.” - -Bishop rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro on the veranda. -“It ain't possible,” they heard him saying. “I won't git out as easy as -that--I jest cayn't!” - -“Perhaps it would be wrong to expect too much,” said Alan, “but I was -obliged to tell you what we are going in town for to-morrow.” - -Bishop wheeled and paused before them. “Ef Wilson puts up the money I'd -have enough to lift the mortgage an' a clean twenty thousand besides to -put in some good investment.” - -Aunt Maria, the colored cook, came out and timidly announced that Alan's -supper was on the table, but no one heard her. She crossed the veranda -and touched the young man on the shoulder. - -“Supper's raidy, Marse Alan,” she said, “en it's gittin' col' ergin.” - -He rose and followed her into the dining-room and sat down in his -accustomed place at the long table. When he had eaten he went back to -the group on the veranda. - -“I think I 'll go up to bed,” he told them. “My ride and running around -at Darley has made me very tired. Father, get all your papers together -and let's take an early start in the morning.” - -But despite his feeling of weariness, Alan found he could not sleep. -The bright moonlight, streaming in at his window, seemed a disturbing -element. About eleven o'clock he heard some one turning the windlass at -the well, and later the clatter of falling utensils in the kitchen, and -the dead thump of a heavy tread below. He knew then that his father was -up, and, like himself, unable to sleep. Presently Mrs. Bishop slipped -into his room. - -“Are you awake, son?” She spoke in a whisper that she might not disturb -him if he were asleep. - -He laughed. “I haven't closed my eyes; it seems to me I have gone over -my conversation with Miller a thousand times.” - -“I've give up tryin',” she told him, with a gratified little laugh. -“I think I could, though, if your pa would 'a' kept still. He's in -the kitchen now makin' him a cup o' strong coffee. He's been over them -papers ever since you come up-stairs. Alan, I'm actually afeerd he -couldn't stand it if that man didn't put up the money.” - -“It would go hard with him,” said Alan. “Has Uncle Ab gone to sleep?” - -“No; he's settin' in the door o' his room chawin' tobacco; he lays the -blame on yore pa. I don't think I ever saw him so irritated before. But -nobody ain't to blame but hisse'f. He's jest excited like the rest of -us. I've seed 'im lie an' snore with a bigger noise goin' on around 'im -'an yore pa is a-makin'.” - - - - -XIX - - -[Illustration: 9156] - -S Henry, Aunt Maria's husband, who was the chief farm-hand, was busy -patching fences the next morning, Bishop sent over for Pole Baker to -drive the spring-wagon. Alan sat beside Pole, and Abner and Bishop and -Mrs. Bishop occupied the rear seats. - -Alan knew he could trust Pole, drunk or sober, and he confided his plans -to the flattered fellow's ears. Pole seemed to weigh all the chances for -and against success in his mind as he sat listening, a most grave and -portentous expression on his massive face. - -“My opinion is the feller 'll be thar as shore as preachin',” he said. -“But whether you git his wad or not, that's another question. Miller's -as sharp as a briar, an', as he says, if Wilson gits to talkin' about -that land to any o' these hill-Billies they 'll bu'st the trade or die -tryin'. Jest let 'em heer money's about to change hands an' it 'll make -'em so durn jealous they 'll swear a lie to keep it away from anybody -they know. That's human natur'.” - -“I believe you are right,” said Alan, pulling a long face; “and I'm -afraid Wilson will want to make some inquiries before he closes.” - -“Like as not,” opined the driver; “but what I'd do, ef I was a-runnin' -it, would be to git some feller to strike up with 'im accidental-like, -an' liter'ly fill 'im to the neck with good things about the property -without him ever dreamin' he was bein' worked.” - -The two exchanged glances. Alan had never looked at the man so -admiringly. At that moment he seemed a giant of shrewdness, as well as -that of physical strength. - -“I believe you are right, Pole,” he said, thoughtfully. - -“That's what I am, an', what's more, I'm the one that could do the -fillin', without him ever knowin' I had a funnel in his mouth. If I -can't do it, I 'll fill my hat with saft mud an' put it on.” - -Alan smiled warmly. “I 'll mention it to Miller,” he said. “Yes, you -could do it, Pole--if any man on earth could.” - -Driving up to Miller's office they found the door open, and the owner -came out with a warm smile of greeting and aided Mrs. Bishop to alight. -“Well,” he smiled, when they had taken seats in the office. “We have -gained the first step towards victory. Wilson is at the hotel. I saw his -name on the register this morning.” - -The elder Bishops drew a breath of relief. The old man grounded his -heavy walking-stick suddenly, as if it had slipped through his inert -fingers. - -“I'm trustin' you boys to pull me through,” he said, with a shaky laugh. -“I hain't never treated Alan right, an' I'm heer to confess it. I 'lowed -I was the only one in our layout with any business sense.” - -“So you are willing to accept the loan?” said Miller. - -“Willin'? I reckon I am. I never slept one wink last night fer feer -some 'n' 'll interfere with it.” - -Miller reflected a moment and then said: “I am afraid of only one thing, -and that is this: Not one man in a million will make a trade of this -size without corroborating the statements made by the people he is -dealing with. Wilson is at breakfast by this time, and after he is -through he may decide to nose around a little before coming to me. I'm -afraid to go after him; he would think I was over-anxious. The trouble -is that he may run upon somebody from out in the mountains--there are a -lot in town already--and get to talking. Just one word about your biting -off more than you can chaw, Mr. Bishop, would make 'im balk like a mean -mule. He thinks I'm favoring him now, but let him get the notion that -you haven't been holding that land for at least a hundred thousand an' -the thing would bu'st like a bubble.” - -Alan mentioned Pole Baker's proposition. Miller thought it over for a -moment, his brow wrinkled, and then he said: “Good!--a good idea, but -you must call Pole in and let me give him a few pointers. By George! he -could keep Wilson away from dangerous people anyway.” - -Alan went after Pole, and Miller took him into his consultation-room in -the rear, where they remained for about fifteen minutes. When they came -out Pole's face was very grave. “I won't forget a thing,” he said to -Miller. “I understand exactly what you want. When I git through with -'im he 'll want that land bad enough to pay anything fer it, an' he won't -dream I'm in cahoot with you, nuther. I can manage that. I ain't no fool -ef I do have fits.” - -“Do you remember my description of him?” asked Miller. - -“You bet I do--thick-set, about fifty, bald, red-faced, sharp, black -eyes, iron gray hair, an' mighty nigh always with a cigar in his mouth.” - -“That's right,” laughed Miller, “now do your work, and we won't forget -you. By all means keep him away from meddlesome people.” - -When Pole had left the office and Miller had resumed his revolving-chair -Mrs. Bishop addressed him, looking straight into his eyes. - -“I don't see,” she said, in a timid, hesitating way, and yet with a note -of firmness dominating her tone--“I don't see why we have to go through -all this trickery to make the trade. Ef the land is good security fer -the money we needn't be afeerd of what the man will find out. Ef it ain' -t good security I don't want his money as fer as I'm concerned.” - -“I was jest thinkin' that, too,” chimed in her husband, throwing a -troubled glance all round. “I want money to help me out o' my scrape, -but I don't want to trick no man, Yankee or what not, into toatin' my -loads. As Betsy says, it seems to me if the land's wuth the money we -needn't make such a great to-do. I'm afeerd I won't feel exactly right -about it.” - -The young men exchanged alarmed glances. - -“You don't understand,” said Miller, lamely, but he seemed to be -unprepared for views so heretical to financial dealings, and could not -finish what he had started to say. - -“Why,” said Alan, testily, “the land is worth all Wilson can make out of -it with the aid of his capital and the railroad he proposes to lay -here. Father, you have spent several years looking up the best timbered -properties, and getting good titles to it, and to a big lumber company a -body of timber like you hold is no small tiling. We don't want to cheat -him, but we do want to keep him from trying to cheat us by getting the -upper hand. Rayburn thinks if he finds out we are hard up he 'll try to -squeeze us to the lowest notch.” - -“Well,” sighed Mrs. Bishop, “I'm shore I never had no idea we'd resort -to gittin' Pole Baker to tole anybody around like a hog after a yeer o' -corn. I 'lowed we was going to make a open-and-shut trade that we could -be proud of, an' stop folk's mouths about Alfred's foolish dealin' -s. But,” she looked at Abner, who stood in the doorway leading to the -consultation-room, “I 'll do whatever brother Ab thinks is right. I never -knowed 'im to take undue advantage of anybody.” - -They all looked at Abner, who was smiling broadly. - -“Well, I say git his money,” he replied, with a short, impulsive -laugh--“git his money, and then ef you find he's starvin', hand 'im back -what you feel you don't need. I look on a thing like this sorter like -I did on scramblin' fer the upper holt in war-times. I remember I shot -straight at a feller that was climbin' up the enemy's breastworks on his -all-fours. I said to myse'f, ef this ball strikes you right, old chap, -'fore you drap over the bank, yo're one less agin the Confederacy; ef -it don't you kin pop away at me. I don't think I give 'im anything but -a flesh-wound in the back--beca'se he jest sagged down a little an' -crawled on--an' that's about the wust you could do fer Wilson. I believe -he ort to hold the bag awhile. Alf's hung on to it till his fingers ache -an' he's weak at the knees. I never did feel like thar was any harm in -passin' a counterfeit bill that some other chap passed on me. Ef -the government, with all its high-paid help, cayn't keep crooked -shinplasters from slidin' under our noses, it ortn't to kick agin our -lookin' out fer ourse'ves.” - -“You needn't lose any sleep about the Southern Land and Timber Company, -Mrs. Bishop,” said Miller. “They will take care of themselves--in fact, -we 'll have to keep our eyes peeled to watch them even if we get this -loan. Wilson didn't come up here for his health.” - -“Oh, mother's all right,” said Alan, “and so is father, but they must -not chip in with that sort of talk before Wilson.” - -“Oh no, you mustn't,” said Miller. “In fact, I think you'd better let me -and Alan do the talking. You see, if you sit perfectly quiet he 'll think -you are reluctant about giving such big security for such a small amount -of money, and he will trade faster.” - -“Oh, I'm perfectly willin' to keep quiet,” agreed the old man, who now -seemed better satisfied. - -Pole Baker left the office with long, swinging strides. There was an -entrance to the Johnston House through a long corridor opening on the -street, and into this Pole slouched. The hotel office was empty save for -the clerk who stood behind the counter, looking over the letters in the -pigeon-holed key-rack on the wall. There was a big gong overhead which -was rung by pulling a cord. It was used for announcing meals and calling -the porter. A big china bowl on the counter was filled with wooden -tooth-picks, and there was a show-case containing cigars. Pole glanced -about cautiously without being noticed by the clerk, and then withdrew -into the corridor, where he stood for several minutes, listening. -Presently the dining-room door opened and Wilson strolled out and walked -up to the counter. - -“What sort of cigars have you got?” he said to the clerk. - -“Nothing better than ten, three for a quarter,” was the respectful -reply, as the clerk recognized the man who had asked for the best room -in the house. - -Wilson thrust his fingers into his vest-pocket and drew out a cigar. “I -guess I can make what I have last me,” he said, transferring his glance -to Pole Baker, who had shambled across the room and leaned heavily over -the open register. “Want to buy any chickins--fine fryin' size?” he -asked the clerk. - -“Well, we are in the market,” was the answer. “Where are they?” - -“I didn't fetch 'em in to-day,” said Pole, dryly. “I never do till I -know what they are a-bringin'. You'd better make a bid on a dozen of 'em -anyway. They are the finest ever raised on Upper Holly Creek, jest this -side o' whar old man Bishop's lumber paradise begins.” - -Pole was looking out of the corner of his eye at the stranger, and -saw his hand, which was in the act of striking a match, suddenly stay -itself. - -“We don't bid on produce till we see it,” said the clerk. - -“Well, I reckon no harm was done by my axin',” said Pole, who felt the -eyes of the stranger on him. - -“Do you live near here?” asked Wilson, with a smile half of apology at -addressing a stranger, even of Pole's humble stamp. - -“No.” Pole laughed and waved his hand towards the mountains in the west, -which were plainly discernible in the clear morning light. “No, I'm -a mountain shanghai. I reckon it's fifteen mile on a bee-line to my -shack.” - -“Didn't you say you lived near old Mr. Bishop's place?” asked Wilson, -moving towards the open door which led to the veranda. - -“I don't know which place o' his'n you mean,” said Pole when they were -alone outside and Wilson had lighted his cigar. “That old scamp owns the -whole o' creation out our way. Well, I 'll take that back, fer he don't -own any land that hain't loaded down with trees, but he's got territory -enough. Some thinks he's goin' to seceed from the United States an' -elect himself President of his own country.” - -Wilson laughed, and then he said: “Have you got a few minutes to spare?” - -“I reckon I have,” said Pole, “ef you've got the mate to that cigar.” - -Wilson laughed again as he fished the desired article from his pocket -and gave it and a match to Pole. Then he leaned against the heavy -railing of the banisters. “I may as well tell you,” he said, “I'm a -dealer in lumber myself, and I'd like to know what kind of timber you -have out there.” - -Pole pulled at the cigar, thrust it well into the corner of his mouth -with the fire end smoking very near his left eye, and looked thoughtful. -“To tell you the truth, my friend,” he said, “I railly believe you'd be -wastin' time to go over thar.” - -“Oh, you think so.” It was a vocal start on the part of Wilson. - -“Yes, sir; the truth is, old man Bishop has simply raked into his dern -clutch ever' acre o' fine timber out that away. Now ef you went east, -over t'other side o' the mountains, you mought pick out some good -timber; but as I said, old man Bishop's got it all in a bag out our way. -Saw-mill?” - -“No, I don't run a saw-mill,” said Wilson, with an avaricious sparkle in -his eye. “I sometimes buy timbered lands for a speculation, that's all.” - -Pole laughed. “I didn't see how you could be a saw-mill man an' smoke -cigars like this an' wear them clothes. I never knowed a saw-mill man to -make any money.” - -“I suppose this Mr. Bishop is buying to sell again,” said Wilson, -tentatively. “People generally have some such idea when they put money -into such property.” Pole looked wise and thoughtful. “I don't know -whether he is or not,” he said. “But my opinion is that he 'll hold on to -it till he's in the ground. He evidently thinks a good time's a-comin'! -Thar was a feller out thar t'other day with money to throw at cats; he's -been tryin' to honeyfuggle the old man into a trade, but I don't think -he made a deal with 'im.” - -“Where was the man from?” Wilson spoke uneasily. “I don't railly know, -but he ain't a-goin' to give up. He told Neil Fulmore at his store that -he was goin' home to see his company an' write the old man a proposition -that ud fetch 'im ef thar was any trade in 'im.” - -Wilson pulled out his watch. - -“Do you happen to know where Mr. Rayburn Miller's law office is?” he -asked. - -“Yes; it's right round the corner. I know whar all the _white_ men -in this town do business, an' he's as white as they make 'em, an' as -straight as a shingle.” - -“He's an acquaintance of mine,” said Wilson. “I thought I'd run in and -see him before I leave.” - -“It's right round the corner, an' down the fust side street, towards the -court-house. I 'ain't got nothin' to do; I 'll p'int it out.” - -“Thank you,” said Wilson, and they went out of the house and down the -street together, Pole puffing vigorously at his cigar in the brisk -breeze. - -“Thar you are,” said Pole, pointing to Miller's sign. “Good-day, sir; -much obleeged fer this smoke,” and with his head in the air Pole walked -past the office without looking in. - -“Good-morning,” exclaimed Miller, as Wilson entered. “You are not an -early riser like we are here in the country.” He introduced Wilson all -round, and then gave him a chair near his desk and facing him rather -than the others. - -“This is the gentleman who owns the property, I believe,” said Wilson, -suavely, as he indicated Bishop. - -Miller nodded, and a look of cunning dawned in his clear eye. - -“Yes. I have just been explaining to Mr. and Mrs. Bishop that the mere -signing of a paper such as will be necessary to secure the loan will -not bind them at all in the handling of their property. You know how -cautious older people are nowadays in regard to legal matters. Now, Alan -here, their son, understands the matter thoroughly, and his mind is not -at all disturbed.” - -Wilson fell into the preliminary trap. “Oh no; it's not a binding -thing at all,” he said. “The payment of the money back to us releases -you--that is, of course,” Wilson recovered himself, “if we make the -loan.” - -Several hearts in the room sank, but Miller's face did not alter in the -slightest. “Oh, of course, if the loan is made,” he said. - -Wilson put his silk hat on the top of Miller's desk, and flicked the -ashes from his cigar into a cuspidor. Then he looked at Mrs. Bishop -suddenly--“Does the lady object to smoking?” - -“Not at all,” said the old lady--“not at all.” - -There was a pause as Wilson relighted his cigar and pulled at it in -silence. A step sounded on the sidewalk and Trabue put his head in at -the door. Miller could have sworn at him, but he smiled. “Good-morning, -Squire,” he said. - -“I see you are busy,” said the intruder, hastily. - -“Just a little, Squire. I 'll see you in a few minutes.” - -“Oh, all right.” The old lawyer moved on down the sidewalk, his hands in -his pockets. - -Miller brought up the subject again with easy adroitness. “I mentioned -your proposition to my clients--the proposition that they allow you the -refusal of the land at one hundred thousand, and they have finally come -round to it. As I told them, they could not possibly market a thing like -that as easily and for as good a price as a company regularly in the -business. I may have been wrong in giving such advice, but it was the -way I felt about it.” - -Without realizing it, Wilson tripped in another hole dug by Miller's -inventive mind. - -“They couldn't do half as well with it,” the Boston man said. “In fact, -no one could, as I told you, pay as much for the property as we can, -considering the railroad we have to move somewhere, and our gigantic -facilities for handling lumber in America and abroad. Still I think, and -our directors think, a hundred thousand is a big price.” - -Miller laughed as if amused. “That's five dollars an acre, you know, -but I'm not here to boom Mr. Bishop's timber-land. In fact, all this -has grown out of my going down to Atlanta to borrow twenty-five thousand -dollars on the property. I think I would have saved time if I hadn't run -on you down there, Mr. Wilson.” - -Wilson frowned and looked at his cigar. - -“We are willing,” said he, “to make the loan at five per cent, per annum -on two conditions.” - -“Well, out with them,” laughed Miller. “What are they?” - -“First,” said Wilson, slowly and methodically, “we want the refusal of -the property at one hundred thousand dollars.” - -A thrill of triumph passed over the silent group. Alan saw his father's -face fill with sudden hope, and then it seemed to stand in abeyance as -if doubt had already mastered it. Abner Daniel caught his beard in his -stiff fingers and slowly slid them downward. Mrs. Bishop's bonnet hid -her face, but her fingers were twitching excitedly as they toyed with -the fringe of her shawl. - -Miller's indifference was surprising. “For what length of time do you -want the refusal of the property at that figure?” he asked, almost in a -tone of contempt. - -Wilson hung fire, his brow wrinkled thoughtfully. - -“Till it is decided positively,” he got out finally, “whether we can get -a charter and a right of way to the property.” - -To those who were not following the details as closely as were Alan and -Miller the reply of the latter fell discouragingly, even Abner Daniel -glared in open horror of what he regarded as an unfavorable turn in the -proceedings. - -“That's entirely too indefinite to suit my clients,” said the lawyer. -“Do you suppose, Mr. Wilson, that they want to hang their property up -on a hook like that? Why, if you didn't attend to pushing your road -through--well, they would simply be in your hands, the Lord only knows -how long.” - -“But we intend to do all we can to shove it through,” said Wilson, with -a flush. - -“You know that is not a business-like proposition, Mr. Wilson,” said -Miller, with a bland smile. “Why, it amounts to an option without any -limit at all.” - -“Oh, I don't know,” said Wilson, lamely. “Mr. Bishop will be interested -just as we are in getting a right of way through--in fact, it would -insure us of his help. We can't buy a right of way; we can't afford it. -The citizens through whose property the road runs must be persuaded -to contribute the land for the purpose, and Mr. Bishop, of course, has -influence up here with his neighbors.” - -“Still he would be very imprudent,” said Miller, “to option his property -without any limit. Now here's what we are willing to do. As long as -you hold Mr. Bishop's note for twenty-five thousand dollars unpaid, you -shall have the refusal of the land at one hundred thousand dollars. Now -take my advice”--Miller was smiling broadly--“let it stand at that.” - -Wilson reflected for a moment, and then he said: “All right; let -that go. The other condition is this--and it need be only a verbal -promise--that nothing be said about my company's making this loan nor -our securing the refusal of the property.” - -“That will suit us,” said Miller. “Mr. Bishop' doesn't care to have -the public know his business. Of course, the mortgage will have to be -recorded at the court-house, but that need not attract attention. I -don't blame Mr. Bishop,” went on Miller, in a half-confidential tone. -“These people are the worst gossips you ever saw. If you meet any of -them they will tell you that Mr. Bishop has bu'sted himself wide open by -buying so much timber-land, but this loan will make him as solid as the -Bank of England. The people don't understand his dealings, and they are -trying to take it out on him by blasting his reputation for being one of -the solidest men in his county.” - -“Well, that's all, I believe,” said Wilson, and Miller drew a blank -sheet of legal-cap paper to him and began to write. Half an hour later -the papers were signed and Miller carelessly handed Wilson's crisp pink -check on a New York bank to Mr. Bishop. - -“There you are, Mr. Bishop,” he said, with a smile; “you didn't want any -one else to have a finger in that big pie of yours over there, but you -needed money, and I 'll tell you as a friend that a hundred thousand cash -down will be about as well as you can do with that land. It takes money, -and lots of it, to make money, and Mr. Wilson's company can move the -thing faster than you can.” - -“That's a fact,” said Wilson, in a tone that betrayed -self-gratification. “Now we must all pull together for the railroad.” He -rose and turned to Miller. “Will you come with me to record the paper?” - -“Certainly,” said Miller, and they both left together. - -The Bishop family were left alone, and the strain being lifted, they -found themselves almost wholly exhausted. - -“Is it all over?” gasped the old woman, standing up and grasping her -son's arm. - -“We've got his money,” Alan told her, with a glad smile, “and a fair -chance for more.” - -The pink check was fluttering in old Bishop's hand. Already the old -self-willed look that brooked no interference with his personal affairs -was returning to his wrinkled face. - -“I 'll go over to Craig's bank an' deposit it,” he said to Alan. “It 'll -take a day or two to collect it, but he'd let me check on it right now -fer any reasonable amount.” - -“I believe I'd ask him not to mention the deposit,” suggested Alan. - -“Huh! I reckon I've got sense enough to do that.” - -“I thought you intended to pay off the mortgage on our farm the fust -thing,” ventured Mrs. Bishop. - -“We can' t do it till the note's due next January,” said Bishop, -shortly. “I agreed to keep the money a yeer, an' Martin Doe 'll make me -hold to it. But what do you reckon I care as long as I've got some 'n' to -meet it with?” - -Mrs. Bishop's face fell. “I'd feel better about it if it was cleer,” she -faltered. “But the Lord knows we ort to feel thankful to come out as we -have. If it hadn't been fer Alan--Mr. Miller said that Alan--” - -“Ef you all hadn't made sech a eternal row,” broke in Bishop, testily, -“I'd 'a' had more timber-land than this. Colonel Barclay has as fine a -strip as any I got, an' he's bantered me for a trade time an' agin.” - -Abner Daniel seldom sneered at anybody, no matter what the provocation -was, but it seemed impossible for him to refrain from it now. - -“You've been lookin' fer the last three months like a man that needed -more land,” he said. “Jest no furder back 'an last night you 'lowed ef -you could git enough fer yore folly to raise the debt off'n yore farm -you'd die happy, an' now yo' re a-frettin' beca'se you didn't buy up the -sides o' the earth an' give nobody else a foothold. Le' me tell you the -truth, even ef it _does_ hurt a little. Ef Alan hadn't thought o' this -heer railroad idea, you'd 'a' been the biggest human pancake that ever -lay flat in its own grease.” - -“I hain't said nothin' to the contrary,” admitted Bishop, who really -took the reproof well. “Alan knows what I think about it.” - -Then Bishop and his wife went to Craig's bank, and a moment later Miller -returned, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. - -“We got through, and he's gone to catch his train,” he said. - -“It worked as smooth as goose-grease. I wonder what Pole Baker said to -him, or if he saw him. I have an idea he did, from the way Wilson danced -to our music.” - -“Heer's Pole now,” said Abner, from the door. “Come in heer, you -triflin' loafer, an' give an account o' yorese'f.” - -“I seed 'im makin' fer the train,” laughed Pole, “an' so I sneaked in to -see what you-uns done. He walked like he owned the town.” - -“It went through like lightning, without a hitch or a bobble,” Abner -told him. “We was jest a-won-derin' what you shot into 'im.” - -“I hardly know,” Pole sniggered. “I got to talkin' to 'im an' it looked -to me like I was chippin' off tan-bark with the sharpest tool I ever -handled. Every lick seemed to draw blood, an' he stood an' tuck it -without a start or a shiver. I said to myse'f: 'Pole Baker, yo're -nothin' but a rag-tag, bob-tail mountain Hoosier, an' he's a slick duck -from up North, with a gold watch-chain an' a silk beaver, but he's a -lappin' up what you say like a hungry kitten does a pan o' milk. Go it, -old boy, an' ef you win, you 'll he'p the finest man out o' trouble--I -mean Alan Bishop, by gum--that ever lived.' It seemed to me I was -filled with the fire of heaven. I could 'a' been at it yet--fer I'd -jest started--but he drawed his watch on me, an' made a shoot fer this -office, me with 'im, fer feer some yokel would strike up with 'im. I -mighty nigh shoved 'im in at the door.” - -“You did noble,” said Miller, while Pole and Alan were silently -clasping hands. “Now I told you we wouldn't forget you. Go down to -Wimbley's and tell him to give you the best suit of clothes he's got, -and to charge them to me 'n' Alan.” - -Pole drew himself up to his full height, and stared at the lawyer with -flashing eyes. - -“Damn yore soul,” he said; “don't you say a thing like that to me agin. -I 'll have you know I've got feelin' s as well as you or anybody else. -I'd cut off this right arm an' never wince to do Alan Bishop a favor, -but I 'll be danged ef anybody kin look me over after I've done a -_little_ one an' pay me for it in store-clothes. I don't like that one -bit, an' I ain't afeerd to say so.” - -“I didn't mean any offence, Pole,” apologized Miller, most humbly. - -“Well, you wouldn't 'a' said it to _some_ men,” growled Pole, “I know -that. When I want pay fer a thing like that, I 'll jest go to that corner -o' the street an' look down at that rock-pile, whar Alan found me one -day an' paid me out jest to keep me from bein' the laughin'-stock o' -this town.” - -Alan put his arm over his shoulder. “Rayburn didn't mean any harm,” - he said, gently. “You are both my friends, and we've had a big victory -to-day; let's not have hard feelings.” - -Pole hung his head stubbornly and Miller extended his hand. Abner Daniel -was an attentive listener, a half smile on his face. - -“Say, Pole,” he said, with a little laugh, “you run down to Wimbley's -an' tell 'im not to wrop up that suit. I'm a-owin' him a bill, an' he -kin jest credit the value of it on my account.” - -Pole laughed heartily and thrust his big hand into Miller's. - -“Uncle Ab,” he said, “you'd make a dog laugh.” - -“I believe yo' re right,” said Abner, significantly, and then they all -roared at Pole's expense. - -The next day Alan received the following letter from Dolly Barclay: - -“_DEAR ALAN,--Rayburn Miller told me in confidence of your wonderful -success yesterday, and I simply cried with joy. I knew--I felt that you -would win, and this is, as he says, a glorious beginning. I am so proud -of you, and I am so full of hope to-day. All our troubles will come -out right some day, and now that I know you love me I can wait. Rayburn -would not have confided so much to me, but he said, while he would not -let me tell father anything about the prospective railroad, he wanted -me to prevent him from selling his tract of land near yours. You know -my father consults me about all his business, and he will not dispose of -that property without my knowing of it. Oh, wouldn't it he a fine joke -on him to have him profit by your good judgment._” - -Alan was at the little post-office in Filmore's store when he received -the letter, and he folded it and restored it to its envelope with a -heart filled with love and tenderness. As he walked home through the -woods, it seemed to him that everything in nature was ministering to his -boundless happiness. He felt as light as air as he strode along. “God -bless her dear, dear little soul!” he said, fervently. - - - - -XX - - -[Illustration: 9173] - -BOUT a week after this transaction Rayburn Miller went to Atlanta on -business for one of his clients, and while there he incidentally called -at the offices of the Southern Land and Timber Company, hoping to meet -Wilson and learn something about his immediate plans in regard to the -new railroad. But he was informed that the president of the company had -just gone to New York, and would not be back for a week. - -Rayburn was waiting in the rotunda of the Kimball House for his train, -which left at ten o' clock, when he ran across his friend, Captain Ralph -Burton, of the Gate City Guards, a local military company. - -“Glad to see you,” said the young officer. “Did you run up for the -ball?” - -“What ball is that?” asked Miller. “I am at the first of it.” - -“Oh, we are giving one here in this house tonight,” answered Burton, who -was a handsome man of thirty-five, tall and erect, and appeared at -his best in his close-fitting evening-suit and light overcoat. “Come -up-stairs and I 'll introduce you to a lot of strangers.” - -“Can't,” Rayburn told him. “I've got to leave at ten o' clock.” - -“Well, you've got a good hour yet,” insisted the officer. “Come up on -the next floor, where the orchestra is, anyway, and we can sit down and -watch the crowd come in.” - -Miller complied, and they found seats on the spacious floor overlooking -the thronged office. From where they sat they could look through several -large drawing-rooms into the ballroom beyond. Already a considerable -number of people had assembled, and many couples were walking about, -even quite near to the two young men. - -“By George!” suddenly exclaimed Miller, as a couple passed them, “who is -that stunning-looking blonde; she walks like a queen.” - -“Where?” asked Burton, looking in the wrong direction. - -“Why, there, with Charlie Penrose.” - -“Oh, that one,” said Burton, trying to think, “I know as well as I know -anything, but her name has slipped my memory. Why, she's visiting the -Bishops on Peachtree Street--a Miss Bishop, that's it.” - -“Adele, little Adele? Impossible!” cried Rayburn, “and I've been -thinking of her as a child all these years.” - -“So you know her?” said Captain Burton. - -“Her brother is a chum of mine,” explained Miller. “I haven't seen her -since she went to Virginia to school, five years ago. I never would have -recognized her in the world. My Lord! she's simply regal.” - -“I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her,” said the Captain; “but I've -heard lots about her from the boys who go to Bishop's. They say she's -remarkably clever--recites, you know, and takes off the plantation negro -to perfection. She's a great favorite with Major Middleton, who doesn't -often take to the frying size. She has been a big drawing card out at -Bishop's ever since she came. The boys say the house overflows every -evening. Are you going to speak to her?” - -“If I get a good chance,” said Rayburn, his eyes on the couple as they -disappeared in the ballroom. “I don't like to go in looking like this, -but she'd want to hear from home.” - -“Oh, I see,” said Burton. “Well, you'd better try it before the grand -march sweeps everything before it.” - -As Miller entered the ballroom, Penrose was giving Adele a seat behind -a cluster of palms, near the grand piano, around which the German -orchestra was grouped. He went straight to her. - -“You won't remember me, Miss Adele,” he said, with a smile, “but I'm -going to risk speaking to you, anyway.” - -She looked up from the bunch of flowers in her lap, and, in a startled, -eager sort of way, began to study his face. - -“No, I do not,” she said, flushing a little, and yet smiling agreeably. - -“Well, I call that a good joke,” Penrose broke in, with a laugh, as he -greeted Miller with a familiar slap on the shoulder. “Why, Rayburn, on -my word, she hasn't talked of anybody else for the last week, and here -she--” - -“You are _not_ Rayburn Miller!” Adele exclaimed, and she stood up to -give him her hand. “Yes, I have been talking of you, and it seems to me -I have a thousand things to say, and oh, so many thanks!” - -There was something in this impulsive greeting that gave Miller a -delectable thrill all over. - -“You were such a little thing the last time I saw you,” he said, almost -tenderly. “I declare, you have changed--so, so remarkably.” - -She nodded to Penrose, who was excusing himself, and then she said to -Miller, “Are you going to dance to-night?” - -He explained that he was obliged to take the train which left in a few -minutes. - -He saw her face actually fall with disappointment. The very genuineness -of the expression pleased him inexplicably. “Then I must hurry,” she -said. “Would you mind talking to me a little while?” - -“Nothing could possibly please me so much,” said he. “Suppose we stroll -around?” - -She took his arm and he led her back to the rotunda overlooking the -office. - -“So you are Rayburn Miller!” she said, looking at him wonderingly. “Do -you know, I have pictured you in my mind many times since mother wrote -me all about how you rescued us from ruin. Oh, Mr. Miller, I could not -in a thousand years tell you how my heart filled with gratitude to -you. My mother goes into the smallest details in her letters, and she -described your every word and action during that transaction in your -office. I could tell just where her eyes filled and her throat choked -up by her quivering handwriting. I declare, I looked on you as a sort -of king with unlimited power. If I were a man I'd rather use my brain to -help suffering people than to be made President of the United States -and be a mere figure-head. You must not think I am spoiled by all this -glitter and parade down here. The truth is, I heartily despise it. I -wanted to be at home so bad when I got that letter that I cried myself -to sleep.” - -“You must not forget that your brother conceived the plan,” Miller -protested, “and that I only--” - -“Oh yes; I know Alan thought of it,” she interrupted, “but without your -experience and firmness it would have remained in his dear old brain -till the Lord knows when. The idea of their being in debt was slowly -killing my father and mother, and you came to their relief just when -they were unable to bear it any longer. I'm so glad you thought of -borrowing that money.” - -Just then a young man, half a head shorter than Adele, came up -hurriedly. “Oh, here you are,” he exclaimed, in a gasp of relief. “I've -been looking for you everywhere. This is mine, you know--the grand -march. They are all ready.” - -Adele smiled pleasantly. “I hope you 'll excuse me from it, Mr. -Tedcastle,” she said. “I've just met a friend from home; I want to talk -with him, and--” - -“But, Miss Bishop, I--” - -“I asked you to please excuse me, Mr. Tedcastle.” Miller saw her face -harden, as if from the sneer of contempt that passed over it. “I hope -it will not be necessary for me to explain my reasons in detail until I -have a little more time at my disposal.” - -“Oh, certainly not, Miss Bishop,” said the young man, red with anger, as -he bowed himself away. - -“What's society coming to?” Adele asked Miller, with a nervous little -laugh. “Does a lady have to get down on her knees and beg men, little -jumping-jacks, like that one, to excuse her, and pet them into a -good-humor when she has good reason to change her mind about an -engagement? That's a sort of slavery I don't intend to enter.” - -“You served him right,” said Miller, who had himself resented the -young man's childish impetuosity, and felt like slapping him for his -impertinence. - -Adele shrugged her fine shoulders. “Let's not waste any more time -talking about him,” she said. “I was going to tell you how happy you -made them all. When I read mother's description of their return home -that night--how she went round looking at each object and touching it, -that she might realize it was hers again; and how father sat up till -past midnight talking incessantly about it; and all the droll things -Uncle Abner said, I cried and laughed by turns. I longed to see you, to -tell you how I felt about what you did, and yet, now that I'm with you, -all I say seems utterly weak and--inadequate.” - -“It seems wonderfully nice to me,” Miller declared. “I don't deserve -anything, and yet--well, I like to hear you talk.” He laughed. “Whether -I deserve it or not, I could listen to you for a week on a stretch.” - -In truth, Rayburn Miller had never in all his varied social career -become so suddenly and startlingly interested in any woman. It all -seemed like a dream, and a most delicious one--the gay assemblage, the -intermittent strains of the music, the touch of the stately creature -on his arm, the perfume of her flowers, her hair, her eyes! He suddenly -felt fearful of the passage of time, the leaving of his train, the -approach of some one to claim her attention. He could not explain the -spell she had thrown on him. Was it because she was his friend's sister, -and so astoundingly pretty, frank, and sensible, or could it be that--? - -His train of thought was broken by the approach of Miss Ida Bishop, -Adele's cousin, a rather plain girl, who, with her scrawny neck and -scant hair--which rebelled against being made much of--would have -appeared to better advantage in a street costume. - -“Oh, Adele,” she cried, reproachfully, “what _do_ you mean? Do you know -you have mortally offended Mr. Tedcastle? He had the march with you.” - -“And I asked him as a favor to excuse me from it,” said Adele, simply. -“I had just met Mr. Miller, who is to leave on an early train, and I -wanted to talk to him about home. Have you been introduced? My cousin, -Miss Bishop, Mr. Rayburn Miller.” - -Miss Bishop bowed indifferently, and looked as if she still saw no -justification in the slight under question. - -“I'm awfully sorry,” she said, reprovingly. “Mr. Tedcastle has been as -nice to you as he could be, and this is the way you show appreciation -for it. I don't blame him for being mad, do you, Mr. Miller?” - -“I'm afraid I'd be a prejudiced witness,” he smiled, “benefiting as I am -by the gentleman' s discomfiture; but, really, I can' t think that -any circumstances could justify a man in pressing a lady to fill an -engagement when she chooses not to do so for any reason of hers.” - -“I knew you'd say that,” said Adele. “If anybody has a right to be -offended it is I, for the way he has acted without waiting for my full -explanation.” - -“Oh, that is a high and mighty course that will do better for novels -than real life,” disagreed Miss Ida Bishop. “The young men are badly -spoiled here, and if we want attention we've got to humor them.” - -“They shall not be spoiled by me,” declared Adele. “Why,” shrugging her -shoulders, contemptuously, “if I had to run after them and bind up their -bruises every time they fell down, I'd not appreciate their attentions. -Besides, Mr. Tedcastle and his whole ilk actually put me to sleep. -What do they talk about? Driving, pet dogs, flowers, candies, -theatre-parties, and silly bosh, generally. Last Sunday Senator Hare -dined at uncle's, and after dinner he and I were having really a -wholesome sort of talk, and I was respecting myself--well, a little like -I am now--when in traped 'Teddy' with his hangers-on. Of course, I had -to introduce them to the Senator, and I felt like a fool, for he knew -they were my 'company,' and it was impossible to keep them quiet. They -went on with their baby talk, just as if Senator Hare were being given -an intellectual treat. Of course, there are _some_ grown-up men in -Atlanta, but they are driven to the clubs by the swarms of little -fellows. There comes Major Middleton, one of the old régime. He may ask -me to dance with him. Now watch; if he does, I 'll answer him just as I -did Mr. Tedcastle, and you shall see how differently he will treat it.” - -The Major, a handsome man of powerful physique and a great shock of -curly, iron-gray hair, approached Adele, and with a low bow held out his -hand. - -“I'm after the next dance, my dear,” he said. “You are one of the very -few who ever dance with me, and I don't want to go home without it.” - -Adele smiled. “I'm very sorry, Major,” she said; “but I hope you 'll -excuse me this evening.” - -“Oh, that's all right, my dear _child_,” he said. “No, don't explain. I -know your reasons are all right. Go ahead and enjoy yourself in your own -way.” - -“I won my bet,” Adele laughed. “Major, I knew so well what you would say -that I bet on it,” and then she explained the situation. - -“Tedcastle ought to be spanked,” said the Major, in his high-keyed -voice. “A girl who had not rather hear from home than spin around with -him ought not to have a home. I'm going to mine rather early tonight. I -came only to show the boys how to make my famous Kentucky punch.” - -When the Major and Miss Ida Bishop had gone and left them together, -Adele looked over the railing at the big clock in the office. “We have -only a few minutes longer--if you are to take that train,” she said, -regretfully. - -“I never had as little interest in trains in my life,” he said. And he -meant it. - -“Not in the trains on our new road?” she laughed. - -“They are too far ahead to interfere with my comfort,” he retorted. -“This one is a steam nightmare.” - -“I presume you really could not miss it?” Her long-lashed eyes were -down. - -He hesitated; the simple thought suggested by her thrilled him as he had -never been thrilled before. - -“Because,” she added, “it would be so nice to have you come out -to-morrow afternoon to tea, about four.” - -He drew out his watch and looked at it waveringly. - -“I could send a night message,” he said, finally. “I really don't want -to go. Miss Adele, I don't want to go at all.” - -“I don't want you to either,” she said, softly. “It seems almost as if -we are quite old friends. Isn't that strange?” - -He restored his watch to his pocket. “I shall stay,” he said, “and I -shall call to-morrow afternoon.” - -Some one came for her a few minutes later, and he went down to the -office and out into the street. He wanted to walk, to feel his body in -action, keeping pace with his throbbing, bounding brain. His whole being -was aflame with a fire which had never burned in him before. - -“Alan' s little sister!” he kept repeating to himself. “Little -Adele--she's wonderful, wonderful! Perhaps she may be _the_ woman. By -George! she _is_--she _is!_ A creature like that, with that soul full -of appreciation for a man' s best efforts, would lift a fellow to the -highest rung on the ladder of human effort. Alan's little sister! And -the idiot never told me, never intimated that she was--a goddess.” - -In his room at the hotel that night he slept little, his brain being -so active with his new experience. He saw her the next afternoon alone, -over a dainty tea-service of fragile china, in a Turkish corner in -William Bishop's great, quiet, house, and then proposed driving her the -next day to the Driving Club. He remained a week, seeing her, under some -pretext or other, every day during that time. Sometimes it was to call -with her on friends of hers. Once it was to attend a barbecue given by -Captain Burton at a club-house in the country, and once he gave her and -her cousin a luncheon at the Capitol City Club with a box at the matinée -afterwards. He told himself that he had never lived before, and that, -somehow, he was just beginning. - -“No,” he mused, as he sat in his train homeward bound. “I can't tell -Alan. I simply couldn't do it, after all the rubbish I have crammed into -him. Then she's his sister. I couldn't talk to him about her--not now, -anyway.” - - - - -XXI - - -[Illustration: 9183] - -M glad you got back.” Rayburn's sister, Mrs. Lampson, said to him at -breakfast the morning following his return on the midnight train. “We -are having a glorious meeting at our church.” - -“Oh, is that so?” said the young man, sipping his coffee. “Who is -conducting it?” - -“Brother Maynell,” answered Mrs. Lampson, enthusiastically, a tinge of -color in her wan, thin face. “He's a travelling evangelist, who has -been conducting revivals all over the South. It is really remarkable the -interest he has stirred up. We are holding prayer-meetings morning and -afternoon, though only the ladies meet in the afternoon. I conducted the -meeting yesterday.” - -“Oh no; did you, really? Why, sis--” - -“Don't begin to poke fun at me,” said Mrs. Lamp-son. “I know I didn't -do as well as some of the others, but I did the best I could, because I -felt it was my duty.” - -“I was not going to make fun,” said Miller, soothingly; “but it seems -mighty strange to think of you standing up before all the rest, and--” - -“It was not such a very hard thing to do,” said the lady, who was older -than her brother by ten years. She had gray hairs at her temples, and -looked generally as if she needed out-door exercise and some diversion -to draw her out of herself. - -Rayburn helped himself to the deliciously browned, fried chicken, in its -bed of cream gravy, and a hot puffy biscuit. - -“And how does Mr. Lapsley, the regular preacher, like this innovation?” - he questioned. “I reckon you all pay the new man a fee for stirring -things up?” - -“Yes; we agreed to give him two hundred dollars, half of which goes to -an orphan asylum he is building. Oh, I don't think brother Lapsley -minds much, but of course it must affect him a little to see the great -interest brother Maynell has roused, and I suppose some are mean enough -to think he could have done the same, if he had tried.” - -“No, it's clearly a case of a new broom,” smiled Rayburn, buttering his -biscuit. “Old Lap might get up there and groan and whine for a week -and not touch a mourner with a ten-foot pole. The other chap knows his -business, and part of his business is not to stay long enough to wear -out his pet phrases or exhaust his rockets. I'm sorry for Lapsley; he's -paid a regular salary, and is not good for any other sort of work, and -this shows him up unfairly. In the long run, I believe he 'll get as many -into the church as the other man, and they will be more apt to stick. -Sister, that's the trouble with these tin-pan revivals. The biggest -converts backslide. I reckon you are working over old material now.” - -Mrs. Lampson frowned and her lip stiffened. - -“I don't like your tone in speaking of such things,” she said. “Indeed, -Rayburn, I have been deeply mortified in the last week by some remarks -that have been made about you. I didn't intend to mention them, but you -make me do it.” - -“Oh, I knew they wouldn't let me rest,” said Miller; “they never do in -their annual shake-ups.” - -“Brother, you are looked on by nearly all religious workers in town as -a dangerous young man--I mean dangerous to the boys who are just growing -up, because they all regard you as a sort of standard to shape their -conduct by. They see you going to balls and dances and playing cards, -and they think it is smart and will not be interested in our meetings. -They see that you live and seem to prosper under it, and they follow in -your footsteps. I am afraid you don't realize the awful example you are -setting. Brother May-nell has heard of you and asked me about you the -other day. Some people think you have been in Atlanta all this time to -avoid the meeting.” - -“I didn't know it was going on,” said Miller, testily. “I assure you I -never run from a thing like that. The best thing to do is to add fuel to -the fire--it burns out quicker.” - -“Well, you will go out to meeting, won't you?” insisted the sweet-voiced -woman. “You won't have them all thinking you have no respect for the -religion of our father and mother--will you?” - -Rayburn squirmed under this close fire. - -“I shall go occasionally when there is _preaching_,” he said, -reluctantly. “I would be out of place at one of the--the knock-down and -drag-out shouting-bees.” Then, seeing her look of horror at the words -which had unthoughtedly glided from his lips, he strove to make amends. -“Oh, sister, do--_do_ be reasonable, and look at it from my point of -view. I don't believe that's the way to serve God or beautify the world. -I believe in being happy in one's own way, just so that you don't tread -on the rights of other people.” - -“But,” said Mrs. Lampson, her eyes flashing, “you _are_ treading on -the rights of others. They are trying to save the souls of the rising -generation in the community, and you and your social set use your -influence in the other direction.” - -“But what about the rights of my social set, if you want to call it -by that name?” Miller retorted, warmly. “We have the right to enjoy -ourselves in our way, just as you have in yours. We don't interfere--we -never ask you to close up shop so we can have a dance or a picnic, but -you do. If we dare give a party while some revivalist is filling his -pockets in town the revivalist jumps on us publicly and holds us up as -examples of headlong plungers into fiery ruin. There is not a bit of -justice or human liberty in that, and you 'll never reach a certain -element till you quit such a course. Last year one of the preachers in -this town declared in the pulpit that a girl could not be pure and dance -a round dance. It raised the very devil in the hearts of the young men, -who knew he was a dirty liar, and they got up as many dances out of -spite as they possibly could. In fact, some of them came near knocking -the preacher down on the street. I am a conservative sort of fellow, but -I secretly wished that somebody would slug that man in the jaw.” - -“I'm really afraid you are worse than ever,” sighed Mrs. Lampson. “I -don't know what to do with you.” She laughed good-naturedly as she rose -and stood behind his chair, touching his head tenderly. “It really does -make me rather mad,” she confessed, “to hear them making you out such a -bad stripe when I know what a wonderful man you really are for your age. -I really believe some of them are jealous of your success and standing, -but I do want you to be more religious.” When Miller reached his office -about ten o' clock and had opened the door he noticed that Craig's bank -on the corner across the street was still closed. It was an unusual -occurrence at that hour and it riveted Miller's attention. Few people -were on the street, and none of them seemed to have noticed it. -The church-bell in the next block was ringing for the revivalist's -prayer-meeting, and Miller saw the merchants and lawyers hurrying by on -their way to worship. Miller stood in his front door and bowed to them -as they passed. Trabue hustled out of his office, pulling the door to -with a jerk. - -“Prayer-meeting?” he asked, glancing at Miller. - -“No, not to-day,” answered Miller; “got some writing to do.” - -“That preacher's a hummer,” said the old lawyer. “I've never seen his -equal. He'd 'a' made a bang-up criminal lawyer. Why, they say old Joe -Murphy's converted--got out of his bed at midnight and went to Tim -Slocum's house to get 'im to pray for 'im. He's denied thar was a God -all his life till now. I say a preacher's worth two hundred to a town if -it can do that sort of work.” - -“He's certainly worth it to Slocum,” said Miller, with a smile. “If I'd -been denying there was a God as long as he has, I'd pay more than that -to get rid of the habit. Slocum's able, and I think he ought to foot -that preacher's bill.” - -“You are a tough customer, Miller,” said Trabue, with a knowing laugh. -“You'd better look out--May-nell's got an eye on you. He 'll call out -yore name some o' these days, an' ask us to pray fer you.” - -“I was just wondering if there's anything wrong with Craig,” said -Miller. “I see his door's not open.” - -“Oh, I reckon not,” said the old lawyer. “He's been taking part in the -meeting. He may have overslept.” - -There was a grocery-store near Miller's office, and the proprietor came -out on the sidewalk and joined the two men. His name was Barnett. He was -a powerful man, who stood six feet five in his boots; he wore no coat, -and his suspenders were soiled and knotted. - -“I see you-uns is watchin' Craig's door,” he said. “I've had my eye on -it ever since breakfast. I hardly know what to make of it. I went -thar to buy some New York exchange to pay for a bill o' flour, but he -wouldn't let me in. I know he's thar, for I seed 'im go in about an -hour ago. I mighty nigh shook the door off'n the hinges. His clerk, that -Western fellow, Win-ship, has gone off to visit his folks, an' I reckon -maybe Craig's got all the book-keepin' to do.” - -“Well, he oughtn't to keep his doors closed at this time of day,” - remarked Miller. “A man who has other people's money in his charge can' -t be too careful.” - -“He's got some o' mine,” said the grocer, “and Mary Ann Tarpley, my -wife's sister, put two hundred thar day before yesterday. Oh, I reckon -nothin' s wrong, though I do remember I heerd somebody say Craig bought -cotton futures an' sometimes got skeerd up a little about meetin' his -obligations.” - -“I have never heard that,” said Rayburn Miller, raising his brows. - -“Well, I have, an' I've heerd the same o' Winship,” said the grocer, -“but I never let it go no furder. I ain't no hand to circulate ill -reports agin a good member of the church.” - -Miller bit his lip and an unpleasant thrill passed over him as Trabue -walked on. “Twenty-five thousand,” he thought, “is no small amount. It -would tempt five men out of ten if they were inclined to go wrong, and -were in a tight.” - -The grocer was looking at him steadily. - -“You bank thar, don't you?” he asked. - -Miller nodded: “But I happen to have no money there right now. I made a -deposit at the other bank yesterday.” - -“Suspicious, heigh? Now jest a little, wasn't you?” The grocer now spoke -with undisguised uneasiness. - -“Not at all,” replied the lawyer. “I was doing some business for the -other bank, and felt that I ought to favor them by my cash deposits.” - -“You don't think thar's anything the matter, do you?” asked the grocer, -his face still hardening. - -“I think Craig is acting queerly--very queerly for a banker,” was -Miller's slow reply. “He has always been most particular to open up -early and--” - -“Hello,” cried out a cheery voice, that of the middle-aged proprietor -of the Darley Flouring Mills, emerging from Barnett's store. “I see -you fellows have your eye on Craig's front. If he was a drinking man we -might suspicion he'd been on a tear last night, wouldn't we?” - -“It looks damned shaky to me,” retorted the grocer, growing more -excited. “I'm goin' over there an' try that door again. A man 'at has my -money can't attract the attention Craig has an' me say nothin'.” - -The miller pulled his little turf of gray beard and winked at Rayburn. - -“You been scarin' Barnett,” he said, with a tentative inflection. “He's -easily rattled. By-the-way, now that I think of it, it does seem to me -I heard some of the Methodists talkin' about reproving Craig an' Winship -for speculatin' in grain and cotton. I know they've been dabblin' in -it, for Craig always got my market reports. He's been dealin' with a -bucket-shop in Atlanta.” - -“I'm going over there,” said Miller, abruptly, and he hurried across in -the wake of the big grocer. The miller followed him. On the other side -of the street several people were curiously watching the bank door, and -when Barnett went to it and grasped the handle and began to shake it -vigorously they crossed over to him. - -“What's wrong?” said a dealer in fruits, a short, thick-set man with a -florid face; but Barnett's only reply was another furious shaking of the -door. - -“Why, man, what's got into you?” protested the fruit-dealer, in a rising -tone of astonishment. “Do you intend to break that door down?” - -“I will if that damned skunk don't open it an' give me my money,” said -Barnett, who was now red in the face and almost foaming at the mouth. -“He's back in thar, an' he knows it's past openin' time. By gum! I know -more 'n I'm goin' to tell right now.” - -This was followed by another rattling of the door, and the grocer's -enormous weight, like a battering-ram, was thrown against the heavy -walnut shutter. - -“Open up, I say--open up in thar!” yelled the grocer, in a voice hoarse -with passion and suspense. - -A dozen men were now grouped around the doorway. Barnett released the -handle and stood facing them. - -“Somethin' s rotten in Denmark,” he panted. “Believe me or not, fellows, -I know a thing or two. This bank's in a bad fix.” - -A thrill of horror shot through Miller. The words had the ring of -conviction. Alan Bishop's money was in bad hands if it was there at all. -Suddenly he saw a white, trembling hand fumbling with the lower part of -the close-drawn window-shade, as if some one were about to raise it; but -the shade remained down, the interior still obscured. It struck Miller -as being a sudden impulse, defeated by fear of violence. There was a -pause. Then the storm broke again. About fifty men had assembled, all -wild to know what was wrong. Miller elbowed his way to the door and -stood on the step, slightly raised above the others, Barnett by his -side. “Let me speak to him,” he said, pacifically. Barnett yielded -doggedly, and Rayburn put his lips to the crack between the two -folding-doors. - -“Mr. Craig!” he called out--“Mr. Craig!” - -There was no reply, but Rayburn heard the rustling of paper on the -inside near the crack against which his ear was pressed, and then the -edge of a sheet of writing-paper was slowly shoved through. Rayburn -grasped it, lifting it above a dozen outstretched hands. “Hold on!” he -cried, authoritatively. “Til read it.” The silence of the grave fell on -the crowd as the young man began to read. - -“Friends and citizens,” the note ran, “Winship has absconded with every -dollar in the vaults, except about two hundred dollars in my small safe. -He has been gone two days, I thought on a visit to his kinfolks. I have -just discovered the loss. I'm completely ruined, and am now trying to -make out a report of my condition. Have mercy on an old man.” - -Rayburn's face was as white as that of a corpse. The paper dropped from -his hand and he stepped down into the crowd. He was himself no loser, -but the Bishops had lost their all. How could he break the news to them? -Presently he began to hope faintly that old Bishop might, within the -last week, have drawn out at least part of the money, but that hope was -soon discarded, for he remembered that the old man was waiting to invest -the greater part of the deposit in some Shoal Creek Cotton Mill stock -which had been promised him in a few weeks. No, the hope was groundless. -Alan, his father, Mrs. Bishop, and--Adele--Miller's heart sank down into -the very ooze of despair. All that he had done for Adele's people, and -which had roused her deepest, tenderest gratitude, was swept away. What -would she think now? - -His train of thought was rudely broken by an oath from Barnett, who, -with the rage of a madman, suddenly threw his shoulder against the door. -There was a crash, a groan of bursting timber and breaking bolts, and -the door flew open. For one instant Miller saw the ghastly face and -cowering form of the old banker behind the wire-grating, and then, with -a scream of terror, Craig ran into a room in the rear, and thence made -his escape at a door opening on the side street. The mob filled the -bank, and did not discover Craig's escape for a minute; then, with a -howl of rage, it surged back into the street. Craig was ahead of them, -running towards the church, where prayer-meeting-was being held, the -tails of his long frock-coat flying behind him, his worn silk hat in his -convulsive grasp. - -“Thar he goes!” yelled Barnett, and he led the mob after him, all -running at the top of their speed without realizing why they were doing -so. They gained on the fleeing banker, and Barnett could almost touch -him when they reached the church. With a cry of fear, like that of a -wild animal brought to bay, Craig sprang up the steps and ran into the -church, crying and groaning for help. - -A dozen men and women and children were kneeling at the altar to get the -benefit of the prayers of the ministers and the congregation, but they -stood up in alarm, some of them with wet faces. - -The mob checked itself at the door, but the greater part of it crowded -into the two aisles, a motley human mass, many of them without coats or -hats. The travelling evangelist seemed shocked out of expression; but -the pastor, Mr. Lapsley, who was an old Confederate soldier, and used to -scenes of violence, stood calmly facing them. - -“What's all this mean?” he asked. - -“I came here for protection,” whined Craig, “to my own church and -people. This mob wants to kill me--tear me limb from limb.” - -“But what's wrong?” asked the preacher. - -“Winship,” panted Craig, his white head hanging down as he stood -touching the altar railing--“Win-ship's absconded with all the money -in my vault. I'm ruined. These people want me to give up what I haven't -got. Oh, God knows, I would refund every cent if I had it!” - -“You shall have our protection,” said the minister, calmly. “They won't -violate the sacredness of the house of God by raising a row. You are -safe here, brother Craig. I'm sure all reasonable people will not blame -you for the fault of another.” - -“I believe he's got my money,” cried out Barnett, in a coarse, sullen -voice, “and the money of some o' my women folks that's helpless, and -he's got to turn it over. Oh, he's got money some'r's, I 'll bet on -that!” - -“The law is your only recourse, Mr. Barnett,” said the preacher, calmly. -“Even now you are laying yourself liable to serious prosecution for -threatening a man with bodily injury when you can't prove he's wilfully -harmed you.” - -The words told on the mob, many of them being only small depositors, -and Barnett found himself without open support. He was silent. Rayburn -Miller, who had come up behind the mob and was now in the church, went -to Craig's side. Many thought he was proffering his legal services. - -“One word, Mr. Craig,” he said, touching the quivering arm of the -banker. - -“Oh, you're no loser,” said Craig, turning on him. “There was nothing to -your credit.” - -“I know that,” whispered Miller, “but as attorney for the Bishops, I -have a right to ask if their money is safe.” The eyes of the banker went -to the ground. - -“It's gone--every cent of it!” he said. “It was their money that tempted -Winship. He'd never seen such a large pile at once.” - -“You don't mean--” But Miller felt the utter futility of the question on -his tongue and turned away. Outside he met Jeff Dukes, one of the town -marshals, who had been running, and was very red in the face and out of -breath. - -“Is that mob in thar?” he asked. - -“Yes, and quiet now,” said Miller. “Let them alone; the important thing -is to put the police on Winship's track. Come back down-town.” - -“I 'll have to git the particulars from Craig fust,” said Dukes. “Are you -loser?” - -“No, but some of my clients are, and I'm ready to stand any expense to -catch the thief.” - -“Well, I 'll see you in a minute, and we 'll heat all the wires out of -town. I 'll see you in a minute.” - -Farther down the street Miller met Dolly Barclay. She had come straight -from her home, in an opposite direction from the bank, and had evidently -not heard the news. - -“I'm on my way to prayer-meeting,” she smiled. “I'm getting good to -please the old folks, but--” She noticed his pale face. “What is the -matter? Has anything--” - -“Craig's bank has failed,” Rayburn told her briefly. “He says Winship -has absconded with all the cash in the vaults.” - -Dolly stared aghast. “And you--you--” - -“I had no money there,” broke in Miller. “I was fortunate enough to -escape.” - -“But Alan--Mr. Bishop?” She was studying his face and pondering his -unwonted excitement. “Had they money there?” - -Miller did not answer, but she would not be put aside. - -“Tell me,” she urged--“tell me that.” - -“If I do, it's in absolute confidence,” he said, with professional -firmness. “No one must know--not a soul--that they were depositors, for -much depends on it. If Wilson knew they were hard up he might drive them -to the wall. They were not only depositors, but they lose every cent -they have--twenty-five thousand dollars in a lump.” - -He saw her catch her breath, and her lips moved mutely, as if repeating -the words he had just spoken. “Poor Alan!” he heard her say. “This is -too, _too_ much, after all he has gone through.” - -Miller touched his hat and started on, but she joined him, keeping by -his side like a patient, pleading child. He marvelled over her strength -and wonderful poise. “I am taking you out of your way, Miss Dolly,” he -said, gently, more gently than he had ever spoken to her before. - -“I only want to know if Alan has heard. Do--do tell me that.” - -“No, he's at home. I shall ride out as soon as I get the matter in the -hands of the police.” - -She put out her slender, shapely hand and touched his arm. - -“Tell him,” she said, in a low, uncertain voice, “that it has broken my -heart. Tell him I love him more than I ever did, and that I shall stick -to him always.” - -Miller turned and took off his hat, giving her his hand. - -“And I believe you will do it,” he said. “He's a lucky dog, even if he -_has_ just struck the ceiling. I know him, and your message will soften -the blow. But it's awful, simply awful! I can't now see how they can -possibly get from under it.” - -“Well, tell him,” said Dolly, with a little, soundless sob in her -throat--“tell him what I told you.” - - - - -XXII - - -[Illustration: 9196] - -HAT afternoon the breeze swerved round from the south, bringing vague -threats About three o' clock Alan, his his mother and father were in the -front yard, looking at the house, with a view to making some alterations -that had been talked of for several years past. - -“I never had my way in anything before,” Mrs. Bishop was running on, in -the pleased voice of a happy child, “and I'm glad you are goin' to -let me this once. I want the new room to jut out on this side from -the parlor, and have a bay-window, and we must cut a wide foldin'-door -between the two rooms. Then the old veranda comes down and the new one -must have a double floor, like Colonel Sprague's on the river, except -ours will have round, white columns instead o' square, if they do cost a -trifle more.” - -“She knows what she wants,” said Bishop, with one of his infrequent -smiles, “and I reckon we'd save a little to let her boss the job, ef she -don't hender the carpenters by too much talk. I don't want 'em to put in -a stick o' lumber that ain't the best.” - -“I'm glad she's going to have her way,” said Alan. “She's wanted a -better house for twenty years, and she deserves it.” - -“I don't believe in sech fine feathers,” said Bishop, argumentatively. -“I'd a leetle ruther wait till we see whether Wilson's a-goin' to put -that road through--then we _could_ afford to put on a dab or two o' -style. I don't know but I'd move down to Atlanta an' live alongside o' -Bill, an' wear a claw-hammer coat an' a dicky cravat fer a change.” - -“Then you mought run fer the legislatur',” spoke up Abner Daniel, who -had been an amused listener, “an' git up a law to pen up mad dogs at -the dangerous part o' the yeer. Alf, I've always thought you'd be a' -ornament to the giddy whirl down thar. William was ever' bit as green -as you are when he fust struck the town. But he had the advantage o' -growin' up an' sorter ripenin' with the place. It ud be hard on you at -yore time o' life.” - -At this juncture Alan called their attention to a horseman far down the -road. “It looks like Ray Miller's mare,” he remarked. “This is one of -his busy days; he can' t be coming to fish.” - -“Railroad news,” suggested Abner. “It's a pity you hain't connected by -telegraph.” - -They were all now sure that it was Miller, and with no little curiosity -they moved nearer the gate. - -“By gum! he's been givin' his mare the lash,” said Abner. “She's fairly -kivered with froth.” - -“Hello, young man,” Alan called out, as Miller dismounted at a -hitching-post just outside the fence and fastened his bridle-rein. “Glad -to see you; come in.” - -Miller bowed and smiled as he opened the gate and came forward to shake -hands. - -“We are certainly glad you came, Mr. Miller,” said Mrs. Bishop, with all -her quaint cordiality. “Ever since that day in the office I've wanted a -chance to show you how much we appreciate what you done fer us. Brother -Ab will bear me out when I say we speak of it mighty nigh ever'day.” - -Miller wore an inexpressible look of embarrassment, which he tried to -lose in the act of shaking hands all round the group, but his platitudes -fell to the ground. Abner, the closest observer among them, already had -his brows drawn together as he pondered Miller's unwonted lack of ease. - -“Bring any fishing-tackle?” asked Alan. - -“No, I didn't,” said the lawyer, jerking himself to that subject -awkwardly. “The truth is, I only ran out for a little ride. I've got to -get back.” - -“Then it _is_ business, as brother Ab said,” put in Mrs. Bishop, -tentatively. - -Miller lowered his eyes to the ground and then raised them to Alan's -face. - -“Yes, it's railroad business,” said Abner, his voice vibrant with -suspense. - -“And it's not favorable,” said Alan, bravely. “I can see that by your -looks.” - -Miller glanced at his mare, and lashed the leg of his top-boots with his -riding-whip. “No, I have bad news, but it's not about the railroad. I -could have written, but I thought I'd better come myself.” - -“Adele!” gasped Mrs. Bishop. “You have heard--” - -“No, she's well,” said Miller. “It's about the money you put in Craig's -bank.” - -“What about that?” burst from old Bishop's startled lips. - -“Craig claims Winship has absconded with all the cash. The bank has -failed.” - -“Failed!” The word was a moan from Bishop, and for a moment no one -spoke. A negro woman at the wash-place behind the house was using -a batting-stick on some clothing, and the dull blows came to them -distinctly. - -“Is that so, Ray?” asked Alan, calm but pale to the lips. - -“I'm sorry to say it is.” - -“Can anything at all be done?” - -“I've done everything possible already. We have been telegraphing the -Atlanta police all morning about tracing Winship, but they don't seem -much interested. They think he's had too big a start on us. You see, -he's been gone two days and nights. Craig says he thought he was on a -visit to relatives till he discovered the loss last night.” - -“It simply spells ruin, old man,” said Alan, grimly. “I can see that.” - -Miller said nothing for a moment--then: - -“It's just as bad as it could be, my boy,” he said. “I see no reason -to raise false hopes. There is a strong feeling against Craig, and -no little suspicion, owing to the report that he has been speculating -heavily, but he has thrown himself on the protection of his church, and -even some of his fellow-members, who lose considerably, are standing by -him.” - -Here old Bishop, with compressed lips, turned and walked unsteadily into -the house. With head hanging low and eyes flashing strangely, his -wife followed him. At the steps she paused, her sense of hospitality -transcending her despair. “You must stay to early supper, anyway, Mr. -Miller,” she said. “You could ride back in the cool o' the evening.” - -“Thank you, but I must hurry right back, Mrs. Bishop,” Miller said. - -“And Dolly--does she know?” asked Alan, when his mother had disappeared -and Abner had walked to the hitching-post, and stood as if thoughtfully -inspecting Miller's mare. Miller told him of their conversation that -morning, and Alan' s face grew tender and more resigned. - -“She's a brick!” said Miller. “She's a woman I now believe in -thoroughly--she and one other.” - -“Then there _is_ another?” asked Alan, almost cheerfully, as an effect -of the good news that had accompanied the bad. - -“Yes. I see things somewhat differently of late,” admitted Miller, in -an evasive, non-committal tone. “Dolly Barclay opened my eyes, and when -they were open I saw--well, the good qualities of some one else. I may -tell you about her some day, but I shall not now. Get your horse and -come to town with me. We must be ready for any emergency.” - -Abner Daniel came towards them. “I don't want to harm nobody's -character,” he said; “but whar my own kin is concerned, I'm up an' wide -awake. I don't know what you think, but I hain't got a speck o' faith -in Craig hisse'f. He done me a low, sneakin' trick once that I ketched -up with. He swore it was a mistake, but it wasn't. He's a bad egg--you -mind what I say; he won't do.” - -“It may be as you say, Mr. Daniel,” returned Miller, with a lawyer's -reserve on a point unsubstantiated by evidence, “but even if he has the -money hidden away, how are we to get it from him?” - -“I'd find a way,” retorted Daniel, hotly, “so I would.” - -“We 'll do all we can,” said Miller. - -Daniel strode into the house and Alan went after his horse. Miller stood -at the gate, idly tapping his boot with his whip. - -“Poor Mrs. Bishop!” he said, his eyes on the house; “how very much she -resembled Adele just now, and she is bearing it just like the little -girl would. I reckon they 'll write her the bad news. I wish I was there -to--soften the blow. It will wring her heart.” - - - - -XXIII - - -[Illustration: 9201] - -HAT evening after supper the family remained, till bedtime, in the big, -bare-looking dining-room, the clean, polished floors of which gleamed in -the light of a little fire in the big chimney. Bishop's chair was tilted -back against the wall in a dark corner, and Mrs. Bishop sat knitting -mechanically. Abner was reading--or trying to read--a weekly paper at -the end of the dining-table, aided by a dimly burning glass-lamp. Aunt -Maria had removed the dishes and, with no little splash and clatter, was -washing them in the adjoining kitchen. - -Suddenly Abner laid down his paper and began to try to console them for -their loss. Mrs. Bishop listened patiently, but Bishop sat in the very -coma of despair, unconscious of what was going on around him. - -“Alf,” Abner called out, sharply, “don't you remember what a -close-fisted scamp I used to be about the time you an' Betsy fust -hitched together?” - -“No, I don't,” said the man addressed, almost with a growl at being -roused from what could not have been pleasant reflections. - -“I remember folks said you was the stingiest one in our family,” struck -in Mrs. Bishop, plaintively. “Law me! I hain't thought of it from that -day to this. It seems powerful funny now to think of you havin' sech a -reputation, but I railly believe you had it once.” - -“An' I deserved it,” Abner folded his paper, and rapped with it on the -table. “You know, Betsy, our old daddy was as close as they make 'em; he -had a rope tied to every copper he had, an' I growed up thinkin' it was -the only safe course in life. I was too stingy to buy ginger-cake an' -cider at camp-meetin' when I was dyin' fer it. I've walked round an' -round a old nigger woman's stand twenty times with a dry throat an' my -fingers on a slick dime, an' finally made tracks fer the nighest spring. -I had my eyes opened to stinginess bein' ungodly by noticin' its effect -on pa. He was a natural human bein' till a body tetched his pocket, -an' then he was a rantin' devil. I got to thinkin' I'd be like 'im by -inheritance ef I didn't call a halt, an' I begun tryin' in various ways -to reform. I remember I lent money a little freer than I had, which -wasn't sayin' much, fer thar was a time when I wouldn't 'a' sold a man -a postage-stamp on a credit ef he'd 'a' left it stuck to the back o' my -neck fer security. - -“But I 'll tell you how I made my fust great big slide towards -reformation. It tuck my breath away, an' lots o' my money; but I did it -with my eyes open. I was jest a-thinkin' a minute ago that maybe ef I -told you-uns about how little it hurt me to give it up you mought sleep -better to-night over yore own shortage. Alf, are you listenin'?” - -“Yes, I heerd what you said,” mumbled Bishop. - -Abner cleared his throat, struck at a moth with his paper, and -continued: “Betsy, you remember our cousin, Jimmy Bartow? You never -knowed 'im well, beca'se you an' Alf was livin' on Holly Creek about -that time, an' he was down in our neighborhood. He never was wuth -shucks, but he twisted his mustache an' greased his hair an' got 'im a -wife as easy as fallin' off a log. He got to clerkin' fer old Joe Mason -in his store at the cross-roads, and the sight o' so much change passin' -through his fingers sort o' turned his brain. He tuck to drinking an' -tryin' to dress his wife fine, an' one thing or other, that made -folks talk. He was our double fust cousin, you know, an' we tuck a big -interest in 'im on that account. After a while old Joe begun to miss -little dribs o' cash now an' then, an' begun to keep tab on Jimmy, an' -'fore the young scamp knowed it, he was ketched up with as plain as day. - -“Old Joe made a calculation that Jimmy had done 'im, fust and last, to -the tune of about five hundred dollars, an' told Jimmy to set down by -the stove an' wait fer the sheriff. - -“Jimmy knowed he could depend on the family pride, an' he sent fer all -the kin fer miles around. It raised a awful rumpus, fer not one o' our -stock an' generation had ever been jailed, an' the last one of us didn't -want it to happen. I reckon we was afeerd ef it once broke out amongst -us it mought become a epidemic. They galloped in on the'r hosses an' -mules, an' huddled around Mason. They closed his doors, back an' front, -an' patted 'im on the back, an' talked about the'r trade an' influence, -an' begged 'im not to prefer charges; but old Joe stood as solid as -a rock. He said a thief was a thief, ef you spelt it back'ards or -for'ards, or ef he was akin to a king or a corn-fiel' nigger. He said -it was, generally, the bigger the station the bigger the thief. Old Joe -jest set at his stove an' chawed tobacco an' spit. Now an' then he'd -stick his hands down in his pockets an' rip out a oath. Then Jimmy's -young wife come with her little teensy baby, an' set down by Jimmy, -skeerd mighty nigh out of 'er life. Looked like the baby was skeerd too, -fer it never cried ur moved. Then the sheriff driv' up in his buggy an' -come in clinkin' a pair o' handcuffs. He seed what they was all up to -an' stood back to see who would win, Jimmy's kin or old Joe. All at once -I tuck notice o' something that made me madder'n a wet hen. They all -knowed I had money laid up, an' they begun to ax old Mason ef I'd put -up the five hundred dollars would he call it off. I was actu'ly so mad -I couldn't speak. Old Joe said he reckoned, seein' that they was all so -turribly set back, that he'd do it ef I was willin'. The Old Nick got -in me then as big as a side of a house, an' I give the layout about -the toughest talk they ever had. It didn't faze 'em much, fer all they -wanted was to git Jimmy free, an' so they tuck another tack. Ef they'd -git up half amongst 'em all, would I throw in t'other half? That, ef -anything, made me madder. I axed 'em what they tuck me fer--did I look -like a durn fool? An' did they think beca'se they was sech fools I was -one? - -“Old Tommy Todd, Jimmy's own uncle, was thar, but he never had a word to -say. He jest set an' smoked his pipe an' looked about, but he wouldn't -open his mouth when they'd ax him a question. He was knowed to be sech a -skinflint that nobody seemed to count on his help at all, an' he looked -like he was duly thankful fer his reputation to hide behind in sech a -pressure. - -“Then they lit into me, an' showed me up in a light I'd never appeared -in before. They said I was the only man thar without a family to -support, an' the only one thar with ready cash in the bank, an' that -ef I'd let my own double fust cousin be jailed, I was a disgrace to 'em -all. They'd not nod to me in the big road, an' ud use the'r influence -agin my stayin' in the church an' eventually gittin' into the kingdom o' -Heaven. I turned from man to devil right thar. I got up on the head of a -tater-barrel behind the counter, an' made the blamedest speech that ever -rolled from a mouth inspired by iniquity. I picked 'em out one by one -an' tore off their shirts, an' chawed the buttons. The only one I let -escape was old Tommy; he never give me a chance to hit him. Then I -finally come down to the prisoner at the bar an' I larruped him. Ever' -time I'd give a yell, Jimmy ud duck his head, an' his wife ud huddle -closer over the baby like she was afeerd splinters ud git in its eyes. I -made fun of 'em till I jest had to quit. Then they turned the'r backs -on me an' begun to figure on doin' without my aid. It was mortgage -this, an' borrow this, an' sell this hoss or wagon or mule or cow, an' a -turrible wrangle. I seed they was gittin' down to business an' left 'em. - -“I noticed old Tommy make his escape, an' go out an' unhitch his hoss, -but he didn't mount. Looked like he 'lowed he was at least entitled to -carryin' the news home, whether he he'ped or not. I went to the spring -at the foot o' the rise an' set down. I didn't feel right. In fact, I -felt meaner than I ever had in all my life, an' couldn't 'a' told -why. Somehow I felt all at once ef they did git Jimmy out o' hock an' -presented 'im to his wife an' baby without me a-chippin' in, I'd never -be able to look at 'em without remorse, an' I did think a lots o' Jimmy's -wife an' baby. I set thar watchin' the store about as sorry as a proud -sperit kin feel after a big rage. Fust I'd hope they'd git up the -required amount, an' then I'd almost hope they wouldn't. Once I actually -riz to go offer my share, but the feer that it ud be refused stopped me. -On the whole, I think I was in the mud about as deep as Jimmy was in the -mire, an' I hadn't tuck nobody's money nuther. All at once I begun to -try to see some way out o' my predicament. They wouldn't let me chip in, -but I wondered ef they'd let me pay it all. I believed they would, an' -I was about to hurry in the store when I was balked by the thought -that folks would say I was a born idiot to be payin' my lazy, triflin' -kinfolks out o' the consequences o' the'r devilment; so I set down agin, -an' had another wrastle. I seed old Tommy standin' by his hoss chawin' -his ridin'-switch an' watchin' the door. All at once he looked mighty -contemptible, an' it struck me that I wasn't actin' one bit better, so I -ris an' plunged fer the door. Old Tommy ketched my arm as I was about to -pass 'im an' said, 'What you goin' to do, Ab?' An' I said, 'Uncle Tommy, -I'm a-goin' to pay that boy out ef they 'll let me.' - -“'You don't say,' the old fellow grunted, lookin' mighty funny, an' he -slid in the store after me. Somehow I wasn't afeerd o' nothin' with -or without shape. I felt like I was walkin' on air in the brightest, -saftest sunshine I ever felt. They was all huddled over Mason's desk -still a-figurin' an' a-complainin' at the uneven division. Jimmy -set thar with his head ducked an' his young wife was tryin' to fix -some'n' about the baby. She looked like she'd been cryin.'I got up on my -tater-barrel an' knocked on the wall with a axe-handle to attract the'r -attention. Then I begun. I don't know what I said, or how it sounded, -but I seed Jimmy raise his head an' look, an' his wife push back her -poke-bonnet an' stare like I'd been raised from the grave. Along with my -request to be allowed to foot the whole bill, I said I wanted to do it -beca'se I believed I could show Jimmy an' his wife that I was doin' -it out o' genuine regard fer 'em both, an' that I wanted 'em to take -a hopeful new start an' not be depressed. Well, sir, it was like an -avalanche. I never in all my life seed sech a knocked-out gang. Nobody -wanted to talk. The sheriff looked like he was afeerd his handcuffs ud -jingle, an' Jimmy bu'st out cryin'. His wife sobbed till you could -'a' heerd her to the spring. She sprung up an' fetched me her baby an' -begged me to kiss it. With her big glad eyes, an' the tears in 'em, she -looked nigher an angel than any human bein' I ever looked at. Jimmy went -out the back way wipin' his eyes, an' I went to Mason's desk to write -him a check fer the money. He come to my elbow an' looked troubled. - -“'I said it was five hundred dollars,' said he, 'but I was sorter -averagin' the loss. I ain't a-goin' to run no risks in a matter like -this. I'd feel better to call it four hundred. You see, Jimmy's been a -sort o' standby with me, an' has fetched me lots o' trade. Make it four -hundred and I 'll keep 'im. I don't believe he 'll ever git wrong agin.' - -“And Jimmy never did. He stayed thar for five yeer on a stretch, an' -was the best clerk in the county. I was paid a thousandfold. I never met -them two in my life that they didn't look jest like they thought I was -all right, an' that made me feel like I was to some extent. Old Tommy, -though, was the funniest thing about it. He bored me mighty nigh to -death. He'd come to my cabin whar I was livin' at the time an' set by my -fire an' smoke an' never say hardly a word. It looked like some 'n' was -on his mind, an' he couldn't git it off. One night when he'd stayed -longer 'n usual, I pinned 'im down an' axed 'im what was the matter. He -got up quick an' said nothin' aileded 'im, but he stopped at the fence -an' called me out. He was as white as a sheet an' quiverin' all over. -Said he: 'I've got to have this over with, Ab. I may as well tell you -an' be done with it. It's been botherin' the life out o' me, an' I 'll -never git rid of it till it's done. I want to pay you half o' that money -you spent on Jimmy. I had the cash that day, an' it 'ain't done me one -bit o' good sence then. I 'll never sleep well till I go you halvers.' - -“'I cayn't sell that to you, Uncle Tommy,' I said, laughin'. 'No, siree, -you couldn't chip into that investment ef you doubled yore offer. I've -found out what it is wuth. But,' said I, 'ef you've got two hundred -that's burnin' a hole in yore pocket, ur conscience, an' want to yank it -out, go give it to Jimmy's wife to he'p her educate that baby.' - -“It struck 'im betwixt the eyes, but he didn't say yes or no. He slid -away in the moonlight, all bent over an' quiet. I never seed 'im agin -fer a month, an' then I called 'im out of a crowd o' fellers at the -court-house an' axed 'im what he'd done. He looked bothered a little, -but he gave me a straight look like he wasn't ready to sneak out o' -anything. - -“'I thought it over,' said he, 'but I railly don't see no reason why I -ort to help Jimmy's child any more 'n a whole passle o' others that have -as much claim on me by blood; but somehow I do feel like goin' cahoot -with you in what's already been done, an' I'm still ready to jine you, -ef you are willin'.' - -“I didn't take his money, but it set me to thinkin'. When old Tommy -died, ten years after that, they found he had six wool socks filled with -gold an' silver coin under his house, an' nobody ever heerd o' his doin' -any charity work. I wish now that I'd 'a' lifted that cash an' 'a' put -it whar it would do good. If I had he'd 'a' had a taste o' some 'n' that -never glorified his pallet.” - -When Abner concluded, Mrs. Bishop went to the fire and pushed the chunks -together into a heap in the fireplace. Bishop moved in his chair, but he -said nothing. - -“I remember heerin' about that, brother Ab,” Mrs. Bishop said, a -reminiscent intonation in her voice. “Some folks wondered powerful over -it. I don't believe money does a body much good jest to hold an' keep. -As the Lord is my judge, I jest wanted that bank deposit fer Alan and -Adele. I wanted it, an' I wanted it bad, but I cayn't believe it was a -sin.” - -Something like a groan escaped Bishop's lips as he lowered the front -posts of his chair to the floor. - -“What's the use o' talkin' about it?” he said, impatiently. “What's the -use o' anything?” - -He rose and moved towards the door leading to his room. - -“Alfred,” Mrs. Bishop called to him, “are you goin' to bed without -holdin' prayer?” - -“I'm goin' to omit it to-night,” he said. “I don't feel well, one bit. -Besides, I reckon each pusson kin pray in private according to the way -they feel.” - -Abner stood up, and removing the lamp-chimney he lighted a candle by the -flame. - -“I tried to put a moral lesson in what I said just now,” he smiled, -mechanically, “but I missed fire. Alf's sufferin' is jest unselfishness -puore an' undefiled; he wants to set his children up in the world. This -green globe is a sight better 'n some folks thinks it is. You kin find a -little speck o' goody in mighty nigh ever' chestnut.” - -“That's so, brother Ab,” said his sister; “but we are ruined -now--ruined, ruined!” - -“Ef you will look at it that way,” admitted Abner, reaching for his -candle; “but thar's a place ahead whar thar never was a bank, or a -dollar, or a railroad, an' it ain't fur ahead, nuther. Some folks say -it begins heer in this life.” - - - - -XXIV - - -[Ill 9000] - -S Abner Daniel leaned over the rail-fence in front of Pole Baker's -log-cabin one balmy day, two weeks later, he saw evidences of the -ex-moonshiner's thriftlessness combined with an inordinate love for his -children. A little express-wagon, painted red, such as city children -receive from their well-to-do parents on Christmas, was going to ruin -under a cherry-tree which had been bent to the ground by a rope-swing -fastened to one of its flexible boughs. The body of a mechanical -speaking-doll lay near by, and the remains of a toy air-rifle. After -a protracted spree Pole usually came home laden down with such -peace-offerings to his family and conscience. His wife might go without -a needed gown, and he a coat, but his children never without toys. -Seeing Abner at the fence, Mrs. Baker came to the low door and stood -bending her head to look out. - -“I heerd at home,” said Abner, “that Pole was over thar axin' fer me. -I've been away to my peach-orchard on the hill.” - -“Yes, he's been over thar twice,” said the woman. “He's back of the -house some'r's settin' a trap fer the children to ketch some birds in. -I 'll blow the horn. When I blow twice he knows he's wanted right off.” - -She took down a cow's-horn from a nail on the wall, and going to the -door on the opposite side of the house she gave two long, ringing -blasts, which set half a dozen dogs near by and some far off to barking -mellowly. In a few minutes Pole appeared around the corner of the cabin. - -“Hello, Uncle Ab,” he said. “Won't you come in?” - -“No, hain't time,” smiled the old man. “I jest come over to see how much -money you wanted to borrow.” - -“I don't want any o' yo'rn,” said Pole, leaning over the fence, his -unbuttoned shirt-sleeves allowing his brawny, bare arms to rest on the -top rail. “I wanted to talk to you about Alan an' that bank bu'st-up.” - -“You've been to town, I heer,” said Abner, deeply interested. - -“Yes, an' I've been with Alan an' Miller fer the last week tryin' to -do some 'n', but we couldn't. They've been sendin' telegrams by the -basketful, an' Jeff Dukes has trotted his legs off back an' forth, but -nothin' hain't been done.” - -“You say the' hain't?” Abner's voice quivered and fell. - -“No; they both kept up the'r sperits purty well fer about ten days -beca'se that dang Atlanta chief of police kept wirin' he was on a scent -o' Winship; but day before yesterday they give in. We was a-settin' -in Miller's office when the last message come from Atlanta. They said -they'd been after the wrong man, an' that they'd give up. You ort to 'a' -seed Alan's face. Miller tried to cheer 'im up, but it wasn't no go. -Then who do you think come? Alan's sweetheart. She axed to see 'im, an' -they talked awhile in the front room; then Miller come back an' said -she'd axed to be introduced to me. Jest think of it! I went in and seed -she'd been a-cryin'. She got up, by jinks! an' ketched my hand an' said -she wanted to thank me beca'se I'd been sech a friend to Alan. Uncle Ab, -I felt as mean as a egg-suckin' dog, beca'se thar was Alan flat o' his -back, as the feller said, an' I hadn't turned a hand to he'p 'im. And -thar she was, the gal he loves an' wants, an' his poverty standin' -betwixt 'em. I couldn't say nothin', an' I reckon I looked more kinds of -a damn fool than she ever seed on two legs.” - -“Well, what did you do?” asked Abner, too much moved by Pole's graphic -picture to speak with his usual lightness. - -“What did I do? I made my bow an' slid. I made a bee-line fer Murray's -bar an' put two down as fast as they could shovel 'em out. Then I tuck -another, an' quit countin'. I begun to think I owned the shebang, an' -broke several billiard-cues an' throwed the chalk around. Then Dukes -come an' said he'd give me a chance to escape trial fer misconduct, ef -I'd straddle my hoss an' make fer home. I agreed, but thar was one thing -I had to do fust. I had promised Alan not to drink any more, an' so I -didn't want to sneak away to hide it. I went to Miller's house, whar -he's stayin', an' called 'im out. I told 'im I'd jest come fer no other -reason 'an to let 'im see me at my wust. I felt like it was the only -manly way, after I'd broke faith with a friend as true as he is.” - -“Too bad!” sighed Abner. “I 'll bet it hurt Alan to see you in that fix.” - -“Well, he didn't complain,” said Pole. “But he put his arm around me an' -come as nigh cryin' as I ever seed a strong man. 'It's my fault, Pole,' -ses he. 'I can see that.' Then him an' Miller both tried to git me to -go up-stairs in that fine house an' go to bed an' sleep it off, but I -wouldn't. I come on home an' got mad at Sally fer talkin' to me, an' -come as nigh as peas hittin' 'er in the jaw. But that's over, Uncle Ab. -What I'm in fer now is work. I ain't no fool. I'm on a still hunt, an' -I jest want yore private opinion. I don't want you to commit yorese'f, -unless you want to; but I'd go more on yore jedgment than any man' s in -this county. I want to know ef you think old Craig is a honest man at -heart. Now don't say you don't know, an' keep yore mouth shet; fer what -I want to know, an' _all_ I want to know, is how you feel about that one -thing.” - -Abner hung his head down. His long thumb trembled as its nail went under -a splinter on the rail and pried it off. - -“I see what you are a-drivin' at,” he said. “You jest want to feel shore -o' yore ground.” Abner began to chew the splinter and spit out the broken -bits. He was silent, under Pole's anxious gaze, for a minute, and then -he laughed dryly. “I reckon me 'n' you has about the same suspicions,” - he said. “That p'int's been worryin' me fer several days, an' I didn't -let it end, thar nuther.” - -“Ah! you didn't?” exclaimed Baker. “You say you didn't, Uncle Ab?” - -“No; I got so I couldn't lie down at night without the idea poppin' into -my head that maybe Craig had made a tool of Winship fer some minor crime -an' had hustled 'im out o' the country so he could gobble up what was in -the bank an' pose as a injured man in the community.” - -“Same heer, pine blank!” said Pole, eagerly. “What did you do, Uncle -Ab?” - -“I went to Darley an' attended his church last Sunday,” replied the old -man, a tense expression in his eyes. “I got a seat in the amen-corner, -whar I could see him, an' all through preachin' I watched 'im like a -hawk. He didn't look to me like a man who had bu'sted on wind alone. He -had a fat, oily, pink look, an' when they axed 'im to lead in prayer it -looked to me like he was talkin' more to the people 'an he was to God. -I didn't like his whine, an' what he said didn't seem to come from the -cellar. But I seed that he was makin' converts to his side as fast as -a dog kin trot. The Presbyterians an' Baptists has been accusin' the -Methodists o' packin' more bad eggs 'an they have, an' it looks like -Craig's crowd's a-goin' to swear he's fresh whether he is or not. After -meetin' was over I walked ahead of him an' his fine lady, who has made -the mistake o' tryin' to kiver the whole business up with silk an' -feathers, an' waited fer 'em nigh the'r gate. I told 'im I wanted a -word with 'im, an' they axed me in the parlor. I smelt dinner, but they -didn't mention it. I wasn't goin' to eat thar nohow. Well, I set in an' -jest told Craig what had been troublin' me. I said the loss o' my folk's -money was as bad as death, an' that thar'd been so much talk agin him, -an' suspicion, that I had jest come to headquarters. Ef he had any money -laid away, I was thar to tell 'im it never would do 'im any good, an' ef -he didn't, I wanted to beg his pardon fer my evil thoughts, an' try to -git the matter off'n my mind.” - -“Good God! did you railly tell 'im that, Uncle Ab?” - -“Yes, an' I had a deep-laid reason. I wanted to make 'im mad an' study -'im. He did git mad. He was as red as a dewberry, an' quivered from head -to foot. Thar's two kinds o' mad--the justified an' the unjustified. -Make a good man rail mad by accusin' 'im, an' he 'll justify hisse'f or -bu'st; but ef you make a bad un mad by accusin' 'im, he 'll delight in -showin' you he's done wrong--ef it hurts you _an' he's safe_. Thar's -right whar I landed Craig. He had the look, as plain as day, o' sayin', -'Yes, dang you, I did it, an' you cayn't he'p yorese'f!' His wife had -gone in the back part o' the house, an' after a while I heerd her new -shoes a-creakin' at the door betwixt the two rooms. Now a pair o' shoes -don't walk up to a door squeakin' like mice an' then stop all of a -sudden without reason. I knowed she was a-listenin', an' I determined -she should not heer me say she was purty. I told 'im louder 'an ever that -folks was a-talkin', an' a-talkin', an' that fetched her. She flung open -the door an' faced me as mad as a turtle on its back. She showed her -hand, too, an' I knowed she was in cahoot with 'im. She cussed me black -an' blue fer a uncouth, meddlin' devil, an' what not.” - -“By gum!” said Pole, his big eyes expanding. “But you didn't gain much -by that, did you?” - -“Jest satisfied myself that Alan's money--or some of it--wasn't out o' -creation, that's all.” - -“I have my reasons fer believin' like you do,” said Pole. - -“You say you have.” - -Pole glanced furtively over his shoulder at his cabin to see that no one -was within hearing, then said: - -“You know Winship is old Fred Parson's nephew. Well, old Fred's always -been a stanch friend to me. We moonshined it together two yeer, though -he never knowed my chief hidin'-place. In fact, nobody knows about -that spot, Uncle Ab, even now. Well, I had a talk with him an' axed -his opinion about his nephew. He talks as straight as a shingle, an' he -ain't no idiot. He says it's all bosh about Winship takin' away all that -boodle.” - -“He does, does he?” Abner nodded, as if to himself. - -“Yes, and he don't claim Winship ain't guilty, nuther; he jest holds -that he was too small a dabbler in devilment. He thinks, as I do, that -Craig run 'im off with threats of arrest an' picked that chance to -bu'st. He thinks Winship's in a safe place an' never will be fetched -back.” - -Abner drew himself up straight. - -“Have you talked to Alan an' Miller on that line?” - -“Tried to,” grunted Pole, in high disgust, “but Miller says it's no -good to think of accusin' Craig. He says we can' t prove a thing on 'im, -unless we ketch Winship. He says that sort of a steal is the easiest -thing on earth, an' that it's done every day. But that's beca'se he was -fetched up in the law,” Pole finished. “We-uns out heer in the mountains -kin fish up other ways o' fetchin' a scamp to time without standin' 'im -up before a thick-headed jury, or lettin' 'im out on bond till he dies -o' old age. You've got sense enough to know that, Uncle Ab.” - -The slanting rays of the setting sun struck the old man in the face. -There was a tinkle of cow-bells in the pasture below the cabin. The -outlaw in Pole Baker was a thing Abner Daniel deplored; and yet, to-day -it was a straw bobbing about on the troubled waters of the old man' -s soul towards which, if he did not extend his hand, he looked -interestedly. A grim expression stole into his face, drawing the merry -lines down towards his chin. - -“I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy,” he said. - -Pole Baker grunted in sheer derision. “I've done fool things whar thar -wasn't a thing to be made by 'em. By gum! I'd do ten dozen fer jest a -bare chance o' shakin' that wad o' cash in Alan Bishop's face, an' so -would you, dern yore hide--so would you, Uncle Ab Daniel!” - -Abner blinked at the red sun. - -“The boy's been bad treated,” he said, evasively; “bad, bad, bad! It's -squeezed life an' hope out o' him.” - -“Well, you are a church-member, an' so _fur_ in good-standin',” said -Pole, “an' I ain't agoin' to pull you into no devilment; but ef I see -any way--I say _ef_ I see any way, I 'll come an' tell you the news.” - -“I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy,” said Abner, and turned to go. He -paused a few paces away and said, “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy, -Pole.” He motioned towards the cabin. “You've got them in thar to look -after.” - -Pole let him walk on a few paces, then he climbed over the fence and -caught him up. He drew the piece of quartz containing the tiny nugget -of gold from his pocket, which he had shown Abner and Dole on a former -occasion. “You see that, Uncle Ab,” he said. “That dirty rock is like -friendship in general, but that little yaller lump is like my friendship -fer Alan Bishop. It's the puore thing, solid an' heavy, an' won't lose -color. You don't know when that boy done his first favor to me. It was -away back when we was boys together. A feller at Treadwell's mill one -day, behind my back, called me a bad name--a name no man will take or -can. He used my mother's name, God bless her! as puore an' holy a woman -as ever lived, to git back at me. He hadn't no sooner spoke it than Alan -was at his throat like a wild-cat. The skunk was bigger 'n him, but Alan -beat 'im till he was black all over. I never heerd about it till about -two weeks after it happened an' the feller had moved out West. Alan -wouldn't let nobody tell me. I axed 'im why he hadn't let me know. -'Beca'se,' ses he, 'you'd 'a' killed 'im an' 'a' got into trouble, an' he -wasn't wuth it. 'That's what he said, Uncle Ab.” Pole's big-jawed face -was full of struggling emotion, his voice was husky, his eyes were -filling. “That's why it's a-killin' me to see 'im robbed of all he's -got--his pride, his ambition, an' the good woman that loves 'im. Huh! ef -I jest _knowed_ that pie-faced hypocrite had his money he wouldn't have -it long.” - -“I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy, Pole.” Abner looked into the fellow's -face, drew a long, trembling breath, and finished, “I wouldn't--but I 'll -be dumed ef I know what I'd do!” - - - - -XXV - - -[Illustration: 9218] - -HE following morning Pole rose before daylight and rode to Darley. As -he reached the place, the first rays of the sun were touching the -slate-covered spire of the largest church in town. - -He went to a public wagon-yard and hitched his horse to one of the -long racks. A mountain family he knew slightly had camped in the yard, -sleeping in their canvas-covered wagon, and were making coffee over a -little fire. Pole wanted a cup of the beverage, but he passed on into a -grocery-store across the street and bought a dime's worth of cheese and -hard-tack crackers. This was his breakfast. He washed it down with a -dipper of water from the street well, and sat around the store chatting -with the clerk, who was sprinkling the floor, and sweeping and dusting -the long room. The clerk was a red-headed young man with a short, -bristling mustache, and a suit of clothes that was too large for him. - -“Don't Mr. Craig stay around Fincher's warehouse a good deal?” Pole -asked, as the clerk rested for a moment on his broom near him. - -“Mighty nigh all day long,” was the reply; “him an' Fincher's some kin, -I think.” - -“On his wife's side,” said Pole. “I want to see Mr. Craig. I wonder ef -he 'll be down thar this mornin'.” - -“Purty apt,” said the clerk. “Fincher's his best friend sence his -bu'st-up, an' they are mighty thick. I reckon he gits the cold-shoulder -at a lots o' places.” - -“You don't say!” - -“An' of course he wants somewhar to go besides home. In passing I've -seed 'im a-figurin' several times at Fincher's desk. They say he's got -some notion o' workin' fer Fincher as his bookkeeper.” - -“Well, he 'll have to make a livin' some way,” said Pole. - -The clerk laughed significantly. - -“Ef it ain't already made,” said he, with a smile. Pole stood up. “I -don't think that's right,” he said, coldly. “Me nur you, nur nobody, -hain't got no right to hint at what we don't know nothin' about. Mr. -Craig may 'a' lost ever' cent he had.” - -“In a pig's valise!” sneered the red-headed man. “I'd bet my hat he's -got money--an' plenty of it, huh!” - -“Well, I don't know nothin' about it,” said Pole, still coldly. “An' -what's more, Dunn, I ain't a-goin' about smirchin' any helpless man's -character, nuther. Ef I knowed he had made by the bu'st I'd talk -different, but I don't know it!” - -“Oh, I see which side you are on, Baker,” laughed the clerk. “Folks are -about equally divided. Half is fer 'im an' half agin. But mark my words, -Craig will slide out o' this town some day, an' be heerd of after a -while a-gittin' started agin some'r's else. That racket has been worked -to death all over the country.” - -Pole carried the discussion no further. Half an hour passed. Customers -were coming in from the wagon-yard and examining the wares on the -counters and making slow purchases. The proprietor came in and let the -clerk go to breakfast. Pole stood in the doorway, looking up the street -in the direction of Craig's residence. Presently he saw the ex-banker -coming from the post-office, reading his mail. Pole stepped back into -the store and let him go by; then he went to the door again and saw -Craig go into Fincher's warehouse at the end of the next block of -straggling, wooden buildings. Pole sauntered down the sidewalk in that -direction, passing the front door of the warehouse without looking in. -The door at the side of the house had a long platform before it, and on -it Fincher, the proprietor, was weighing bales of hay which were being -unloaded from several wagons by the countrymen who were disposing of it. - -“Hello, Mr. Fincher,” Pole greeted him, familiarly. “Want any help -unloadin'?” - -“Hello, Baker,” said Fincher, looking up from the blank-book in which he -was recording the weights. “No, I reckon they can handle it all right.” - Fincher was a short, fat man, very bald, and with a round, laughing -face. He had known Pole a long time and considered him a most amusing -character. “How do you come on, Pole?” - -“Oh, about as common. I jest thought them fellers looked sorter -light-weight.” - -The men on the wagon laughed as they thumped a bale of hay on to the -platform. “You'd better dry up,” one of them said. “We 'll git the mayor -to put you to work agin.” - -“Well, he 'll have to be quicker about it than he was the last time,” - said Pole, dryly. - -Some one laughed lustily from behind a tall stack of wheat in bags -in the warehouse. It was Lawyer Trabue. He came round and picked up -Fincher's daily paper, as he did every morning, and sat down and began -to read it. - -“Now you are talkin',” he said. “Thar was more rest in that job, Pole, -than any you ever undertook. They tell me you didn't crack a rock.” - -Fincher laughed as he closed his book and struck Baker with it -playfully. “Pole was too tired to do that job,” he said. “He was born -that way.” - -“Say, Mr. Trabue,” retaliated Pole, “did you ever heer how I got the -best o' Mr. Fincher in a chicken trade?” - -“I don't think I ever did, Pole,” laughed the lawyer, expectantly. “How -was it?” - -“Oh, come off, don't go over that again,” said Fincher, flushing. - -“It was this away,” said Pole, with a broad, wholesome grin. “My cousin, -Bart Wilks, was runnin' the restaurant under the car-shed about two yeer -ago. He was a new hand at the business, an' one day he had a awful rush. -He got a telegram that a trainload o' passengers had missed connection -at Chattanooga an' would have to eat with him. He was powerful rattled, -runnin' round like a dog after its tail. He knowed he'd have to have a -lot o' fryin' chickens, an' he couldn't leave the restaurant, so he -axed me ef I'd take the money an' go out in town an' buy 'em fer 'im. I -consented, an' struck Mr. Fincher, who was sellin' sech truck then. He -'lowed, you know, that I jest wanted one, or two at the outside, fer my -own use, so when I seed a fine coop out in front an' axed the price of -'em he kinder drawed on his beerd till his mouth fell open, an' studied -how he could make the most out o' me. After a while he said: 'Well, -Pole, I 'll make 'em ten cents apiece ef I pick 'em, an' fifteen ef you -pick 'em.' I sorter skeerd the chickens around an' seed thar was two or -three tiny ones hidin' under the big ones, an' I seed what he was up to, -but I was ready fer 'im. 'All right,' ses I, 'you pick 'em.' Thar was -two or three loafers standin' round an' they all laughed at me when Mr. -Fincher got down over the coop an' finally ketched one about the size -of a robin an' hauled it out. 'Keep on a-pickin',' ses I, an' he made a -grab fer one a little bigger an' handed it up to me. Then he stuck his -hands down in his pockets, doin' his best to keep from laughin'. The -gang yelled then, but I wasn't done. 'Keep on a-pickin',' ses I. An' he -got down agin. An', sir, I got that coop at about four cents apiece less -'n he'd paid fer 'em. He tried to back, but the gang wouldn't let 'im. -It was the cheapest lot o' chickens I ever seed. I turned the little -ones out to fatten, an' made Wilks pay me the market-price all round fer -the bunch.” - -“I 'll be bound you made some 'n' out of it,” said Trabue. “Fincher, did -you ever heer how that scamp tuck in every merchant on this street about -two yeer ago?” - -“Never heerd anything except his owin' 'em all,” said Fincher, with a -laugh. - -“I could put 'im in the penitentiary fer it,” affirmed the lawyer. “You -know about that time thar was a powerful rivalry goin' on among the -storekeepers. They was movin' heaven an' earth to sell the'r big stocks. -Well, one of the spryest in the lot, Joe Gaylord, noticed that Pole was -powerful popular with mountain-folks, an' he made 'im a proposition, -bindin' 'im down to secrecy. He proposed to give Pole ten per cent, -commission on all the goods he'd he'p sell by bringin' customers in the -store. Pole hesitated, beca'se, he said, they might find it out, an' Joe -finally agreed that all Pole would have to do was to fetch 'em in, give -the wink, an' him an' his clerks would do the rest. It worked mighty -slick fer a while, but Pole noticed that very often the folks he'd -fetch in wouldn't be pleased with the goods an' prices an' ud go trade -some'r's else. Then what do you think the scamp did? He went to every -store in town an' made a secret contract to git ten per cent, on all -sales, an' he had the softest snap you ever heerd of. He'd simply -hang onto a gang from the country, whether he knowed 'em or not, an' -foller 'em around till they bought; then he'd walk up an' rake in his -part.” - -“I got left once,” said Pole, laughing with the others. “One gang that I -stuck to all day went over to Melton an' bought.” - -“Well, the merchants caught on after a while an' stopped him,” said -Trabue; “but he made good money while he was at it. They'd 'a' sent 'im -up fer it, ef it hadn't been sech a good joke on 'em.” - -“I don't know about that,” replied Pole, thoughtfully. “I was doin' all -I agreed, an' ef they could afford to pay ten per cent, to anybody, they -mought as well 'a' paid it to me. I drawed trade to the whole town. The -cigars an' whiskey I give away amounted to a lots. I've set up many a -night tellin' them moss-backs tales to make 'em laugh.” - -“Well, ef you ever git into any trouble let me know,” said Trabue, as he -rose to go. “I 'll defend you at half price; you'd be a sight o' help to -a lawyer. I 'll be hanged if I ever seed a better case 'an you made -out in the mayor's court, an' you hadn't a thing to back it up with, -nuther.” - -The hay was unloaded and the wagons driven away. Fincher stood eying -Pole with admiration. “It's a fact,” he said. “You could 'a' made -some 'n' out o' yorese'f, if you'd 'a' been educated, an' had a showin'.” - Pole jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Craig, who was standing in -the front door, looking out into the street. “Everybody don't git a fair -showin' in this world, Mr. Fincher,” he said. “That man Craig hain't -been treated right.” - -The jovial expression died out of the merchant's face, and he leaned -against the door-jamb. - -“You are right thar,” he said--“dead right. He's been mighty unlucky and -bad treated.” - -Pole grasped the brim of his massive hat, and drew it from his shaggy -head. “It makes me so all-fired mad sometimes, Mr. Fincher, to heer -folks a-runnin' that man down, that I want to fight. I ain't no -religious man myse'f, but I respect one, an' I've always put him down in -my book as a good man.” - -“So 've I,” said the merchant, and he looked towards the subject of -their conversation and called out: “Craig, oh, Craig, come back heer a -minute.” - -Pole put on his hat and stared at the ground. He made a gesture as if of -protest, but refrained from speaking. - -“What's wanted?” Craig came down to them. He was smoking a cigar -and wore a comfortable look, as if he had been fighting a hard but -successful fight and now heard only random shots from a fleeing enemy. - -“You ain't a candidate fer office,” laughed Fincher, “but nearly all -men like to know they've got friends. This chap heer's been standin' up -fer you. He says it makes him mad to hear folks talk agin you.” - -“Oh, it's Baker!” exclaimed the ex-banker, shaking hands with Pole and -beaming on him. “Well, I don't know a man I'd rather have for a friend,” - he said, smoothly. - -Pole tossed his head, and looked straight into the speaker's eye. “I'm -fer human justice, Mr. Craig,” he said. “An' I don't think folks -has treated you right. What man is thar that don't now an' then make -mistakes, sir? You've always had means, an' I never was anything but -a pore mountain-boy, but I've always looked on you as a good man, a -law-abidin' man, an' I don't like to heer folks try to blame you fer -what another man done. When you had plenty, I never come nigh you, -beca'se I knowed you belonged to one life an' me another, but now you -are flat o' yore back, sir, I'm yore friend.” - -Craig's face beamed; he pulled his beard; his eyes danced. - -“I'm glad there are men in the world like you, Baker,” he said. “I say -I'm glad, and I mean it.” - -Fincher had begun to look over the figures in his book, and walked to -the front. - -“Oh, my friendship ain't wuth nothin',” said Pole. “I know that. I -never was in the shape to he'p nobody, but I know when a man' s treated -right or wrong.” - -“Well, if you ever need assistance, and I can help you, don't fail to -call on me,” Craig spoke with a tone of sincerity. - -Pole took a deep breath and lowered his voice, glancing cautiously into -the house, as if fearful of being overheard. - -“Well, I _do_ need advice, Mr. Craig,” he said. “Not money, nor nothin' -expensive, but I've laid awake night after night wishing 'at I could run -on some man of experience that I could ax fer advice, an' that I could -trust. Mr. Craig, I 'll be blamed ef I don't feel like tellin' you -some 'n' that never has passed my lips.” - -Craig stared in interested astonishment. “Well, you can trust me, -Baker,” he said; “and if I can advise you, why, I 'll do it with -pleasure.” - -There was a cotton compress near by, with its vast sheds and platforms, -and Pole looked at it steadily. He thrust his hand into his pants pocket -and kept it there for a full minute. Then he shook his head, drew out -his hand, and said: “I reckon I won't bother you to-day, Mr. Craig. Some -day I 'll come in town an' tell you, but--” Pole looked at the sun. “I -reckon I'd better be goin'.” - -“Hold on,” Craig caught Pole's arm. The exbanker was a natural man. -Despite his recent troubles, he had his share of curiosity, and Pole's -manner and words had roused it to unwonted activity. “Hold on,” he said. -“What's your hurry? I've got time to spare if you have.” - -Pole hung his head for a moment in silence, then he looked the old -man in the face. “Mr. Craig,” he began, in even a lower voice, “do you -reckon thar's any gold in them mountains?” Pole nodded to the blue wave -in the east. - -Craig was standing near a bale of cotton and he sat down on it, first -parting the tails of his long, black coat. - -“I don't know; there might be,” he said, deeply interested, and yet -trying to appear indifferent. “There is plenty of it in the same range -further down about Dalonega.” - -Pole had his hand in the right pocket of his rough jean trousers. - -“Is thar anybody in this town that could tell a piece o' gold ef they -seed it?” he asked. - -“Oh, a good many, I reckon,” said Craig, a steely beam of excitement in -his unsteady eye. “I can, myself. I spent two years in the gold-mines of -California when I was a young man.” - -“You don't say! I never knowed that.” Pole had really heard of that -fact, but his face was straight. He had managed to throw into it a most -wonderful blending of fear and over-cautiousness. - -“Oh yes; I've had a good deal of experience in such things.” - -“You don't say!” Pole was looking towards the compress again. - -Craig laughed out suddenly, and put his hand on Pole's shoulder with a -friendly, downward stroke. - -“You can trust me, Baker,” he said, persuasively, “and it may be that I -could be of assistance to you.” - -There was something like an actual tremor of agitation in Pole's rough -hand as he drew his little nugget from its resting-place at the bottom -of his pocket. With a deep, indrawn breath, he handed it to Craig. “Is -that thar little lump gold or not?” he asked. - -Craig started visibly as his eyes fell on the piece of gold. But he took -it indifferently, and examined it closely. - -“Where did you run across that?” he asked. - -“I want to know ef it's the puore thing,” answered Pole. - -Craig made another examination, obviously to decide on the method he -would apply to a situation that claimed all his interest. - -“I think it is,” he said; “in fact, I know it is.” - -Pole took it eagerly, thrust it back into his pocket, and said: - -“Mr. Craig, I know whar thar's a vein o' that stuff twenty yards thick, -runnin' clean through a mountain.” - -“You do!” Craig actually paled under his suppressed excitement. - -“Yes, sir; an' I kin buy it, lock, stock, and barrel, fer five hundred -dollars--the feller that owns it ud jump at it like a duck on a -June-bug. That's my secret, Mr. Craig. I hain't one dollar to my name, -but from this day on I'm goin' to work hard an' save my money till I own -that property. I'm a-goin' down to Atlanta next week, whar people don't -know me, an' have a lump of it bigger 'n this examined, an' ef it's gold -I 'll own the land sooner or later.” - -Craig glanced to the rear. - -“Come back here,” he said. Opening a door at the end of the warehouse, -he led Pole into a more retired spot, where they would be free from -possible interruption. Then, in a most persuasive voice, he continued: -“Baker, you need a man of experience with you in this. Besides, if there -is as much of--of that stuff as you say there is, you wouldn't be able -to use all you could make out of it. Now, it might take you a long time -to get up the money to buy the land, and there is no telling what might -happen in the mean time. I'm in a close place, but I could raise five -hundred dollars, or even a thousand. My friends still stick to me, you -know. The truth is, Baker, I'd like the best in the world to be able to -make money to pay back what some of my friends have lost through me.” - -Pole hung his head. He seemed to be speaking half to himself and on the -verge of a smile when he replied: “I'd like to see you pay back some of -'em too, Mr. Craig.” - -Craig laid his hand gently on Pole's shoulder. - -“How about lettin' me see the place, Baker?” he said. - -Pole hesitated, and then he met the ex-banker's look with the expression -of a man who has resigned himself to a generous impulse. - -“Well, some day when you are a-passin' my way, stop in, an' I 'll--” - -“How far is it?” broke in Craig, pulling his beard with unsteady -fingers. - -“A good fifteen miles from heer,” said Pole. - -Craig smiled. “Nothin' but an easy ride,” he declared. “I've got a horse -doin' nothing in the stable. What's to hinder us from going to-day--this -morning--as soon as I can go by for my horse?” - -“I don't keer,” said Pole, resignedly. “But could you manage to go -without anybody knowin' whar you was bound fer?” - -“Easy enough,” Craig laughed. He was really pleased with Pole's extreme -cautiousness. - -“Then you mought meet me out thar some'r's.” - -“A good idea--a good idea, Baker.” - -“Do you know whar the Ducktown road crosses Holly Creek, at the foot o' -Old Pine Mountain?” - -“As well as I know where my house is.” - -Pole looked at the sun, shading his eyes with his hand. - -“Could you be thar by eleven o'clock?” - -“Easy enough, Baker.” - -“Well, I 'll meet you--I'm a-goin' to trust you, Mr. Craig, an' when you -see the vein, ef you think thar's enough money in it fer two--but we can -see about that later.” - -“All right, Baker. I 'll be there. But say,” as Pole was moving away, -“you are a drinking man, and get a little off sometimes. You haven't -said anything about this where anybody--” - -Pole laughed reassuringly. “I never have been drunk enough to do that, -Mr. Craig, an', what's more, I never will be.” - - - - -XXVI - - -[Illustration: 9230] - -BOUT noon that day, as Pole Baker sat on a fallen tree near the -road-side in the loneliest spot of that rugged country, his horse -grazing behind him, he saw Craig coming up the gradual incline from -the creek. Pole stood up and caught the bridle-rein of his horse and -muttered: - -“Now, Pole Baker, durn yore hide, you've got brains--at least, some -folks say you have--an' so has he. Ef you don't git the best of that -scalawag yo' re done fer. You've put purty big things through; now put -this un through or shet up.” - -“Well, heer you are,” merrily cried out the ex-banker, as he came up. -He was smiling expectantly. “Your secret's safe with me. I hain't met a -soul that I know sence I left town.” - -“I'm glad you didn't, Mr. Craig,” Pole said. “I don't want anybody -a-meddlin' with my business.” He pointed up the rather steep and rocky -road that led gradually up the mountain. “We've got two or three mile -furder to go. Have you had any dinner?” - -“I put a cold biscuit and a slice of ham in my pocket,” said Craig. “It -'ll do me till supper.” - -Pole mounted and led the way up the unfrequented road. - -“I may as well tell you, Mr. Craig, that I used to be a moonshiner in -these mountains, an'--” - -“Lord, I knew that, Baker. Who doesn't, I'd like to know?” - -Pole's big-booted legs swung back and forth like pendulums from the -flanks of his horse. - -“I was a-goin' to tell you that I had a hide-out, whar I kept stuff -stored, that wasn't knowed by one livin' man.” - -“Well, you must have had a slick place from all I've heerd,” said Craig, -still in his vast good-humor with himself and everybody else. - -“The best natur' ever built,” said Pole; “an' what's more, it was in -thar that I found the gold. I reckon it ud 'a' been diskivered long ago, -ef it had 'a' been above ground.” - -“Then it's in--a sort of cave?” ventured Craig. - -“That's jest it; but I've got the mouth of it closed up so it ud fool -even a bloodhound.” - -Half an hour later Pole drew rein in a most isolated spot, near a great -yawning canon from which came a roaring sound of rushing water and -clashing winds. The sky overhead was blue and cloudless; the air at that -altitude was crisp and rarefied, and held the odor of spruce pine. With -a laugh Pole dismounted. “What ef I was to tell you, Mr. Craig, that you -was in ten yards o' my old den right now.” - -Craig looked about in surprise. “I'd think you was makin' fun o' -me--tenderfootin', as we used to say out West.” - -“I'm givin' it to you straight,” said Pole, pointing with his -riding-switch. “Do you see that pile o' rocks?” - -Craig nodded. - -“Right under them two flat ones is the mouth o' my den,” said Pole. “Now -let's hitch to that hemlock, an' I 'll show you the whole thing.” - -When they had fastened their horses to swinging limbs in a dense thicket -of laurel and rhododendron bushes, they went to the pile of rocks. - -“I toted mighty nigh all of 'em from higher up,” Pole explained. “Some -o' the biggest I rolled down from that cliff above.” - -“I don't see how you are going to get into your hole in the ground,” - said Craig, with a laugh of pleasant anticipation. - -Pole picked up a big, smooth stick of hickory, shaped like a crowbar, -and thrust the end of it under the largest rock. “Huh! I 'll show you in -a jiffy.” - -It was an enormous stone weighing over three hundred pounds; but with -his strong lever and knotted muscles the ex-moonshiner managed to slide -it slowly to the right, disclosing a black hole about two feet square in -the ragged stone. From this protruded into the light the ends of a crude -ladder leading down about twenty-five feet to the bottom of the cave. - -“Ugh!” Craig shuddered, as he peered into the dank blackness. “You don't -mean that we are to go down there?” - -It was a crisis. Craig seemed to be swayed between two impulses--a -desire to penetrate farther and an almost controlling premonition of -coming danger. Pole met the situation with his usual originality and -continued subtlety of procedure. With his big feet dangling in the hole -he threw himself back and gave vent to a hearty, prolonged laugh that -went ringing and echoing about among the cliffs and chasms. - -“I 'lowed this ud make yore flesh crawl,” he said. “Looks like the -openin' to the bad place, don't it?” - -“It certainly does,” said Craig, somewhat reassured by Pole's levity. - -“Why, it _ain' t_ more 'n forty feet square,” said Pole. “Wait till I run -down an' make a light. I've got some fat pine torches down at the foot -o' the ladder.” - -“Well, I believe I _will_ let you go first,” said Craig, with an uneasy -little laugh. - -Pole went down the ladder, recklessly thumping his heels on the rungs. -He was lost to sight from above, but in a moment Craig heard him strike -a match, and saw the red, growing flame of a sputtering torch from which -twisted a rope of smoke. When it was well ablaze, Pole called up the -ladder: “Come on, now, an' watch whar you put yore feet. This end o' the -ladder is solid as the rock o' Gibralty.” - -The square of daylight above was cut off, and in a moment the ex-banker -stood beside his guide. - -“Now come down this way,” said Pole, and with the torch held high he led -the way into a part of the chamber where the rock overhead sloped, down -lower. Here lay some old whiskey-barrels, two or three lager-beer kegs, -and the iron hoops of several barrels that had been burned. There were -several one-gallon jugs with corn-cob stoppers. Pole swept his hand over -them with a laugh. “If you was a drinkin' man, I could treat you to a -thimbleful or two left in them jugs,” he said, almost apologetically. - -“But I don't drink, Baker,” Craig said. His premonition of danger seemed -to have returned to him, and to be driven in by the dank coolness of the -cavern, the evidence of past outlawry around him. - -Pole heaped his pieces of pine against a rock, and added to them the -chunks of some barrel-staves, which set up a lively popping sound like a -tiny fusillade of artillery. - -“You see that rock behind you, Mr. Craig?” asked Pole. “Well, set -down on it. Before we go any furder, me'n you've got to have a -understanding.” - -The old man stared hesitatingly for an instant, and then, after -carefully feeling of the stone, he complied. - -“I thought we already--but, of course,” he said, haltingly, “I'm ready -to agree to anything that 'll make you feel safe.” - -“I kinder 'lowed you would,'' and to Craig's overwhelming astonishment -Pole drew a revolver from his hip-pocket and looked at it, twirling the -cylinder with a deft thumb. - -“You mean, Baker--'' But Craig's words remained unborn in his bewildered -brain. The rigor of death itself seemed to have beset his tongue. A cold -sweat broke out on him. - -“I mean that I've tuck the trouble to fetch you heer fer a purpose, Mr. -Craig, an' thar ain't any use in beatin' about the bush to git at it.” - -Craig made another effort at utterance, but failed. Pole could hear his -rapid breathing and see the terrified gleaming of his wide-open eyes. - -“You've had a lots o' dealin' s, Mr. Craig,” said Pole. “You've made yore -mistakes an' had yore good luck, but you never did a bigger fool thing -'an you did when you listened to my tale about that lump o' gold.” - -“You've trapped me!” burst from Craig's quivering lips. - -“That's about the size of it.” - -“But--why?” The words formed the beginning and the end of a gasp. - -Pole towered over him, the revolver in his tense hand. - -“Mr. Craig, thar is one man in this world that I'd die fer twenty times -over. I love 'im more than a brother. That man you've robbed of every -dollar an' hope on earth. I've fetched you heer to die a lingerin' -death, ef--ef, I say, _ef_--you don't refund his money. That man is Alan -Bishop, an' the amount is twenty-five thousand dollars to a cent.” - -“But I haven't any money,” moaned the crouching figure; “not a dollar -that I kin lay my hands on.” - -“Then you are in a damn bad fix,” said Pole. “Unless I git that amount -o' money from you you 'll never smell a breath o' fresh air or see -natural daylight.” - -“You mean to kill a helpless man?” The words were like a prayer. - -“I'd bottle you up heer to die,” said Pole Baker, firmly. “You've met me -in this lonely spot, an' no man could lay yore end to me. In fact, all -that know you would swear you'd run off from the folks you've defrauded. -You see nothin' but that money o' Alan Bishop's kin possibly save you. -You know that well enough, an' thar ain't a bit o' use palaverin' about -it. I've fetched a pen an' ink an' paper, an' you've got to write me an -order fer the money. If I have to go as fur off as Atlanta, I 'll take -the fust train an' go after it. If I git the money, you git out, ef I -don't you won't see me agin, nur nobody else till you face yore Maker.” - -Craig bent over his knees and groaned. - -“You think I _have_ money,” he said, straightening up. “Oh, my God!” - -“I _know_ it,” said Pole. “I don't think anything about it--I _know_ -it.” - -He took out the pen and ink from his pants pocket and unfolded a sheet -of paper. “Git to work,” he said. “You needn't try to turn me, you -damned old hog!” - -Craig raised a pair of wide-open, helpless eyes to the rigid face above -him. - -“Oh, my God!” he said, again. - -“You let God alone an' git down to business,” said Pole, taking a fresh -hold on the handle of his weapon. “I'm not goin' to waste time with you. -Either you git me Alan Bishop's money or you 'll die. Hurry up!” - -“Will you keep faith with me--if--if--” - -“Yes, durn you, why wouldn't I?” A gleam of triumph flashed in the -outlaw's eyes. Up to this moment he had been groping in experimental -darkness. He now saw his way clearly and his voice rang with dawning -triumph. - -The ex-banker had taken the pen and Pole spread out the sheet of paper -on his knee. - -“What assurance have I?” stammered Craig, his face like a death-mask -against the rock behind him. “You see, after you got the money, you -might think it safer to leave me here, thinking that I would prosecute -you. I wouldn't, as God is my judge, but you might be afraid--” - -“I'm not afraid o' nothin',” said Pole. “Old man, you couldn't handle me -without puttin' yorese'f in jail fer the rest o' yore life. That order's -a-goin' to be proof that you have money when you've swore publicly that -you didn't. No; when I'm paid back Alan Bishop's money I 'll let you go. -I don't want to kill a man fer jest tryin' to steal an' not makin' the -riffle.” - -The logic struck home. The warmth of hope diffused itself over the gaunt -form. “Then I 'll write a note to my wife,” he said. - -Pole reached for one of the torches and held it near the paper. - -“Well, I'm glad I won't have to go furder'n Darley,” he said. “It 'll be -better fer both of us. By ridin' peert I can let you out before sundown. -You may git a late supper at Darley, but it's a sight better'n gittin' -none heer an' no bed to speak of.” - -“I'm putting my life in your hands, Baker,” said Craig, and with an -unsteady hand he began to write. - -“Hold on thar,” said Pole. “You 'll know the best way to write to -her, but when the money's mentioned I want you to say the twenty-five -thousand dollars deposited in the bank by the Bishops. You see I'm not -goin' to tote no order fer money I hain't no right to. An' I 'll tell -you another thing, old man, you needn't throw out no hint to her to have -me arrested. As God is my final judge, ef I'm tuck up fer this, they 'll -never make me tell whar you are. I'd wait until you'd pegged out, -anyway.” - -“I'm not setting any trap for you, Baker,” whined Craig. “You've got the -longest head of any man I ever knew. You've got me in your power, and -all I can ask of you is my life. I've got Bishop's money hidden in my -house. I am willing to restore it, if you will release me. I can write -my wife a note that will cause her to give it to you. Isn't that fair?” - -“That's all I want,” said Pole; “an' I 'll say this to you, I 'll agree to -use my influence with Alan Bishop not to handle you by law; but the best -thing fer you an' yore family to do is to shake the dirt of Darley off'n -yore feet an' seek fresh pastures. These 'round heer ain't as green, in -one way, as some I've seed.” - -Craig wrote the note and handed it up to Baker. Pole read it slowly, and -then said: “You mought 'a' axed 'er to excuse bad writin' an' spellin', -an' hopin' these few lines will find you enjoyin' the same blessin' s; -but ef it gits the boodle that's all I want. Now you keep yore shirt on, -an' don't git skeerd o' the darkness. It will be as black as pitch, an' -you kin heer yore eyelids creak after I shet the front door, but I 'll -be back--ef I find yore old lady hain't run off with a handsomer man -an' tuck the swag with 'er. I'm glad you cautioned 'er agin axin' me -questions.” - -Pole backed to the foot of the ladder, followed by Craig. - -“Don't leave me here, Baker,” he said, imploringly. “Don't, for God's -sake! I swear I 'll go with you and get you the money.” - -“I can't do that, Mr. Craig; but I 'll be back as shore as fate, ef I get -that cash,” promised Pole. “It all depends on that. I 'll keep my word, -if you do yore'n.” - -“I am going to trust you,” said the old man, with the pleading -intonation of a cowed and frightened child. - -After he had gotten out, Pole thrust his head into the opening again. -“It 'll be like you to come up heer an' try to move this rock,” he -called out, “but you mought as well not try it, fer I'm goin' to add -about a dump-cart load o' rocks to it to keep the wolves from diggin' -you out.” - - - - -XXVII - - -[Illustration: 9239] - -AYBURN MILLER and Alan spent that day on the river trying to catch fish, -but with no luck at all, returning empty-handed to the farm-house for -a late dinner. They passed the afternoon at target-shooting on the lawn -with rifles and revolvers, ending the day by a reckless ride on their -horses across the fields, over fences and ditches, after the manner of -fox-hunting, a sport not often indulged in in that part of the country. - -In the evening as they sat in the big sitting-room, smoking after-supper -cigars, accompanied by Abner Daniel, with his long, cane-stemmed pipe, -Mrs. Bishop came into the room, in her quiet way, smoothing her apron -with her delicate hands. - -“Pole Baker's rid up an' hitched at the front gate,” she said. “Did you -send 'im to town fer anything, Alan?” - -“No, mother,” replied her son. “I reckon he's come to get more meat. Is -father out there?” - -“I think he's some'r's about the stable,” said Mrs. Bishop. - -Miller laughed. “I guess Pole isn't the best pay in the world, is he?” - -“Father never weighs or keeps account of anything he gets,” said Alan. -“They both make a guess at it, when cotton is sold. Father calls it -'lumping' the thing, and usually Pole gets the lump. But he's all right, -and I wish we could do more for him. Father was really thinking about -helping him in some substantial way when the crash came--” - -“Thar!” broke in Daniel, with a gurgling laugh, “I've won my bet. I bet -to myse'f jest now that ten minutes wouldn't pass 'fore Craig an' his -bu'st-up would be mentioned.” - -“We have been at it, off and on, all day,” said Miller, with a -low laugh. “The truth is, it makes me madder than anything I ever -encountered.” - -“Do you know why?” asked Abner, seriously, just as Pole Baker came -through the dining-room and leaned against the door-jamb facing them. -“It's beca'se”--nodding a greeting to Pole along with the others--“it's -beca'se you know in reason that he's got that money.” - -“Oh, I wouldn't say _that_,” protested Miller, in the tone of a man of -broad experience in worldly affairs. “I wouldn't say that.” - -“Well, I would, an' do,” said Abner, in the full tone of decision. “I -_know_ he's got it!” - -“Well, yo' re wrong thar, Uncle Ab,” said Pole, striding forward and -sinking into a chair. “You've got as good jedgment as any man I ever run -across. I thought like you do once. I'd 'a' tuck my oath that he had it -about two hours by sun this evenin', but I kin swear he hain't a cent -of it now.” - -“Do you mean that, Pole?” Abner stared across the wide hearth at him -fixedly. - -“He hain't got it, Uncle Ab.” Pole was beginning to smile mysteriously. -“He _did_ have it, but he hain't got it now. I got it from 'im, blast -his ugly pictur'!” - -“_You_ got it?” gasped Daniel. “_You?_” - -“Yes. I made up my mind he had it, an' it deviled me so much that I -determined to have it by hook or crook, ef it killed me, or put me in -hock the rest o' my life.” Pole rose and took a packet wrapped in brown -paper from under his rough coat and laid it on the table near Alan. -“God bless you, old boy,” he said, “thar's yore money! It's all thar. I -counted it. It's in fifties an' hundreds.” - -Breathlessly, and with expanded eyes, Alan broke the string about the -packet and opened it. - -“Great God!” he muttered. - -Miller sprang up and looked at the stack of bills, but said nothing. -Abner, leaning forward, uttered a little, low laugh. - -“You--you didn't kill 'im, did you, Pole, old boy--you didn't, did you?” - he asked. - -“Didn't harm a hair of his head,” said Pole. “All I wanted was Alan' s -money, an' thar it is!” - -“Well,” grunted Daniel, “I'm glad you spared his life. And I thank God -you got the money.” - -Miller was now hurriedly running over the bills. - -“You say you counted it, Baker?” he said, pale with pleased excitement. - -“Three times; fust when it was turned over to me, an' twice on the way -out heer from town.” - -Mrs. Bishop had not spoken until now, standing in the shadows of the -others as if bewildered by what seemed a mocking impossibility. - -“Is it our money--is it our'n?” she finally found voice to say. “Oh, is -it, Pole?” - -“Yes, 'm,” replied Pole. “It's yo'rn.” He produced a crumpled piece of -paper and handed it to Miller. “Heer's Craig's order on his wife fer -it, an' in it he acknowledges it's the cash deposited by Mr. Bishop. He -won't give me no trouble. I've got 'im fixed. He 'll leave Darley in the -mornin'. He's afeerd this 'll git out an' he 'll be lynched.” - -Alan was profoundly moved. He transferred his gaze from the money to -Pole's face, and leaned towards him. - -“You did it out of friendship for me,” he said, his voice shaking. - -“That's what I did it fer, Alan, an' I wish I could do it over agin. -When I laid hold o' that wad an' knowed it was the thing you wanted -more'n anything else, I felt like flyin'.” - -“Tell us all about it, Baker,” said Miller, wrapping up the stack of -bills. - -“All right,” said Pole, but Mrs. Bishop interrupted him. - -“Wait fer Alfred,” she said, her voice rising and cracking in delight. -“Wait; I 'll run find 'im.” - -She went out through the dining-room towards the stables, calling her -husband at every step. “Alfred, oh, Alfred!” - -“Heer!” she heard him call out from one of the stables. - -She leaned over the fence opposite the closed door, behind which she had -heard his voice. - -“Oh, Alfred!” she called, “come out, quick! I've got news fer you--big, -big news!” - -She heard him grumbling as he emptied some ears of corn into the trough -of the stall containing Alan' s favorite horse, and then with a growl he -emerged into the starlight. - -“That fool nigger only give Alan's hoss six ears o' corn,” he fumed. “I -know, beca'se I counted the cobs; the hoss had licked the trough clean, -an' gnawed the ends o' the cobs. The idea o' starvin' my stock right -before my--” - -“Oh, Alfred, what _do_ you think has happened?” his wife broke in. -“We've got the bank money back! Pole Baker managed somehow to get it. -He's goin' to tell about it now. Come on in!” - -Bishop closed the door behind him; he fumbled with the chain and padlock -for an instant, then he moved towards her, his lip hanging, his eyes -protruding. - -“I 'll believe my part o' that when--” - -“But,” she cried, opening the gate for him to pass through, “the money's -thar in the house on the table; it's been counted. I say it's thar! -Don't you believe it?” - -The old man moved through the gate mechanically. He paused to fasten it -with the iron ring over the two posts. But after that he seemed to lose -the power of locomotion. He stood facing her, his features working. - -“I 'll believe my part o' that cat-an'-bull story when I see--” - -“Well, come in the house, then,” she cried. “You kin lay yore hands -on it an' count it. It's a awful big pile, an' nothin' less than -fifty-dollar bills.” - -Grasping his arm, she half dragged, half led him into the house. -Entering the sitting-room, he strode to the table and, without a word, -picked up the package and opened it. He made an effort to count the -money, but his fingers seemed to have lost their cunning, and he gave it -up. - -“It's all there,” Miller assured him, “and it's your money. You needn't -bother about that.” - -Bishop sat down in his place in the chimney corner, the packet on his -knees, while Pole Baker, modestly, and not without touches of humor, -recounted his experiences. - -“The toughest job I had was managin' the woman,” Pole laughed. “You kin -always count on a woman to be contrary. I believe ef you was tryin' -to git some women out of a burnin' house they'd want to have the'r way -about it. She read the order an' got white about the gills an' screamed, -low, so nobody wouldn't heer 'er, an' then wanted to ax questions. -That's the female of it. She knowed in reason that Craig was dead fixed -an' couldn't git out until she complied with the instructions, but she -wanted to know all about it. I reckon she thought he wouldn't give full -particulars--an' he won't, nuther. She wouldn't budge to git the money, -an' time was a-passin'. I finally had a thought that fetched 'er. I told -'er Craig was confined in a place along with a barrel o' gunpowder; that -a slow fuse was burnin' towards 'im, an' that he'd go sky-high at about -sundown ef I didn't git thar an' kick out the fire. Then I told 'er -she'd be arrested fer holdin' the money, an' that got 'er in a trot. She -fetched it out purty quick, a-cryin' an' abusin' me by turns. As soon -as the money left 'er hands though, she begun to beg me to ride fast. -I wanted to come heer fust; but I felt sorter sorry fer Craig, an' went -an' let 'im out. He was the gladdest man to see me you ever looked at. -He thought I was goin' to leave 'im thar. He looked like he wanted to -hug me. He says Winship wasn't much to blame. They both got in deep -water speculatin', an' Craig was tempted to cabbage on the twenty-five -thousand dollars.” - -When Pole had concluded, the group sat in silence for a long time. It -looked as if Bishop wanted to openly thank Pole for what he had done, -but he had never done such a thing in the presence of others, and he -could not pull himself to it. He sat crouched up in his tilted chair as -if burning up with the joy of his release. - -The silence was broken by Abner Daniel, as he filled his pipe anew and -stood over the fireplace. - -“They say money's a cuss an' the root of all evil,” he said, dryly. “But -in this case it's give Pole Baker thar a chance to show what's in 'im. -I'd 'a' give the last cent I have to 'a' done what he did to-day. I -grant you he used deception, but it was the fust-water sort that that -Bible king resorted to when he made out he was goin' to divide that -baby by cuttin' it in halves. He fetched out the good an' squelched the -bad.” Abner glanced at Pole, and gave one of his impulsive inward laughs. -“My boy, when I reach t'other shore I expect to see whole strings o' -sech law-breakers as you a-playin' leap-frog on the golden sands. You -don't sing an' pray a whole lot, nur keep yore religion in sight, but -when thar's work to be done you shuck off yore shirt an' do it like a -wild-cat a-scratchin'.” - -No one spoke after this outburst for several minutes, though the glances -cast in his direction showed the embarrassed ex-moonshiner that one and -all had sanctioned Abner Daniel's opinion. - -Bishop leaned forward and looked at the clock, and seeing that it was -nine, he put the money in a bureau-drawer and turned the key. Then he -took down the big family Bible from its shelf and sat down near the -lamp. They all knew what the action portended. - -“That's another thing,” smiled Abner Daniel, while his brother-in-law -was searching for his place in the big Book. “Money may be a bad thing, -a cuss an' a evil, an' what not, but Alf 'ain't felt like holdin' -prayer sence the bad news come; an' now that he's got the scads once -more the fust thing is an appeal to the Throne. Yes, it may be a bad -thing, but sometimes it sets folks to singin' an' shoutin'. Ef I was -a-runnin' of the universe, I believe I'd do a lots o' distributin' in -low places. I'd scrape off a good many tops an' level up more. Accordin' -to some, the Lord's busy watchin' birds fall to the ground. I reckon -our hard times is due to them pesky English sparrows that's overrun -ever'thing.” - -“You'd better dry up, Uncle Ab,” said Pole Baker. “That's the kind o' -talk that made brother Dole jump on you.” - -“Huh! That's a fact,” said Daniel; “but this is in the family.” - -Then Bishop began to read in his even, declamatory voice, and all the -others looked steadily at the fire in the chimney, their faces lighted -up by the flickering flames. - -When they had risen from their knees after prayer, Pole looked at Abner -with eyes from which shot beams of amusement. He seemed to enjoy nothing -so much as hearing Abner's religious opinions. - -“You say this thing has set Mr. Bishop to prayin', Uncle Ab?” he asked. - -“That's what,” smiled Abner, who had never admired Baker so much before. -“Ef I stay heer, an' they ever git that railroad through, I'm goin' to -have me a pair o' knee-pads made.” - - - - -XXVIII - - -[Illustration: 9247] - -BOUT a week after the events recorded in the preceding chapter, old -man Bishop, just at dusk one evening, rode up to Pole Baker's humble -domicile. - -Pole was in the front yard making a fire of sticks, twigs, and chips. - -“What's that fer?” the old man questioned, as he dismounted and hitched -his horse to the worm fence. - -“To drive off mosquitoes,” said Pole, wiping his eyes, which were red -from the effects of the smoke. “I 'll never pass another night like the -last un ef I kin he'p it. I 'lowed my hide was thick, but they bored fer -oil all over me from dark till sun-up. I never 've tried smoke, but Hank -Watts says it's ahead o' pennyr'yal.” - -“Shucks!” grunted the planter, “you ain't workin' it right. A few rags -burnin' in a pan nigh yore bed may drive 'em out, but a smoke out heer -in the yard 'll jest drive 'em in.” - -“What?” said Pole, in high disgust. “Do you expect me to sleep sech hot -weather as this is with a fire nigh my bed? The durn things may eat me -raw, but I 'll be blamed ef I barbecue myse'f to please 'em.” - -Mrs. Baker appeared in the cabin-door, holding two of the youngest -children by their hands. “He won't take my advice, Mr. Bishop,” she -said. “I jest rub a little lamp-oil on my face an' hands an' they don't -tetch me.” Pole grunted and looked with laughing eyes at the old man. - -“She axed me t'other night why I'd quit kissin' 'er,” he said. “An' I -told 'er I didn't keer any more fer kerosene than the mosquitoes did.” - -Mrs. Baker laughed pleasantly, as she brought out a chair for Bishop and -invited him to sit down. He complied, twirling his riding-switch in his -hand. From his position, almost on a level with the floor, he could see -the interior of one of the rooms. It was almost bare of furniture. Two -opposite corners were occupied by crude bedsteads; in the centre of the -room was a cradle made from a soap-box on rockers sawn from rough poplar -boards. It had the appearance of having been in use through several -generations. Near it stood a spinning-wheel and a three-legged stool. -The sharp steel spindle gleamed in the firelight from the big log and -mud chimney. - -“What's the news from town, Mr. Bishop?” Pole asked, awkwardly, for it -struck him that Bishop had called to talk with him about some business -and was reluctant to introduce it. - -“Nothin' that interests any of us, I reckon, Pole,” said the old man, -“except I made that investment in Shoal Cotton Factory stock.” - -“That's good,” said Pole, in the tone of anybody but a man who had never -invested a dollar in anything. “It's all hunkey, an' my opinion is that -it 'll never be wuth less.” - -“I did heer, too,” added Bishop, “that it was reported that Craig had -set up a little grocery store out in Texas, nigh the Indian Territory. -Some thinks that Winship 'll turn up thar an' jine 'im, but a body never -knows what to believe these days.” - -“That shore is a fact,” opined Pole. “Sally, that corn-bread's -a-burnin'; ef you'd use less lamp-oil you'd smell better.” - -Mrs. Baker darted to the fireplace, raked the live coals from beneath -the cast-iron oven, and jerked off the lid in a cloud of steam and -smoke. She turned over the pone with the aid of a case-knife, and then -came back to the door. - -“Fer the last month I've had my eye on the Bascome farm,” Bishop was -saying. “Thar's a hundred acres even, some good bottom land and upland, -an' in the neighborhood o' thirty acres o' good wood. Then thar's -a five-room house, well made an' tight, an' a barn, cow-house, an' -stable.” - -“Lord! I know the place like a book,” said Pole; “an' it's a dandy -investment, Mr. Bishop. They say he offered it fer fifteen hundred. It's -wuth two thousand. You won't drap any money by buyin' that property, -Mr. Bishop. I'd hate to contract to build jest the house an' well an' -out-houses fer a thousand.” - -“I bought it,” Bishop told him. “He let me have it fer a good deal less -'n fifteen hundred, cash down.” - -“Well, you made a dandy trade, Mr. Bishop. Ah, that's what ready money -will do. When you got the cash things seem to come at bottom figures.” - -Old Bishop drew a folded paper from his pocket and slapped it on his -knee. “Yes, I closed the deal this evenin', an' I was jest a-thinkin' -that as you hain't rented fer next yeer--I mean--” Bishop was ordinarily -direct of speech, but somehow his words became tangled, and he delivered -himself awkwardly on this occasion. “You see, Alan thinks that you -'n Sally ort to live in a better house than jest this heer log-cabin, -an'--” - -The wan face of the tired woman was aglow with expectation. She sank -down on the doorstep, and sat still and mute, her hands clasping each -other in her lap. She had always disliked that cabin and its sordid -surroundings, and there was something in Bishop's talk that made her -think he was about to propose renting the new farm, house and all, -to her husband. Her mouth fell open; she scarcely allowed herself to -breathe. Then, as Bishop paused, her husband's voice struck dumb dismay -to her heart. It was as if she were falling from glowing hope back to -tasted despair. - -“Thar's more land in that farm an' I could do jestice to, Mr. Bishop; but -ef thar's a good cabin on it an' you see fit to cut off enough fer me'n -one hoss I'd jest as soon tend that as this heer. I want to do what you -an' Alan think is best all'round.” - -“Oh, Pole, Pole!” The woman was crying it to herself, her face lowered -to her hands that the two men might not see the agony written in her -eyes. A house like that to live in, with all those rooms and fireplaces, -and windows with panes of glass in them! She fancied she saw her -children playing on the tight, smooth floors and on the honeysuckled -porch. For one minute these things had been hers, to be snatched away -by the callous indifference of her husband, who, alas! had never cared a -straw for appearances. - -“Oh, I wasn't thinking about _rentin'_ it to you,” said Bishop, and the -woman's dream was over. She raised her head, awake again. “You -see,” went on Bishop, still struggling for proper expression, “Alan -thinks--well, he thinks you are sech a born fool about not acceptin' -help from them that feels nigh to you, an' I may as well say grateful, -exceedingly grateful, fer what you've done, things that no other livin' -man could 'a' done. Alan thinks you ort to have the farm fer yore own -property, an' so the deeds has been made out to--” - -Pole drew himself up to his full height. His big face was flushed, half -with anger, half with a strong emotion of a tenderer kind. He stood -towering over the old man like a giant swayed by the warring winds of -good and evil, “I won't heer a word more of that, Mr. Bishop,” he said, -with a quivering lip; “not a word more. By golly! I mean what I say. I -don't want to heer another word of it. This heer place is good enough -fer me an' my family. It's done eight yeer, an' it kin do another -eight.” - -“Oh, Pole, Pole, _Pole!_” The woman's cry was now audible. It came -straight from her pent-up, starving soul and went right to Bishop's -heart. - -“You want the place, don't you, Sally?” he said, calling her by her -given name for the first time, as if he had just discovered their -kinship. He could not have used a tenderer tone to child of his own. - -“Mind, mind what you say, Sally!” ordered Pole, from the depths of his -fighting emotions. “Mind what you say!” - -The woman looked at Bishop. Her glance was on fire. - -“Yes, I want it--I _want_ it!” she cried. “I ain't goin' to lie. I want -it more right now than I do the kingdom of heaven. I want it ef we have -a right to it. Oh, I don't know.” She dropped her head in her lap and -began to sob. - -Bishop stood up. He moved towards her in a jerky fashion and laid his -hand on the pitifully tight knot of hair at the back of her head. - -“Well, it's yores,” he said. “Alan thought Pole would raise a kick agin -it, an' me'n him had it made out in yore name, so he couldn't tetch it. -It's yores, Sally Ann Baker. That's the way it reads.” - -The woman's sobs increased, but they were sobs of unbridled joy. With -her apron to her eyes she rose and hurried into the house. - -The eyes of the two men met. Bishop spoke first: - -“You've got to give in, Pole,” he said. “You'd not be a man to stand -betwixt yore wife an' a thing she wants as bad as she does that place, -an', by all that's good an' holy, you sha 'n' t.” - -“What's the use o' me tryin' to git even with Alan,” Pole exclaimed, -“ef he's eternally a-goin' to git up some 'n'? I've been tickled to death -ever since I cornered old Craig till now, but you an' him has sp'iled it -all by this heer trick. It ain't fair to me.” - -“Well, it's done,” smiled the old man, as he went to his horse; “an' ef -you don't live thar with Sally, I 'll make 'er git a divorce.” - -Bishop had reached a little pig-pen in a fence-corner farther along, on -his way home, when Mrs. Baker suddenly emerged from a patch of high corn -in front of him. - -“Is he a-goin' to take it, Mr. Bishop?” she asked, panting from her -hurried walk through the corn that hid her from the view of the cabin. - -“Yes,” Bishop told her; “I'm a-goin' to send two wagons over in the -morning to move yore things. I wish it was ten times as good a place -as it is, but it will insure you an' the children a living an' a -comfortable home.” - -After the manner of many of her kind, the woman uttered no words of -thanks, but simply turned back into the corn, and, occupied with her own -vision of prosperity and choking with gratitude, she hurried back to the -cabin. - - - - -XXIX - - -[Illustration: 9253] - -HE summer ended, the autumn passed, 'and Christmas approached. Nothing -of much importance had taken place among the characters of this little -history. The Southern Land and Timber Company, and Wilson in particular, -had disappointed Miller and Alan by their reticence in regard to the -progress of the railroad scheme. At every meeting with Wilson they -found him either really or pretendedly indifferent about the matter. His -concern, he told them, was busy in other quarters, and that he really -did not know what they would finally do about it. - -“He can' t pull the wool over my eyes,” Miller told his friend, after -one of these interviews. “He simply thinks he can freeze you out by -holding off till you have to raise money.” - -“He may have inquired into my father's financial condition,” suggested -Alan, with a long face. - -“Most likely,” replied the lawyer. - -“And discovered exactly where we stand.” - -“Perhaps, but we must not believe that till we know it. I'm going to -try to checkmate him. I don't know how, but I 'll think of something. -He feels that he has the upper hand now, but I 'll interest him some of -these days.” - -Alan's love affair had also been dragging. He had had numerous -assurances of Dolly's constancy, but since learning how her father had -acted the night he supposed she had eloped with Alan, her eyes had been -opened to the seriousness of offending Colonel Barclay. She now -knew that her marriage against his will would cause her immediate -disinheritance, and she was too sensible a girl to want to go to Alan -without a dollar and with the doors of her home closed against her. -Besides, she believed in Alan' s future. She, somehow, had more faith in -the railroad than any other interested person. She knew, too, that she -was now more closely watched than formerly. She had, with firm finality, -refused Frank Hillhouse's offer of marriage, and that had not helped her -case in the eyes of her exasperated parent. Her mother occupied neutral -ground; she had a vague liking for Alan Bishop, and, if the whole truth -must be told, was heartily enjoying the situation. She was enjoying it -so subtly and so heartily, in her own bloodless way, that she was at -times almost afraid of its ending suddenly. - -On Christmas Eve Adele was expected home from Atlanta, and Alan had come -in town to meet her. As it happened, an accident delayed her train so -that it would not reach Darley till ten o' clock at night instead of six -in the evening, so there was nothing for her brother to do but arrange -for their staying that night at the Johnston House. Somewhat to Alan' -s surprise, who had never discovered the close friendship and constant -correspondence existing between Miller and his sister, the former -announced that he was going to spend the night at the hotel and drive -out to the farm with them the next morning. Of course, it was agreeable, -Alan reflected, but it was a strange thing for Miller to propose. - -From the long veranda of the hotel after supper that evening the two -friends witnessed the crude display of holiday fireworks in the street -below. Half a dozen big bonfires made of dry-goods boxes, kerosene and -tar barrels, and refuse of all kinds were blazing along the main street. -Directly opposite the hotel the only confectionery and toy store in the -place was crowded to overflowing by eager customers, and in front of it -the purchasers of fireworks were letting them off for the benefit of the -bystanders. Fire-crackers were exploded by the package, and every now -and then a clerk in some store would come to the front door and fire off -a gun or a revolver. - -All this noise and illumination was at its height when Adele's train -drew up in the car-shed. The bonfires near at hand made it as light as -day, and she had no trouble recognizing the two friends. - -“Oh, what an awful racket!” she exclaimed, as she released herself from -Alan' s embrace and gave her hand to Miller. - -“It's in your honor,” Miller laughed, as, to Alan' s vast astonishment, -he held on to her hand longer than seemed right. “We ought to have had -the brass band out.” - -“Oh, I'm so glad to get home,” said Adele, laying her hand on Miller's -extended arm. Then she released it to give Alan her trunk-checks. “Get -them, brother,” she said. “Mr. Miller will take care of me. I suppose -you are not going to drive home to-night.” - -“Not if you are tired,” said Miller, in a tone Alan had never heard -his friend use to any woman, nor had he ever seen such an expression -on Miller's face as lay there while the lawyer's eyes were feasting -themselves on the girl's beauty. - -Alan hurried away after the trunks and a porter. He was almost blind -with a rage that was new to him. Was Miller deliberately beginning a -flirtation with Adele at a moment's notice? And had she been so spoiled -by the “fast set” of Atlanta during her stay there that she would allow -it--even if Miller was a friend of the family? He found a negro porter -near the heap of luggage that had been hurled from the baggage-car, and -ordered his sister's trunks taken to the hotel. Then he followed the -couple moodily up to the hotel parlor. He was destined to undergo -another shock, for, on entering that room, he surprised Miller and Adele -on a sofa behind the big square piano with their heads suspiciously near -together, and so deeply were they engaged in conversation that, although -he drew up a chair near them, they paid no heed to him further than to -recognize his appearance with a lifting of their eyes. They were talking -of social affairs in Atlanta and people whose names were unfamiliar to -Alan. He rose and stood before the fireplace, but they did not notice -his change of position. Truly it was maddening. He told himself that -Adele's pretty face and far too easy manner had attracted Miller's -attention temporarily, and the fellow was daring to enter one of his -flirtations right before his eyes. Alan would give him a piece of his -mind at the first opportunity, even if he was under obligations to him. -Indeed, Miller had greatly disappointed him, and so had Adele. He had -always thought she, like Dolly Barclay, was different from other girls; -but no, she was like them all. Miller's attention had simply turned her -head. Well, as soon as he had a chance he would tell her a few things -about Miller and his views of women. That would put her on her -guard, but it would not draw out the poisoned sting left by Miller's -presumption, or indelicacy, or whatever it was. Alan rose and stood at -the fire unnoticed for several minutes, and then he showed that he -was at least a good chaperon, for he reached out and drew on the -old-fashioned bell-pull in the chimney-corner. The porter appeared, and -Alan asked: “Is my sister's room ready?” - -“Yes, it's good and warm now, suh,” said the negro. “I started the fire -an hour ago.” - -Miller and Adele had paused to listen. - -“Oh, you are going to hurry me off to bed,” the girl said, with an -audible sigh. - -“You must be tired after that ride,” said Alan, coldly. - -“That's a fact, you must be,” echoed Miller. “Well, if you have to go, -you can finish telling me in the morning. You know I'm going to spend -the night here, where I have a regular room, and I 'll see you at -breakfast.” - -“Oh, I'm so glad,” said Adele. “Yes, I can finish telling you in the -morning.” Then she seemed to notice her brother's long face, and she -laughed out teasingly: “I 'll bet he and Dolly are no nearer together -than ever.” - -“You are right,” Miller joined in her mood; “the Colonel still has his -dogs ready for Alan, but they 'll make it up some day, I hope. Dolly is -_next_ to the smartest girl I know.” - -“Oh, you _are_ a flatterer,” laughed Adele, and she gave Miller her -hand. “Don't forget to be up for early breakfast. We must start soon in -the morning. I'm dying to see the home folks.” - -Alan was glad that Miller had a room of his own, for he was not in -a mood to converse with him; and when Adele had retired he refused -Miller's proffered cigar and went to his own room. - -Miller grunted as Alan turned away. “He's had bad news of some sort,” - he thought, “and it's about Dolly Barclay. I wonder, after all, if she -would stick to a poor man. I begin to think some women would. Adele is -of that stripe--yes, she is, and isn't she stunning-looking? She's a -gem of the first water, straight as a die, full of pluck and--she's all -right--all right!” - -He went out on the veranda to smoke and enjoy repeating these things -over to himself. The bonfires in the street were dying down to red -embers, around which stood a few stragglers; but there was a blaze of -new light over the young man' s head. Along his horizon had dawned a -glorious reason for his existence; a reason that discounted every reason -he had ever entertained. “Adele, Adele,” he said to himself, and then -his cigar went out. Perhaps, his thoughts ran on in their mad race with -happiness--perhaps, with her fair head on her pillow, she was thinking -of him as he was of her. - -Around the corner came a crowd of young men singing negro songs. They -passed under the veranda, and Miller recognized Frank Hillhouse's voice. -“That you, Frank?” Miller called out, leaning over the railing. - -“Yes--that you, Ray?” Hillhouse stepped out into view. “Come on; we are -going to turn the town over. Every sign comes down, according to custom, -you know. Old Thad Moore is drunk in the calaboose. They put him in late -this evening. We are going to mask and let him out. It's a dandy racket; -we are going to make him think we are White Caps, and then set him down -in the bosom of his family. Come on.” - -“I can't to-night,” declined Miller, with a laugh. “I'm dead tired.” - -“Well, if you hear all the church bells ringing, you needn't think it's -fire, and jump out of your skin. We ain't going to sleep to-night, and -we don't intend to let anybody else do it.” - -“Well, go it while you are young,” Miller retorted, with a laugh, and -Hillhouse joined his companions in mischief and they passed on singing -merrily. - -Miller threw his cigar away and went to his room. He was ecstatically -happy. The mere thought that Adele Bishop was under the same roof with -him, and on the morrow was going to people who liked him, and leaned on -his advice and experience, gave him a sweet content that thrilled him -from head to foot. - -“Perhaps I ought to tell Alan,” he mused, “but he 'll find it out soon -enough; and, hang it all, I can' t tell him how I feel about his own -sister, after all the rot I've stuffed into him.” - - - - -XXX - - -[Illustration: 9260] - -HE next morning, as soon as he was up, Alan went to his sister's room. -He found her dressed and ready for him. She was seated before a cheerful -grate-fire, looking over a magazine she had brought to pass the time on -the train. - -“Come in,” she said, pleasantly enough, he reflected, now that Miller -was not present to absorb her attention. “I expected you to get up a -little earlier. Those guns down at the bar-room just about daybreak -waked me, and I couldn't go to sleep again. There is no use denying -it, Al, we have a barbarous way of amusing ourselves up here in North -Georgia.” - -He went in and stood with his back to the fire, still unable to rid his -brow of the frown it had worn the night before. - -“Oh, I reckon you've got too citified for us,” he said, “along with -other accomplishments that fast set down there has taught you.” - -Adele laid her book open on her lap. - -“Look here, Alan,” she said, quite gravely. “What's the matter with -you?” - -“Nothing, that I know of,” he said, without meeting her direct gaze. - -“Well, there is,” she said, as the outcome of her slow inspection of his -clouded features. - -He shrugged his shoulders and gave her his eyes steadily. - -“I don't like the way you and Miller are carrying on.” He hurled the -words at her sullenly. “You see, I know him through and through.” - -“Well, that's all right,” she replied, not flinching from his indignant -stare; “but what's that got to do with my conduct and his?” - -“You allow him to be too familiar with you,” Alan retorted. “He's not -the kind of a man for you to--to act that way with. He has flirted with -a dozen women and thrown them over; he doesn't believe in the honest -love of a man for a woman, or the love of a woman for a man.” - -“Ah, I am at the first of this!” Adele, instead of being put down by his -stormy words, was smiling inwardly. Her lips were rigid, but Alan saw -the light of keen amusement in her eyes. “Is he _really_ so dangerous? -That makes him doubly interesting. Most girls love to handle masculine -gunpowder. Do you know, if I was Dolly Barclay, for instance, an affair -with you would not be much fun, because I'd be so sure of you. The dead -level of your past would alarm me.” - -“Thank Heaven, all women are not alike!” was the bolt he hurled at -her. “If you knew as much about Ray Miller as I do, you'd act in a more -dignified way on a first acquaintance with him.” - -“On a first--oh, I see what you mean!” Adele put her handkerchief to her -face and treated herself to a merry laugh that exasperated him beyond -endurance. Then she stood up, smoothing her smile away. “Let's go -to breakfast. I'm as hungry as a bear. I told Rayburn--I mean your -dangerous friend, Mr. Miller--that we'd meet him in the dining-room. He -says he's crazy for a cup of coffee with whipped cream in it. I ordered -it just now.” - -“The dev--” Alan bit the word in two and strode from the room, she -following. The first person they saw in the big dining-room was Miller, -standing at the stove in the centre of the room warming himself. He -scarcely looked at Alan in his eagerness to have a chair placed for -Adele at a little table reserved for three in a corner of the room, -which was presided over by a slick-looking mulatto waiter, whose father -had belonged to Miller's family. - -“I've been up an hour,” he said to her. “I took a stroll down the street -to see what damage the gang did last night. Every sign is down or hung -where it doesn't belong. To tease the owner, an old negro drayman, whom -everybody jokes with, they took his wagon to pieces and put it together -again on the roof of Harmon's drug-store. How they got it there is -a puzzle that will go down in local history like the building of the -Pyramids.” - -“Whiskey did it,” laughed Adele; “that will be the final explanation.” - -“I think you are right,” agreed Miller. - -Alan bolted his food in grum silence, unnoticed by the others. Adele's -very grace at the table, as she prepared Miller's coffee, and her apt -repartee added to his discomfiture. He excused himself from the table -before they had finished, mumbling something about seeing if the horses -were ready, and went into the office. The last blow to his temper was -dealt by Adele as she came from the dining-room. - -“Mr. Miller wants to drive me out in his buggy to show me his horses,” - she said, half smiling. “You won't mind, will you? You see, he 'll want -his team out there to get back in, and--” - -“Oh, I don't mind,” he told her. “I see you are bent on making a goose -of yourself. After what I've told you about Miller, if you still--” - -But she closed his mouth with her hand. - -“Leave him to me, brother,” she said, as she turned away. “I'm old -enough to take care of myself, and--and--well, I know men better than -you do.” - -When Alan reached home he found that Miller and Adele had been there -half an hour. His mother met him at the door with a mysterious smile on -her sweet old face, as she nodded at the closed door of the parlor. - -“Don't go in there now,” she whispered. “Adele and Mr. Miller have been -there ever since they come. I railly believe they are in love with -each other. I never saw young folks act more like it. When I met 'em it -looked jest like he wanted to kiss me, he was so happy. Now wouldn't it -be fine if they was to get married? He's the nicest man in the State, -and the best catch.” - -“Oh, mother,” said Alan, “you don't understand. Rayburn Miller is--” - -“Well, Adele will know how to manage him,” broke in the old lady, too -full of her view of the romance to harken to his; “she ain't no fool, -son. She 'll twist him around her finger if she wants to. She's pretty, -an' stylish, an' as sharp as a brier. Ah, he's jest seen it all and -wants her; you can't fool me! I know how people act when they are in -love. I've seen hundreds, and I never saw a worse case on both sides -than this is.” - -Going around to the stables to see that his horses were properly -attended to, Alan met his uncle leaning over the rail-fence looking -admiringly at a young colt that was prancing around the lot. - -“Christmas gift,” said the old man, suddenly. “I ketched you that time -shore pop.” - -“Yes, you got ahead of me,” Alan admitted. - -The old man came nearer to him, nodding his head towards the house. -“Heerd the news?” he asked, with a broad grin of delight. - -“What news is that?” Alan asked, dubiously. “Young Miss,” a name given -Adele by the negroes, and sometimes used jestingly by the family--“Young -Miss has knocked the props clean from under Miller.” Alan frowned and -hung his head for a moment; then he said: - -“Uncle Ab, do you remember what I told you about Miller's opinion of -love and women in general?” - -The old man saw his drift and burst into a full, round laugh. - -“I know you told me what he said about love an' women in general, but I -don't know as you said what he thought about women in _particular_. This -heer's a particular case. I tell you she's fixed 'im. Yore little sis -has done the most complete job out o' tough material I ever inspected. -He's a gone coon; he 'll never make another brag; he's tied hand an' -foot.” - -Alan looked straight into his uncle's eyes. A light was breaking on him. -“Uncle Ab,” he said, “do you think he is--really in love with her?” - -“Ef he ain't, an' don't ax yore pa an' ma fer 'er before a month's gone, -I 'll deed you my farm. Now, look heer. A feller knows his own sister -less'n he does anybody else; that's beca'se you never have thought of -Adele follerin' in the trail of womankind. You'd hate fer a brother o' -that town gal to be raisin' sand about you, wouldn't you? Well, you go -right on an' let them two kill the'r own rats.” - -Alan and his uncle were returning to the house when Pole Baker -dismounted at the front gate and came into the yard. - -Since becoming a landed proprietor his appearance had altered for the -better most materially. He wore a neat, well-fitting suit of clothes -and a new hat, but of the same broad dimensions as the old. Its brim was -pinned up on the right side by a little brass ornament. - -“I seed Mr. Miller drive past my house awhile ago with Miss Adele,” he -said, “an' I come right over. I want to see all of you together.” - -Just then Miller came out of the parlor and descended the steps to join -them. - -“Christmas gift, Mr. Miller!” cried Pole. “I ketched you that time.” - -“And if I paid up, you'd cuss me out,” retorted the lawyer, with a -laugh. “I haven't forgotten the row you raised about that suit of -clothes. Well, what's the news? How's your family?” - -“About as common, Mr. Miller,” said Pole. “My wife's gittin' younger -an' younger ever'day. Sence she moved in 'er new house, an' got to -whitewashin' fences an' makin' flower-beds, an' one thing another, she -looks like a new person. I'd 'a' bought 'er a house long ago ef I'd 'a' -knowed she wanted it that bad. Oh, we put on the lugs now! We wipe with -napkins after eatin', an' my littlest un sets in a high-chair an' says -'Please pass the gravy,' like he'd been off to school. Sally says she's -a-goin' to send 'em, an' I don't keer ef she does; they 'll stand head, -ef they go; the'r noggin' s look like squashes, but they're full o' -seeds, an' don't you ferget it.” - -“That they are!” intoned Abner Daniel. - -“I've drapped onto a little news,” said Pole. “You know what a old -moonshiner cayn't pick up in these mountains from old pards ain't wuth -lookin' fer.” - -“Railroad?” asked Miller, interestedly. - -“That's fer you-uns to make out,” said Baker. “Now, I ain't a-goin' to -give away my authority, but I rid twenty miles yesterday to substantiate -what I heerd, an' know it's nothin' but the truth. You all know old -Bobby Milburn's been buyin' timber-land up about yore property, don't -you?” - -“I didn't know how much,” answered Miller, “but I knew he had secured -some.” - -“Fust and last in the neighborhood o' six thousand acres,” affirmed -Pole, “an' he's still on the war-path. What fust attracted my notice was -findin' out that old Bobby hain't a dollar to his name. That made me -suspicious, an' I went to work to investigate.” - -“Good boy!” said Uncle Abner, in an admiring undertone. - -“Well, I found out he was usin' Wilson's money, an' secretly buyin' fer -him; an' what's more, he seems to have unlimited authority, an' a big -bank account to draw from.” - -There was a startled pause. It was broken by Miller, whose eyes were -gleaming excitedly. - -“It's blame good news,” he said, eying Alan. - -“Do you think so?” said Alan, who was still under his cloud of -displeasure with his friend. - -“Yes; it simply means that Wilson intends to build that road. He's been -quiet, and pretending indifference, for two reasons. First, to bring us -to closer terms, and next to secure more land. Alan, my boy, the plot -thickens! I'm getting that fellow right where I want him. Pole, you have -brought us a dandy Christmas gift, but I 'll be blamed if you get a thing -for it. I don't intend to get shot.” - -Then they all went to find Bishop to tell him the news. - - - - -XXXI - - -[Illustration: 9267] - -T was a cold, dry day about the middle of January. They were killing -hogs at the farm. Seven or eight negroes, men and women, had gathered -from all about in the neighborhood to assist in the work and get the -parts of the meat usually given away in payment for such services. - -Two hogsheads for hot water were half buried in the ground. A big iron -pot with a fire beneath it was heating water and a long fire of logs -heaped over with big stones was near by. When hot, the stones were to be -put into the cooling water to raise the temperature, it being easier to -do this than to replace the water in the pot. The hogs to be killed were -grunting and squealing in a big pen near the barn. - -Abner Daniel and old man Bishop were superintending these preparations -when Alan came from the house to say that Rayburn Miller had just ridden -out to see them on business. “I think it's the railroad,” Alan informed -his father, who always displayed signs of almost childish excitement -when the subject came up. They found Miller in the parlor being -entertained by Adele, who immediately left the room on their arrival. -They all sat down before the cheerful fire. Miller showed certain signs -of embarrassment at first, but gradually threw them off and got down to -the matter in hand quite with his office manner. - -“I've got a proposition to make to you, Mr. Bishop,” he opened up, -with a slight flush on his face. “I've been making some inquiries about -Wilson, and I am more and more convinced that he intends to freeze us -out--or you rather--by holding off till you are obliged to sell your -property for a much lower figure than you now ask him for it.” - -“You think so,” grunted Bishop, pulling a long face. - -“Yes; but what I now want to do is to show him, indirectly, that we are -independent of him.” - -“Huh!” ejaculated Bishop, even more dejectedly--“huh! I say!” - -Alan was looking at Miller eagerly, as if trying to divine the point he -was about to make. “I must confess,” he smiled, “that I can' t well see -how we can show independence right now.” - -“Well, I think I see a way,” said Miller, the flush stealing over his -face again. “You see, there is no doubt that Wilson is on his high -horse simply because he thinks he could call on you for that -twenty-five thousand dollars and put you to some trouble raising it -without--without, I say, throwing your land on the market. I can' t -blame him,” Miller went on, smiling, “for it's only what any business -man would do, who is out for profit, but we must not knuckle to him.” - -“Huh, huh!” Bishop grunted, in deeper despondency. - -“How do you propose to get around the knuckling process?” asked Alan, -who had caught the depression influencing his parent. - -“I'd simply take up that note,” said the lawyer. “You know, under the -contract, we are privileged to pay it to-morrow if we wish. It would -simply paralyze him. He's so confident that you can' t take it up that -he has not even written to ask if you want to renew it or not. Yes; he's -confident that he 'll rake in that security--so confident that he has -been, as you know, secretly buying land near yours.” - -Old Bishop's eyes were wide open. In the somewhat darkened room the -firelight reflected in them showed like illuminated blood-spots. He said -nothing, but breathed heavily. - -“But,” exclaimed Alan, “Ray, you know we--father has invested that -money, and the truth is, that he and mother have already had so much -worry over the business that they would rather let the land go at what -was raised on it than to--to run any more risks.” - -Bishop groaned out his approval of this elucidation of his condition and -sat silently nodding his head. The very thought of further risks stunned -and chilled him. - -Miller's embarrassment now descended on him in full force. - -“I was not thinking of having your father disturb his investments,” he -said. “The truth is, I have met with a little financial disappointment -in a certain direction. For the last three months I have been raking -and scraping among the dry bones of my investments to get up exactly -twenty-five thousand dollars to secure a leading interest in a cotton -mill at Darley, of which I was to be president. I managed to get the -money together and only yesterday I learned that the Northern capital -that was to guarantee the thing was only in the corner of a fellow's eye -up in Boston--a man that had not a dollar on earth. Well, there you are! -I've my twenty-five thousand dollars, and no place to put it. I thought, -if you had just as soon owe me the money as Wilson, that you'd really be -doing me a favor to let me take up the note. You see, it would actually -floor him. He means business, and this would show him that we are not -asking any favors of him. In fact, I have an idea it would scare him out -of his skin. He'd think we had another opportunity of selling. I'm dying -to do this, and I hope you 'll let me work it. Really, I think you ought -to consent. I'd never drive you to the wall and--well--_he_ might.” - -All eyes were on the speaker. Bishop had the dazed expression of a -bewildered man trying to believe in sudden good luck. Abner Daniel -lowered his head and shook with low, subdued laughter. - -“You are a jim-dandy, young man,” he said to Miller. “That's all there -is about it. You take the rag off the bush. Oh, my Lord! They say in -Alt's meeting-house that it's a sin to play poker with no stakes, but -Alf's in a game with half the earth put up agin another feller's wad as -big as a bale o' hay. Play down, Alf. Play down. You've got a full hand -an' plenty to draw from.” - -“We couldn't let you do this, Ray,” expostulated Alan. - -“But I assure you it is merely a matter of business with me,” declared -the lawyer. “You know I'm interested myself, and I believe we shall come -out all right. I'm simply itching to do it.” - -Bishop's face was ablaze. The assurance that a wise young business man -would consider a purchase of his of sufficient value to put a large -amount of money on pleased him, banished his fears, thrilled him. - -“If you feel that way,” he said, smiling at the corners of his mouth, -“go ahead. I don't know but what you are plumb right. It will show -Wilson that we ain't beholden to him, an' will set 'im to work ef -anything will.” - -So it was finally settled, and no one seemed so well pleased with the -arrangement as Miller himself. Adele entered the room with the air of -one half fearful of intruding, and her three relatives quietly withdrew, -leaving her to entertain the guest. - -“I wonder what's the matter with your brother,” Miller remarked, as his -eyes followed Alan from the room. - -“Oh, brother?” laughed Adele. “No one tries to keep up with his whims and -fancies.” - -“But, really,” said Miller, in a serious tone, “he has mystified me -lately. I wonder if he has had bad news from Dolly. I've tried to get -into a confidential chat with him several times of late, but he seems -to get around it. Really, it seems to me, at times, that he treats me -rather coldly.” - -“Oh, if you waste time noticing Al you 'll become a beggar,” and Adele -gave another amused laugh. “Take my advice and let him alone.” - -“I almost believe you know what ails him,” said Miller, eying her -closely. - -“I know what he _thinks_ ails him,” the girl responded. - -“And won't you tell me what--what he thinks ails him?” - -“No, I couldn't do that,” answered our young lady, with a knowing smile. -“If you are ever any wiser on the subject you will have to get your -wisdom from him.” - -She turned to the piano and began to arrange some scattered pieces of -music, and he remained on the hearth, his back to the fire, his brow -wrinkled in pleased perplexity. - -“I 'll have to get my wisdom from him,” repeated Miller, pronouncing each -word with separate distinctness, as if one of them might prove the key -to the mystery. - -“Yes, I should think two wise men could settle a little thing like that. -If not, you may call in the third--you know there were three of you, -according to the Bible.” - -“Oh, so there were,” smiled Miller; “but it's hard to tell when we three -shall meet again. The last time I saw the other two they were having -their sandals half-soled for a tramp across the desert. I came this way -to build a railroad, and I believe I'm going to do it. That's linking -ancient and modern times together with a coupling-pin, isn't it?” - -She came from the piano and stood by him, looking down into the fire. -“Ah,” she said, seriously, “if you could _only_ do it!” - -“Would you like it very much?” - -“Very, very much; it means the world to us--to Alan, to father and -mother, and--yes, to me. I hunger for independence.” - -“Then it shall be done,” he said, fervently. - - - - -XXXII - - -[Illustration: 9273] - -S the elevator in the big building was taking Rayburn Miller up to the -offices of the Southern Land and Timber Company, many reflections passed -hurriedly through his mind. - -“You are going to get the usual cold shoulder from Wilson,” he mused; -“but he 'll put it up against something about as warm as he's touched in -many a day. If you don't make him squirm, it will be only because you -don't want to.” - -Wilson was busy at his desk looking over bills of lading, receipts, and -other papers, and now and then giving instructions to a typewriter in -the corner of the room. - -“Ahl how are you, Miller?” he said, indifferently, giving the caller his -hand without rising. “Down to see the city again, eh?” - -Rayburn leaned on the top of the desk, and knocked the ashes from his -cigar with the tip of his little finger. - -“Partly that and partly business,” he returned, carelessly. - -“Two birds, eh?” - -“That's about it. I concluded you were not coming up our way soon, and -so I decided to drop in on you.” - -“Yes, glad you did.” Wilson glanced at the papers on his desk and -frowned. “Wish I had more time at my disposal. I'd run up to the club -with you and show you my Kentucky thoroughbreds, but I realty am rushed, -to-day particularly.” - -“Oh, I haven't a bit of time to spare myself! I take the afternoon train -home. The truth is, I came to see you for my clients, the Bishops.” - -“Ah, I see.” Wilson's face clouded over by some mechanical arrangement -known only to himself. “Well, I can' t realty report any progress in -that matter,” he said. “All the company think Bishop's figures are away -out of reason, and the truth is, right now, we are over head and ears in -operations in other quarters, and--well, you see how it is?” - -“Yes, I think I do.” Miller smoked a moment. “In fact, I told my clients -last month that the matter was not absorbing your attention, and so they -gave up counting on you.” - -Wilson so far forgot his pose that he looked up in a startled sort of -way and began to study Miller's smoke-wrapped profile. - -“You say they are not--have not been counting on my company to--to buy -their land?” - -“Why, no,” said Miller, in accents well resembling those of slow and -genuine surprise. “Why, you have not shown the slightest interest in -the matter since the day you made the loan, and naturally they ceased to -think you wanted the land. The only reason I called was that the note is -payable to-day, and--” - -“Oh yes, by Jove! that was careless of me. The interest is due. I knew -it would be all right, and I had no idea you would bother to run down -for that. Why, my boy, we could have drawn for it, you know.” - -Miller smiled inwardly, as he looked calmly and fixedly through his -smoke into the unsuspecting visage upturned to him. - -“But the note itself is payable to-day,” he said, closely on the alert -for a facial collapse; “and, while you or I might take up a paper for -twenty-five thousand dollars through a bank, old-fashioned people like -Mr. and Mrs. Bishop would feel safer to have it done by an agent. That's -why I came.” - -Miller, in silent satisfaction, saw the face of his antagonist fall to -pieces like an artificial flower suddenly shattered. - -“Pay the note?” gasped Wilson. “Why--” - -Miller puffed at his cigar and gazed at his victim as if slightly -surprised over the assumption that his clients had not, all along, -intended to avail themselves of that condition in their contract. - -“You mean that the Bishops are ready to--” Wilson began again on another -breath--“to pay us the twenty-five thousand dollars?” - -“And the interest for six months,” quietly added Miller, reaching for a -match on the desk. “I reckon you've got the note here. I don't want to -miss my train.” - -Wilson was a good business man, but his Puritanical training in New -England had not fitted him for wily diplomacy; besides, he had not -expected to meet a diplomat that day, and did not, even now, realize -that he was in the hands of one. He still believed that Miller was -only a half-educated country lawyer who had barely enough brains and -experience to succeed as a legal servant for mountain clients. Hence, -he now made little effort to conceal his embarrassment into which the -sudden turn of affairs had plunged him. In awkward silence he squirmed -in his big chair. - -“Of course, they can take up their note to-day if they wish,” he said, -with alarmed frankness. “I was not counting on it, though.” He rose -to his feet. Miller's watchful eye detected a certain trembling of his -lower lip. He thrust his hands into his pockets nervously; and in a tone -of open irritation he said to the young man at the typewriter: “Brown, -I wish you'd let up on that infernal clicking; sometimes I can stand it, -and then again I can' t. You can do those letters in the next room.” - -When the young man had gone out, carrying his machine, Wilson turned to -Miller. “As I understand it, you, personally, have no interest in the -Bishop property?” - -“Oh, not a dollar!” smiled the lawyer. “I'm only acting for them.” - -“Then”--Wilson drove his hands into his pockets again--“perhaps you -wouldn't mind telling me if the Bishops are on trade with other parties. -Are they?” - -Miller smiled and shook his head. “As their lawyer, Mr. Wilson, I simply -couldn't answer that question.” - -The blow was well directed and it struck a vulnerable spot. - -“I beg your pardon,” Wilson stammered. “I did not mean to suggest that -you would betray confidence.” He reflected a moment, and then he said, -in a flurried tone, “They have not actually sold out, have they?” - -Miller was silent for a moment, then he answered: “I don't see any -reason why I may not answer that question I don't think my clients would -object to my saying that they have not yet accepted any offer.” - -A look of relief suffused itself over Wilson's broad face. - -“Then they are still open to accept their offer to me?” - -Miller laughed as if highly amused at the complication of the matter. - -“They are bound, you remember, only so long as you hold their note.” - -“Then I tell you what to do,” proposed Wilson. “Go back and tell them -not to bother about payment, for a few days, anyway, and that we will -soon tell them positively whether we will pay their price or not. That's -fair, isn't it?” - -“It might seem so to a man personally interested in the deal,” admitted -Miller, as the introduction to another of his blows from the shoulder; -“but as lawyer for my clients I can only obey orders, like the boy who -stood on the burning deck.” - -Wilson's face fell. The remote clicking of the typewriter seemed to -grate upon his high-wrought nerves, and he went and slammed the partly -opened door, muttering something like an oath. On that slight journey, -however, he caught an idea. - -“Suppose you wire them my proposition and wait here for a reply,” he -suggested. - -Miller frowned. “That would do no good,” he said. “I'm sorry I can' t -explain fully, but the truth is this: I happen to know that they wish, -for reasons of their own, to take up the note you hold, and that nothing -else will suit them.” - -At this juncture Wilson lost his grip on all self-possession, -and degenerated into the sullen anger of sharp and unexpected -disappointment. - -“I don't feel that we are being fairly treated,” he said. “We most -naturally assumed that your clients wanted to--to extend our option on -the property for at least another six months. We assumed that from the -fact that we had no notification from them that they would be ready to -pay the note to-day. That's where we feel injured, Mr. Miller.” - -Rayburn threw his cigar into a cuspidor; his attitude of being a -non-interested agent was simply a stroke of genius. Behind this plea -he crouched, showing himself only to fire shots that played havoc with -whatever they struck. - -“I believe my clients _did_ feel, I may say, honor bound to you to sell -for the price they offered; but--now I may be mistaken--but I'm sure -they were under the impression, as I was, too, that you only wanted the -property provided you could build a railroad from Dar-ley to it, and--” - -“Well, that's true,” broke in Wilson. “That's quite true.” - -“And,” finished Miller, still behind his inevitable fortification, “they -tell me that you have certainly shown indifference to the project ever -since the note was given. In fact, they asked me pointedly if I thought -you meant business, and I was forced, conscientiously, to tell them that -I thought you seemed to have other fish to fry.” - -Wilson glared at the lawyer as if he wanted to kick him for a stupid -idiot who could not do two things at once--work for the interests of his -clients and not wreck his plans also. It had been a long time since he -had found himself in such a hot frying-pan. - -“So you think the thing is off,” he said, desperately, probably -recalling several purchases of land he had made in the section he had -expected to develop. “You think it's off?” - -“I hardly know what to say,” said Miller. “The old gentleman, Mr. -Bishop, is a slow-going old-timer, but his son is rather up to date, -full of energy and ambition. I think he's made up his mind to sell that -property.” - -Wilson went to his desk, hovered over it like a dark, human cloud, and -then reluctantly turned to the big iron safe against the wall, obviously -to get the note. His disappointment was too great for concealment. With -his fat, pink hand on the silver-plated combination-bolt he turned to -Miller again. - -“Would you mind sitting down till I telephone one or two of the -directors?” - -“Not at all,” said Miller, “if you 'll get me a cigar and the -_Constitution_. The Atlanta baseball team played Mobile yesterday, and I -was wondering--” - -“I don't keep track of such things,” said Wilson, coming back to his -desk, with an impatient frown, to ring his call-bell for the office-boy. - -“Oh yes, I believe football is your national sport,” said Miller, with -a dry smile. “Well, it's only a difference between arms and legs--whole -bones and casualties.” - -Wilson ordered the cigar and paper when the boy appeared, and, leaving -the lawyer suddenly, he went into the room containing the telephone, -closing the door after him. - -In a few minutes he reappeared, standing before Miller, who was -chewing a cold cigar and attentively reading. He looked up at Wilson -abstractedly. - -“Bully for Atlanta!” he said. “The boys made ten runs before the Mobiles -had scored--” - -“Oh, come down to business!” said the New-Eng-lander, with a ready-made -smile. “Honestly, I don't believe you drowsy Southerners ever will get -over your habit of sleeping during business hours. It seems to be bred -in the bone.” - -Miller laughed misleadingly. “Try to down us at a horse-race and we 'll -beat you in the middle of the night. Hang it all, man, you don't know -human nature, that's all! How can you expect me, on my measly fees, to -dance a breakdown over business I am transacting for other people?” - -“Well, that may account for it,” admitted Wilson, who seemed bent on -being more agreeable in the light of some fresh hopes he had absorbed -from the telephone-wires. “See here, I've got a rock-bottom proposal -to make to your people. Now listen, and drop that damned paper for a -minute. By Jove! if I had to send a man from your State to attend to -legal business I'd pick one not full of mental morphine.” - -“Oh, you wouldn't?” Miller laid down the paper and assumed a posture -indicative of attention roused from deep sleep. “Fire away. I'm -listening.” - -“I already had authority to act for the company, but I thought it best -to telephone some of the directors.” Wilson sat down in his chair and -leaned towards the lawyer. “Here's what we will do. The whole truth is, -we are willing to plank down the required one hundred thousand for -that property, provided we can lay our road there without incurring the -expense of purchasing the right of way. Now if the citizens along the -proposed line want their country developed bad enough to donate the -right of way through their lands, we can trade.” - -There was a pause. Then Miller broke it by striking a match on the sole -of his boot. He looked crosseyed at the flame as he applied it to -his cigar. “Don't you think your people could stand whatever value is -appraised by law in case of refusals along the line?” - -“No,” said Wilson. “The price for the land is too steep for that. Your -clients have our ultimatum. What do you say? We can advertise a meeting -of citizens at Springtown, which is about the centre of the territory -involved, and if all agree to give the right of way it will be a trade. -We can have the meeting set for to-day two weeks. How does that strike -you?” - -“I'd have to wire my clients.” - -“When can you get an answer?” - -Miller looked at his watch. “By five o' clock this afternoon. The -message would have to go into the country.” - -“Then send it off at once.” - -A few minutes after five o' clock Miller sauntered into the office. -Wilson sat at his desk and looked up eagerly. - -“Well?” he asked, almost under his breath. - -The lawyer leaned on the top of the desk. “They are willing to grant you -the two weeks' time, provided you sign an agreement for your firm that -you will purchase their property at the price named at the expiration of -that time.” - -“With the provision,” interpolated Wilson, “that a right of way is -donated.” - -“Yes, with that provision,” Miller nodded. - -“Then sit down here and write out your paper.” - -Miller complied as nonchalantly as if he were drawing up a bill of sale -for a worn-out horse. - -“There you are,” he said, pushing the paper to Wilson when he had -finished. - -Wilson read it critically. “It certainly is binding,” he said. “You -people may sleep during business hours, but you have your eyes open when -you draw up papers. However, I don't care; I want the Bishops to feel -secure. They must get to work to secure the right of way. It will be no -easy job, I 'll let you know. I've struck shrewd, obstinate people in my -life, but those up there beat the world. Noah couldn't have driven them -in the ark, even after the Flood set in.” - -“You know something about them, then?” said Miller, laughing to himself -over the implied confession. - -Wilson flushed, and then admitted that he had been up that way several -times looking the situation over. - -“How about the charter?” asked Miller, indifferently. - -“That's fixed. I have already seen to that.” - -“Then it all depends on the right of way,” remarked the lawyer as he -drew a check from his pocket and handed it to Wilson. “Now get me that -note,” he said. - -Wilson brought it from the safe. - -“Turning this over cuts my option down to two weeks,” he said. “But -we 'll know at the meeting what can be done.” - -“Yes, we 'll know then what they can do with _you_,” said Miller, -significantly, as he put the cancelled note in his pocket and rose to -go. - - - - -XXXIII - - -[Illustration: 9283] - -HEN Miller's train reached Darley and he alighted in the car-shed, he -was met by a blinding snow-storm. He could see the dim lantern of the -hotel porter as he came towards him through the slanting feathery sheet -and the yet dimmer lights of the hotel. - -“Heer! Marse Miller!” shouted the darky; “look out fer dat plank er -you 'll fall in er ditch. Marse Alan Bishop is at de hotel, an' he say -tell you ter stop dar--dat you couldn't git home in dis sto'm no how.” - -“Oh, he's in town,” said Miller. “Well, I was thinking of spending the -night at the hotel, anyway.” - -In the office of the hotel, almost the only occupant of the room besides -the clerk, sat Abner Daniel, at the red-hot coal stove. - -“Why,” exclaimed Miller, in surprise, “I didn't know you were in town.” - -“The fact is, we're all heer,” smiled the old man, standing up and -stretching himself. He looked as if he had been napping. “We fetched the -women in to do some tradin', an' this storm blowed up. We could 'a' made -it home all right,” he laughed out impulsively, “but the last one of 'em -wanted a excuse to stay over. They are et up with curiosity to know how -yore trip come out. They are all up in Betsy an' Alf's room. Go up?” - -“Yes, I reckon I'd better relieve their minds.” - -Abner offered to pilot him to the room in question, and when it was -reached the old man opened the door without knocking. “Heer's the -man you've been hankerin' to see all day,” he announced, jovially. “I -fetched 'im straight up.” - -They all rose from their seats around the big grate-fire and shook hands -with the lawyer. - -“He looks like he has news of some kind,” said Adele, who was studying -his face attentively. “Now, sir, sit down and tell us are we to be rich -or poor, bankrupt or robber.” - -“Don't put the most likely word last,” said Abner, dryly. - -“Well,” began Miller, as he sat down in the semicircle. “As it -now stands, we've got a chance to gain our point. I have a signed -agreement--and a good one--that your price will be paid if we can get -the citizens through whose property the road passes to donate a right of -way. That's the only thing that now stands between you and a cash sale.” - -“They 'll do it, I think,” declared Alan, elatedly. - -“I dunno about that,” said Abner. “It's owin' to whose land is to be -donated. Thar's some skunks over in them mountains that wouldn't let -the gates o' heaven swing over the'r property except to let themselves -through.” - -No one laughed at this remark save Abner himself. Mrs. Bishop was -staring straight into the fire. Her husband leaned forward and twirled -his stiff fingers slowly in front of him. - -“Huh! So it depends on _that_,” he said. “Well, it _does_ look like -mighty nigh anybody ud ruther see a railroad run out thar than not, but -I'm no judge.” - -“Well, it is to be tested two weeks from now,” Miller said. And then he -went into a detailed and amusing account of how he had brought Wilson to -terms. - -“Well, that beats the Dutch!” laughed Abner. “I'd ruther 'a' been thar -'an to a circus. You worked 'im to a queen's taste--as fine as split -silk. You 'n' Pole Baker'd make a good team--you to look after the -bon-tons an' him to rake in the scum o' mankind. I don't know but Pole -could dress up an' look after both ends, once in a while, ef you wanted -to take a rest.” - -“I'm always sorry when I heer of it bein' necessary to resort to -trickery,” ventured Mrs. Bishop, in her mild way. “It don't look exactly -right to me.” - -“I don't like it, nuther,” said Bishop. “Ef the land's wuth the money, -an'--” - -“The trouble with Alf,” broke in Abner, “is that with all his Bible -readin' he never seems to git any practical benefit out'n it. Now, when -I'm in doubt about whether a thing's right or wrong, I generally find -some Scriptural sanction fer the side I want to win. Some'rs in the -Bible thar was a big, rich king that sent a pore feller off to git 'im -kilt in battle so he could add his woman to his collection. Now, no harm -ever come to the king that I know of, an', fer my part, I don't think -what you did to yank Wilson into line was nigh as bad, beca'se you was -work-in' fer friends. Then Wilson was loaded fer bear his-se'f. War's -over, I reckon, but when Wilson's sort comes down heer expectin' to ride -rough-shod over us agin, I feel like givin' a war-whoop an' rammin' home -a Minié ball.” - -“I sha 'n't worry about the morality of the thing,” said Miller. “Wilson -was dead set on crushing you to powder. I saw that. Besides, if he takes -the property and builds the road, he 'll make a lot of money out of it.” - -After this the conversation languished, and, thinking that the old -people might wish to retire, Miller bade them good-night and went to his -own room. - -A snow of sufficient thickness for sleighing in that locality was a rare -occurrence, and the next morning an odd scene presented itself in front -of the hotel. The young men of the near-by stores had hastily improvised -sleds by taking the wheels from buggies and fastening the axles to rough -wooden runners, and were making engagements to take the young ladies of -the town sleighing. - -“Have you ever ridden in a sleigh?” Miller asked Adele, as they stood at -a window in the parlor witnessing these preparations. - -“Never in my life,” she said. - -“Well, you shall,” he said. “I 'll set a carpenter at work on my buggy, -and be after you in an hour. Get your wraps. My pair of horses will make -one of those sleds fairly spin.” - -About eleven o' clock that morning Alan saw them returning from their -ride, and, much to his surprise, he noted that Dolly Barclay was with -them. As they drew up at the entrance of the hotel, Alan doffed his hat -and stepped forward to assist the ladies out of the sled. - -“Miss Dolly won't stop,” said Miller. “Get in and drive her around. -She's hardly had a taste of it; we only picked her up as we passed her -house.” - -Alan's heart bounded and then it sank. Miller was smiling at him -knowingly. “Go ahead,” he said, pushing him gently towards the sled. -“It's all right.” - -Hardly knowing if he were acting wisely, Alan took the reins and sat -down by Dolly. - -Adele stepped up behind to say good-bye to Dolly, and they kissed each -other. It was barely audible, and yet it reached the ears of the restive -horses and they bounded away like the wind. - -“A peculiar way to start horses,” Alan laughed. - -“A pleasant way,” she said. “Your sister is a dear, dear girl.” - -Then he told her his fears in regard to what her father would think of -his driving with her. - -“He's out of town to-day,” she answered, with a frank upward glance, -“and mother wouldn't care.” - -“Then I'm going to enjoy it fully,” he said. “I've been dying to see -you, Dolly.” - -“And do you suppose I haven't wanted to see you? When Mr. Miller -proposed this just now it fairly took my breath away. I was afraid you -might happen not to be around the hotel. Oh, there is so much I want to -say--and so little time.” - -“When I'm with you I can' t talk,” he said. “It seems, in some way, -to take up time like the ticking of a clock. I simply want to close my -eyes, and--be with you, Dolly--_YOU_.” - -“I know, but we must be practical, and think of the future. Mr. Miller -tells me there is a chance for your big scheme to succeed. Oh, if it -only would!” - -“Yes, a pretty good chance,” he told her; “but even then your father--” - -“He'd not hold out against you then,” said Dolly, just for an impulsive -moment clasping his arm as they shot through a snow-drift and turned a -corner of the street leading into the country. - -“Then it must succeed,” he said, looking at her tenderly. “It _must_, -Dolly.” - -“I shall pray for it--that and nothing else.” - -Feeling the slack reins on their backs, the horses slowed up till they -were plodding along lazily. Suddenly the sled began to drag on the clay -road where the wind had bared it of snow, and the horses stopped of -their own accord, looking back at their increased burden inquiringly. -Alan made no effort to start them on again. It was a sequestered spot, -well hidden from the rest of the road by an old hedge of Osage orange -bushes. - -“We must not stop, _dear_,” Dolly said, laying her hand again on his -arm. “You know driving is--is different from this. As long as we are -moving in any direction, I have no scruples, but to stop here in the -road--no, it won't do.” - -“I was just wondering if we can start them,” he said, a mischievous look -in his laughing eye. - -“Start them?” She extended her hand for the reins, but he held them out -of her reach. “Why, what do you mean?” - -“Why, you saw the way they were started at the hotel,” he answered, in -quite a serious tone. “Ray has trained them-that way. They won't budge -an inch unless--” - -“Oh, you silly boy!” Dolly was flushing charmingly. - -“It's true,” he said. “I'm sorry if you object, for it's absolutely the -only available way.” - -She raised her full, trusting eyes to his. - -“You make me want to kiss you, Alan, but--” - -He did not let her finish. Putting his arm around her, he drew her close -to him and kissed her on the lips. “Now, darling,” he said, “you are -mine.” - -“Yes, I am yours, Alan.” - -As they were nearing her house he told her that Wilson had agents out -secretly buying land, and that she must not allow her father to dispose -of his timbered interests until it was decided whether the railroad -would be built. - -She promised to keep an eye on the Colonel's transactions and do all she -could to prevent him from taking a false step. “You may not know it,” - she said, “but I'm his chief adviser. He 'll be apt to mention any offer -he gets to me.” - -“Well, don't tell him about the railroad unless you have to,” he said, -in parting with her at the gate. “But it would be glorious to have him -profit by our scheme, and I think he will.” - -“We are going to hope for success, anyway, aren't we?” she said, leaning -over the gate. “I have believed in you so much that I feel almost sure -you are to be rewarded.” - -“Miller thinks the chances are good,” he told her, “but father is afraid -those men over there will do their best to ruin the whole thing.” - -Dolly waved her handkerchief to some one at a window of the house. “It's -mother,” she said. “She's shaking her finger at me.” - -“I reckon she's mad at me,” said Alan, disconsolately. - -“Not much,” Dolly laughed. “She's simply crazy to come out and gossip -with us. She would, too, if she wasn't afraid of father. Oh, young -man, you 'll have a mother-in-law that will reverse the order of things! -Instead of her keeping you straight, you 'll have to help us manage her. -Father says she's 'as wild as a buck.'” - -They both laughed from the fulness of their happiness. A buggy on -runners dashed by. It contained a pair of lovers, who shouted and waved -their hands. The sun was shining broadly. The snow would not last long. -The crudest sled of all passed in the wake of the other. It was simply -a plank about twelve inches wide and ten feet long to which a gaunt, -limping horse was hitched. On the plank stood a triumphant lad balancing -himself with the skill of a bareback rider. His face was flushed; he -had never been so full of joy and ozone. From the other direction came -a gigantic concern looking like a snow-plough or a metropolitan -street-sweeper. It was a sliding road-wagon to which Frank Hillhouse had -hitched four sturdy mules. The wagon was full of girls. Frank sat on the -front seat cracking a whip and smoking. A little negro boy sat astride -of the leading mule, digging his rag-clothed heels into the animal's -side. Frank bowed as he passed, but his face was rigid. - -“He didn't intend to ask me,” said Dolly. “He hardly speaks to me -since--” - -“Since what?” Alan questioned. - -“Since I asked him not to come to see me so often. I had to do it. He -was making a fool of himself. It had to stop.” - -“You refused him?” - -“Yes; but you must go now.” Dolly was laughing again. “Mother will be -out here in a minute; she can't curb her curiosity any longer. She'd -make you take her riding, and I wouldn't have you do it for the world. -Good-bye.” - -“Well, good-bye.” - -“Now, you must hope for the best, Alan.” - -“I'm going to. Good-bye.” - - - - -XXXIV - - -[Illustration: 9292] - -OLLY had the opportunity to warn her father in regard to his financial -interests sooner than she expected. The very next morning, as she sat -reading at a window in the sitting-room, she overheard the Colonel -speaking to her mother about an offer he had just had for his mountain -property. - -“I believe it's a good chance for me to get rid of it,” he was -saying, as he stood at the mantel-piece dipping his pipe into his blue -tobacco-jar. - -“I never did see any sense in paying taxes on land you have never seen,” - said Mrs. Barclay, at her sewing-machine. “Surely you can put the money -where it will bring in something.” - -“Milburn wants it because there is about a hundred acres that could be -cleared for cultivation. I'm of the opinion that it won't make as good -soil as he thinks, but I'm not going to tell him that.” - -“Would you be getting as much as it cost you?” asked Mrs. Barclay, -smoothing down a white hem with her thumb-nail. - -“About five hundred more,” her husband chuckled. “People said when -I bought it that I was as big a fool as old Bishop, but you see I've -already struck a purchaser at a profit.” - -Then Dolly spoke up from behind her newspaper: “I wouldn't sell it, -papa,” she said, coloring under the task before her. - -“Oh, you wouldn't?” sniffed her father. “And why?” - -“Because it's going to be worth a good deal more money,” she affirmed, -coloring deeper and yet looking her parent fairly in the eyes. - -Mrs. Barclay broke into a rippling titter as she bent over her work. -“Alan Bishop put that in her head,” she said. “They think, the Bishops -do, that they've got a gold-mine over there.” - -“You must not sell it, papa,” Dolly went on, ignoring her mother's -thrust. “I can't tell you why I don't want you to, but you must -not--you 'll be sorry if you do.” - -“I don't know how I'm to keep on paying your bills for flimflam frippery -if I don't sell something,” retorted the old man, almost and yet not -quite angry. Indirectly he was pleased at her valuation of his property, -for he had discovered that her judgment was good. - -“And she won't let Frank Hillhouse help,” put in Mrs. Barclay, -teasingly. “Poor fellow! I'm afraid he 'll never get over it. He's taken -to running around with school-girls--that's always a bad sign.” - -“A girl ought to be made to listen to reason,” fumed Barclay, goaded on -to this attack by his wife, who well knew his sore spots, and liked to -rasp them. - -“A girl will listen to the right sort of reason,” retorted Dolly, who -was valiantly struggling against an outburst. “Mamma knows how I feel.” - -“I know that you are bent on marrying a man without a dollar to his -name,” said her father. “You want to get into that visionary gang that -will spend all I leave you in their wild-cat investments, but I tell you -I will cut you out of my property if you do. Now, remember that. I mean -it.” - -Dolly crushed the newspaper in her lap and rose. “There is no good -in quarrelling over this again,” she said, coldly. “Some day you will -understand the injustice you are doing Alan Bishop. I could make you -see it now, but I have no right to explain.” And with that she left the -room. - -Half an hour later, from the window of her room up-stairs, she saw old -Bobby Milburn open the front gate. Under his slouch hat and big gray -shawl he thumped up the gravelled walk and began to scrape his feet -on the steps. There was a door-bell, with a handle like that of a -coffee-mill, to be turned round, but old Bobby, like many of his kind, -either did not know of its existence, or, knowing, dreaded the use -of innovations that sometimes made even stoics like himself feel -ridiculous. His method of announcing himself was by far more sensible, -as it did not even require the removal of his hands from his pockets; -and, at the same time, helped divest his boots of mud. He stamped on -the floor of the veranda loudly and paused to listen for the approach of -some one to admit him. Then, as no one appeared, he clattered along the -veranda to the window of the sitting-room and peered in. Colonel -Barclay saw him and opened the door, inviting the old fellow into the -sitting-room. Old Bobby laid his hat on the floor beside his chair as he -sat down, but he did not unpin his shawl. - -“Well, I've come round to know what's yore lowest notch, Colonel,” he -said, gruffly, as he brushed his long, stringy hair back from his ears -and side whiskers. “You see, it's jest this way. I kin git a patch o' -land from Lank Buford that will do me, in a pinch, but I like yore'n -a leetle grain better, beca'se it's nigher my line by a quarter or so; -but, as I say, I kin make out with Buford's piece; an' ef we cayn't -agree, I 'll have to ride over whar he is workin' in Springtown.” - -At this juncture Dolly came into the room. She shook hands with -the visitor, who remained seated and mumbled out some sort of gruff -greeting, and went to her chair near the window, taking up her paper -again. Her eyes, however, were on her father's face. - -“I hardly know what to say,” answered Barclay, deliberately. “Your price -the other day didn't strike me just right, and so I really haven't been -thinking about it.” - -There was concession enough, Dolly thought, in Milburn's eye, if not in -his voice, when he spoke. “Well,” he said, carelessly, “bein' as me'n -you are old friends, an' thar always was a sort o' neighborly feelin' -betwixt us, I 'll agree, if we trade, to hire a lawyer an' a scribe to -draw up the papers an' have 'em duly recorded. You know that's always -done by the party sellin'.” - -“Oh, that's a _little_ thing,” said the Colonel; but his watchful -daughter saw that the mere smallness of Milburn's raise in his offer had -had a depressing effect on her father's rather doubtful valuation of -the property in question. The truth was that Wilson had employed the -shrewdest trader in all that part of the country, and one who worked -all the more effectively for his plainness of dress and rough manner. -“That's a little thing,” went on the Colonel, “but here's what I 'll -do--” - -“Father,” broke in Dolly, “don't make a proposition to Mr. Milburn. -Please don't.” - -Milburn turned to her, his big brows contracting in surprise, but he -controlled himself. “Heigho!” he laughed, “so you've turned trader, too, -Miss Dolly? Now, I jest wish my gals had that much enterprise; they git -beat ef they buy a spool o' thread.” - -The Colonel frowned and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly with a real tone of -reproof. “Don't interfere in your father's business,” she said. “He can -attend to it.” - -The Colonel was not above making capital of the interruption, and he -smiled down on the shaggy visitor. - -“She's been deviling the life out of me not to part with that land. They -say women have the intuition to look ahead better than men. I don't know -but I ought to listen to her, but she ain't running me, and as I was -about to say--” - -“Wait just one minute, papa!” insisted Dolly, with a grim look of -determination on her face. “Just let me speak to you a moment in the -parlor, and then you can come back to Mr. Milburn.” - -The face of the Colonel darkened under impatience, but he was afraid -failure to grant his daughter's request would look like over-anxiety to -close with Mil-burn, and so he followed her into the parlor across the -hallway. - -“Now, what on earth is the matter with you?” he demanded, sternly. “I -have never seen you conduct yourself like this before.” - -She faced him, touching his arms with her two hands. - -“Father, don't be angry with me,” she said, “but when you know what I -do, you will be glad I stopped you just now. Mr. Milburn is not buying -that land for his own use.” - -“He isn't?” exclaimed the Colonel. - -“No; he's secretly employed by a concern worth over two million -dollars--the Southern Land and Timber Company of Atlanta.” - -“What?” the word came out as suddenly as if some one had struck him on -the breast. - -“No,” answered the girl, now pale and agitated. “To save Mr. Bishop -from loss, Alan and Rayburn Miller have worked up a scheme to build a -railroad from Darley to the Bishop property. All arrangements have been -made. There can be no hitch in it unless the citizens refuse to grant -a right of way. In a week from now a meeting is to be advertised. Of -course, it is not a certainty, but you can see that the chance is good, -and you ought not to sacrifice your land.” - -“Good Heavens!” ejaculated Barclay, his eyes distended, “is this a -fact?” - -“I am telling you what I have really no right to reveal,” said Dolly, -“but I promised Alan not to let you sell if I could help it.” - -The Colonel was staggered by the revelation; his face was working under -strong excitement. “I thought that old rascal”--he meant Milburn--“was -powerfully anxious to trade. Huh! Looky' here, daughter, this news -is almost too good to be true. Why, another railroad would make my -town-lots bound up like fury, and as for this mountain-land--whew! It -may be as you say. Ray Miller certainly is a wheel-horse.” - -“It was not his idea,” said Dolly, loyally. “In fact, he tried his best -to discourage Alan at first--till he saw what could be done. Since then -he's been secretly working at it night and day.” - -“Whew!” whistled the Colonel. “I don't care a cent _whose_ idea it is; -if it goes through it's a good one, and, now that I think of it, the -necessary capital is all that is needed to make a big spec' over there.” - -“So you won't sell to Mr. Milburn, then?” asked Dolly, humbly grateful -for her father's change of mood. - -“Sell to that old dough-faced scamp?” snorted Barclay. “Well, he 'll -think I won't in a minute! Do you reckon I don't want to have some -sort o' finger in the pie? Whether the road's built or not, I want my -chance.” - -“But remember I am giving away state secrets,” said Dolly. “He must not -know that you have heard about the road.” - -“I 'll not give that away,” the old man promised, with a smile, and he -turned to the door as if eager to face Milburn. “Huh! That old scamp -coming here to do me one! The idea!” - -The two men, as they faced each other a moment later, presented an -interesting study of human forces held well in check. The Colonel leaned -on the mantel-piece and looked down at the toe of his boot, with which -he pushed a chunk of wood beneath the logs. - -“You never can tell about a woman' s whims, Mil-burn,” he said. “Dolly's -set her heart on holding onto that land, and I reckon I'm too easily -wriggled about by my women folks. I reckon we'd better call it off.” - -“Oh, all right--all right!” said Milburn, with a start and a sharp -contraction of his brows. “I'm that away some myse'f. My gals git me -into devilish scrapes sometimes, an' I'm always sayin' they got to stop -it. A man loses too much by lettin' 'em dabble in his business. But I -was jest goin' to say that I mought raise my bid fifty cents on the acre -ruther than trapse away over to Springtown to see Buford.” - -There was silence through which several kinds of thoughts percolated. -The raise really amounted to so much that it materially increased -Barclay's growing conviction that the railroad was next to a certainty. -“Huh!” he grunted, his eyes ablaze with the amusement of a winner. “I -wouldn't listen to less than a dollar more on the acre.” And as the -gaze of Milburn went down reflectively the Colonel winked slyly, even -triumphantly, at his smiling daughter and said: “Dolly thinks it will -make good land for a peach-orchard. Lots of money is being made that -way.” - -“Bosh!” grunted Milburn. “It don't lie right fer peaches. You kin git -jest as much property nigh the railroad as you want fer peaches. You -are a hard man to trade with, but I reckon I 'll have to take yore offer -of--” - -“Hold on, hold on!” laughed the Colonel, his hand upraised. “I didn't -say I'd _take_ that price. I just said I wouldn't listen to less than -a dollar raise. I've listened to many a thing I didn't jump at, like a -frog in muddy water, not knowing what he's going to butt against.” - -Under his big shawl Milburn rose like a tent blown upward by wind. -He was getting angry as he saw his commission money taking wing and -flitting out of sight. He had evidently counted on making an easy victim -of Barclay. For a moment he stood twisting his heavy, home-knit gloves -in his horny hands. - -“Now if it's a fair question,” he said, as the last resort of a man -ready and willing to trade at any reasonable cost, “what _will_ you -take, cash down, on your honor between us--me to accept or decline?” - -The Colonel's pleasure was of the bubbling, overflowing kind. Every move -made by Milburn was adding fuel to his hopes of the proposed railroad, -and to his determination to be nobody's victim. - -“Look here,” he said, “that land has been rising at such a rate since -you came in that I'm actually afraid to let it go. By dinner-time it may -make me rich. Dolly, I believe, on my word, Milburn has discovered gold -over there. Haven't you, Milburn? Now, honor bright.” - -“It will be a long time before you find gold or anything else on that -land,” Milburn retorted, as he reached for his hat and heavily strode -from the room. - -“Well! I do declare,” and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly and her father. -“What on earth does this mean?” The Colonel laughed out, then slapped -his hand over his mouth, as he peered from the window to see if Milburn -was out of hearing. “It's just this way--” - -“Mind, father!” cautioned Dolly. “Do you want it to be all over town by -dinner-time?” - -“Dolly!” cried Mrs. Barclay, “the idea of such a thing!” - -Dolly smiled and patted her mother on the cheek. - -“Don't tell her, papa,” she said, with decision. - -“The truth is,” said the Colonel, “Dolly really wants to plant peaches. -I don't think there's much in it, but she will have her way.” - -“Well, I call that _mean_ of you,” retorted Mrs. Barclay, dark with -vexation. “Well, miss, I 'll bet you didn't tell your father who you went -sleigh-riding with.” - -The old man frowned suddenly. “Not with Alan Bishop,” he said, “after my -positive orders?” - -“He came to tell me about the--the”--Dolly glanced at her mother -suddenly--“about the peaches, papa.” - -“Well”--the Colonel was waxing angry--“I won't have it--that's all. I -won't have you--” - -“Wait, papa,” entreated the girl, sweetly, “wait till we see about -the--peaches!” And, with a little teasing laugh, she left the room. - - - - -XXXV - - -[Illustration: 9300] - -HE mass-meeting at Springtown was a most important event. It was held in -the court-house in the centre of the few straggling houses which made up -the hamlet. The entire Bishop family, including the servants, attended. -Pole Baker brought his wife and all the children in a new spring-wagon. -Darley society was represented, as the Springtown _Gazette_ afterwards -put it, by the fairest of the fair, Miss Dolly Barclay, accompanied by -her mother and father. - -The court-house yard was alive with groups of men eagerly talking over -the situation. Every individual whose land was to be touched by -the proposed road was on hand to protect his rights. Pole Baker was -ubiquitous, trying to ascertain the drift of matters. He was, however, -rather unsuccessful. He discovered that many of the groups ceased to -talk when he entered them. “Some 'n' s up,” he told Alan and Miller in -the big, bare-looking court-room. “I don't know what it is, but I smell -a rat, an' it ain't no little one, nuther.” - -“Opposition,” said Miller, gloomily. “I saw that as soon as I came. If -they really were in favor of the road they'd be here talking it over -with us.” - -“I'm afraid that's it,” said Alan. “Joe Bartell is the most interested, -and he seems to be a sort of ringleader. I don't like the way he looks. -I saw him sneer at Wilson when he drove up just now. I wish Wilson -hadn't put on so much style--kid gloves, plug hat, and a negro driver.” - -“No, that won't go down with this crowd,” agreed Miller. “It might in -the slums of Boston, but not with these lords of the mountains. As -for Bartell, I think I know what ails him. He's going to run for the -legislature and thinks he can make votes by opposing us--convincing his -constituency that we represent moneyed oppression. Well, he may down us, -but it's tough on human progress.” - -Alan caught Dolly's eye and bowed. She was seated near her father -and mother, well towards the judge's stand. She seemed to have been -observing the faces of the two friends, and to be affected by their -serious expressions. Adele sat at the long wood stove, several yards -from her parents, who appeared quite as if they were in church waiting -for service to begin. Abner Daniel leaned in the doorway opening into -one of the jury-rooms. Wilson had given him a fine cigar, which he -seemed to be enjoying hugely. - -At the hour appointed for the meeting, to open, a young man who held -the office of bailiff in the county, and seemed proud of his stentorian -voice, opened one of the windows and shouted: - -“Come in to court! Come in to court!” and the motley loiterers below -began to clatter up the broad stairs and fall into the seats. Joe -Bartell, a short, thick-set man in the neighborhood of fifty, with a -florid face and a shock of reddish hair, led about twenty men up the -aisle to the jury-benches at the right of the stand. They were the -land-owners whose consent to grant the right of way was asked. Stern -opposition was clearly written on the leader's brow and more or less -distinctly reflected on the varying faces of his followers. - -“Ef we needed it, it ud be a different matter,” Miller overheard him say -in a sudden lull, as the big room settled down into sudden quiet, “but -we kin do without it. We've got along so fur an' we kin furder. All of -us has got good teams.” - -Wilson, in his crisp, brusque way, made the opening speech. He told -his hearers just what his company proposed to do and in much the same -cold-blooded way as he would have dictated a letter to his stenographer, -correctly punctuating the text by pauses, and yet, in his own way, -endeavoring to be eloquent. He and his capital were going to dispel -darkness where it had reigned since the dawn of civilization; people -living there now would not recognize the spot ten years from the day the -first whistle of a locomotive shrilled through those rocky gorges and -rebounded from those lofty peaks--silent fingers pointing to God and -speaking of a past dead and gone. All that was needed, he finished, was -the consent of the property-owners appealed to; who, he felt confident, -would not stand in their own light. They looked like intelligent men, -and he believed they did not deceive appearances. - -He had hardly taken his seat when Joe Bartell stood up. Alan and -Miller exchanged ominous glances. They had at once recognized the -inappropriateness of Wilson's speech, and did not like the white, -twitching sneer on Bartell's smooth-shaven face. It was as if Bartell -had been for a long time seeking just such an opportunity to make -himself felt in the community, and there was no doubt that Wilson's -almost dictatorial speech had made a fine opening for him. - -“Fellow-citizens, an' ladies an' gentlemen,” he began, “we are glad to -welcome amongst us a sort of a second savior in our Sodom an' Gomorry -of cracker-dom. What the gentleman with the plug hat an' spike-toe shoes -ain't a-goin' to do fer us the Lord couldn't. He looks nice an' talks -nice, an', to use his words, I don't believe he deceives appearances. -I 'll bet one thing, an' that is 'at he won't deceive us. Accordin' to -him we need 'im every hour, as the Sunday-school song puts it. Yes, he's -a-goin' to he'p us powerful an' right off. An', fellow-citizens, I'm -heer to propose a vote o' thanks. He's from away up in Boston, whar, -they tell me, a nigger sets an' eats at the same table with the whites. -When his sort come this away durin' the war, with all the'r up-to-date -impliments of slaughter, they laid waste to ever'thing they struck, shot -us like rabbits in holes, an' then went back an' said they'd had a -good hunt. But they've been livin' high up thar sence the war an' the'r -timber is a-playin' out, an' they want some more now, an' they _want it -bad_. So they send the'r representatives out to find it an' lay hold of -it. How does he happen to come heer? As well as I kin make out, old -Alf Bishop, a good man an' a Southern soldier--a man that I hain't got -nothin' agin, except maybe he holds his head too high, made up his mind -awhile back that lumber would be in demand some day, an' he set to work -buyin' all the timber-land he could lay his hands on. Then, when he had -more'n he could tote, an' was about to go under, he give this gentleman -a' option on it. Well, so fur so good; but, gentlemen, what have _we_ -got to do with this trade? Nothin' as I kin see. But we are expected to -yell an' holler, an' deed 'em a free right of way through our property so -they kin ship the timber straight through to the North an' turn it into -cold Yankee coin. We don't count in this shuffle, gentlemen. We git our -pay fer our land in bein' glad an' heerin' car-bells an' steam-whistles -in the middle o' the night when we want to sleep. The engynes will kill -our hogs, cattle, an' hosses, an' now an' then break the neck o' some -chap that wasn't hit in the war, but we mustn't forget to be glad an' -bend the knee o' gratitude. Of course, we all know the law kin compel -us to give the right of way, but it provides fer just and sufficient -payment fer the property used; an', gentlemen, I'm agin donations. I'm -agin' em tooth an' toe-nail.” - -There was thunderous and ominous applause when Bartell sat down. Wilson -sat flushed and embarrassed, twirling his gloves in his hands. He had -expected anything but this personal fusillade. He stared at Miller in -surprise over that gentleman's easy, half-amused smile as he stood up. - -“Gentlemen,” he began, “and ladies,” he added, with a bow to the right -and left. “As many of you know, I pretend to practise law a little, and -I want to say now that I'm glad Mr. Bartell ain't in the profession. A -lawyer with his keen wit and eloquence could convict an innocent mother -before a jury of her own children. [Laughter.] And that's the point, -gentlemen; we are innocent of the charges against us. I am speaking -now of my clients, the Bishops. They are deeply interested in the -development of this section. The elder Bishop does hold his head high, -and in this case he held it high enough to smell coming prosperity -in the air. He believed it would come, and that is why he bought -timber-lands extensively. As for the accused gentleman from the Hub of -the Universe, I must say that I have known of him for several years and -have never heard a word against his character. He is not a farmer, but a -business man, and it would be unfair to judge him by any other standard. -He is not only a business man, but a big one. He handles big things. -This railroad is going to be a big thing for you and your children. -Yes, Wilson is all right. He didn't fight in the late unpleasantness. He -tells the women he was too young; but I believe he hadn't the heart -to fight a cause as just as ours. His only offence is in the matter of -wearing sharp-toed shoes. There is no law against 'em in Atlanta, and -he's simply gotten careless. He is ignorant of our ideas of proper -dress, as befitting a meek and lowly spirit, which, in spite of -appearances, I happen to know Wilson possesses. However, I have heard -him say that these mountains produce the best corn liquor that ever went -down grade in his system. He's right. It's good. Pole Baker says -it's good, and he ought to know. [Laughter, in which Pole joined -good-naturedly.] That reminds me of a story,” Miller went on. “They -tell this of Baker. They say that a lot of fellows were talking of the -different ways they would prefer to meet death if it had to come. One -said drowning, another shooting, another poisoning, and so on; but Pole -reserved his opinion to the last. When the crowd urged him to say what -manner of death he would select, if he had to die and had his choice, he -said: 'Well, boys, ef I had to go, I'd like to be melted up into puore -corn whiskey an' poured through my throat tell thar wasn't a drap left -of me.'[Laughter and prolonged applause.] And Wilson said further, -gentlemen and ladies, that he believed the men and women of this -secluded section were, in their own way, living nearer to God than the -inhabitants of the crowded cities. Wilson is not bad, even if he has a -hang-dog look. A speech like Bartell's just now would give a hang-dog -look to a paling-fence. Wilson is here to build a railroad for your good -and prosperity, and he can' t build one where there is nothing to haul -out. If he buys up timber for his company, it is the only way to get -them to back him in the enterprise. Now, gentlemen of the opposition, -if there are any here to-day, don't let the thought of Wilson's possible -profit rob you of this golden opportunity. I live at Darley, but, as -many of you know, this is my father's native county, and I want to see -it bloom in progress and blossom like the rose of prosperity. I want to -see the vast mineral wealth buried in these mountains dug out for the -benefit of mankind wherever God's sunlight falls.” - -Miller sat down amid much applause, a faint part of which came even from -the ranks of Bartell's faction. After this a pause ensued in which no -one seemed willing to speak. Colonel Barclay rose and came to Miller. - -“That was a good talk,” he whispered. “You understand how to touch 'em -up. You set them to laughin'; that's the thing. I wonder if it would do -any good for me to try my hand.” - -“Do they know you have any timber-land over here?” asked Miller. - -“Oh yes, I guess they do,” replied the Colonel. - -“Then I don't believe I'd chip in,” advised Miller. “Bartell would throw -it up to you.” - -“I reckon you are right,” said Barclay, “but for the Lord's sake do -something. It never will do to let this thing fall through.” - -“I've done all I can,” said Miller, dejectedly. “Bartell's got the -whole gang hoodooed--the blasted blockhead! Wouldn't he make a fine -representative in the legislature?” - -The Colonel went back to his seat, and Wilson came to Miller, just as -Alan approached. - -“It's going to fall flatter than a pancake,” said Wilson. “My company -simply cannot afford to buy the right of way. Can' t you choke that -illiterate fellow over there or--or buy him off?” - -“He ain't that sort,” said Miller, disconsolately. - -Alan glanced at his father and mother. On their wrinkled faces lay ample -evidences of dejection. The old man seemed scarcely to breathe. Up to -Bartell's speech he had seemed buoyantly hopeful, but his horizon had -changed; he looked as if he were wondering why he had treated himself to -such a bright view of a thing which had no foundation at all. - -At this juncture Abner Daniel rose from his seat near the stove and -slowly walked forward till he stood facing the audience. Immediately -quiet reigned, for he was a man who was invariably listened to. - -“Gentlemen an' ladies,” he began, clearing his throat and wiping his -mouth with his long hand. “This ain't no put-in o' mine, gracious knows! -I hain't got nothin', an' I don't expect to lose or gain by what is done -in this matter, but I want to do what I kin fer what I think is right -an' proper. Fer my part, I don't think we kin do without a railroad -much longer. Folks is a-pokin' fun at us, I tell you. It's God's truth. -T'other day I was over at Darley a-walkin' along the railroad nigh -the turnin'-table, whar they flirt engynes round like children on a -flyin'-jinny, when all at once a big strappin' feller with a red flag in -his hand run up an' knocked me off'n the track kerwhallop in a ditch. It -was just in time to keep me from bein' run over by a switch-engyne. He -was as mad as Tucker. 'Looky' heer,' ses he, 'did you think that thing -was playin' tag with you an' ud tap you on the shoulder an' run an' hide -behind a tree? Say, ain't you from Short Pine Destrict, this side o' the -mountains?' I told 'im he'd guessed right, an' he said, 'I'lowed so, fer -thar ain't no other spot on the whirlin' globe that produces folks as -green as gourds.' Well, gentlemen, that floored me; it was bad enough -to be jerked about like a rag doll, but it was tough to heer my section -jeered at. 'What makes you say that?' I axed 'im, as I stood thar tryin' -to git a passle o' wet glass out o' my hip-pocket without cuttin' my -fingers. [Laughter, led by Pole Baker, who sensed the meaning of the -reference.] 'Beca'se,' ses he, 'you moss-backs over thar don't know the -war's over; a nigger from over thar come in town t'other day an' heerd -fer the fust time that he was free. Two men over thar swapped wives -without knowin' thar was a law agin it. Half o' you-uns never laid eyes -on a railroad, an' wouldn't have one as a free gift.' I turned off an' -left 'im an' went up on the main street. Up thar a barber ketched me -by the arm an' said, ses he: 'Come in an' le' me cut that hair. You are -from Short Pine, ain't you?' I axed him why he thought so, an' he said, -ses he, 'beca'se you got a Short Pine hair-cut.' 'What's that?' ses I. -An' he laughed at a feller cocked up in a cheer an' said: 'It's a cut -that is made by the women out yore way. They jest turn a saucer upside -down on the men's heads an' trim around the edges. I could tell one a -mile; they make a man look like a bob-tailed mule.'[Laughter, loud and -prolonged.] Yes, as I said, they are a-pokin' all manner o' fun at us, -an' it's chiefly beca'se we hain't got no railroad. The maddest I ever -got on this line was down at Filmore's store one day. A little, slick -chap come along sellin' maps of the United States of America. They was -purty things on black sticks, an' I wanted one fer the wall o' my room. -I was about to buy one, but I thought I'd fust make shore that our -county was on it, so I axed the peddler to p'int it out to me. Well, -after some s'arch, he put his knife-blade on what he called this county, -but lo an' behold! it was mighty nigh kivered with round dots about the -size of fly-specks. 'What's the matter with it?' I axed 'im. 'Oh, you -mean them dots,' ses he, an' he turned to a lot o' reference words in -the corner of the map. 'Them,' ses he, 'them's put thar to indicate the -amount o' ignorance in a locality. You 'll find 'em in all places away -from the railroads; a body kin say what they please agin railroads, but -they fetch schools, an' books, an' enlightenment. You've got a good -many specks' ses he, kinder comfortin' like, 'but some o' these days a -railroad will shoot out this away, an' them brainy men amongst you will -git the chance God intends to give 'em,' Gentlemen, I didn't buy no map. -I wouldn't 'a' had the thing on my wall with them specks a-starin' me -in the face. It wouldn't 'a' done any good to scrape 'em off, fer the'r -traces would 'a' been left. No, friends, citizens, an' well-wishers, -thar ain't but one scraper that will ever rake our specks off, an' -that's the cow-catcher of a steam-engyne. I say let 'er come. Some -objection has been raised on the score o' killin' cattle. That reminds -me of a story they tell on old Burt Preston, who has a farm on the main -line beyant Darley. He was always a-gittin' his stock killed so fast, -an' a-puttin' in heavy claims fer damages, until folks begun to say he -made his livin' by buyin' scrub cattle an' sellin' mashed beef to the -corporation. One day the road sent out a detective to watch 'im, an' -he seed Burt drive a spindlin' yeerlin' out o' the thicket on the track -jest in time to get it knocked off by a through freight. The detective -went back an' reported, an' they waited to see what Preston ud do. -By the next mail they got a claim in which Preston said the yeerlin' -weighed eight hundred pound an' was a fine four-gallon milch-cow. They -threatened to jail 'im, an' Preston agreed to withdraw his claim. But -he got down-hearted an' traded his place fer a farm on t'other railroad, -an' the last I heerd o' him he was at his old trade agin. I reckon -that's about the way we 'll be damaged by gettin' our stock killed. -That's all I got to say, gentlemen. Let's git this road an' scrape our -fly-specks off.” - -The big house shook with the applause that greeted this speech. Even the -opposition seemed to be wavering. Only Bartell kept a rigid countenance. -He rose and in a low voice invited his group to repair with him to one -of the jury-rooms. They got up and followed him out. As he was about to -close the door after them he nodded to Miller. “We 'll take a vote on it -an' let you know,” he said, coldly. - -“He's going to talk to them,” said Miller, aloud to Wilson. “Mr. -Daniel's speech almost shook them out of their boots, and he saw he was -losing ground. It looks squally.” - -“You are right,” said Wilson, gloomily. “Our chances are very slim.” - -Miller caught Adele's eye and went to her. - -“I'm bound to say the outlook is not so favorable,” he said. “If we -could have put it to a vote just after your uncle spoke we would have -clinched them, but Bartell thinks his election depends on beating us -today, and being the chief land-owner he has influence.” - -“It will break my heart,” said the girl, tremulously. “Poor father and -mother! They look as if they were on trial for their lives. Oh, I had so -much hope as we drove over here this morning, but now--” - -“I can' t bear to see you take it that way,” said Miller, tenderly. “I -did not intend to speak to you so soon about another matter, but I can' -t put it off. You have become very, very dear to me, little girl. In -fact, I never dreamed there was such a thing as genuine, unselfish love -till I knew you. It seems to me that you were actually created for me. I -want you to be my wife. Somehow I feel that you care for me, at least -a little, and I believe when you realize how much I love you, and how -devoted I shall be, you will love me as I do you.” - -To his surprise she averted her face and said nothing, though he -remarked that she had paled a little and compressed her lips. He waited -a moment, then said, anxiously: - -“Haven't you something to say, Adele? Perhaps I have misread you all -along and really have no right to hope. Oh, that would be hard to bear!” - -“It is not that,” she said, her breast heaving suddenly. “It is not -that.” - -“Not that?” he repeated, his wondering eyes fixed on hers. - -Then she turned to him. - -“Alan has told me of some of your talks to him about love, and--” - -“Oh, he has!” Miller laughed out uneasily. “But surely you wouldn't hold -anything against me that I said before I met you in Atlanta and fell -heels over head in love with you. Besides, I was simply stretching my -imagination to save him from making a serious mistake. But I know what -it is to care for a girl now, and I have wanted to tell him so, but -simply could not face him with my confession--when--when his own sister -was in question.” - -“I have tried to believe,” Adele hesitated, “that you had changed in -your ideas of love since--since we learned to know each other, and I -confess I succeeded to some extent, but there was one thing that simply -sticks and refuses to be eradicated. It sticks more right now than ever. -I mean this morning, since--” - -“Now you _do_ surprise me,” declared Miller. “Please explain. Don't you -see I'm simply dying with impatience?” - -“You pressed the point in one of those talks with brother,” said Adele, -quite firmly, “that it was impossible for two people of unequal fortune -to be happy together, and--” - -“Now you wouldn't surely hurl that rubbish at me,” broke in Miller. “I -never would have dreamed of saying such a thing if I had not thought -Alan was about to butt his head against a stone wall in the hostility of -Colonel Barclay. If he had been fairly well off and she had been without -money I'd have said sail in and take her, but I knew what a mercenary -old man Barclay is, and I thought I could save the boy from a good many -heartaches.” - -“That--even as you now put it--would be hard for a girl in my position -to forget,” Adele told him. “For if this enterprise fails to-day, I -shall--just think of it!--I shall not only be penniless, but my father -will owe you a large amount of money that he never will be able to -pay. Oh, I could not bear to go to you under such circumstances! I have -always wanted my independence, and this grates on my very soul.” - -Their eyes met in a long, steady stare. “Oh, you must--you really must -not see it that way,” floundered the young man. “You will make me very -miserable. I can' t live without you, Adele. Besides, I shall not lose -by the loan I made to your father. The land will bring the money back -sooner or later, and what will it matter? You will be my wife and your -parents will be my parents. Already I love them as my own. Oh, darling, -don't turn me down this way! Really I can' t help the turn matters have -taken, and if you care for me you ought not to wreck our happiness for a -silly whim like this.” - -She sat unmoved for a moment, avoiding the fervid glow of his -passion-filled eyes. - -“If this thing fails I shall be very unhappy,” she finally said. “Its -success would not make me rich, but it would remove a debt that has -nearly killed me. I have never mentioned it, but it has been like a -sword hanging over my happiness.” - -“Then it shall not fail,” he told her. “It shall not fail! If those -blockheads vote against it, I 'll buy the right of way, if it takes the -last cent I've got.” - -This forced a smile to Adele's lips. “Then we'd be as deep in the mud as -we now are in the mire,” she said. Just then Pole Baker came to Miller. - -“I don't want to make no break,” he said, “but I've got a idea I'd -like to work on them hill-Billies in the jury-room if you hain't no -objections. I hain't got time to tell you about it, but as you are -a-runnin' the shebang I thought I'd ax permission.” - -“Go and do what you think best, Pole,” said Miller, recklessly. “We -can trust to your head, and anything is better than nothing just now. I -really think it's gone by the board.” - -“All right, thanky',” said Pole, as he shuffled away. He marched -straight to the jury-room, and, without rapping, opened the door and -went in, closing the door after him. He found the men all discussing the -matter and was delighted to find that the strength of the opposition now -rested chiefly in Bartell and a few men who seemed afraid to pull away -from him. Pole slid up to Bartell and said, as he drew him to one side: -“Say, Mr. Bartell, what on earth have you got agin Alan Bishop?” - -“Why, nothin', Pole, as I know of,” said Bartell, rather sheepishly. -“Nothin' as I know of.” - -“Well, it looks to me like you got a mighty pore way o' showin' -good-will. Why, he's the best friend you got, Mr. Bartell, an' totes -more votes in his vest-pocket fer you than any man in this county.” - -“Huh! You don't say!” grunted Bartell, in slow surprise. “Well, he never -told _me_ about it.” - -“Beca'se you hain't announced yorese'f yet,” said Pole, with a steady -eye and a set face. “Why, he said t'other day to several of us at the -log-rollin'--you remember you rid by on yore bay, leadin' a milch-cow by -a rope. Well, after you passed Alan Bishop said: 'Boys, thar goes the -only man in this county that has convictions an' the courage to stand -by 'em. They say he's goin' to run fer the legislature an' ef he does, -I 'll do all I kin to elect 'im. He 'll make the best representative that -we ever had. He's got brains, _he_ has.'” - -“You don't say!” Bartell's face beamed, his eye kindled and flashed. - -“That's jest what!” - -“I hadn't the least idea he was fer me,” said Bartell, drawing a deep -breath. “In fact, I 'lowed he would be agin anybody but a town man.” - -“Alan never talks much,” said Pole, in a tone of conviction; “he _acts_ -when the time comes fer it. But, la me, Mr. Bartell, this is agoin' to -break him all to pieces. He's in love with old Barclay's gal, an' she is -with him. Ef he puts this road through to-day he 'll git his daddy out -o' debt an' Barclay will withdraw his opposition. I don't know how -you feel, but I'd hate like smoke to bu'st a man all to flinders that -thought as much o' me as Alan does o' you.” - -“I never knowed he was fer me,” was Bartell's next tottering step in the -right direction. - -“Well, vote fer the right o' way, an' you kin ride to an' from Atlanta -durin' session all rail. Me'n Alan will pull fer you like a yoke o' -steers--me with the moonshiners, an' my mountain clan, that ain't dead -yet, an' him with his gang. What you say? Put up or shet up.” - -“I 'll do what I kin,” said Bartell, a new light on his face, as he -turned to the others. “Gentlemen,” he began, “listen to me a minute. I -see a good many of you was affected by Ab Daniel's speech an' sort o' -want the road, anyway, so if--” - -“I don't exactly like them specks,” broke in a fat, middle-aged man at a -window. “By gum! I believe old Ab had us down about right. Ef we kin git -sort o' opened up along with the rest o' creation, I say le's git in the -game. Huh!”--the man finished, with a laughing shrug--“I don't like them -fly-specks one bit.” - -“Me nuther,” said a man beside him. - -“Nur me!” came from some one else. - -“Well, I'm willin' ef the rest are,” announced Bar-tell. “All in favor -hold up yore hands.” - -Pole Baker grinned broadly as he counted them. “All up--the last one,” - he said, then he sprang for the door and stood before the expectant -audience. - -“Toot! toot!” he cried, imitating the whistle of a locomotive. “All -aboard! The road's a settled thing. They say they don't want no specks, -an' they ain't agoin' to have 'em. Hooray!” - -The audience was electrified by the announcement. For an instant there -was a pause of incredulous astonishment, and then the floor resounded -from the clatter of feet and glad shouts filled the air. - -Alan, his face ablaze with startled triumph, came towards Adele and -Miller. “Pole worked the rabbit-foot on them back there,” he said. “I -don't know what he did, but he did something.” - -“He told me he had a card left,” laughed Miller. “I 'll bet he had it up -his sleeve. There he is now. Oh, Pole, come here!” - -The man thus addressed slouched down the aisle to them, his big, brown -eyes flashing merrily under his heavy brows, his sun-browned face dark -with the flush of triumph. - -“Out with it, you rascal,” said Alan. “What did you say to them? -Whatever it was it knocked their props clean from under them.” - -“Ef you don't back me in it, I'm a gone dog,” said Pole to Alan. “All I -want you to do is to vote for Bartell, ef you kin possibly swallow the -dose.” - -A light broke on the two men. “I 'll do it if you say so, Pole,” said -Alan. “Not only that, but I 'll work for him if you wish it.” - -Pole looked down and pulled at his heavy mustache. “Well,” he smiled, “I -reckon he won't harm us any more in the legislatur' than the road 'll do -us good, so you'd better support 'im. I seed the bars down a minute ago, -an' I didn't have no time to consult you. I'd 'a' told a bigger lie 'an -that to clinch this thing.” Abner Daniel joined them, smiling broadly, -his eyes twinkling joyously. - -“We've won, Uncle Ab,” exclaimed Alan; “what do you think of that?” - -The old jester stroked his face and swung his long body back and forth -in the wind of his content. “I've always argued,” said he, “that what is -to be _will_ be, an' it _will_ be a sight sooner 'n most of us count on, -ef we 'll jest keep our sperits up.” - -The others moved on, leaving Adele and Miller together. - -“Oh, just look at mamma and papa,” she said, in the round, full voice -indicative of deep emotion. “They are so glad they are about to cry.” - -“What a dear, dear girl you are,” said Miller, softly. “There is nothing -to separate us now, is there?” - -For a moment they met in a full look into each other's eyes. Adele's -voice shook when she replied: “I believe I'm the happiest, proudest girl -in all the world.” - -“Then you love me?” - -“I believe I've loved you from the very minute I met you in Atlanta last -summer.” - -Alan saw Dolly looking at him and waving her handkerchief, her face -warm and flushed. He was tempted to go to her, but she still sat by her -father and mother, and that fact checked him. Mrs. Barclay caught his -eye, and, rising suddenly, came through the crowd to him. She extended -her gloved hand. - -“You and Dolly must stop your foolishness,” she said. “I've been -thinking of a plan to help you two out. If I were you I wouldn't say a -word to her now, but next Sunday night come and take her to church just -like you used to. I 'll attend to Colonel Barclay. He is just tickled to -death over this thing and he won't make any fuss. He is as stubborn as -a mule, though, and when he has to give in, it's better not to let him -think you are gloating over him. He won't bother you any more; I 'll see -to that.” - -Alan thanked her. He was so full of happiness that he was afraid to -trust his voice to utterance. As Mrs. Barclay was going back to her -husband and daughter, Pole Baker passed. Alan grasped him by the hand. - -“Say, Pole,” he said, his voice full and quavering, “I want to tell you -that I think more of you than I do of any man alive.” - -“Well, Alan,” said Pole, awkwardly, yet with an eye that did not waver, -“I kin shore return the compliment. Ef it hadn't been fer you an' yore -advice I'd 'a' been in hell long ago, an' as it is, I feel more like -livin' a straight, honest life than I ever did. You never axed me but -one thing that I didn't grant, an' that was to give up whiskey. I don't -know whether I ever will be able to do it or not, but, by the great God -above, I'm agoin' to keep on tryin', fer I know you want it jest fer my -good. I don't want a dram to-day, fer a wonder, an' maybe in time I 'll -git over my thirst.” - -As Alan was about to get into his buggy with his uncle, the Colonel and -his wife and daughter passed. With a sheepish look on his face the old -man bowed to the two men, but Dolly stopped before Alan and held out her -hand. - -“You were going away without even speaking to me,” she said, a catch in -her voice. “Think of it--to-day of all days to be treated like that!” - -“But your mother told me--” - -“Didn't I tell you she couldn't be relied on?” broke in Dolly, with a -smile. “I have more influence with papa than she has. I know what she -told you. I made her confess it just now. Are you going to town to-day?” - -“Yes,” he informed her; “we shall complete the arrangements there.” - -“Then come right down to see me as soon as you possibly can,” Dolly -said. “I'm dying to see you--to talk with you. Oh, Alan, I'm so--_so_ -happy!” - -“So am I,” he told her, as he pressed her hand tenderly. “Then I shall -see you again to-day.” - -“Yes, to-day, sure,” she said, and she moved on. - -“She's all right,” said Abner Daniel, as Alan climbed in the buggy -beside him. “She's all wool an' a yard wide.” - -“I reckon you are satisfied with the way it come out, Uncle Ab,” said -his nephew, flushing over the compliment to Dolly. - -“Jest want one thing more,” said the old man, “an' I can't make out -whether it's a sin or not. I want to face Perkins an' Abe Tompkins. I'd -give my right arm to meet 'em an' watch the'r faces when they heer about -the railroad, an' the price yore pa's land fetched.” - -THE END - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Abner Daniel, by Will N. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/50494-0.zip b/old/50494-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 7ff6f98..0000000 --- a/old/50494-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/50494-8.txt b/old/50494-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 358f743..0000000 --- a/old/50494-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10655 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Abner Daniel, by Will N. Harben - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Abner Daniel - A Novel - -Author: Will N. Harben - -Release Date: November 19, 2015 [EBook #50494] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABNER DANIEL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - -ABNER DANIEL - -By Will N. Harben - -Author Of "Westerfelt" - -New York and London - -Harper And Brothers - -1902 - -TO - -MY SISTER - -MRS. RAY KNIGHT - - - - -ABNER DANIEL - - - - -I - - -[Illustration: 9007] - -HE young man stood in the field road giving -directions to a robust negro who was ploughing the corn, which, in -parallel rows, stretched on to the main road a quarter of a mile -distant. The negro placed the point of his ploughshare a few inches from -the first stalk of corn, wound the line around his wrist, and clucked -to his horse. With a jangling jerk of the trace-chains the animal -lunged ahead: the polished ploughshare cut into the mellow soil and sped -onward, curling the gray earth like shavings, and uprooting and burying -the tenacious crab-grass and succulent purslane. - -It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, but the atmosphere -had dropped a dim veil over the near-by mountain. Even the two-storied -farm-house, with its veranda and white columns, to which the field road -led up a gradual slope, showed only its outlines. However, Alan Bishop, -as he steadied his gaze upon the house, saw the figure of an elderly -woman come out of the gate and with a quick step hurry down to him. It -was his mother; she was tall and angular, and had high cheek-bones and -small blue eyes. She had rather thin gray hair, which was wound into a -knot behind her head, and over it she wore only a small red breakfast -shawl which she held in place by one of her long hands. - -"Alan," she said, panting from her brisk walk, "I want you to come to -the house right off. Mr. Trabue has come to see yore pa again an' I -can't do a thing with 'im." - -"Well, what does he want with him?" asked the young man. His glance -was on the ploughman and his horse. They had turned the far end of the -corn-row and were coming back, only the nodding head of the animal being -visible beyond a little rise. - -"He's come to draw up the papers fer another land trade yore pa's -makin'. He's the lawyer fer the Tompkins estate. Yore pa tried to buy -the land a yeer ago, but it wasn't in shape to dispose of. Oh, Alan, -don't you see he's goin' to ruin us with his fool notions? Folks all -about are a-laughin' at him fer buyin' so much useless mountain-land. I'm -powerful afeered his mind is wrong." - -"Well, mother, what could I do?" Alan Bishop asked impatiently. "You -know he won't listen to me." - -"I reckon you can' t stop 'im," sighed the woman, "but I wish you'd come -on to the house. I knowed he was up to some 'n'. Ever'day fer the last -week he's been ridin' up the valley an' rollin' and tumblin' at night an' -chawin' ten times as much tobacco as he ort. Oh, he's goin' to ruin us! -Brother Abner says he is buyin' beca'se he thinks it's goin' to advance in -value, but sech property hain't advanced a speck sence I kin remember, -an' is bein' sold ever' yeer fer tax money." - -"No, it's very foolish of him," said the young man as the two turned -towards the house. "Father keeps talking about the fine timber on such -property, but it is entirely too far from a railroad ever to be worth -anything. I asked Rayburn Miller about it and he told me to do all -I could to stop father from investing, and you know he's as sharp a -speculator as ever lived; but it's his money." - -There was a paling fence around the house, and the enclosure was alive -with chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks, and peafowls. In the sunshine on -the veranda two pointers lay sleeping, but at the sound of the opening -gate they rose, stretched themselves lazily, and gaped. - -"They are in the parlor," said Mrs. Bishop, as she whisked off her -breakfast shawl. "Go right in, I 'll come in a minute. I want to see how -Linda is makin' out with the churnin'. La! I feel like it's a waste o' -time to do a lick o' work with him in thar actin' like a child. Ef we -both go in together it 'll look like we've concocked somethin', but we -must stop 'im ef we kin." - -Alan went into the parlor on the left of the wide, uncarpeted hall. The -room had white plastered walls, but the ceiling was of boards planed -by hand and painted sky blue. In one corner stood a very old piano -with pointed, octagonal legs and a stool with hair-cloth covering. -The fireplace was wide and high, and had a screen made of a decorated -window-shade tightly pasted on a wooden frame. Old man Bishop sat near a -window, and through his steel-framed nose-glasses was carefully reading -a long document written on legal-cap paper. He paid no attention to the -entrance of his son, but the lawyer, a short, fat man of sixty-five with -thick black hair that fell below his coat-collar, rose and extended his -hand. - -"How's Alan?" he asked, pleasantly. "I saw you down in the field as I -come along, but I couldn't catch your eye. You see I'm out after some -o' your dad's cash. He's buying hisse'f rich. My Lord! if it ever _does_ -turn his way he 'll scoop in enough money to set you and your sister up -for life. Folks tell me he owns mighty near every stick of timber-land -in the Cohutta Valley, and what he has he got at the bottom figure." - -"If it ever turns his way," said Alan; "but do you see any prospect of -it's ever doing so, Mr. Trabue?" The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. "I -never bet on another man's trick, my boy, and I never throw cold water -on the plans of a speculator. I used to when I was about your age, but -I saw so many of 'em get rich by paying no attention to me that I quit -right off. A man ought to be allowed to use his own judgment." Old -Bishop was evidently not hearing a word of this conversation, being -wholly absorbed in studying the details of the deed before him. "I -reckon it's all right," he finally said. "You say the Tompkins children -are all of age?" - -"Yes, Effie was the youngest," answered Trabue, "and she stepped over -the line last Tuesday. There's her signature in black and white. The -deed's all right. I don't draw up any other sort." - -Alan went to his father and leaned over him. "Father," he said, softly, -and yet with firmness, "I wish you'd not act hastily in this deal. You -ought to consider mother's wishes, and she is nearly distracted over -it." - -Bishop was angry. His massive, clean-shaven face was red. "I'd like to -know what I'd consult her fer," he said. "In a matter o' this kind a -woman's about as responsible as a suckin' baby." - -Trabue laughed heartily. "Well, I reckon it's a good thing your wife -didn't hear that or she'd show you whether she was responsible or not. -I couldn't have got the first word of that off my tongue before my wife -would 'a' knocked me clean through that wall." - -Alfred Bishop seemed not to care for levity during business hours, for -he greeted this remark only with a frown. He scanned the paper again and -said: "Well, ef thar's any flaw in this I reckon you 'll make it right." - -"Oh yes, I 'll make any mistake of mine good," returned Trabue. "The -paper's all right." - -"You see," said Alan to the lawyer, "mother and I think father has -already more of this sort of property than he can carry, and--" - -"I wish you and yore mother'd let my business alone," broke in Bishop, -firing up again. "Trabue heer knows I've been worryin' 'im fer the last -two months to get the property in salable shape. Do you reckon after he -gets it that away I want to listen to yore two tongues a-waggin' in open -opposition to it?" - -Trabue rubbed his hands together. "It really don't make a bit of -difference to me, Alan, one way or the other," he said, pacifically. -"I'm only acting as attorney for the Tompkins estate, and get my fee -whether there's a transfer or not. That's where I stand in the matter." - -"But it's not whar I stand in it, Mr. Trabue," said a firm voice in the -doorway. It was Mrs. Bishop, her blue eyes flashing, her face pale and -rigid. "I think I've got a right--and a big one--to have a say-so in -this kind of a trade. A woman 'at 's stayed by a man's side fer thirty -odd yeer an' raked an' scraped to he'p save a little handful o' property -fer her two children has got a right to raise a rumpus when her husband -goes crooked like Alfred has an' starts in to bankrupt 'em all jest fer -a blind notion o' his'n." - -"Oh, thar you are!" said Bishop, lifting his eyes from the paper -and glaring at her over his glasses. "I knowed I'd have to have a -knock-down-an'-drag-out fight with you 'fore I signed my name, so sail in -an' git it over. Trabue's got to ride back to town." - -"But whar in the name o' common-sense is the money to come from?" the -woman hurled at her husband, as she rested one of her bony hands on the -edge of the table and glared at him. "As I understand it, thar's about -five thousand acres in this piece alone, an' yo're a-payin' a dollar -a acre. Whar's it a-comin' from, I'd like to know? Whar's it to come -from?" - -Bishop sniffed and ran a steady hand over his short, gray hair. "You see -how little she knows o' my business," he said to the lawyer. "Heer she's -raisin' the devil an' Tom Walker about the trade an' she don't so much -as know whar the money's to come from." - -"How _was_ I to know?" retorted the woman, "when you've been tellin' me -fer the last six months that thar wasn't enough in the bank to give the -house a coat o' fresh paint an' patch the barn roof." - -"You knowed I had five thousand dollars wuth o' stock in the Shoal River -Cotton Mills, didn't you?" asked Bishop, defiantly, and yet with the -manner of a man throwing a missile which he hoped would fall lightly. - -"Yes, I knowed that, but--" The woman's eyes were two small fires -burning hungrily for information beyond their reach. - -"Well, it happens that Shoal stock is jest the same on the market as -ready money, up a little to-day an' down to-morrow, but never varyin' -more'n a fraction of a cent on the dollar, an' so the Tompkins heirs -say they'd jest as lieve have it, an' as I'm itchin' to relieve them of -the'r land, it didn't take us long to come together." - -If he had struck the woman squarely in the face, she could not have -shown more surprise. She became white to the lips, and with a low cry -turned to her son. "Oh, Alan, don't--don't let 'im do it, it's all we -have left that we can depend on! It will ruin us!" - -"Why, father, surely," protested Alan, as he put his arm around his -mother, "surely you can't mean to let go your mill investment which -is paying fifteen per cent, to put the money into lands that may never -advance in value and always be a dead weight on your hands! Think of the -loss of interest and the taxes to be kept up. Father, you must listen -to--" - -"Listen to nothin'," thundered Bishop, half rising from his chair. -"Nobody axed you two to put in. It's my business an' I'm a-goin' to -attend to it. I believe I'm doin' the right thing, an' that settles it." - -"The right thing," moaned the old woman, as she sank into a chair and -covered her face with her hands. "Mr. Trabue," she went on, fiercely, -"when that factory stock leaves our hands we won't have a single thing -to our names that will bring in a cent of income. You kin see how bad it -is on a woman who has worked as hard to do fer her children as I have. -Mr. Bishop always said Adele, who is visitin' her uncle's family in -Atlanta, should have that stock for a weddin'-gift, ef she ever married, -an' Alan was to have the lower half of this farm. Now what would we have -to give the girl--nothin' but thousands o' acres o' hills, mountains an' -gulches full o' bear, wild-cats, and catamounts--land that it ud break -any young couple to hold on to--much less put to any use. Oh, I feel -perfectly sick over it." - -There was a heavy, dragging step in the hall, and a long, lank man of -sixty or sixty-five years of age paused in the doorway. He had no beard -except a tuft of gray hair on his chin, and his teeth, being few and far -between, gave to his cheeks a hollow appearance. He was Abner Daniel, -Mrs. Bishop's bachelor brother, who lived in the family. - -"Hello!" he exclaimed, shifting a big quid of tobacco from one cheek -to the other; "plottin' agin the whites? Ef you are, I 'll decamp, as the -feller said when the bull yeerlin' butted 'im in the small o' the back. -How are you, Mr. Trabue? Have they run you out o' town fer some o' yore -legal rascality?" - -"I reckon your sister thinks it's rascality that's brought me out -to-day," laughed the lawyer. "We are on a little land deal." - -"Oh, well, I 'll move on," said Abner Daniel. "I jest wanted to tell -Alan that Rigg's hogs got into his young corn in the bottom jest now -an' rooted up about as many acres as Pole Baker's ploughed all day. Ef -they'd a-rooted in straight rows an' not gone too nigh the stalks -they mought 'a' done the crap more good than harm, but the'r aim or -intention, one or t'other, was bad. Folks is that away; mighty few of -'em root--when they root at all--fer anybody but the'rse'ves. -Well, I 'll git along to my room." - -"Don't go, brother Ab," pleaded his sister. "I want you to he'p me stand -up fer my rights. Alfred is about to swap our cotton-mill stock fer some -more wild mountain-land." - -In spite of his natural tendency to turn everything into a jest--even -the serious things of life--the sallow face of the tall man lengthened. -He stared into the faces around him for a moment, then a slow twinkle -dawned in his eye. - -"I've never been knowed to take sides in any connubial tustle yet," he -said to Trabue, in a dry tone. "Alf may not know what he's about right -now, but he's Solomon hisse'f compared to a feller that will undertake -to settle a dispute betwixt a man an' his wife--more especially the -wife. Geewhilikins! I never shall forget the time old Jane Hardeway come -heer to spend a week an' Alf thar an' Betsy split over buyin' a hat-rack -fer the hall. Betsy had seed one over at Mason's, at the camp-ground, -an' determined she'd have one. Maybe you noticed that fancy contraption -in the hall as you come in. Well, Alf seed a nigger unloadin' it from a -wagon at the door one mornin', an' when Betsy, in feer an' tremblin', -told 'im what it was fer he mighty nigh had a fit. He said his folks -never had been above hangin' the'r coats an' hats on good stout nails an' -pegs, an' as fer them umbrella-pans to ketch the drip, he said they was -fancy spit-boxes, an' wanted to know ef she expected a body to do the'r -chawin' an' smokin' in that windy hall. He said it jest should not stand -thar with all them prongs an' arms to attack unwary folks in the dark, -an' he toted it out to the buggy-shed. That got Betsy's dander up an' -she put it back agin the wall an' said it ud stay thar ef she had to -stand behind it an' hold it in place. Alf wasn't done yet; he 'lowed ef -they was to have sech a purty trick as that on the hill it had to stay -in the best room in the house, so he put it heer in the parlor by the -piano. But Betsy took it back two or three times an' he larnt that he -was a-doin' a sight o' work fer nothin', an' finally quit totin' it about. -But that ain't what I started in to tell. As I was a-sayin', old Jane -Hardeway thought she'd sorter put a word in the dispute to pay fer her -board an' keep, an' she told Betsy that it was all owin' to the way the -Bishops was raised that Alf couldn't stand to have things nice about -'im. She said all the Bishops she'd ever knowed had a natural stoop -that they got by livin' in cabins with low roofs. She wasn't spreadin' 'er -butter as thick as she thought she was--ur maybe it was the sort she was -spreadin '--fer Betsy blazed up like the woods afire in a high wind. It -didn't take old Jane long to diskiver that thar was several breeds -o' Bishops out o' jail, an' she spent most o' the rest o' her visit -braggin' on some she'd read about. She said the name sounded like the -start of 'em had been religious an' substanch." - -"Brother Abner," whined Mrs. Bishop, "I wisht you'd hush all that -foolishness an' help me 'n the children out o' this awful fix. Alfred -always would listen to you." - -"Well," and the old man smiled, and winked at the lawyer, "I 'll give you -both all the advice I kin. Now, the Shoal River stock is a good thing -right now; but ef the mill was to ketch on fire an' burn down thar'd be -a loss. Then as fer timber-land, it ain't easy to sell, but it mought -take a start before another flood. I say it mought, an' then agin it -moughtn't. The mill mought burn, an' then agin it moughtn't. Now, ef -you-uns kin be helped by this advice you are welcome to it free o' -charge. Not changin' the subject, did you-uns know Mrs. Richardson's -heffer's got a calf? I reckon she won't borrow so much milk after hers -gits good." - -Trabue smiled broadly as the gaunt man withdrew; but his amusement was -short-lived, for Mrs. Bishop began to cry, and she soon rose in despair -and left the room. Alan stood for a moment looking at the unmoved -face of his father, who had found something in the last clause of the -document which needed explanation; then he, too, went out. - - - - -II - - -[Illustration: 9017] - -LAN found his uncle on the back porch washing his -face and hands in a basin on the water-shelf. The young man leaned -against one of the wooden posts which supported the low roof of the -porch and waited for him to conclude the puffing, sputtering operation, -which he finally did by enveloping his head in a long towel hanging from -a wooden roller on the weather-boarding. - -"Well," he laughed, "yore uncle Ab didn't better matters in thar overly -much. But what could a feller do? Yore pa's as bull-headed as a young -steer, an' he's already played smash anyway. Yore ma's wastin' breath; -but a woman seems to have plenty of it to spare. A woman' s tongue's -like a windmill--it takes breath to keep it a-goin', an' a dead calm ud -kill her business." - -"It's no laughing matter, Uncle Ab," said Alan, despondently. "Something -must have gone wrong with father's judgment. He never has acted this way -before." - -The old man dropped the towel and thrust his long, almost jointless -fingers into his vest pocket for a horn comb which folded up like a -jack-knife. "I was jest a-wonderin'," as he began to rake his shaggy -hair straight down to his eyes--"I was jest a-wonderin' ef he could -'a' bent his skull in a little that time his mule th'owed 'im agin the -sweet-gum. They say that often changes a body powerful. Folks do think -he's off his cazip on the land question, an' now that he's traded his -best nest-egg fer another swipe o' the earth's surface, I reckon they 'll -talk harder. But yore pa ain't no fool; no plumb idiot could 'a' managed -yore ma as well as he has. You see I know what he's accomplished, fer -I've been with 'em ever since they was yoked together. When they was -married she was as wild as a buck, an' certainly made our daddy walk a -chalk-line; but Alfred has tapered 'er down beautiful. She didn't want -this thing done one bit, an' yet it is settled by this time"--the -old man looked through the hall to the front gate--"yes, Trabue's -unhitchin'; he's got them stock certificates in his pocket, an' yore pa -has the deeds in his note-case. When this gits out, moss-backs from heer -clean to Gilmer 'll be trapsin' in to dispose o' land at so much a front -foot." - -"But what under high heaven will he do with it all?" - -"Hold on to it," grinned Abner, "that is, ef he kin rake an' scrape -enough together to pay the taxes. Why, last yeer his taxes mighty nigh -floored 'im, an' the expenses on this county he's jest annexed will push -'im like rips; fer now, you know, he 'll have to do without the income -on his factory stock; but he thinks he's got the right sow by the yeer. -Before long he may yell out to us to come he'p 'im turn 'er loose, but -he's waltzin' with 'er now." - -At this juncture Mrs. Bishop came out of the dining-room wiping her eyes -on her apron. - -"Mother," said Alan, tenderly, "try not to worry over this any more than -you can help." - -"Your pa's gettin' old an' childish," whimpered Mrs. Bishop. "He's heerd -somebody say timber-land up in the mountains will some day advance, -an' he forgets that he's too old to get the benefit of it. He's goin' to -bankrupt us." - -"Ef I do," the man accused thundered from the hall, as he strode out, -"it 'll be my money that's lost--money that I made by hard work." - -He stood before them, glaring over his eye-glasses at his wife. "I've -had enough of yore tongue, my lady; ef I'd not had so much to think -about in thar jest now I'd 'a' shut you up sooner. Dry up now--not -another word! I'm doin' the best I kin accordin' to my lights to provide -fer my children, an' I won't be interfered with." - -No one spoke for a moment. However, Mrs. Bishop finally retorted, as her -brother knew she would, in her own time. - -"I don't call buyin' thousands o' acres o' unsalable land providin' fer -anything, except the pore-house," she fumed. - -"That's beca'se you don't happen to know as much about the business as -I do," said Bishop, with a satisfied chuckle, which, to the observant -Daniel, sounded very much like exultation. "When you all know what I -know you 'll be laughin' on t'other sides o' yore mouths." - -He started down the steps into the yard as if going to the row of -bee-hives along the fence, but paused and came back. He had evidently -changed his mind. "I reckon," he said, "I 'll jest _have_ to let you all -know about this or I won't have a speck o' peace from now on. I didn't -tell you at fust beca'se nobody kin keep a secret as well as the man it -belongs to, an' I was afeerd it ud leak out an' damage my interests; but -this last five thousand acres jest about sweeps all the best timber in -the whole Cohutta section, an' I mought as well let up. I reckon you all -know that ef--I say _ef_--my land was nigh a railroad it ud be low at -five times what I paid fer it, don't you? Well, then! The long an' short -of it is that I happen to be on the inside an' know that a railroad -is goin' to be run from Blue Lick Junction to Darley. It 'll be started -inside of the next yeer an' 'll run smack dab through my property. Thar -now, you know more'n you thought you did, don't you?" - -The little group stared into his glowing face incredulously. - -"A railroad is to be built, father?" exclaimed Alan. - -"That's what I said." - -Mrs. Bishop's eyes flashed with sudden hope, and then, as if remembering -her husband's limitations, her face fell. - -"Alfred," she asked, sceptically, "how does it happen that you know -about the railroad before other folks does?" - -"How do I? That's it now--how do I?" and the old man laughed freely. -"I've had my fun out o' this thing, listenin' to what every crank said -about me bein' cracked, an' so on; but I was jest a-lyin' low waitin' -fer my time." - -"Well, I 'll be switched!" ejaculated Abner Daniel, half seriously, half -sarcastically. "Geewhilikins! a railroad! I've always said one would pay -like rips an' open up a dern good, God-fersaken country. I'm glad you -are a-goin' to start one, Alfred." - -Alan's face was filled with an expression of blended doubt and pity for -his father's credulity. "Father," he said, gently, "are you sure you got -your information straight?" - -"I got it from headquarters." The old man raised himself on his toes and -knocked his heels together, a habit he had not indulged in for many a -year. "It was told to me confidentially by a man who knows all about the -whole thing, a man who is in the employ o' the company that's goin' to -build it." - -"Huh!" the exclamation was Abner Daniel's, "do you mean that Atlanta -lawyer, Perkins?" - -Bishop stared, his mouth lost some of its pleased firmness, and he -ceased the motion of his feet. - -"What made you mention his name?" he asked, curiously. - -"Oh, I dunno; somehow I jest thought o' him. He looks to me like he -mought be buildin' a railroad ur two." - -"Well, that's the man I mean," said Bishop, more uneasily. - -Somehow the others were all looking at Abner Daniel, who grunted -suddenly and almost angrily. - -"I wouldn't trust that skunk no furder'n I could fling a bull by the -tail." - -"You say you wouldn't?" Bishop tried to smile, but the effort was a -facial failure. - -"I wouldn't trust 'im nuther, brother Ab," chimed in Mrs. Bishop. "As soon -as I laid eyes on 'im I knowed he wouldn't do. He's too mealy-mouthed an' -fawnin'. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth; he bragged on ever'thing we -had while he was heer. Now, Alfred, what we must git at is, what was his -object in tellin' you that tale." - -"Object?" thundered her husband, losing his temper in the face of the -awful possibility that her words hinted at. "Are you all a pack an' -passle o' fools? If you must dive an' probe, then I 'll tell you he owns -a slice o' timber-land above Holley Creek, j'inin' some o' mine, an' -so he let me into the secret out o' puore good will. Oh, you all cayn't -skeer me; I ain't one o' the skeerin' kind." - -But, notwithstanding this outburst, it was plain that doubt had actually -taken root in the ordinarily cautious mind of the crude speculator. His -face lengthened, the light of triumph went out of his eyes, leaving the -shifting expression of a man taking desperate chances. - -Abner Daniel laughed out harshly all at once and then was silent. -"What's the matter?" asked his sister, in despair. - -"I was jest a-wonderin'," replied her brother. - -"You are?" said Bishop, angrily. "It seems to me you don't do much -else." - -"Folks 'at wonders a lot ain't so apt to believe ever'thing they heer," -retorted Abner. "I was just a-wonderin' why that little, spindle-shanked -Peter Mosely has been holdin' his head so high the last week or so. I 'll -bet I could make a durn good guess now." - -"What under the sun's Peter Mosely got to do with my business?" burst -from Bishop's impatient lips. - -"He's got a sorter roundabout connection with it, I reckon," smiled -Abner, grimly. "I happen to know that Abe Tompkins sold 'im two thousand -acres o' timber-land on Huckleberry Ridge jest atter yore Atlanta man -spent the day lookin' round in these parts." - -Bishop was no fool, and he grasped Abner's meaning even before it was -quite clear to the others. - -"Looky heer," he said, sharply, "what do you take me fur?" - -"I'ain't tuck you fer nothin'," said Abner, with a grin. "Leastwise, -I'ain't tuck you fer five thousand dollars' wuth o' cotton-mill stock. -To make a long story short, the Atlanta jack-leg lawyer is akin to -the Tompkins family some way. I don't know exactly what kin, but Joe -Tompkins's wife stayed at Perkins's house when she was down thar havin' -er spine straightened. I'd bet a new hat to a ginger-cake that Perkins -never owned a spoonful o' land up heer, an' that he's jest he'pin' the -Tompkins folks on the sly to unload some o' the'r land, so they kin move -West, whar they've always wanted to go. Peter Mosely is a man on the -watch-out fer rail soft snaps, an' when Perkins whispered the big secret -in his yeer, like he did to you, he started out on a still hunt fer -timbered land on the line of the proposed trunk line due west vy-ah -Lickskillet to Darley, with stop-over privileges at Buzzard Roost, an' -fifteen minutes fer hash at Dog Trot Springs. Then, somehow or other, -by hook or crook--mostly crook--Abe Tompkins wasn't dodgin' anybody about -that time; Peter Mosely could 'a' run agin 'im with his eyes shut on -a dark night. I was at Neil Fulmore's store when the two met, an' ef a -trade was ever made quicker betwixt two folks it was done by telegraph -an' the paper was signed by lightnin'. Abe said he had the land an' -wouldn't part with it at any price ef he hadn't been bad in need o' -money, fer he believed it was chuck-full o' iron ore, soapstone, black -marble, an' water-power, to say nothin' o' timber, but he'd been troubled -so much about cash, he said, that he'd made up his mind to let 'er slide -an' the devil take the contents. I never seed two parties to a deal -better satisfied. They both left the store with a strut. Mosely's strut -was the biggest, fer he wasn't afeerd o' nothin'. Tompkins looked like -he was afeerd Mosely ud call 'im back an' want to rue." - -"You mean to say--" But old Bishop seemed unable to put his growing fear -into words. - -"Oh, I don't know nothin' fer certain," said Abner Daniel, -sympathetically; "but ef I was you I'd go down to Atlanta an' see -Perkins. You kin tell by the way he acts whether thar's anything in -his railroad story or not; but, by gum, you ort to know whar you stand. -You've loaded yorese'f from hind to fore quarters, an' ef you don't -plant yore feet on some'n you 'll go down." - -Bishop clutched this proposition as a drowning man would a straw. "Well, -I will go see 'im," he said. "I 'll go jest to satisfy you. As fer as I'm -concerned, I know he wasn't tellin' me no lie; but I reckon you all never -'ll rest till you are satisfied." - -He descended the steps and crossed the yard to the barn. They saw him -lean over the rail fence for a moment as if in troubled thought, and -then he seemed to shake himself, as if to rid himself of an unpleasant -mental burden, and passed through the little sagging gate into the -stable to feed his horses. It was now noon. The sun was shining broadly -on the fields, and ploughmen were riding their horses home in their -clanking harnesses. - -"Poor father," said Alan to his uncle, as his mother retired slowly into -the house. "He seems troubled, and it may mean our ruin--absolute ruin." - -"It ain't no triflin' matter," admitted Daniel. "Thar's no tellin' how -many thousand acres he may have bought; he's keepin' somethin' to hisse'f. -I remember jest when that durn skunk of a lawyer put that flea in his -yeer. They was at Hanson's mill, an' talked confidential together mighty -nigh all mornin'. But let's not cross a bridge tell we git to it. Let's -talk about some'n else. I hain't never had a chance to tell you, but I -seed that gal in town yesterday, an' talked to 'er." - -"Did you, Uncle Ab?" the face of the young man brightened. His tone was -eager and expectant. - -"Yes, I'd hitched in the wagon-yard an' run into Hazen's drug-store to -git a box o' axle-grease, an' was comin' out with the durn stuff under -my arm when I run upon 'er a-settin' in a buggy waitin' to git a clerk to -fetch 'er out a glass o' sody-water. She recognized me, an' fer no other -earthly reason than that I'm yore uncle she spoke to me as pleasin' as -a basket o' chips. What was I to do? I never was in such a plight in my -life. I'd been unloadin' side-meat at Bartow's warehouse, an' was kivered -from head to foot with salt and grease. I didn't have on no coat, -an' the seat o' my pants was non est--I don't think thar was any est -about 'em, to tell the truth; but I knowed it wouldn't be the part of a -gentleman to let 'er set thar stretchin' 'er neck out o' socket to call -a clerk when I was handy, so I wheeled about, hopin' an' prayin' ef she -did look at me she'd take a fancy to the back o' my head, an' went in -the store an' told 'em to git a hustle on the'r-se'ves. When I come out, -she hauled me up to ax some questions about when camp-meetin' was goin' -to set in this yeer, and when Adele was comin' home. I let my box o' -axle-grease drap, an' it rolled like a wagon-wheel off duty, an' me -after it, bendin'--_bendin_' of all positions--heer an' yan in the most -ridiculous way. I tell you I'd never play croquet ur leapfrog in them -pants. All the way home I thought how I'd disgraced you." - -"Oh, you are all right, Uncle Ab," laughed Alan. "She's told me several -times that she likes you very much. She says you are genuine--genuine -through and through, and she's right." - -"I'd ruther have her say it than any other gal I know," said Abner. -"She's purty as red shoes, an', ef I'm any judge, she's genuwine too. -I've got another idee about 'er, but I ain't a-givin' it away jest now." - -"You mean that she--" - -"No," and the old man smiled mischievously, "I didn't mean nothin' o' -the sort. I wonder how on earth you could 'a' got sech a notion in yore -head. I'm goin' to see how that black scamp has left my cotton land. -I 'll bet he hain't scratched it any deeper'n a old hen would 'a' done -lookin' fer worms." - - - - -III - - -[Illustration: 0026] - -HE next morning at breakfast Alfred Bishop announced -his intention of going to Atlanta to talk to Perkins, and incidentally -to call on his brother William, who was a successful wholesale merchant -in that city. - -"I believe I would," said Mrs. Bishop. "Maybe William will tell you what -to do." - -"I'd see Perkins fust," advised Abner Daniel. "Ef I felt shore Perkins -had buncoed me I'd steer cleer o' William. I'd hate to heer 'im let out -on that subject. He's made his pile by keepin' a sharp lookout." - -"I hain't had no reason to think I have been lied to," said Bishop, -doggedly, as he poured his coffee into his saucer and shook it about to -cool. "A body could hear his death-knell rung every minute ef he'd jest -listen to old women an'--" - -"Old bachelors," interpolated Abner. "I reckon they _are_ alike. The -longer a man lives without a woman the more he gits like one. I reckon -that's beca'se the man 'at lives with one don't see nothin' wuth -copyin' in 'er, an' vice-a-versy." - -Mrs. Bishop had never been an appreciative listener to her brother's -philosophy. She ignored what he had just said and its accompanying -smile, which was always Abner's subtle apology for such observations. - -"Are you goin' to tell Adele about the railroad?" she asked. - -"I reckon I won't tell 'er to git up a' excursion over it,'fore the -cross-ties is laid," retorted Bishop, sharply, and Abner Daniel -laughed--that sort of response being in his own vein. - -"I was goin' to say," pursued the softly treading wife, "that I wouldn't -mention it to 'er, ef--ef--Mr. Perkins ain't to be relied on, beca'se -she worries enough already about our pore way o' livin' compared to her -uncle's folks. Ef she knowed how I spent last night she'd want to come -back. But I ain't a-goin' to let brother Ab skeer me yet. It is jest too -awful to think about. What on earth would we do? What would we, I say?" - -That afternoon Bishop was driven to Darley by a negro boy who was to -bring the buggy back home. He first repaired to a barber-shop, where he -was shaved, had his hair cut, and his shoes blacked; then he went to the -station half an hour before time and impatiently walked up and down the -platform till the train arrived. - -It was six o'clock when he reached Atlanta and made his way through the -jostling crowd in the big passenger depot out into the streets. He -had his choice of going at once to the residence of his brother, on -Peachtree Street, the most fashionable avenue of the city, or looking -up Perkins in his office. He decided to unburden his mind by at once -calling on the lawyer, whose office was in a tall building quite near at -hand. - -It was the hour at which Perkins usually left for home, but the old -planter found him in. - -"Oh, it's you, Mr. Bishop," he said, suavely, as he rose from his desk -in the dingy, disordered little room with its single window. He pushed -a chair forward. "Sit down; didn't know you were in town. At your -brother's, I reckon. How are the crops up the road? Too much rain last -month, I'm afraid." - -Bishop sank wearily into the chair. He had tired himself out thinking -over what he would say to the man before him and with the awful -contemplation of what the man might say to him. - -"They are doin' as well as can be expected," he made answer; but he -didn't approve of even that platitude, for he was plain and outspoken, -and hadn't come all that distance for a mere exchange of courtesies. -Still, he lacked the faculty to approach easily the subject which had -grown so heavy within the last twenty-four hours, and of which he now -almost stood in terror. - -"Well, that's good," returned Perkins. He took up a pen as he resumed his -seat, and began to touch it idly to the broad nail of his thumb. He was -a swarthy man of fifty-five or sixty, rather tall and slender, with -a bald head that sloped back sharply from heavy, jutting brows, under -which a pair of keen, black eyes shone and shifted. "Come down to see -your daughter," he said. "Good thing for her that you have a brother in -town. By-the-way, he's a fine type of a man. He's making headway, too; -his trade is stretching out in all directions--funny how different you -two are! He seems to take to a swallow-tail coat and good cigars like -a duck to water, while you want the open sky above you, sweet-smelling -fields around, an' fishing, hunting, sowing, reaping, and chickens--fat, -juicy ones, like your wife fried when I was there. And her apple-butter! -Ice-cream can' t hold a candle to it." - -"I 'lowed I'd see William 'fore I went back," said Bishop, rather -irrelevantly, and, for the lack of something else to do, he took out his -eye-glasses and perched them on his sharp nose, only, on discovering -the inutility of the act, to restore them clumsily to his pocket. He was -trying to persuade himself, in the silence that followed, that, if -the lawyer had known of his trade with the Tompkins heirs, he would -naturally have alluded to it. Then, seeing that Perkins was staring at -him rather fixedly, he said--it was a verbal plunge: "I bought some more -timber-land yesterday!" - -"Oh, you did? That's good." Perkins's eyes fluttered once or twice -before his gaze steadied itself on the face of the man before him. -"Well, as I told you, Mr. Bishop, that sort of a thing is a good -investment. I reckon it's already climbing up a little, ain't it?" - -"Not much yet." It struck Bishop that he had given the lawyer a splendid -opportunity to speak of the chief cause for an advance in value, and his -heart felt heavier as he finished. "But I took quite a slice the last -time--five thousand acres at the old figure, you know--a dollar a acre." - -"You don't say! That _was_ a slice." - -Bishop drew himself up in his chair and inhaled a deep breath. It was as -if he took into himself in that way the courage to make his next remark. - -"I got it from the Tompkins estate." - -"You don't say. I didn't know they had that much on hand." - -There was a certain skill displayed in the lawyer's choice of questions -and observations that somehow held him aloof from the unlettered man, -and there was, too, something in his easy, bland manner that defied the -open charge of underhand dealing, and yet Bishop had not paid out his -railroad fare for nothing. He was not going back to his home-circle no -wiser than when he left it. His next remark surprised himself; it was -bluntness hardened by despair. - -"Sence I bought the land I've accidentally heerd that you are some kin -o' that family." - -Perkins started slightly and raised his brows. - -"Oh yes; on my wife's side, away off, some way or other. I believe -the original Tompkins that settled there from Virginia was my wife's -grandfather. I never was much of a hand to go into such matters." - -The wily lawyer had erected as strong a verbal fence as was possible on -such short notice, and for a moment it looked as if Bishop's frankness -would not attempt to surmount it; but it did, in a fashion. - -"When I heerd that, Perkins, it was natural fer me to wonder why you, -you see--why you didn't tell _them_ about the railroad." - -The sallow features of the lawyer seemed to stiffen. He drew himself up -coldly and a wicked expression flashed in his eyes. - -"Take my advice, old man," he snarled, as he threw down his pen and -stared doggedly into Bishop's face, "stick to your farming and don't -waste your time asking a professional lawyer questions which have no -bearing on your business whatever. Now, really, do I have to explain to -you my personal reasons for not favoring the Tompkins people with a--I -may say--any piece of information?" - -Bishop was now as white as death; his worst suspicions were confirmed; -he was a ruined man; there was no further doubt about that. Suddenly he -felt unable to bridle the contemptuous fury that raged within him. - -"I think I know _why_ you didn't tell 'em," was what he hurled at the -lawyer. - -"You think you do." - -"Yes, it was beca'se you knowed no road was goin' to be built. You told -Pete Mosely the same tale you did me, an' Abe Tompkins unloaded on 'im. -That's a way you have o' doin' business." - -Perkins stood up. He took his silk hat from the top of his desk and put -it on. "Oh yes, old man," he sneered, "I'm a terribly dishonest fellow; -but I've got company in this world. Now, really, the only thing that has -worried me has been your unchristian act in buying all that land from -the Tompkins heirs at such a low figure when the railroad will advance -its value so greatly. Mr. Bishop, I thought you were a good Methodist." - -"Oh, you kin laugh an' jeer all you like," cried Bishop, "but I can -handle you fer this." - -"You are not as well versed in the law as you are in fertilizers, Mr. -Bishop," sneered the lawyer. "In order to make a case against me, you'd -have to publicly betray a matter I told to you in confidence, and then -what would you gain? I doubt if the court would force me to explain -a private matter like this where the interests of my clients are -concerned. And if the court did, I could simply show the letters I have -regarding the possible construction of a railroad in your section. If -you remember rightly, I did not say the thing was an absolute certainty. -On top of all this, you'd be obliged to prove collusion between me and -the Tompkins heirs over a sale made by their attorney, Mr. Trabue. There -is one thing certain, Mr. Bishop, and that is that you have forfeited -your right to any further confidence in this matter. If the road is -built you 'll find out about it with the rest of your people. You think -you acted wisely in attacking me this way, but you have simply cut off -your nose to spite your face. Now I have a long car-ride before me, and -it's growing late." - -Bishop stood up. He was quivering as with palsy. His voice shook and -rang like that of a madman. - -"You are a scoundrel, Perkins," he said--"a dirty black snake in the -grass. I want to tell you that." - -"Well, I hope you won't make any charge for it." - -"No, it's free." Bishop turned to the door. There was a droop upon -his whole body. He dragged his feet as he moved out into the unlighted -corridor, where he paused irresolutely. So great was his agony that he -almost obeyed an impulse to go back and fall at the feet of Perkins and -implore his aid to rescue him and his family from impending ruin. The -lawyer was moving about the room, closing his desk and drawing down the -window-shade. Up from the street came the clanging of locomotive bells -under the car-shed, the whir of street-cars, the clatter of cabs on the -cobble-stones. - -"It's no use," sighed Bishop, as he made his way down-stairs. "I'm -ruined--Alan an' Adele hain't a cent to their names, an' that devil--" -Bishop paused on the first landing like an animal at bay. He heard the -steady step of Perkins on the floor above, and for a moment his fingers -tingled with the thought of waiting there in the darkness and choking -the life out of the subtle scoundrel who had taken advantage of his -credulity. - -But with a groan that was half a prayer he went on down the steps and -out into the lighted streets. At the first corner he saw a car which -would take him to his brother's, and he hastened to catch it. - -William Bishop's house was a modern brick structure, standing on a -well-clipped lawn which held a gothic summer-house and two or three -marble statues. It was in the best portion of the avenue. Reaching it, -the planter left the car and approached the iron gate which opened on to -the granite steps leading up the terrace. It was now quite dark and many -pedestrians were hurrying homeward along the sidewalks. Obeying a sudden -impulse, the old man irresolutely passed by the gate and walked farther -up the street. He wanted to gain time, to think whether it would be -best for him in his present state of mind to meet those fashionable -relatives--above all, his matter-of-fact, progressive brother. - -"Somehow I don't feel one bit like it," he mused. "I couldn't tell -William. He'd think I wanted to borrow money an' ud git skeerd right -off. He always was afeerd I'd mismanage. An' then I'd hate to sp'ile -Adele's visit, an' she could tell thar was some'n wrong by me bein' heer -in sech a flurry. I reckon I _do_ show it. How could a body he'p it? Oh, -my Lord, have mercy! It's all gone, all--all me'n Betsy has saved." - -He turned at the corner of his brother's property and slowly retraced -his halting steps to the gate, but he did not pause, continuing his -way back towards the station. A glance at the house showed that all the -lower rooms were lighted, as well as the big prismatic lamp that hung -over the front door. Bishop saw forms in light summer clothing on the -wide veranda. "I 'll bet that tallest one is Sis," he said, pathetically. -"I jest wish I could see 'er a little while. Maybe it ud stop this awful -hurtin' a little jest to look at 'er an' heer 'er laugh like she always -did at home. She'd be brave; she wouldn't cry an' take on; but it would -hurt 'er away down in 'er heart, especially when she's mixin' with sech -high-flyers an' money-spenders. Lord, what 'll I do fer cash to send 'er -next month? I'm the land-porest man in my county." - -As he went along he passed several fashionable hotels, from which -orchestral music came. Through the plate-glass windows he saw men and -women, amid palms and flowers, dining in evening dress and sparkling -jewels. - -Reaching the station, he inquired about a train to Darley, and was told -that one left at midnight. He decided to take it, and in the mean time -he would have nothing to occupy him. He was not hungry; the travel and -worry had killed his appetite; but he went into a little caf across -the street from the depot and ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee. He -drank the coffee at a gulp, but the food seemed to stick in his throat. -After this he went into the waiting-room, which was thronged with tired -women holding babies in their arms, and roughly clad emigrants with -packs and oil-cloth bags. He sat in one of the iron-armed seats without -moving till he heard his train announced, and then he went into the -smoking-car and sat down in a corner. - -He reached Darley at half-past three in the morning and went to the only -hotel in the place. The sleepy night-clerk rose from his lounge behind -the counter in the office and assigned him to a room to which a colored -boy, vigorously rubbing his eyes, conducted him. Left alone in his room, -he sat down on the edge of his bed and started to undress, but with a -sigh he stopped. - -"What's the use o' me lyin' down almost at daybreak?" he asked -himself. "I mought as well be on the way home. I cayn't sleep nohow." - -Blowing out his lamp, he went down-stairs and roused the clerk again. -"Will I have to pay fer that bed ef I don't use it?" he questioned. - -"Why, no, Mr. Bishop," said the clerk. - -"Well, I believe I 'll start out home." - -"Is your team in town?" asked the clerk. - -"The team I'm a-goin' to use is. I'm goin' to foot it. I've done the -like before this." - -"Well, it's a purty tough stretch," smiled the clerk. "But the roads are -good." - - - - -IV - - -[Illustration: 9035] - -T was a little after sunrise; the family had just -left the breakfast-table when Bishop walked in; his shoes and trousers -were damp with dew and covered with the dust of the road. His wife saw -him entering the gate and called out to him from the hall: - -"Well, I declare! Didn't you go to Atlanta?" - -He came slowly up the steps, dragging his feet after him. He had the -appearance of a man beaten by every storm that could fall upon a human -being. - -"Yes, I went," he said, doggedly. He passed her and went into the -sitting-room, where his brother-inlaw stood at the fireplace lighting -his pipe with a live coal of fire on the tip of a stick. Abner Daniel -looked at him critically, his brows raised a little as he puffed, but he -said nothing. Mrs. Bishop came in behind her husband, sweeping him from -head to foot with her searching eyes. - -"You don't mean to tell me you walked out heer this mornin'," she cried. -"Lord have mercy!" - -"I don't know as I've prepared any set speech on the subject," said her -husband, testily; "but I walked. I could 'a' gone to a livery an' ordered -out a team, but I believe thar's more'n one way o' wearin' sackcloth -an' ashes, an' the sooner I begin the better I 'll feel." Abner Daniel -winked; the scriptural allusion appealed to his fancy, and he smiled -impulsively. - -"That thar is," he said. "Thar's a whole way an' a half way. Some folks -jest wear it next to the skin whar it don't show, with broadcloth ur -silk on the outside. They think ef it scratches a little that 'll satisfy -the Lord an' hoodwink other folks. But I believe He meant it to be whole -hog or none." - -Mrs. Bishop was deaf to this philosophy. "I don't see," she said, in her -own field of reflection--"I don't see, I say, how you got to Atlanta; -attended to business; seed Adele; an' got back heer at sunrise. Why, -Alfred--" - -But Bishop interrupted her. "Have you all had prayers yet?" - -"No, you know we hain't," said his wife, wondering over his strange -manner. "I reckon it can pass jest this once, bein' as you are tired an' -hain't had nothin' to eat." - -"No, it can't pass, nuther; I don't want to touch a mouthful; tell the -rest of 'em to come in, an' you fetch me the Book." - -"Well!" Mrs. Bishop went out and told the negro woman and her daughter -to stop washing the dishes and go in to prayer. Then she hurried out to -the back porch, where Alan was oiling his gun. - -"Something's happened to yore pa," she said. "He acts queer, an' says -sech strange things. He walked all the way from Darley this morning, an' -now wants to have prayers 'fore he touches a bite o' breakfast. I reckon -we are ruined." - -"I'm afraid that's it," opined her son, as he put down his gun and -followed her into the sitting-room. Here the two negroes stood against -the wall. Abner Daniel was smoking and Bishop held the big family Bible -on his quivering knees. - -"Ef you mean to keep it up," Abner was saying, argumentatively, "all -right an' good; but I don't believe in sudden spurts o' worship. My -hosses is hitched up ready to haul a load o' bark to the tannery, an' -it may throw me a little late at dinner; but ef you are a-goin' to make a -daily business of it I'm with you." - -"I'm a-goin' to be regular from now on," said Bishop, slowly turning the -leaves of the tome. "I forgot whar I read last." - -"You didn't finish about Samson tyin' all them foxes' tails together," -said Abner Daniel, as he knocked the hot ashes from his pipe into -the palm of his hand and tossed them into the chimney. "That sorter -interested me. I wondered how that was a-goin' to end. I'd hate to have -a passle o' foxes with torches to the'r tails turned loose in my wheat -jest 'fore cuttin' time. It must 'a' been a sight. I wondered how that -was a-goin' to end." - -"You 'll wonder how _yo're_ a-goin' to end if you don't be more -respectful," said his sister. - -"Like the foxes, I reckon," grinned Abner, "with a eternal torch tied -to me. Well, ef I am treated that away, I 'll go into the business o' -destruction an' set fire to everything I run across." - -"Ain' t you goin' to tell us what you did in Atlanta 'fore you have -prayer?" asked Mrs. Bishop, almost resentfully. - -"No, I hain't!" Bishop snapped. "I 'll tell you soon enough. I reckon I -won't read this mornin'; let's pray." - -They all knelt reverently, and yet with some curiosity, for Bishop often -suited his prayers to important occasions, and it struck them that he -might now allude to the subject bound up within him. - -"Lord, God Almighty," he began, his lower lip hanging and quivering, -as were his hands clasped in the seat of his chair, "Thou knowest the -struggle Thy creatures are makin' on the face of Thy green globe to live -up to the best of the'r lights an' standards. As I bend before Thee this -mornin' I realize how small a bein' I am in Thy sight, an' that I ort -to bow in humble submission to Thy will, an' I do. For many yeers this -family has enjoyed Thy bounteous blessings. We've had good health, -an' the influence of a Bible-readin', God-fearin' community, an' our -childern has been educated in a way that raised 'em head an' shoulders -above many o' the'r associates an' even blood kin. I don't know exactly -whar an' how I've sinned; but I know I have displeased Thee, fer Thy -scourge has fallen hard an' heavy on my ambitions. I wanted to see my -boy heer, a good, obedient son, an' my daughter thar in Atlanta, able to -hold the'r heads up among the folks they mix with, an' so I reached out. -Maybe it was forbidden fruit helt out by a snake in the devil's service. -I don't know--Thou knowest. Anyways, I steered my course out o' the calm -waters o' content an' peace o' soul into the whirlpool rapids o' -avarice an' greed. I'lowed I was in a safe haven an' didn't dream o' -the storm-clouds hangin' over me till they bust in fury on my head. Now, -Lord, my Father, give them hearts of patience an' forgiveness fer the -blunders of Thy servant. What I done, I done in the bull-headed way that -I've always done things; but I meant good an' not harm. These things we -ask in the name o' Jesus Christ, our blessed Lord an' Master. Amen." - -During the latter part of the prayer Mrs. Bishop had been staring at her -husband through her parted fingers, her face pale and agitated, and as -she rose her eyes were glued to his face. - -"Now, Alfred," she said, "what are you goin' to tell us about the -railroad? Is it as bad as brother Ab thought it would be?" - -Bishop hesitated. It seemed as if he had even then to tear himself from -the clutch of his natural stubbornness. He looked into all the anxious, -waiting faces before he spoke, and then he gave in. - -"Ab made a good guess. Ef I'd 'a' had his sense, or Alan' s, I'd 'a' made -a better trader. It's like Ab said it was, only a sight wuss--a powerful -sight wuss!" - -"Wuss?" gasped his wife, In fresh alarm. "How could it be wuss? Why, -brother Ab said--" - -"I never have told you the extent o' my draim's," went on Bishop in the -current of confession. "I never even told Perkins yesterday. Fust -an' last I've managed to rake in fully twenty thousand acres o' -mountain-land. I was goin' on what I'lowed was a dead-shore thing. -I secured all I could lay my hands on, an' I did it in secret. I was -afeerd even to tell you about what Perkins said, thinkin' it mought leak -out an' sp'ile my chances." - -"But, father," said Alan, "you didn't have enough money to buy all that -land." - -"I got it up"--Bishop's face was doggedly pale, almost defiant of his -overwhelming disaster--"I mortgaged this farm to get money to buy Maybry -and Morton's four thousand acres." - -"The farm you was going to deed to Alan?" gasped his wife. "You didn't -include that?" - -"Not in _that_ deal," groaned Bishop. "I swapped that to Phil Parsons -fer his poplar an' cypress belt." The words seemed to cut raspingly into -the silence of the big room. Abner Daniel was the only one who seemed -unmoved by the confession. He filled his pipe from the bowl on the -mantel-piece and pressed the tobacco down with his forefinger; then he -kicked the ashes in the chimney till he uncovered a small five coal. He -eyed it for a moment, then dipped it up in the shovel, rolled it into -his pipe, and began to smoke. - -"So I ain't a-goin' to git no yeerly pass over the new road," he said, -his object being to draw his brother-in-law back to Perkins's action in -the matter. - -"Perkins was a-lyin' to me," answered Bishop. "He hain't admitted it yet; -but he was a-lyin'. His object was to he'p the Tompkins sell out fer a -decent price, but he can' t be handled; he's got me on the hip." - -"No," said Abner. "I'd ruther keep on swappin' gold dollars fer -mountain-land an' lettin' it go fer taxes 'an to try to beat a lawyer at -his own game. A court-house is like the devil's abode, easy to git into, -no outlet, an' nothin' but scorch while you are thar." - -"Hush, fer the name o' goodness!" cried Mrs. Bishop, looking at her -husband. "Don't you see he's dyin' from it? Are you all a-goin' to kill -'im? What does a few acres o' land ur debts amount to beside killin' a -man 'at's been tryin' to help us all? Alfred, it ain't so mighty awful. -You know it ain't! What did me 'n' you have when we started out but -a log-house boarded up on the outside? an' now we've got our childern -educated an' all of us in good health. I railly believe it's a sin agin -God's mercy fer us to moan an' fret under a thing like this." - -"That's the talk," exclaimed Abner Daniel, enthusiastically. "Now you -are gittin' down to brass tacks. I've always contended--" - -"For God's sake, don't talk that way!" said Bishop to his wife. "You -don't mean a word of it. You are jest a-sayin' it to try to keep me from -seein' what a fool I am." - -"You needn't worry about me, father," said Alan, firmly. "I am able -to look out for myself an' for you and mother. It's done, and the best -thing to do is to look at it in a sensible way. Besides, a man with -twenty thousand acres of mountain-land paid for is not broken, by a long -jump." - -"Yes, I'm gone," said Bishop, a wavering look of gratitude in his eye as -he turned to his son. "I figured on it all last night. I can't pay the -heavy interest an' come out. I was playin' for big stakes an' got left. -Thar's nothin' to do but give up. Me buyin' so much land has made it -rise a little, but when I begin to try to sell I won't be able to give -it away." - -"Thar's some'n in that," opined Abner Daniel, as he turned to leave the -room. "I reckon I mought as well go haul that tan-bark. I reckon you -won't move out 'fore dinner." - -Alan followed him out to the wagon. - -"It's pretty tough, Uncle Ab," he said. "I hadn't the slightest idea it -was so bad." - -"I wasn't so shore," said Daniel. "But I was jest a-thinkin' in thar. -You've got a powerful good friend in Rayburn Miller. He's the sharpest -speculator in North Georgia; ef I was you, I'd see him an' lay the whole -thing before him. He 'll be able to give you good advice, an' I'd take -it. A feller that's made as much money as he has at his age won't give a -friend bad advice." - -"I thought of him," said Alan; "but I am a little afraid he will think -we want to borrow money, and he never lets out a cent without the best -security." - -"Well, you needn't be afeerd on that score," laughed the old man, as -he reached up on the high wagon-seat for his whip. "I once heerd 'im say -that business an' friendship wouldn't mix any better'n oil an' water." - - - - -V - - -[Illustration: 9042] - -HE following Saturday Alan went to Darley, as he -frequently did, to spend Sunday. On such visits he usually stayed at the -Johnston House, a great, old-fashioned brick building that had survived -the Civil War and remained untouched by the shot and shell that hurtled -over it during that dismal period when most of the population had -"refugeed farther south." It had four stories, and was too big for the -town, which could boast of only two thousand inhabitants, one-third of -whom were black. However, the smallness of the town was in the hotel's -favor, for in a place where no one would have patronized a second-class -hotel, opposition would have died a natural death. The genial proprietor -and his family were of the best blood, and the Johnston House was a sort -of social club-house, where the church people held their affairs and the -less serious element gave dances. To be admitted to the hotel without -having to pay for one's dinner was the hallmark of social approval. It -was near the ancient-looking brick car-shed under which the trains of -two main lines ran, and a long freight warehouse of the same date -and architecture. Around the hotel were clustered the chief financial -enterprises of the town--its stores, post-office, banks, and a hall -for theatrical purposes. Darley was the seat of its county, and another -relic of the days before the war was its court house. The principal -sidewalks were paved with brick, which in places were damp and green, -and sometimes raised above their common level by the undergrowing roots -of the sycamore-trees that edged the streets. - -In the office of the hotel, just after registering his name, Alan -met his friend Rayburn Miller, for whose business ability, it may be -remembered, Abner Daniel had such high regard. He was a fine-looking man -of thirty-three, tall and of athletic build; he had dark eyes and hair, -and a ruddy, out-door complexion. - -"Hello," he said, cordially. "I thought you might get in to-day, so I -came round to see. Sorry you've taken a room. I wanted you to sleep with -me to-night. Sister's gone, and no one is there but the cook. Hello, I -must be careful. I'm drumming for business right under Sanford's nose." - -"I 'll make you stay with me to make up for it," said Alan, as the clerk -behind the counter laughed good-naturedly over the allusion to himself. - -"Blamed if I don't think about it," said Miller. "Come round to the -office. I want to talk to you. I reckon you've got every plough going -such weather as this." - -"Took my horse out of the field to drive over," said Alan, as they -went out and turned down to a side street where there was a row of law -offices, all two-roomed buildings, single-storied, built of brick, and -bearing battered tin signs. One of these buildings was Miller's, which, -like all its fellows, had its door wide open, thus inviting all the -lawyers in the "row" and all students of law to enter and borrow books -or use the ever-open desk. - -Rayburn Miller was a man among ten thousand in his class. Just after -being graduated at the State University he was admitted to the bar and -took up the practice of law. He could undoubtedly have made his way at -this alone, had not other and more absorbing talents developed within -him. Having had a few thousand dollars left him at his father's death, -he began to utilize this capital in "note shaving," and other methods -of turning over money for a handsome profit furnished by the unsettled -conditions, the time, and locality. He soon became an adept in many -lines of speculation, and as he was remarkably shrewd and cautious, it -is not to be wondered at that he soon accumulated quite a fortune. - -"Take a seat," he said to Alan, as they went into the office, and he -threw himself into the revolving-chair at his littered desk. "I want to -talk to you. I suppose you are in for some fun. The boys are getting -up a dance at the hotel and they want your dollar to help pay the band. -It's a good one this time. They've ordered it from Chattanooga. It will -be down on the seven-thirty-five. Got a match?" - -Alan had not, and Miller turned his head to the open door. An old negro -happened to be passing, with an axe on his shoulder. - -"Heigh, there, Uncle Ned!" Miller called out. - -The negro had passed, but he heard his name called and he came back and -looked in at the door. - -"Want me, Marse Rayburn?" - -"Yes, you old scamp; get me a match or I 'll shoot the top of your head -off." - -"All right, suh; all right, Marse Rayburn!" - -"You ought to know him," said Miller, with a smile, as the negro hurried -into the adjoining office. "His wife cooks for Colonel Barclay; he -might tell you if Miss Dolly's going to-night, but I know she is. Frank -Hillhouse checked her name off the list, and I heard him say she'd -accepted. By-the-way, that fellow will do to watch. I think he and the -Colonel are pretty thick." - -"Will you never let up on that?" Alan asked with a flush. - -"I don't know that I shall," laughed Rayburn. "It seems so funny to see -you in love, or, rather, to see you think you are." - -"I have never said I was," said Alan, sharply. - -"But you show it so blamed plain," said Miller. - -"Heer 'tis, Marse Rayburn. Marse Trabue said you could have a whole box -ef you'd put up wid sulphur ones." - -Miller took the matches from the outstretched hand and tossed a cigar -to Alan. "Say, Uncle Ned," he asked, "do you know that gentleman?" -indicating Alan with a nod of his head. - -A quizzical look dawned in the old negro's eyes, and then he gave a -resounding guffaw and shook all over. - -"I reckon I know his hoss, Marse Rayburn," he tittered. - -"That's a good one on you, Alan," laughed Miller. "He knows your -'hoss.'I 'll have to spring that on you when I see you two together." - -As the negro left the office Mr. Trabue leaned in the doorway, holding -his battered silk hat in his hand and mopping his perspiring face. - -He nodded to Alan, and said to Miller: "Do you want to write?" - -"Not any more for you, thanks," said Miller. "I have the back-ache now -from those depositions I made out for you yesterday." - -"Oh, I don't mean that," the old lawyer assured him, "but I had to -borrow yore ink just now, and seein' you at yore desk I thought you -might need it." - -"Oh, if I do," jested Miller, "I can buy another bottle at the -book-store. They pay me a commission on the ink I furnish the row. They -let me have it cheap by the case. What stumps me is that you looked -in to see if I needed it. You are breaking the rule, Mr. Trabue. They -generally make me hunt for my office furniture when I need it. They've -borrowed everything I have except my iron safe. Their ignorance of the -combination, its weight, and their confirmed laziness is all that saved -it." - -When the old lawyer had gone the two friends sat and smoked in silence -for several minutes. Alan was studying Miller's face. Something told him -that the news of his father's disaster had reached him, and that Miller -was going to speak of it. He was not mistaken, for the lawyer soon -broached the subject. - -"I've been intending to ride out to see you almost every day this week," -he said, "but business has always prevented my leaving town." - -"Then you have heard--" - -"Yes, Alan, I'm sorry, but it's all over the country. A man's bad luck -spreads as fast as good war news. I heard it the next day after your -father returned from Atlanta, and saw the whole thing in a flash. The -truth is, Perkins had the cheek to try his scheme on me. I'm the first -target of every scoundrel who has something to sell, and I've learned -many of their tricks. I didn't listen to all he had to say, but got rid -of him as soon as I could. You must not blame the old man. As I see it -now, it was a most plausible scheme, and the shame of it is that no one -can be handled for it. I don't think the Tompkins heirs knew anything of -Perkins's plans at all, except that he was to get a commission, perhaps, -if the property was sold. Trabue is innocent, too--a cat's-paw. As for -Perkins, he has kept his skirts clear of prosecution. Your father will -have to grin and bear it. He really didn't pay a fabulous price for -the land, and if he were in a condition to hold on to it for, say, -twenty-five years, he might not lose money; but who can do that sort -of thing? I have acres and acres of mountain-land offered me at a much -lower figure, but what little money I've made has been made by turning -my capital rapidly. Have you seen Dolly since it happened?" - -"No, not for two weeks," replied Alan. "I went to church with her Sunday -before last, and have not seen her since. I was wondering if she had -heard about it." - -"Oh yes; she's heard it from the Colonel. It may surprise you, but the -thing has rubbed him the wrong way." - -"Why, I don't understand," exclaimed Alan. "Has he--" - -"The old man has had about two thousand acres of land over near your -father's purchases, and it seems that he was closely watching all your -father's deals, and, in spite of his judgment to the contrary, Mr. -Bishop's confidence in that sort of real-estate has made him put a -higher valuation on his holdings over there. So you see, now that your -father's mistake is common talk, he is forced to realize a big slump, -and he wants to blame some one for it. I don't know but that your father -or some one else made him an offer for his land which he refused. So you -see it is only natural for him to be disgruntled." - -"I see," said Alan. "I reckon you heard that from Miss Dolly?" - -Miller smoked slowly. - -"Yes"--after a pause--"I dropped in there night before last and she told -me about it. She's not one of your surface creatures. She talks sensibly -on all sorts of subjects. Of course, she's not going to show her heart -to me, but she couldn't hide the fact that your trouble was worrying her -a good deal. I think she'd like to see you at the ball to-night. Frank -Hillhouse will give you a dance or two. He's going to be hard to -beat. He's the most attentive fellow I ever run across. He's got a new -buggy--a regular hug-me-tight--and a high-stepping Kentucky mare for the -summer campaign. He 'll have some money at his father's death, and all -the old women say he's the best catch in town because he doesn't drink, -has a Sunday-school class, and will have money. We are all going to wear -evening-suits to-night. There are some girls from Rome visiting Hattie -Alexander, and we don't want them to smell hay in our hair. You know how -the boys are; unless all of us wear spike-tails no one will, so we took -a vote on it and we 'll be on a big dike. There 'll be a devilish lot of -misfits. Those who haven't suits are borrowing in all directions. Frank -Buford will rig out in Colonel Day's antebellum toggery. Did you bring -yours?" - -"It happens to be at Parker's shop, being pressed," said Alan. - -"I've had three in the last six years," laughed Miller. "You know how -much larger Todd Selman is than I am; he bursted one of mine from collar -to waist last summer at the Springs, and sweated so much that you could -dust salt out of it for a month afterwards. I can't refuse 'em, God -bless 'em! Jeff Higgins married in my best Prince Albert last week and -spilled boiled custard on it; but he's got a good wife and a fair job on -a railroad in Tennessee now. I'd have given him the coat, but he'd never -have accepted it, and been mad the rest of his life at my offer. Parker -said somebody had tried to scrape the custard off with a sharp knife, -and that he had a lot of trouble cleaning it. I wore the coat yesterday -and felt like I was going to be married. Todd must have left some of -his shivers in it I reckon that's as near as I 'll ever come to the -hitching-post." - -Just then a tall, thin man entered. He wore a rather threadbare -frock-coat, unevenly bound with braid, and had a sallow, sunken, and -rather long face. It was Samuel Craig, one of the two private bankers of -the town. He was about sixty years of age and had a pronounced stoop. - -"Hello!" he said, pleasantly; "you young bloods are a-goin' to play -smash with the gals' hearts to-night, I reckon. I say go it while you -are young. Rayburn, I want to get one of them iron-clad mortgage-blanks. -I've got a feller that is disposed to wiggle, an' I want to tie 'im up. -The inventor of that form is a blessing to mankind." - -"Help yourself," smiled Miller. "I was just telling Mr. Trabue that I -was running a stationery store, and if I was out of anything in the line -I'd order it for him." - -The banker laughed good-humoredly as he selected several of the blanks -from the drawer Rayburn had opened in the desk. - -"I hope you won't complain as much of hard times as Jake Pitner does," -he chuckled. "I passed his store the other day, where he was standin' -over some old magazines that he'd marked down. - -"'How's trade?' I asked 'im. 'It's gone clean to hell,' he said, and I -noticed he'd been drinking. 'I 'll give you a sample of my customers,' -he went on. 'A feller from the mountains come in jest now an' asked the -price of these magazines. I told him the regular price was twenty-five -cents apiece, but I'd marked 'em down to five. He looked at 'em for about -half a hour an' then said he wasn't goin' out o' town till sundown an' -believed he'd take one if I'd read it to him.'" - -Craig laughed heartily as he finished the story, and Alan and Miller -joined in. - -"I want you to remember that yarn when you get to over-checkin' on me," -said Craig, jestingly. "I was just noticing this morning that you have -drawn more than your deposit." - -"Over-checked?" said Miller. "You 'll think I have when all my checks get -in. I mailed a dozen to-day. They 'll slide in on you in about a week and -you 'll telegraph _Bradstreet's_ to know how I stand. This is a _fine_ -banker," Miller went on to Alan. "He twits me about over-checking -occasionally. Let me tell you something. Last year I happened to have -ten thousand dollars on my hands waiting for a cotton factory to begin -operations down in Alabama, and as I had no idea when the money would -be called for I placed it with his nibs here 'on call.'Things got in a -tangle at the mill and they kept waiting, and our friend here concluded -I had given it to him." - -"I thought you had forgotten you had it," said Craig, with another of -his loud, infectious laughs. - -"Anyway," went on Miller, "I got a sudden order for the amount and ran -in on him on my way from the post-office. I made out my check and stuck -it under his nose. Great Scott! you ought to have seen him wilt. I don't -believe he had half of it in the house, but he had ten million excuses. -He kept me waiting two days and hustled around to beat the band. He -thought I was going to close him up." - -"That was a close shave," admitted Craig. "Never mind about the -over-checking, my boy; keep it up, if it will help you. You are doing -altogether too much business with the other bank to suit me, anyway." - - - - -VI - - -[Illustration: 9051] - -HE young people assembled slowly at the dance that -evening. Towards dark it had begun raining, and according to custom two -livery-stable carriages, called "hacks," were engaged to convey all the -couples to and from the hotel. There was no disputing over who should -have the first use of the vehicles, for the young ladies who had the -reputation of getting ready early on such occasions were gone after -first, and those who liked to take their time in making preparations -were left till later. - -Everything in life is relative, and to young people who often went to -even less pretentious entertainments this affair was rather impressive -in its elegance. Lamps shone everywhere, and bunches of candles blazed -and sputtered in nooks hung about with evergreens. The girls were -becomingly attired in light evening-gowns, and many of them were -good-looking, refined, and graceful. All were soft-spoken and easy in -their manners, and either wore or carried flowers. The evening-suits of -the young men were well in evidence, and more noticeable to the wearers -themselves than they would have been to a spectator used to conventional -style of dress. They could be seen in all stages of inadaptability to -figures too large or too small, and even after the dance began -there were several swaps, and a due amount of congratulation on the -improvement from the appreciative fair sex. The young lady accompanying -each young man had pinned a small bouquet on his lapel, so that it -would have been impossible to tell whether a man had a natural taste for -flowers or was the willing victim to a taste higher than his own. - -Rayburn Miller and Alan sat smoking and talking in the room of the -latter till about half-past nine o' clock, and then they went down. As -a general rule, young men were expected to escort ladies to dances, when -the young men went at all; but Alan was often excused from so doing -on account of living in the country, and Miller had broken down every -precedent in that respect and never invited a girl to go with him. He -atoned for this shortcoming by contributing most liberally to every -entertainment given by the young people, even when he was out of town. -He used to say he liked to graze and nibble at such things and feel free -to go to bed or business at will. - -As the two friends entered the big parlor, Alan espied the girl about -whom he had been thinking all day. She was seated in one of the deep, -lace-curtained windows behind the piano. Frank Hillhouse was just -presenting to her a faultlessly attired travelling salesman. At this -juncture one of the floor-managers with a white rosette on his lapel -called Miller away to ask his advice about some details, and Alan turned -out of the parlor into the wide corridor which ran through the house. He -did this in obedience to another unwritten law governing Darley's social -intercourse--that it would be impolite for a resident gentleman to -intrude himself upon a stranger who had just been introduced to a lady. -So he went down to the ground floor and strolled into the office. It was -full of tobacco smoke and a throng of men, some of whom were from the -country and others from the town, drawn to the hotel by the festivities. -From the office a door opened into a bar and billiard room, whence came -the clicking of ivory balls and the grounding of cues. Another door led -into the large dining-room, which had been cleared of its tables that it -might be used for dancing. There was a sawing of fiddles, the twanging -of guitars, the jingle of tambourines, and the groaning of a bass-viol. -The musicians, black and yellow, occupied chairs on one of the tables, -which had been placed against the wall, and one of the floor-managers -was engaged in whittling paraffine-candles over the floor and rubbing -it in with his feet. Seeing what he was doing, some of the young men, -desirous of trying their new patent-leather pumps, came in and began to -waltz singly and in couples. - -When everything was in readiness the floor-managers piloted the dancers -down-stairs. From the office Alan saw them filing into the big room and -taking seats in the chairs arranged against the walls on all sides. -He saw Frank Hillhouse and Dolly Barclay sit down near the band; the -salesman had disappeared. Alan threw his cigar away and went straight to -her. - -"Oh, here you are," laughed Frank Hillhouse, as Alan shook hands with -her. "I told Miss Dolly coming on that the west wind would blow you this -way, and when I saw Ray Miller just now I knew you'd struck the town." - -"It wasn't exactly the wind," replied Alan. "I'm afraid you will forget -me if I stay on the farm all the time." - -"We certainly are glad to have you," smiled Miss Barclay. - -"I knew she'd say that--I knew it--I knew it," said Hillhouse. "A girl -can always think of nicer things to say to a feller than his rival can. -Old Squire Trabue was teasing me the other day about how hard you was -to beat, Bishop, but I told him the bigger the war the more victory for -somebody; and, as the feller said, I tote fair and am above board." - -Alan greeted this with an all but visible shudder. There was much in his -dignified bearing and good appearance to commend him to the preference -of any thinking woman, especially when contrasted to Hill-house, who -was only a little taller than Dolly, and was showing himself even at -a greater disadvantage in his unrefined allusions to his and Alan' s -attentions to her. Indeed, Alan was sorry for the spectacle the fellow -was making of himself, and tried to pass it over. - -"I usually come in on Saturdays," he explained. - -"That's true," said Dolly, with one of her rare smiles. - -"Yes"--Hillhouse took another header into forbidden waters--"he's about -joined your church, they tell me." - -Alan treated this with an indulgent smile. He did not dislike Hillhouse, -but he did not admire him, and he had never quite liked his constant -attentions to Miss Barclay. But it was an acknowledged fact among the -society girls of Darley that if a girl refused to go out with any young -man in good standing it was not long before she was left at home oftener -than was pleasant. Dolly was easily the best-looking girl in the room; -not, perhaps, the most daintily pretty, but she possessed a beauty which -strength of character and intellect alone could give to a face already -well featured. Even her physical beauty alone was of that texture which -gives the beholder an agreeable sense of solidity. She was well formed, -above medium height, had a beautiful neck and shoulders, dark-gray eyes, -and abundant golden-brown hair. - -"May I see your card?" asked Alan. "I came early to secure at least -one." - -At this Frank Hillhouse burst out laughing and she smiled up at Alan. -"He's been teasing me all evening about the predicament I'm in," she -explained. "The truth is, I'm not going to dance at all. The presiding -elder happened in town to-day, on his way through, and is at our house. -You know how bitter he is against church-members dancing. At first -mamma said I shouldn't come a step; but Mr. Hillhouse and I succeeded in -getting up a compromise. I can only look on. But my friends are having -pity on me and filling my card for what they call stationary dances." - -Alan laughed as he took the card, which was already almost filled, and -wrote his name in one of the blank spaces. Some one called Hillhouse -away, and then an awkward silence fell upon them. For the first time -Alan noticed a worried expression on her face, now that it was in -repose, but it lighted up again when she spoke. - -"You have no button-hole bouquet," she said, noticing his bare lapel. -"That's what you get for not bringing a girl. Let me make you one." - -"I wish you would," he said, thoughtfully, for as she began to search -among her flowers for some rosebuds and leaves he noted again the -expression of countenance that had already puzzled him. - -"Since you are so popular," he went on, his eyes on her deft fingers, -"I'd better try to make another engagement. I'd as well confess that -I came in town solely to ask you to let me take you to church tomorrow -evening." - -He saw her start; she raised her eyes to his almost imploringly, and -then she looked down. He saw her breast heave suddenly as with tightened -lips she leaned forward to pin the flowers on his coat. The jewels in -her rings flashed under his eyes; there was a delicate perfume in the -air about her glorious head. He had never seen her look so beautiful -before. He wondered at her silence at just such a moment. The tightness -of her lips gave way and they fell to trembling when she started to -speak. - -"I hardly know what to say," she began. "I--I--you know I said the -presiding elder was at our house, and--" - -"Oh, I understand," broke in Alan; "that's all right. Of course, use -your own--" - -"No, I must be plain with you," she broke in, raising a pair of -helpless, tortured eyes to his; "you will not think I had anything to do -with it. In fact, my heart is almost broken. I'm very, very unhappy." - -He was still totally at sea as to the cause of her strange distress. -"Perhaps you'd rather not tell me at all," he said, sympathetically; his -tone never had been so tender. "You need not, you know." - -"But it's a thing I could not keep from you long, anyway," she said, -tremulously. "In fact, it is due you--an explanation, I mean. Oh, Alan, -papa has taken up the idea that we--that we like each other too much, -and--" - -The life and soul seemed to leave Alan' s face. - -"I understand," he heard himself saying; "he does not want me to visit -you any more." - -She made no reply; he saw her catch a deep breath, and her eyes went -down to her flowers. The music struck up. The mulatto leader stood -waving his fiddle and calling for "the grand march" in loud, melodious -tones. There was a scrambling for partners; the young men gave their -left arms to the ladies and merrily dragged them to their places. - -"I hope you do not blame me--that you don't think that I--" but the -clatter and clamor ingulfed her words. - -"No, not at all," he told her; "but it's awful--simply awful I I know -you are a true friend, and that's some sort of comfort." - -"And I always shall be," she gulped. "You must try not to feel hurt. You -know my father is a very peculiar man, and has an awful will, and nobody -was ever so obstinate." - -Then Alan' s sense of the great injustice of the thing rose up within -him and his blood began to boil. "Perhaps I ought to take my name off -your card," he said, drawing himself up slightly; "if he were to hear -that I talked to you to-night he might make it unpleasant for you." - -"If you do I shall never--_never forgive you_," she answered, in a voice -that shook. There was, too, a glistening in her eyes, as if tears were -springing. "Wouldn't that show that you harbored ill-will against me, -when I am so helpless and troubled?" - -"Yes, it would; and I shall come back," he made answer. He rose, for -Hillhouse, calling loudly over his shoulder to some one, was thrusting -his bowed arm down towards her. - -"I beg your pardon," he said to Dolly. "I didn't know they had called -the march. We've got some ice-cream hid out up-stairs, and some of us -are going for it. Won't you take some, Bishop?" - -"No, thank you," said Alan, and they left him. - - - - -VI - - -[Illustration: 9058] - -LAN made his way along the wall, out of the track of the promenaders, -into the office, anxious to escape being spoken to by any one. But here -several jovial men from the mountains who knew him intimately gathered -around him and began to make laughing remarks about his dress. - -"You look fer the world like a dirt-dauber." This comparison to a kind -of black wasp came from Pole Baker, a tall, heavily built farmer with -an enormous head, thick eyebrows, and long, shaggy hair. He lived on -Bishop's farm, and had been brought up with Alan. "I 'll be derned ef -you ain't nimble on yore feet, though. I've seed you cut the pigeon-wing -over on Mossy Creek with them big, strappin' gals 'fore you had yore -sights as high as these town folks." - -"It's that thar vest that gits me," said another. "I reckon it's cut -low so you won't drap saft victuals on it; but I guess you don't do much -eatin' with that collar on. It don't look like yore Adam's-apple could -stir a peg under it." - -With a good-natured reply and a laugh he did not feel, Alan hurried out -of the office and up to his room, where he had left his lamp burning. -Rayburn Miller's hat and light overcoat were on the bed. Alan sat down -in one of the stiff-backed, split-bottom chairs and stared straight in -front of him. Never in his life had he suffered as he was now suffering. -He could see no hope ahead; the girl he loved was lost to him. Her -father had heard of the foolhardiness of old man Bishop, and, like many -another well-meaning parent, had determined to save his daughter from -the folly of marrying a penniless man, who had doubtless inherited his -father's lack of judgment and caution. - -There was a rap on the closed door, and immediately afterwards Rayburn -Miller turned the knob and came in. His kindly glance swept the face of -his friend, and he said, with forced lightness: - -"I was doing the cake-walk with that fat Howard girl from Rome when I -saw you leave the room. She can' t hide the fact that she is from a city -of ten thousand population. She kept calling my attention to what our -girls had on and sniggering. She's been to school in Boston and looked -across the ocean from there. You know I don't think we lead the world, -but it makes me fighting mad to have our town sneered at. When she was -making so much fun of the girls' dresses, I came in an inch of asking -her if she was a dressmaker. By God, I did! You remember," Miller went -on lightly, as if he had divined Alan' s misery and was trying to cheer -him up--"you remember how Percy Lee, Hamilton's shoe-clerk, hit back -at that Savannah girl. She was stopping in this house for a month one -summer, and he called on her and took her driving several times; but one -day she let herself out. 'Everything is so different up here, Mr. -Lee,'she giggled. 'Down home, girls in good society never receive young -men in your business.'It was a lick between the eyes; but old North -Georgia was ready for it. 'Oh,'said Percy, whose mother's blood is as -blue as indigo, 'the Darley girls draw the line, too; I only get to go -with hotel girls.'" - -Alan looked up and smiled, but his face seemed frozen. Miller sat down, -and an awkward silence fell for several minutes. It was broken by the -lawyer. - -"I don't want to bore you, old man," he said, "but I just had to follow -you. I saw from your looks as you left the ballroom that something was -wrong, and I am afraid I know what it is." - -"You think you do?" asked Alan, flashing a glance of surprise upward. - -"Yes. You see, Colonel Barclay is a rough, outspoken man, and he made a -remark the other day which reached me. I wasn't sure it was true, so I -didn't mention it; but I reckon my informant knew what he was talking -about." - -Alan nodded despondently. "I asked her to go to church with me to-morrow -night. She was awfully embarrassed, and finally told me of her father's -objections." - -"I think I know what fired the old devil up," said Miller. - -"You do?" - -"Yes, it was that mistake of your father's. As I told you, the Colonel -is as mad as a wet hen about the whole thing. He's got a rope tied to -every nickel he's got, and he intends to leave Dolly a good deal of -money. He thinks Frank Hillhouse is just the thing; he shows that -as plain as day. He noticed how frequently you came to see Dolly and -scented danger ahead, and simply put his foot down on it, just as -fathers have been doing ever since the Flood. My dear boy, you've got -a bitter pill to take, but you've got to swallow it like a man. You've -reached a point where two roads fork. It is for you to decide which one -you 'll take." - -Alan made no reply. Rayburn Miller lighted a cigar and began to smoke -steadily. There was a sound of boisterous laughter in a room across -the corridor. It had been set aside as the dressing-room for the male -revellers, and some of them were there, ordering drinks up from the bar. -Now and then from below came muffled strains of music and the monotonous -shuffling of feet. - -"It's none of my business," Miller burst out, suddenly; "but I'm friend -enough of yours to feel this thing like the devil. However, I don't know -what to say. I only wish I knew how far you've gone into it." - -Alan smiled mechanically. - -"If you can' t look at me and see how far I've gone you are blind," he -said. - -"I don't mean that," replied Miller. "I was wondering how far you -had committed yourself--oh, damn it!--made love, and all that sort of -thing." - -"I've never spoken to her on the subject," Alan informed him, gloomily. - -"Good, good! Splendid!" - -Alan stared in surprise. - -"I don't understand," he said. "She knows--that is, I think she knows -how I feel, and I have hoped that--" - -"Never mind about that," interrupted Miller, laconically. "There is a -chance for both of you if you 'll turn square around like sensible human -beings and look the facts in the face." - -"You mean--" - -"That it will be stupid, childish idiocy for either or both of you to -let this thing spoil your lives." - -"I don't understand you." - -"Well, you will before I'm through with you, and I 'll do you up brown. -There are simply two courses open to you, my boy. One is to treat -Colonel Barclay's wishes with dignified respect, and bow and retire just -as any European gentleman would do when told that his pile was too small -to be considered." - -"And the other?" asked Alan, sharply. - -"The other is to follow in the footsteps of nearly every sentimental -fool that ever was born, and go around looking like a last year's -bird's-nest, looking good for nothing, and being good for nothing; or, -worse yet, persuading the girl to elope, and thus angering her father so -that he will cut her out of what's coming to her and what is her right, -my boy. She may be willing to live on a bread-and-water diet for a -while, but she 'll lose flesh and temper in the long run. If you don't -make as much money for her as you cause her to lose she 'll tell you -of it some day, or at least let you see it, an' that's as long as it's -wide. You are now giving yourself a treatment in self-hypnotism, telling -yourself that life has not and cannot produce a thing for you beyond -that particular pink frock and yellow head. I know how you feel. I've -been there six different times, beginning with a terrible long first -attack and dwindling down, as I became inoculated with experience, till -now the complaint amounts to hardly more than a momentary throe when -I see a fresh one in a train for an hour's ride. I can do you a lot -of good if you 'll listen to me. I 'll give you the benefit of my -experience." - -"What good would your devilish experience do me?" said Alan, -impatiently. - -"It would fit any man's case if he'd only believe it. I've made a study -of love. I've observed hundreds of typical cases, and watched marriage -from inception through protracted illness or boredom down to dumb -resignation or sudden death. I don't mean that no lovers of the ideal, -sentimental brand are ever happy after marriage, but I do believe that -open-eyed courtship will beat the blind sort all hollow, and that, in -nine cases out of ten, if people were mated by law according to the -judgment of a sensible, open-eyed jury, they would be happier than they -now are. Nothing ever spoken is truer than the commandment, 'Thou shalt -have no other God but me.'Let a man put anything above the principle -of living right and he will be miserable. The man who holds gold as the -chief thing in life will starve to death in its cold glitter, while a -pauper in rags will have a laugh that rings with the music of immortal -joy. In the same way the man who declares that only one woman is suited -to him is making a god of her--raising her to a seat that won't support -her dead, material weight. I frankly believe that the glamour of love -is simply a sort of insanity that has never been correctly named and -treated because so many people have been the victims of it." - -"Do you know," Alan burst in, almost angrily, "when you talk that way -I think you are off. I know what's the matter with you; you have simply -frittered away your heart, your ability to love and appreciate a good -woman. Thank Heaven! your experience has not been mine. I don't see how -you could ever be happy with a woman. I couldn't look a pure wife in the -face and remember all the flirtations you've indulged in--that is, if -they were mine." - -"There you go," laughed Miller; "make it personal, that's the only way -the average lover argues. I am speaking in general terms. Let me finish. -Take two examples: first, the chap crazily in love, who faces life -with the red rag of his infatuation--his girl. No parental objection, -everything smooth, and a car-load of silverware--a clock for every room -in the house. They start out on their honeymoon, doing the chief cities -at the biggest hotels and the theatres in the three-dollar seats. They -soon tire of themselves and lay it to the trip. Every day they rake away -a handful of glamour from each other, till, when they reach home, -they have come to the conclusion that they are only human, and not the -highest order at that. For a while they have a siege of discontent, -wondering where it's all gone. Finally, the man is forced to go about -his work, and the woman gets to making things to go on the backs of -chairs and trying to spread her trousseau over the next year, and they -begin to court resignation. Now if they had not had the glamour attack -they would have got down to business sooner, that's all, and they -would have set a better example to other plungers. Now for the second -illustration. Poverty on one side, boodle on the other; more glamour -than in other case, because of the gulf between. They get married--they -have to; they've inherited the stupid idea that the Lord is at the -bottom of it and that the glamour is His smile. Like the other couple, -their eyes are finally opened to the facts, and they begin to secretly -wonder what it's all about; the one with the spondoolix wonders harder -than the one who has none. If the man has the money, he will feel good -at first over doing so much for his affinity; but if he has an eye for -earthly values--and good business men have--there will be times when he -will envy Jones, whose wife had as many rocks as Jones. Love and capital -go together like rain and sunshine; they are productive of something. -Then if the woman has the money and the man hasn't, there's tragedy--a -slow cutting of throats. She is irresistibly drawn with the rest of the -world into the thought that she has tied herself and her money to an -automaton, for such men are invariably lifeless. They seem to lose the -faculty of earning money--in any other way. And as for a proper title -for the penniless young idiot that publicly advertises himself as worth -enough, in himself, for a girl to sacrifice her money to live with -him--well, the unabridged does not furnish it. Jack Ass in bill-board -letters would come nearer to it than anything that occurs to me now. I'm -not afraid to say it, for I know you'd never cause any girl to give up -her fortune without knowing, at least, whether you could replace it or -not." - -Alan rose and paced the room. "That," he said, as he stood between the -lace curtains at the window, against which the rain beat steadily--"that -is why I feel so blue. I don't believe Colonel Barclay would ever -forgive her, and I'd die before I'd make her lose a thing." - -"You are right," returned Miller, relighting his cigar at the lamp, "and -he'd cut her off without a cent. I know him. But what is troubling me -is that you may not be benefited by my logic. Don't allow this to go any -further. Let her alone from to-night on and you 'll find in a few months -that you are resigned to it, just like the average widower who wants to -get married six months after his loss. And when she is married and has a -baby, she 'll meet you on the street and not care a rap whether her hat's -on right or not. She 'll tell her husband all about it, and allude to you -as her first, second, or third fancy, as the case may be. I have faith -in your future, but you've got a long, rocky row to hoe, and a thing -like this could spoil your usefulness and misdirect your talents. If -I could see how you could profit by waiting I'd let your flame burn -unmolested; but circumstances are agin us." - -"I'd already seen my duty," said Alan, in a low tone, as he came away -from the window. "I have an engagement with her later, and the subject -shall be avoided." - -"Good man!" Miller's cigar was so short that he stuck the blade of his -penknife through it that he might enjoy it to the end without burning -his fingers. "That's the talk! Now I must mosey on down-stairs and dance -with that Miss Fewclothes from Rome--the one with the auburn tresses, -that says 'delighted' whenever she is spoken to." - -Alan went back to the window. The rain was still beating on it. For a -long time he stood looking out into the blackness. The bad luck which -had come to his father had been a blow to him; but its later offspring -had the grim, cold countenance of death itself. He had never realized -till now that Dolly Barclay was so much a part of his very life. For a -moment he almost gave way to a sob that rose and struggled within him. -He sat down again and clasped his hands before him in dumb self-pity. He -told himself that Rayburn Miller was right, that only weak men would act -contrary to such advice. No, it was over--all, all over. - - - - -VIII - - -[Illustration: 9067] - -FTER the dance Frank Hillhouse took Dolly home in one of the drenched -and bespattered hacks. The Barclay residence was one of the best-made -and largest in town. It was an old-style Southern frame-house, painted -white, and had white-columned verandas on two sides. It was in the edge -of the town, and had an extensive lawn in front and almost a little farm -behind. - -Dolly's mother had never forgotten that she was once a girl herself, and -she took the most active interest in everything pertaining to Dolly's -social life. On occasions like the one just described she found it -impossible to sleep till her daughter returned, and then she slipped -up-stairs, and made the girl tell all about it while she was disrobing. -To-night she was more alert and wide-awake than usual. She opened the -front door for Dolly and almost stepped on the girl's heels as she -followed her up-stairs. - -"Was it nice?" she asked. - -"Yes, very," Dolly replied. Reaching her room, she turned up the -low-burning lamp, and, standing before a mirror, began to take some -flowers out of her hair. Mrs. Barclay sat down on the edge of the -high-posted mahogany bed and raised one of her bare feet and held it -in her hand. She was a thin woman with iron-gray hair, and about fifty -years of age. She looked as if she were cold; but, for reasons of her -own, she was not willing for Dolly to remark it. - -"Who was there?" she asked. - -"Oh, everybody." - -"Is that so? I thought a good many would stay away because it was a bad -night; but I reckon they are as anxious to go as we used to be. Then you -all did have the hacks?" - -"Yes, they had the hacks." There was a pause, during which one pair of -eyes was fixed rather vacantly on the image in the mirror; the other -pair, full of impatient inquiry, rested alternately on the image and its -maker. - -"I don't believe you had a good time," broke the silence, in a rising, -tentative tone. - -"Yes, I did, mother." - -"Then what's the matter with you?" Mrs. Barclay's voice rang with -impatience. "I never saw you act like you do to-night, never in my -life." - -"I didn't know anything was wrong with me, mother." - -"You act queer; I declare you do," asserted Mrs. Barclay. "You generally -have a lot to say. Have you and Frank had a falling out?" - -Dolly gave her shoulders a sudden shrug of contempt. - -"No, we got along as well as we ever did." - -"I thought maybe he was a little mad because you wouldn't dance -to-night; but surely he's got enough sense to see that you oughtn't -to insult brother Dill-beck that way when he's visiting our house and -everybody knows what he thinks about dancing." - -"No, he thought I did right about it," said Dolly. - -"Then what in the name of common-sense is the matter with you, Dolly? -You can' t pull the wool over my eyes, and you needn't try it." - -Dolly faced about suddenly. - -"I reckon you 'll sit there all night unless I tell you all about it," -she said, sharply. "Mother, Alan Bishop was there." - -"You don't say!" - -"Yes, and asked me to let him take me to church to-morrow evening." - -"Oh, he did?" - -"Yes, and as I didn't want father to insult him, I--" - -"You told him what your pa said?" - -"No, I just told him father didn't want me to receive him any more. -Heaven knows, that was enough." - -"Well, that was the best thing for you to do." Mrs. Barclay took a deep -breath, as if she were inhaling a delicious perfume. "It's much better -than to have him plunge in here some day and have your father break out -like he does in his rough way. What did Alan say?" - -"He said very little; but he looked it. You ought to have seen -him. Frank came up just about that time and invited me to have some -ice-cream, and I had to leave him. He was as white as a sheet. He had -made an engagement with me to sit out a dance, and he didn't come in the -room again till that dance was called, and then he didn't even mention -it. He acted so peculiarly, I could see it was nearly killing him, but -he wouldn't let me bring up the subject again. I came near doing it; but -he always steered round it." - -"He's a sensible young man," declared Mrs. Barclay. "Any one can see -that by looking at him. He's not responsible for his father's foolhardy -venture, but it certainly leaves him in a bad fix as a marrying man. -He's had bad luck, and he must put up with the consequences. There are -plenty of girls who have no money or prospects who would be glad to have -him, but--" - -"Mother," broke in Dolly, as if she had been listening to her own -troubled thoughts rather than her mother's words; "he didn't act as if -he wanted to see me alone. The other couples who had engagements to talk -during that dance were sitting in windows and out-of-the-way corners, -but he kept me right where I was, and was as carefully polite as if we -had just been introduced. I was sorry for him and mad at the same time. -I could have pulled his ears." - -"He's sensible, very sensible," said Mrs. Barclay, in a tone of warm -admiration. "A man like that ought to get along, and I reckon he will do -well some day." - -"But, mother," said Dolly, her rich, round voice rising like a wave and -breaking in her throat, "he may never think about me any more." - -"Well, that really would be best, dear, under the circumstances." - -"Best?" Dolly blurted out. "How can you say that, when--when--" - -"Dolly, you are not really foolish about him, are you?" Mrs. Barclay's -face dropped into deeper seriousness. - -Dolly looked away and was silent for a moment; then she faltered: "I -don't know, mother, I--I'm afraid if I keep on feeling like I do now -I 'll never get over it." - -"Ah, but you 'll not keep on feeling like you do now," consoled the older -woman. "Of course, right now, just after seeing how hard he took it, you -will kind o' sympathize with him and want to help him; but that will all -pass away. I remember when I was about your age I had a falling out with -Will Despree--a young man my father didn't like because his grandfather -had been an overseer. And, do you know, I thought I would actually kill -myself. I refused to eat a bite and threatened to run away with Will. To -this day I really don't know what I would have done if your grandfather -hadn't scared him away with a shot-gun. Will kept writing notes to me. I -was afraid to answer them, but my father got hold of one and went after -him on a fast horse. Will's family heard what was up and they kept him -out in the swamp for a few days, and then they sent him to Texas. The -whole Despree family took it up and talked scand'lous about us." - -"And you soon got over it, mother?" asked Dolly, almost in a tone of -dismay. - -"Well," said Mrs. Barclay, reflectively, "Will acted the fool so -terribly; he wasn't out in Texas three months before he sent back a -marked paper with an article in it about his engagement to the -daughter of a rich man who, we found out afterwards, used to keep a -livery-stable; then I reckon hardly any girl would keep caring for a boy -when his folks was telling such lies about her family." - -Dolly was staring studiously at the speaker. - -"Mother," she asked, "don't you believe in real love?" - -Mrs. Barclay laughed as if highly amused. "I believe in a different sort -to the puppy love I had for that boy. Then after that there was another -young man that I thought more of, if anything, than I did of Will; but -he was as poor as Job's turkey, and my folks was all crazy for me 'n' -your pa, who I'd never seen, to get married. I held out against the -idea, just like you are doing with Frank, I reckon; but when your pa -come with his shiny broadcloth coat and spotted silk vest--no, it was -satin, I think, with red spots on it--and every girl in town was crazy -to catch him, and there was no end of reports about the niggers he owned -and his high connections--well, as I say, it wasn't a week before I was -afraid he'd see Joe Tinsley and hear about me 'n' him. My father was in -for the match from the very jump, and so was your pa's folks. He put up -at our house with his nigger servant and didn't want to go about town -much. I reckon I was pleased to have him pick me out, and so we soon -fixed it up. Lordy, he only had to mention Joe Tinsley to me after we -got married to make me do anything he wanted. To this day he throws him -up to me, for Joe never did amount to anything. He tried to borrow -money from your pa after you was born. The neighbors had to feed his -children." - -"But you loved father, didn't you?" Dolly breathed, in some relief over -what she thought was coming. - -"Well, I can' t say I did," said Mrs. Barclay. "We had a terrible time -getting used to one another's ways. You see, he'd waited a good while, -and was some older than I was. After a while, though, we settled down, -and now I'm awful glad I let my father manage for me. You see, what your -pa had and what my father settled on me made us comfortable, and if a -couple is that it's a sight more than the pore ones are." - -Dolly stood before her mother, close enough to touch her. Her face wore -an indescribable expression of dissatisfaction with what she had heard. - -"Mother, tell me one thing," she said. "Did you ever let either of those -boys--the two that you didn't marry, I mean--kiss you?" - -Mrs. Barclay stared up at her daughter for an instant and then her face -broke into a broad smile of genuine amusement. She lowered her head to -her knee and laughed out. - -"Dolly Barclay, you are _such_ a fool!" she said, and then she laughed -again almost immoderately, her face in her lap. - -"I know what _that_ means," said Dolly, in high disgust. "Mother, I -don't think you can do me any good. You'd better go to bed." - -Mrs. Barclay rose promptly. - -"I think I'd better, too," she said. "It makes your pa awful mad for -me to sit up this way. I don't want to hear him rail out like he always -does when he catches me at it." - -After her mother had gone, Dolly sat down on her bed. "She never was -in love," she told herself. "Never, never, never! And it is a pity. She -never could have talked that way if she had really loved anybody as much -as--" But Dolly did not finish what lay on her tongue. However, when she -had drawn the covers up over her the cold tears rose in her eyes and -rolled down on her pillow as she thought of Alan Bishop's brave and -dignified suffering. - -"Poor fellow!" she said. "Poor, dear Alan!" - - - - -IX - - -[Illustration: 9074] - -HERE is a certain class of individuals that will gather around a man in -misfortune, and it differs very little, if it differs at all, from the -class that warms itself in the glow of a man' s prosperity. It is made -up of human failures, in the first instance, congratulating themselves -on not being alone in bad luck; in the second, desirous of seeing how a -fortunate man would look and act and guessing at his feelings. From the -appearance of Bishop's home for the first fortnight after his return -from Atlanta, you would have thought that some one was seriously ill in -the house or that some general favorite had returned to the family after -a long absence. - -Horses were hitched to the fence from the front gate all the way round -to the side entrance. The mountain people seemed to have left their -various occupations to subtly enjoy the spectacle of a common man like -themselves who had reached too far after forbidden fruit and lay maimed -and torn before them. It was a sort of feast at which the baser part of -their spiritual natures was fed, and, starved as they were, it tasted -good. Many of them had never aspired to bettering their lot even with -small ventures such as buying Jersey cows at double the value of common -cattle when it was reported that the former gave four times as much -milk and ate less, and to these cautious individuals Bishop's visible -writhing was sweet confirmation of their own judgment. - -Their disapproval of the old man's effort to hurry Providence could not -have been better shown than in the failure of them all to comment on -the rascally conduct of the Atlanta lawyer; they even chuckled over -that part of the incident. To their minds Perkins was a sort of far-off -personification of a necessary evil--who, like the devil himself, was -evidently created to show mortals their limitations. They were not going -to say what the lawyer had a right to do or should avoid doing, for they -didn't pretend to know; but they did know what their old neighbor ought -to have done, and if they didn't tell him so to his face they would -let him see it by their actions. Yes, Bishop was a different thing -altogether. He belonged to them and theirs. He led in their meetings, -prayed in public, and had till now headed the list in all charitable -movements. - -The Reverend Charles B. Dole, a tall, spare man of sixty, who preached -the first, second, third, and fourth Sundays of each month in four -different meetinghouses within a day's ride of Bishop's, came around as -the guest of the farm-house as often as his circuit would permit. He -was called the "fightin' preacher," because he had had several fearless -hand-to-hand encounters with certain moonshiners whose conduct he had -ventured to call ungodly, because unlawful. - -On the second Saturday after Bishop's mishap, as Dole was to preach the -next day at Rock Crest meetinghouse, he rode up as usual and turned his -horse into the stable and fed him with his own hands. Then he joined -Abner Daniel on the veranda. Abner had seen him ride up and purposely -buried his head in his newspaper to keep from offering to take the -horse, for Abner did not like the preacher "any to hurt," as he would -have put it. - -Dole did not care much for Abner either. They had engaged in several -doctrinal discussions in which the preacher had waxed furious over some -of Daniel's views, which he described as decidedly unorthodox. Daniel -had kept his temper beautifully and had the appearance of being amused -through it all, and this Dole found harder to forgive than anything -Abner had said. - -"You all have had some trouble, I heer, sence I saw you last," said the -preacher as he sat down and began to wipe his perspiring brow with a big -handkerchief. - -"Well, I reckon it mought be called that," Abner replied, as he -carefully folded his newspaper and put it into his coat-pocket. "None of -us was expectin' of it an' it sorter bu'sted our calculations. Alf had -laid out to put new high-back benches in Rock Crest, an' new lamps -an' one thing another, an' it seems to me"--Abner wiped his too facile -mouth--"like I heerd 'im say one day that you wasn't paid enough -fer yore thunder, an' that he'd stir around an' see what could be -done." Abner's eyes twinkled. "But lawsy me! I reckon ef he kin possibly -raise the scads to pay the tax on his investment next yeer he 'll do all -the Lord expects." - -"Huh, I reckon!" grunted Dole, irritated as usual by Abner's double -meaning. "I take it that the Lord hain't got much to do with human -speculations one way or other." - -"Ef I just had that scamp that roped 'im in before me a minute I'd fix -'im," said Abner. "Do you know what denomination Perkins belongs to?" - -"No, I don't," Dole blurted out, "an' what's more, I don't care." - -"Well, I acknowledge it sorter interests me," went on our philosopher, -in an inscrutable tone, "beca'se, brother Dole, you kin often trace -a man' s good ur bad doin' s to his belief in Bible matters. Maybe you -don't remember Jabe Lynan that stold Thad Wilson's stump-suckin' hoss -an' was ketched an' put up. I was at the court-house in Darley when he -received his sentence. His wife sent me to 'im to carry his pipe an' one -thing or other--a pair o' socks an' other necessary tricks--a little can -o' lye-soap, fer one thing. She hadn't the time to go, as she said she -had a patch o' young corn to hoe out. I found 'im as happy as ef he was -goin' off on a excursion. He laughed an' 'lowed it ud be some time 'fore -he got back, an' I wondered what could 'a' made him so contented, so I -made some inquiries on that line. I found that he was a firm believer in -predestination, an' that what was to be was foreordained. He said that -he firmly believed he was predestinated to go to the coal-mines fer -hoss-stealin', an' that life was too short to be kickin' agin the Lord's -way o' runnin' matters; besides, he said, he'd heerd that they issued a -plug o'.tobacco a week to chawin' prisoners, an' he could prove that he -was one o' that sort ef they'd look how he'd ground his jaw-teeth down -to the gums." - -"Huh!" grunted Dole again, his sharp, gray eyes on Abner's face, as if -he half believed that some of his own theories were being sneered at. -It was true that he, being a Methodist, had not advocated a belief in -predestination, but Abner Daniel had on more than one occasion shown a -decided tendency to bunch all stringent religious opinions together -and cast them down as out of date. When in doubt in a conversation with -Abner, the preacher assumed a coldness on the outside that was often not -consistent with the fires within him. "I don't see what all that's got -to do with brother Bishop's mistake," he said, frigidly, as he leaned -back in his chair. - -"It sets me to wonderin' what denomination Perkins belongs to, that's -all," said Abner, with another smile. "I know in reason he's a big -Ike in some church in Atlanta, fer I never knowed a lawyer that wasn't -foremost in that way o' doin' good. I 'll bet a hoe-cake he belongs to -some highfalutin crowd o' worshippers that kneel down on saft cushions -an' believe in scoopin' in all they kin in the Lord's name, an' that -charity begins at home. I think that myse'f, brother Dole, fer thar -never was a plant as hard to git rooted as charity is, an' a body ought -to have it whar they kin watch it close. It 'll die a heap o' times ef -you jest look at it, an' it mighty nigh always has bad soil ur a drougth -to contend with." - -Just then Pole Baker, who has already been introduced to the reader, -rode up to the fence and hitched his horse. He nodded to the two men on -the veranda, and went round to the smoke-house to get a piece of bacon -Bishop had promised to sell him on credit. - -"Huh!" Dole grunted, and he crossed his long legs and swung his foot up -and down nervously. He had the look of a man who was wondering why such -insufferable bores as Abner should so often accompany a free dinner. He -had never felt drawn to the man, and it irritated him to think that just -when his mental faculties needed rest, Abner always managed to introduce -the very topics which made it necessary for him to keep his wits about -him. - -"Take that feller thar," Abner went on, referring to Baker. "He's about -the hardest customer in this county, an' yet he's bein' managed right -now. He's got a wife an' seven children an' is a holy terror when he -gits drunk. He used to be the biggest dare-devil moonshiner in all these -mountains; but Alan kept befriendin' 'im fust one way an' another tell -he up one day an' axed Alan what he could do fer 'im. Alan ain't none -o' yore shoutin' kind o' Christians. He shakes a nimble toe at a shindig -when he wants to, an' knows the ace from a ten-spot; but he gits thar -with every claw in the air when some 'n' has to be done. So, when Pole -axed 'im that, Alan jest said, as quiet as ef he was axin' 'im fer a -match to light a cigar, 'Quit yore moonshinin', Pole.' That was all he -said. Pole looked 'im straight in the eye fer a minute, an' then said: - -"'The hell you say! By God, Alan Bishop, you don't mean that!' - -"'Yes, I do, Pole,' said Alan, 'quit! Quit smack off!' - -"'You ax that as a favor?' said Pole. - -"'Yes, as a favor,' said Alan, 'an' you are a-goin' to do it, too.' - -"Then Pole begun to contend with 'im. 'You are a-axin' that beca'se you -think I 'll be ketched up with,' he said; 'but I tell you the' ain't no -man on the face o' the earth that could find my still now. You could -stand in two feet of the door to it all day an' not find it if you -looked fer it with a spy-glass. I kin make bug-juice all the rest o' my -life an' sell it without bein' ketched.' - -"'I want you to give it up,' said Alan, an' Pole did. It was like -pullin' an eye-tooth, but Pole yanked it out. Alan is workin' on 'im now -to git 'im to quit liquor, but that ain't so easy. He could walk a crack -with a gallon sloshin' about in 'im. Now, as I started to say, Alan -'ain't got no cut-and-dried denomination, an' don't have to walk any -particular kind o' foot-log to do his work, but it's a-goin' on jest the -same. Now I don't mean no reflection on yore way o' hitchin' wings on -folks, but I believe you could preach yore sermons--sech as they are--in -Pole Baker's yeers till Gabriel blowed his lungs out, an' Pole ud still -be moonshinin'. An' sometimes I think that sech fellers as Alan Bishop -ort to be paid fer what they do in betterin' the world. I don't see -why you fellers ort always to be allowed to rake in the jack-pot unless -you'd accomplish more'n outsiders, that jest turn the'r hands to the job -at odd times." - -Dole drew himself up straight and glared at the offender. - -"I think that is a rather personal remark, brother Daniel," he said, -coldly. - -"Well, maybe it is," returned Abner; "but I didn't mean fer it to -be. I've heerd you praise up certain preachers fer the good they was -a-doin', an' I saw no harm in mentionin' Alan's method. I reckon it's -jest a case o' the shoe bein' on another foot. I was goin' to tell you -how this misfortune o' Alf's had affected Pole; he's been like a crazy -man ever since it happened. It's been all Alan could do to keep 'im from -goin' to Atlanta and chokin' the life out o' Perkins. Pole got so mad -when he wouldn't let 'im go that he went off cussin' 'im fer all he was -worth. I wonder what sort of a denomination a man ud fit into that 'll -cuss his best friends black an' blue beca'se they won't let 'im fight -fer 'em. Yes, he 'll fight, an' ef he ever does jine the ranks above he 'll -do the work o' ten men when thar's blood to spill. I seed 'im in a row -once durin' election when he was leggin' fer a friend o' his'n; he stood -right at the polls an' wanted to slug every man that voted agin 'im. He -knocked three men's teeth down the'r throats an' bunged up two more so -that they looked like they had on false-faces." - -Here the preacher permitted himself to laugh. Being a fighting man -himself, his heart warmed towards a man who seemed to be born to that -sort of thing. - -"He looks like he could do a sight of it," was his comment. - -At this juncture the subject of the conversation came round the house, -carrying a big piece of bacon wrapped in a tow grain-bag. - -"Say thar, Pole," Abner called out to the long, lank fellow. "We are -a-goin' to have preachin' at Rock Crest to-morrow; you'd better have a -shirt washed an' hung out to dry. They are a-beatin' the bushes fer yore -sort." - -Pole Baker paused and brushed back his long, thick hair from his heavy -eyebrows. - -"I've been a-waitin' to see ef meetin' ever'd do you any good, Uncle -Ab," he laughed. "They tell me the more you go the wuss you git to be. -Neil Filmore said t'other day ef you didn't quit shootin' off yore mouth -they'd give you a trial in meetin'." - -Abner laughed good-naturedly as he spat over the edge of the veranda -floor to the ground. - -"That's been talked, I know, Pole," he said, "but they don't mean it. -They all know how to take my fun. But you come on to meetin'; it will do -you good." - -"Well, maybe I will," promised Pole, and he came to the steps, and, -putting his bacon down, he bent towards them. - -"It's a powerful hard matter to know exactly what's right an' what's -wrong, in some things," he said. "Now looky heer." Thrusting his hand -down into the pocket of his trousers he drew out a piece of quartz-rock -with a lump of yellow gold about the size of a pea half embedded in it. -"That thar's puore gold. I got it this away: A feller that used to be my -right bower in my still business left me when I swore off an' went over -to Dalonega to work in them mines. T'other day he was back on a visit, -an' he give me this chunk an' said he'd found it. Now I know in reason -that he nabbed it while he was at work, but I don't think I'd have a -right to report it to the minin' company, an' so I'm jest obleeged to -receive stolen goods. It ain't wuth more'n a dollar, they tell me, an' -I 'll hang on to it, I reckon, ruther'n have a laborin' man discharged -from a job. I'm tryin' my level best to live up to the line now, an' -I don't know how to manage sech a thing as that. I've come to the -conclusion that no harm will be done nohow, beca'se miners ain't too -well paid anyway, an' ef I jest keep it an' don't git no good out of it, -I won't be in it any more'n ef I'd never got hold o' the blamed thing." - -"But the law, brother Baker," said Dole, solemnly; "without the law we'd -be an awful lot o' people, an' every man ort to uphold it. Render the -things that are Caesar's unto Caesar." - -Pole's face was blank for a moment, and Abner came to his rescue with a -broad smile and sudden laugh. - -"I reckon you don't remember him, Pole," he said. "He's dead. He was a -nigger that used to belong to old man Throgmartin in the cove. He used -to be sech an awful thief during slavery days that it got to be a common -sayin' that everything lyin' round mought as well be his'n, fer he'd -take it sooner ur later, anyways." - -"I've heerd o' that nigger," said Pole, much to the preacher's disgust, -which grew as Pole continued: "Well, they say a feller that knows the -law is broke an' don't report it is as guilty as the man who does the -breakin'. Now, Mr. Dole, you know how I come by this nugget, an' ef you -want to do your full duty you 'll ride over to Dalonega an' report it to -the right parties. I can't afford the trip." - -Abner laughed out at this, and then forced a serious look on his face. -"That's what you railly ort to do, brother Dole," he said. "Them Csars -over thar ud appreciate it." - -Then Mrs. Bishop came out to shake hands with the preacher, and invited -him to go to his room to wash his face and hands. As the tall man -followed his hostess away, Abner winked slyly at Pole and laughed under -his long, scrawny hand. - -"Uncle Ab, you ort to be killed," smiled Pole. "You've been settin' heer -the last half-hour pokin' fun at that feller, an' you know it. Well, I'm -goin' on home. Sally's a-goin' to fry some o' this truck fer me, an' I'm -as hungry as a bear." - -A few minutes after he had gone, Dole came out of his room and sat down -in his chair again. "That seems to be a sorter bright young man," he -remarked. - -"As bright as a new dollar," returned Abner, in a tone of warm -admiration. "Did you notice that big, wedge-shaped head o' his'n? It's -plumb full o' brains. One day a feller come down to Filmore's store. -He made a business o' feelin' o' heads an' writin' out charts at -twenty-five cents apiece. He didn't waste much time on the rest o' the -scabs he examined; but when he got to Pole's noggin he talked fer a good -hour. I never heerd the like. He said ef his talents had been properly -directed Pole ud 'a' made a big public man. He said he hadn't run across -sech a head in a month o' Sundays. He was right, you bet, an' every -one o' the seven brats Pole's got is jest as peert as he is. They are -a-growin' up in idleness an' rags, too. I wisht I could meet some -o' them dum big Yankees that are a-sendin' the'r money down heer an' -buildin' fine schools to educate niggers an' neglectin' the'r own race -beca'se it fit agin 'em. You cayn't hardly beat larnin' into a nigger's -head, an' it ud be only common-sense to spend money whar it ud do the -most good. I 'ain't got nothin' agin a nigger bein' larnt to read an' -write, but I cayn't stomach the'r bein' forced ahead o' deservin' white -folks sooner 'n the Lord counted on. Them kind o' Yankees is the -same sort that makes pets o' dogs, an' pampers 'em up when pore white -children is in need of food an' affection." - -"Pole looks like he had natural capacity," said Dole. He was fond of -conversing with Abner on any topic except that of religious matters. - -"He'd make a bang-up detective," laughed Abner. "One day I was at -Filmore's store. Neil sometimes, when he's rushed, gits Pole to clerk -fer 'im, beca'se he's quick at figures. It happened that Pole had the -store to 'imse'f one day when Neil had gone off to cut down a bee-tree -with a passle o' neighbors, an' a triflin' feller come in an' begun to -nose about. An' when Pole's back was turned to weigh up some cotton -in the seed he stole a pocket-book out o' the show-case. I reckon Pole -didn't like his looks much nohow, fer as soon as the skunk had gone he -begun to look about to see ef he'd tuck anything. All at once he missed -the pocket-book, an' told Neil that night that he was mighty nigh shore -the feller lifted it, but he couldn't railly swear to it. About a week -after that he seed the same feller comin' down the road headed fer the -store on his gray mule. Me 'n' Neil was both thar an' Pole hustled us in -the back room, an' told us to stay thar. He said he was a-goin' to find -out ef the feller stold the book. Neil was afeerd of a row an' tried to -prevent 'im, but he jest shoved us back an' shet the door on us. Neil -got 'im a crack in the partition an' I found me a knothole. - -"The feller hitched an' come in an' said howdy-do, an' started to take a -cheer nigh the door, but Pole stopped 'im. - -"'Come heer to the show-case,' ses he; 'I want to show you some 'n'.'The -feller went, an' I seed Pole yank out the box 'at had the rest o' -the pocket-books in it. 'Look y'heer,' Pole said, in a loud, steady -voice--you could 'a' heerd 'im clean to the creek--'look y'heer. The -regular price o' these books is fifty cents; that's what we sell 'em -fer; but you've got to run yore hand down in yore pocket an' give me a -dollar fer one quicker'n you ever made a trade in yore life.' - -"'What in the hell do you mean?' the feller said. - -"'I mean exactly what I said, an' you are a-losin' time.' said Pole, -talkin' louder an' louder. 'The price is fifty cents; but you got to -gi'me a dollar fer one. Haul 'er out, my friend; haul 'er out! It 'll be -the cheapest thing you ever bought in yore life.' - -"The feller was as white as a sheet. He gulped two or three times 'fore -he spoke, then he said: 'I know what you think; you think I took one -t'other day when I was lookin' in the show-case; but you are mistaken.' - -"'I never said a word about you takin' one,' Pole yelled at 'im, 'but -you'd better yank out that dollar an' buy one; you need it.' - -"The feller did it. I heerd the money clink as he laid it on the glass -an' I knowed he was convicted. - -"'They are only wuth fifty cents,' he said, kinder faint-like. - -"'Yo're a liar,' Pole yelled at 'im, 'fer you've jest paid a dollar fer -one on yore own accord. Now I 'll jest give you two minutes to straddle -that mule. Ef you don't I 'll take you to the sheriff myself, you damned -thief. - -"'I've always done my tradin' heer,' said the feller, thinkin' that ud -sorter pacify Pole, but he said: 'Yes, an' yore stealin', too, I reckon, -you black-livered jailbird. Git out, git out!' - -"Me 'n' Neil come in when the feller'd gone, but Pole was actually too -mad to speak. 'He got off too durned light,'he said, after a while. 'I -could 'a' sold 'im a big bill o' goods at a hundred per cent, profit, -fer he had plenty o' money. Now he's ridin' off laughin' at me.'" - - - - -X - - -[Illustration: 9086] - -EIL FILMORE'S store was about half a mile from Bishop's house, at the -crossing of the Darley road and another leading into East Tennessee. -Alan had gone down there one day to engage white labor to work in his -growing cotton, negroes being scarce, owing to the tendency of that race -to flock into the towns. With the aid of Pole Baker, who was clerking -that day for Filmore, he soon employed the men he wanted and started -to walk back home. On the way he was overtaken by his uncle, who was -returning from Darley in his wagon. - -"Hold on thar," the old man called out; "ef you are a-goin' home I 'll -rest yore legs." - -Alan smiled as he climbed up into the seat by the old man. - -"I shall certainly appreciate it," he said. "I'm tired out to-day." - -"I sorter thought you looked flabbergasted," returned Abner, as he swung -his whip over the backs of his sleek horses. "Well, I reckon I could -afford to give you a ride. I hauled that cuss Dole three miles goin' -t'other way. He had the cheek to yell at me from Habbersham's gin-house -an' axed me ef I'd haul 'im. Then he kept me waitin' till he'd helt -prayer an' read to the family." - -"You don't seem to like him," said Alan. "I've noticed that for some -time." - -"I reckon I don't to any great extent," said Abner, clucking to his -tired horses; "but it ain't raily to my credit. A feller's wrong -som 'er's, Alan, that allows hisse'f to hate anything the Lord ever made. -I've struggled agin that proposition fer twenty-five yeer. All this talk -about the devil makin' the bad an' the Lord the good is talk through -a hat. Bad things was made 'fore the devil ever jumped from his high -estate ur he'd never preferred a fork to a harp. I've tuck notice, too, -that the wust things I ever seed was sometimes at the root o' the best. -Manure is a bad thing, but a cake of it will produce a daisy bigger 'n -any in the field. Dole makes me gag sometimes; but as narrer as he is -twixt the eyes, he may do some good. I reckon that hell-fire sermon he -give us last August made some of the crowd sweat out a little o' the'r -meanness. I'd 'a' been more merciful on sech a hot day, though. He -mought 'a' reserved that harangue fer some cold day in December when -the stove-flues wouldn't work. Ef I'd 'a' been a-goin' tell about future -torment that hot day I'd 'a' said that every lost soul was made to -set on a cake o' ice in a windy spot through all eternity, an' I'd 'a' -started out by singin' 'On Greenland's Icy Mountain.' But that ain't -what I axed you to git in my wagon fer." - -"You didn't intend to try to convert me, then?" - -"No, I didn't, fer you are jest my sort of a Christian--better'n me, a -sight, fer you don't shoot off yore bazoo on one side or t'other, an' -that's the habit I'm tryin' to quit. Ef I could hold in when Dole gits -to spoutin' I'd be a better man. I think I 'll do better now. I've got a -tenpenny nail in my pocket an' whenever he starts in I'm goin' to bite -it an' keep my holt on it till he stops. Yes, you are jest my sort of -a Christian. You believe in breathin' fresh air into yore windpipe, -thankin' God with a clear eye an' a good muscle, an' takin' what He -gives you an' axin' 'Im to pass more ef it's handy. You know the Lord -has sent you a invite to His table, an' you believe in eatin' an' -drinkin' an' makin' merry, jest like you'd have a body do that was -stoppin' over night with you. Yes, I wanted to say some 'n' else to you. -As I got to the widder Snowden's house, a mile this side o' Darley, she -came out an' axed me ef I'd object to deliverin' a couple o' smoke-cured -hams to a feller in town that had ordered 'em. Of course that's what a' -old bach' like me 's heer fer, so I let 'er fling 'em in the back end." - -The speaker paused and smiled knowingly, and Alan noticed that he slowed -his horses up by drawing firmly on the reins as if he feared that their -arrival at the farm-house might interrupt what he had to say. - -"Well," said Alan, "you delivered the hams?" - -"Yes." Abner was looking straight ahead of him. "They was fer Colonel -Seth Barclay. I driv' up to the side gate, after I'd helloed in front -till I was hoarse, an' who do you reckon come trippin' out o' the -dinin'-room? - -It was _her_. Ef you hain't never ketched 'er off'n her guard round the -house, you've missed a treat. Durned ef I don't like 'er better without -a hat on than with all the fluffy flamdoodle that gals put on when they -go out. She was as neat as a new pin, an' seemed powerful glad to see -me. That made me bless the widder Snowden fer sendin' me thar. She said -the cook was off som 'er's, an' that old nigger Ned, the stable-man, was -in the garden-patch behind the house, so she was thar by 'erse'f. She -actually looked like she wanted to tote in the hams 'erse'f ruther'n -bother me; but you bet my old bones hopped off'n this seat quicker'n -you could say Jack Robinson with yore mouth open. I was afeerd my team -wouldn't stand, fer fellers was a-scootin' by on bicycles; but I tuck -the hams to the back porch an' put 'em on a shelf out'n re'ch o' the -dogs. Then I went back to my wagon. She follered me to the fence, an' I -noticed that some 'n' was wrong with 'er. She looked so funny, an' droopy -about the mouth, an' kept a-talkin' like she was afeerd I'd fly off. She -axed all about Adele an' how she was a-makin' out down in Atlanta, an' -said she'd heerd that Sis was mighty popular with the young men, an' -from that she axed about my craps an' the meetin' goin' on at Big -Bethel. Finally she got right white about the mouth, an' said, kinder -shaky, that she was afeerd you was mad about some 'n' her pa'd said about -you, an' I never seed a woman as nigh cryin' as she was without doin' of -it. - -"I told 'er I was at the fust of it; but I'd noticed how worried you've -looked heer of late, an' so I told 'er I'd been afeerd some 'n' had come -betwixt you two. Then she put her head down on the top rail o' the fence -an' helt it thar fer a good minute. After a while she looked up an' told -me all about it an' ended by axin' me ef I thought she was to blame in -the matter. I told 'er no; but her old skunk of a daddy had acted sech -a fool that I couldn't hold in. I reckon I told 'er jest about what I -thought o' him an' the more I raked up agin 'im the better she seemed -pleased. I tried to pin' er down to what she'd be willin' to do in a -pinch ef her pa continued to hold out agin you, but she was too sharp to -commit 'erse'f. It jest looked like she wanted to make up with you an' -didn't want no row nuther." - -The horses stopped to drink at a clear stream of water which ran across -the road on a bed of brown pebbles. The bridles were too tight to allow -them to lower their heads, so Alan went out on the heavy tongue between -the pair and unfastened the reins. When he had regained his seat he told -the old man in detail all that had happened at the dance at the hotel, -ending with the advice he had received from Rayburn Miller. - -"I don't know about that," Abner said. "Maybe Miller could call a halt -like that an' go on like nothin' had happened. I don't say he could nur -couldn't; but it's fool advice. You mought miss it, an' regret it to -yore dyin' day." - -Alan looked at him in some surprise; he had hardly expected just that -stand on the part of a confirmed old bachelor like his uncle. The old -man's glance swept dreamily over the green fields on either side of the -road across which the red rays of the setting sun were streaming. Then -he took a deep breath and lowered the reins till they rested on the -backs of the horses. - -"My boy," he began, "I'm a good mind to tell you some 'n' that I hain't -mentioned fer mighty nigh forty yeer. I don't believe anything but my -intrust in that town gal an' you would make me bring it up. Huh! Ray -Miller says you kin pass 'er over jest as ef you'd never seed 'er, does -he? An' go on an' pick an' choose agin. Huh! I wasn't as old as you are -by five yeer when the one I'm talkin' about passed away, jest a week -after me 'n' her 'd come to a understandin'. I've seed women, women, -women, sence I seed 'er corpse that day amongst all that pile o' wild -flowers that old an' young fetched from the woods whar me 'n' 'er used to -walk, but ef I live to be as old as that thar hill I 'll never forget my -feelin'. I kin see 'er right now as plain as I did then, an' sometimes -my heart aches as bad. I reckon you know now why I never got married. -Folks has poked a lots o' fun at me, an' I tuck it as it was intended, -but a lots o' times what they said made me suffer simply awful. They've -picked out this un an' that un, from spring chickins to hags o' all -ages, shapes, an' sizes; but the very thought o' givin' anybody her -place made me sick. Thar never was but one fer me. I may be a fool, but -I believe I was intended fer her. Shucks! Sech skip-abouts as Miller -may talk sech bosh as that, but it's because the Lord never give 'em the -glory o' the other thing. It larnt me the truth about the after-life; I -know thar's a time to come, an' a blessed one, ur the Lord never would -'a' give me that taste of it. She's som 'er's out o' harm's way, an' when -me 'n' her meet I 'll not have a wrinkle, an' I 'll be able to walk as -spry an' hopeful as I did when she was heer. Thar ort to be punishment -reserved fer hard-headed fools that separate lovin' young folks beca'se -one ur t'other hain't jest so many dollars tied in a rag. Don't you -listen to Miller. I don't say you ort to plunge right in an' make the -old man mad; but don't give up. Ef she's what I think she is, an' she -sees you ain't a-goin' to run after no fresh face, she 'll stick to you -like the bark on a tree. The wait won't hurt nuther one of you, either. -My wait ain't a-hurtin' me, an' yore'n won't you. I never seed a young -woman I liked better 'n I do the one you selected, an' I've sent up many -a petition that you'd both make it all right." - -The old man raised his reins and clucked to his horses. - -"Uncle Ab," said Alan, "you've made a better man of me. I've had a lot -of trouble over this, but you make me hope. I've tried to give her up, -but I simply cannot do it." - -"She ain't a-goin' to give you up, nuther," replied Abner; "that's -the purty part about it. Thar ain't no give up in 'er. She ain't that -sort. She's goin' to give that daddy o' her'n a tussle." - - - - -XI - - -[Illustration: 9092] - -NE morning early in July, as Alan was passing Pole Baker's cabin, on his -way to Darley, Pole's wife came out to the fence and stopped him. She -was a slender, ill-clad woman, who had once been pretty, and her face -still had a sort of wistful attractiveness that was appealing to one who -knew what she had been through since her marriage. - -"Are you goin' to town, Mr. Alan?" she asked, nervously. - -"Yes, Mrs. Baker," Alan answered. "Is there anything I can do for you?" - -She did not reply at once, but came through the little gate, which swung -on wooden hinges, and stood looking up at him, a thin, hesitating hand -on his bridle-rein. - -"I'm afeerd some 'n' s happened to Pole," she faltered. "He hain't been -home fer two whole days an' nights. It's about time fer 'im to spree -agin, an' I'm powerful afeerd he's in trouble. I 'lowed while you was -in town that you mought inquire about 'im, an' let me know when you come -back. That ud sorter free my mind a little. I didn't close my eyes all -last night." - -"I 'll do all I can, Mrs. Baker," Alan promised. "But you mustn't worry; -Pole can take care of himself, drunk or sober. I 'll be back to-night." - -Alan rode on, leaving the pathetic figure at the gate looking after him. -"I wonder," he mused, "what Uncle Ab would say about love that has that -sort of reward. Poor woman! Pole was her choice, and she has to make the -best of it. Perhaps she loves the good that's in the rascal." - -He found Rayburn Miller at his desk, making out some legal document. -"Take a seat," said Miller, "I 'll be through in a minute. What's the -news out your way?" he asked, as he finished his work and put down his -pen. - -"Nothing new, I believe," said Alan. "I've been away for two days. Not -having anything else to do, I made it my business to ride over every -foot of my father's big investment, and, to tell you the truth, I've -come to you with a huge idea. Don't laugh; I can't help it. It popped in -my head and sticks, that's all." - -"Good. Let me have it." - -"Before I tell you what it is," said Alan, "I want you to promise not to -ridicule me. I'm as green as a gourd in business matters; but the idea -has hold of me, and I don't know that even your disapproval will make me -let it loose." - -"That's a good way to put it," laughed Miller. "The idea has hold of you -and you can't let it loose. It applies more closely to investments -than anything else. Once git into a deal and you are afraid to let it -go--like the chap that held the calf and called for help." - -"Well, here it is," said Alan. "I've made up my mind that a railroad -can--and shall--be built from these two main lines to my father's lumber -bonanza." Miller whistled. A broad smile ingulfed the pucker of his -lips, and then his face dropped into seriousness. A look almost of pity -for his friend's credulity and inexperience came into his eyes. - -"I must say you don't want a little thing, my boy," he said, -indulgently. "Remember you are talking to a fellow that has rubbed up -against the moneyed world considerable for a chap raised in the country. -The trouble with you, Alan, is that you have got heredity to contend -with; you are a chip off the old block in spite of your belonging to a -later generation. You have inherited your father's big ideas. You are a -sort of Colonel Sellers, who sees millions in everything you look at." - -Alan' s face fell, but there remained in it a tenacious expression that -won Miller's admiration even while he deplored it. There was, too, a -ring of confidence in the young farmer's tone when he replied: - -"How much would a railroad through that country, eighteen miles in -length, cost?" - -"Nothing but a survey by an expert could answer that, even -approximately," said the lawyer, leaning back in his creaking chair. "If -you had the right of way, a charter from the State, and no big tunnels -to make nor long bridges to build, you might, I should say, construct -the road alone--without locomotives and rolling-stock generally--for a -little matter of one hundred and fifty thousand. I don't know; I'm only -guessing; but it wouldn't fall under that estimate." - -"I didn't think it would," replied Alan, growing more enthusiastic. "Now -then, if there _was_ a railroad to my father's property, how much would -his twenty thousand acres be worth?" - -Miller smiled again and began to figure on a scrap of paper with a -pencil. "Oh, as for that," he said, "it would really be worth--standing -uncut, unsawn, including a world of tan-bark--at least twenty-five -dollars an acre, say a clear half million for it all. Oh, I know it -looks as plain as your nose on your face; things always do on paper. It -looks big and it shines; so does a spider-web in the sunshine to a -fly; but you don't want to be no fly, my boy; and you don't want any -spider-webs--on the brain, anyway." - -Alan stood up and walked to the door and back; finally he shrugged his -broad shoulders. "I don't care what you say," he declared, bringing his -hand down firmly on Miller's desk. "It will pay, as sure as I'm alive. -There's no getting around the facts. It will take a quarter of a million -investment to market a half-million-dollar bunch of timber with the land -thrown in and the traffic such a road would secure to help pay expenses. -There are men in the world looking for such opportunities and I'm going -to give somebody a chance." - -"You have not looked deep enough into it, my boy," mildly protested -Miller. "You haven't figured on the enormous expense of running such a -road and the dead loss of the investment after the lumber is moved out. -You'd have a railroad property worth a quarter of a million on your -hands. I can't make you see my position. I simply say to you that I -wouldn't touch a deal like that with a ten-foot pole." - -Alan laughed good-naturedly as he laid his hand on his friend's -shoulder. "I reckon you think I'm off," he said, "but sooner or later -I'm going to put this thing through. Do you hear me? I 'll put it through -if it takes ten years to do it. I want to make the old man feel that -he has not made such a fool of himself; I want to get even with the -Thompson crowd, and Perkins, and everybody that is now poking fun at a -helpless old man. I shall begin by raising money some way or other to -pay taxes, and hold on to every inch of the ground." - -Miller's glance fell before the fierce fire of Alan's eyes, and for the -first time his tone wavered. - -"Well," he said, "you may have the stuff in you that big speculators are -made of, and I may simply be prejudiced against the scheme on account -of your father's blind plunging, and what some men would call -over-cautiousness on my part. I may be trying to prevent what you really -ought to do; but I am advising you as a friend. I only know _I_ would be -more cautious. Of course, you may try. You'd not lose in doing that; in -fact, you'd gain experience. I should say that big dealers in lumber -are the men you ought to see first. They know the values of such -investments, and they are reaching out in all directions now. They have -cleaned up the timber near the railroads." - - - - -XII - - -[Illustration: 9097] - -ILLER accompanied Alan to the door. Old Trabue stood in front of his -office in his shirt-sleeves, his battered silk hat on the back part of -his head. He was fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan and freely using -his handkerchief on his brow. He bowed cordially to Alan and came -towards him. - -"I want to ask you," he began, "as Pole Baker any way of raisin' money?" - -"Not that I know of," laughed Alan. "I don't know whether he's got a -clear title to the shirt on his back. He owes everybody out our way. My -father is supplying him on time now." - -"That was my impression," said Trabue. "He wanted me to defend 'im the -other day, but he couldn't satisfy me about the fee, an' I let him go. -He first said he could give me a lien on a mule, but he finally admitted -that it wasn't his." - -"He's not in trouble, is he?" exclaimed Alan, suddenly recalling Mrs. -Baker's uneasiness. - -Trabue looked at Miller, who stood leaning in the doorway, and laughed. -"Well, I reckon he might call it that. That chap owned the town two days -ago. He got blind, stavin' drunk, an' wanted to whip us from one end o' -the place to the other. The marshals are afraid of 'im, for they know -he 'll shoot at the drop of a hat, an' the butt of it was stickin' out o' -his hippocket in plain sight. Was you thar, Rayburn? Well, it was better -'n a circus. Day before yesterday thar was a sort o' street temperance -lecturer in front o' the Johnston House, speakin' on a dry-goods box. -He had a lot o' gaudy pictures illustratin' the appearance of a drinkin' -man' s stomach an' liver, compared to one in a healthy condition. He was -a sort of a snide faker, out fer what he could git dropped in a hat, an' -Pole was sober enough to git on to his game. Pole stood thar with the -rest, jest about able to stand, an' that was all. Finally, when the -feller got warmed up an' got to screechin', Pole begun to deny what he -was sayin'. As fast as he'd make a statement Pole would flatly deny it. -The feller on the box didn't know what a tough customer he had to handle -or he'd 'a' gone slow. As it was, he p'inted a finger o' scorn at Pole -an' helt 'im up fer a example. Pole wasn't sober by a long shot, but -you'd 'a' thought he was, fer he was as steady as a post. He kept -grinnin', as cool as a cucumber, an' sayin', 'Now you know yo' re -a-lyin', stranger--jest a-lyin' to get a few dimes drapped in yore hat. -You know nobody's stomach don't look like that durn chromo. You never -seed inside of a drinkin' man, an' yo' re the biggest liar that ever -walked the earth.' This made the crowd laugh at the little, dried-up -feller, an' he got as mad as Old Nick. He begun to tell Pole his liver -was swelled from too much whiskey, an' that he'd bet he was jest the -sort to beat his wife. Most of us thought that ud make Pole jump on 'im, -but he seemed to enjoy naggin' the feller too much to sp'ile it by -a fight. A nigger boy had been carryin' round a bell and a sign -advertisin' Webb's auction sale, an' stopped to see the fun. Pole -heerd the tinkle of the bell, an' tuck it an' begun to ring it in the -lecturer's face. The harder the feller spoke the harder Pole rung. It -was the damnedest racket ever heerd on a public square. Part of the -crowd--the good church folks--begun to say it was a disgrace to the town -to allow a stranger to be treated that away, sence thar was no law agin -public speakin' in the streets. They was in fer callin' a halt, but -all the rest--the drinkin' men, an' I frankly state I was one--secretly -hoped Pole would ring 'im down. When the pore devil finally won I felt -like yellin' hooray, fer I glory in the pluck even of a dare-devil, if -he's a North Georgian an' white. The lecturer had to stop without his -collection, an' went off to the council chamber swearin' agin the town -fer allowin' him to be treated that away. Thar wasn't anything fer the -mayor to do but order Pole's arrest, but it took four men--two regulars -and two deputized men--to accomplish it. - -"The trial was the richest thing I ever attended. Pole had sobered up -jest enough to be witty, an' he had no more respect fer Bill Barrett's -court than he had fer the lecturer's platform. Him an' Barrett used to -fish an' hunt together when they was boys, an' Pole kept callin' him -Bill. It was Bill this an' Bill that; an' as Barrett had only been -in office a month, he hardly knew how to rise to his proper dignity, -especially when he saw the crowd was laughin' at his predicament. When -I declined to defend 'im, Pole attempted to read the law on the case -to Barrett an' show whar he was right. Barrett let 'im talk because he -didn't know how to stop 'im, an' Pole made the best defence I ever heerd -from a unlettered man. It kept the crowd in a roar. For a while I swear -it looked like Pole was goin' to cleer hisse'f, but Barrett had to do -his duty, an' so he fined Pole thirty dollars, or in default thereof to -break rock on the streets fer ten days. You ort to 'a' heerd Pole snort. -'Looky heer, Bill!' he said, 'you know as well as yo're a-settin' cocked -up thar, makin' folks say 'yore honor' ever' breath they draw, that I -ain't a-goin' to break no rock in that br'ilin' sun fer ten day 'ca'se -I beat that skunk at his own game!' - -"You 'll have to do it if you don't pay out," Barrett told 'im. - -"'Well, I jest won't pay out, an' I won't break rock nuther,' Pole -said. 'You've heerd about the feller that could lead a hoss to water but -couldn't make 'im drink, hain't you? Well, I'm the hoss.' - -"Yesterday was Pole's fust day on the street. They put a ball an' chain -to one of his ankles an' sent 'im out with the nigger gang, but all -day yesterday an' to-day he hain't worked a lick. He's as stubborn as -a mule. Thar's been a crowd around 'im all the time. You kin see 'im -standin' up as straight as a post in the middle of the street from one -end of it to the other. I'm sorter sorry fer 'im; he looks like he's -ashamed at bottom, but don't want to give in. The funniest thing about -the whole thing is that Pole seems to know more about the law than the -mayor. He says unless they force him to work in the specified ten days -they can't hold him any longer, an' that if they attempt to flog 'im -he 'll kill the first man that lays hands on him. I think Bill Barrett -likes him too well to have 'im whipped, an' the whole town is guyin' -him, an' axin' 'im why he don't make Pole set in." - -Alan went down the street to see Pole. He found him seated on a large -stone, a long-handled rock-hammer at his feet. He looked up from under -his broad-brimmed hat, and a crestfallen look came into his big, brown -eyes. - -"I'm sorry to see this, Pole," said Alan. - -Pole stood up at his full height, the chain clanking as he rose. "They -hain't treated me right about this matter, Alan Bishop," he said, half -resentfully, half as if he recognized his own error. "Bill knows he -hain't done the fair thing. I know I was full, but I jest wanted to have -my fun. That don't justify him in puttin' me out heer with these niggers -fer folks to gap' at, an' he knows it. He ain't a friend right. Me 'n' -him has slep' together on the same pile o' leaves, an' I've let 'im pull -down on a squirrel when I could 'a' knocket it from its perch; an' I've -lent 'im my pointer an' gun many an' many a time. But he's showed what -he is! He's got the wrong sow by the yeer, though, fer ef he keeps -me heer till Christmas I 'll never crack a rock, unless I do it by -accidentally step-pin' on it. Mark my words, Alan Bishop, thar 'll be -trouble out o' this." - -"Don't talk that way, Pole," said Alan. "You've broken the law and they -had to punish you for it. If they hadn't they would have made themselves -ridiculous. Why didn't you send me word you were in trouble, Pole?" - -The fellow hung his head, and then he blurted out: - -"Beca'se I knowed you would make a fool o' yorese'f an' try to pay me -out. Damn it, Alan Bishop, this ain't no business o' yore'n!" - -"I 'll make it my business," said Alan. "How much is your fine? You ought -to have sent me word." - -"Sent you hell, Alan Bishop," growled the prisoner. "When I send you -word to he'p me out of a scrape that whiskey got me into I 'll do it -after I've decently cut my throat. I _say!_--when you've plead with me -like you have to quit the durn stuff!" - -At this point of the conversation Jeff Dukes, a man of medium size, -dressed in dark-blue uniform, with a nickel-plated badge shaped like a -shield and bearing the words "Marshal No. 2," came directly towards them -from a stone-cutter's shop near by. - -"Look heer, Bishop," he said, dictatorially, "whar'd you git the right -to talk to that man?" - -Alan looked surprised. "Am I breaking the law, too?" - -"You are, ef you hain't got a permit from the mayor in yore pocket." - -"Well, I have no permit," replied Alan, with a good-natured smile. "Have -you got another ball an' chain handy?" - -The officer frowned off his inclination to treat the matter as a jest. -"You ort to have more sense than that," he said, crustily. "Pole's put -out heer to work his time out, an' ef everybody in town is allowed to -laugh an' joke with him he'd crack about as many rocks as you or me." - -"You are a durn liar, Jeff Dukes," said Pole, angrily. "You are a-makin' -that up to humiliate me furder. You know no law like that never was -inforced. Ef I ever git you out in Pea Vine Destrict I 'll knock a dent -in that egg-shaped head o' yor'n, an' make them eyes look two ways fer -Sunday. You know a gentleman like Alan Bishop wouldn't notice you under -ordinary circumstances, an' so you trump up that excuse to git his -attention." - -The two men glared at each other, but Pole seemed to get the best of -that sort of combat, for the officer only growled. - -"You can insult a man when you are under arrest," he said, "beca'se you -know I am under bond to keep the peace. But I'm not afeerd of you." - -"They tell me you are afeerd o' sperits, though," retorted the prisoner. -"They tell me a little nigger boy that was shot when a passle o' skunks -went to whip his daddy fer vagrancy stands at the foot o' yore bed ever' -night. Oh, I know what I'm a-talkin' about!" - -"Yes, you know a lots," said the man, sullenly, as his eyes fell. - -To avoid encouraging the disputants further, Alan walked suddenly away. -The marshal took willing advantage of the opportunity and followed him. - -"I could make a case agin you," he said, catching up, "but I know you -didn't mean to violate the ordinance." - -"No, of course I didn't," said Alan; "but I want to know if that fellow -could be released if I paid his fine." - -"You are not fool enough to do it, are you?" - -"That's what I am." - -"Have you got the money in yore pocket?" The officer was laughing, as if -at a good joke. - -"I have." - -"Well"--the marshal laughed again as he swung his short club round by a -string that fastened it to his wrist--"well, you come with me, an' I 'll -show you a man that wants thirty dollars wuss than any man I know of. I -don't believe Bill Barrett has slept a wink sence this thing happened. -He 'll be tickled to death to git off so easy. The town has devilled the -life out of him. He don't go by whar Pole's at work--I mean, whar he -ain't at work--fer Pole yells at 'im whenever he sees 'im." - -That night when Alan reached home he sent a servant over to tell Mrs. -Baker that Pole was all right and that he'd be home soon. He had eaten -his supper and had gone up-stairs to go to bed when he heard his name -called outside. Going to a window and looking out, he recognized Pole -Baker standing at the gate in the clear moonlight. - -"Alan," he said, softly, "come down heer a minute. I want to see you." - -Alan went down and joined him. For a moment Pole stood leaning against -the fence, his eyes hidden by his broad-brimmed slouch hat. - -"Did you want to see me, Pole?" Alan asked. - -"Yes, I did," the fellow swallowed. He made a motion as if to reach out -his hand, but refrained. Then he looked straight into Alan's face. - -"I couldn't go to sleep till I'd said some 'n' to you," he began, with -another gulp. "I laid down an' made a try at it, but it wasn't no go. -I've got to say it. I'm heer to swear that ef God, or some 'n' else, -don't show me a way to pay you back fer what you done to-day, I 'll never -draw a satisfied breath. Alan Bishop, yo're a man, _God damn it!_ a man -from yore outside skin to the marrow o' yore bones, an' ef I don't find -some way to prove what I think about you, I 'll jest burn up! I got into -that trouble as thoughtless as I'd play a prank with my baby, an' then -they all come down on me an' begun to try to drive me like a hog out'n -a field with rocks an' sticks, an' the very Old Harry riz in me an' -defied 'em. I reckon thar wasn't anything Bill could do but carry out -the law, an' I knowed it, but I wasn't ready to admit it. Then you come -along an' rendered a verdict in my favor when you needed the money you -did it with. Alan, ef I don't show my appreciation, it 'll be beca'se I -don't live long enough. You never axed me but one thing, an' that was -to quit drinkin' whiskey. I'm goin' to make a try at it, not beca'se -I think that 'll pay you back, but beca'se with a sober head I kin be a -better friend to you ef the chance ever comes my way." - -"I'm glad to hear you say that, Pole," replied Alan, greatly moved by -the fellow's earnestness. "I believe you can do it. Then your wife and -children--" - -"Damn my wife an' children," snorted Pole. "It's _you_ I'm a-goin' to -work fer--_you_, I say!" - -He suddenly turned through the open gate and strode homeward across the -fields. Alan stood looking after him till his tall form was lost in the -hazy moonlight, and then he went up to his bed. - -Pole entered the open door of his cabin and began to undress as he sat -on the side of his crude bedstead, made of unbarked poles fastened to -the bare logs in one corner of the room. His wife and children slept on -two beds on the other side of the room. - -"Did you see 'im, Pole?" piped up Mrs. Baker from the darkness. - -"Yes, I seed 'im. Sally, say, whar's that bottle o' whiskey I had the -last time I was at home?" - -There was an ominous silence. Out of it rose the soft breathing of the -children. Then the woman sighed. "Pole, shorely you ain't a-goin' to -begin agin?" - -"No, I want to bu'st it into smithereens. I don't want it about--I don't -want to know thar's a drap in the house. I've swore off, an' this time -she sticks. Gi'me that bottle." - -Another silence. Suddenly the woman spoke. "Pole, you've swore off as -many times as a dog has fleas. Often when I feel bad an' sick when you -are off, a drap o' whiskey makes me feel better. I don't want you to -destroy the last bit in the house jest be-ca'se you've tuck this turn, -that may wear off before daylight. The last time you emptied that keg on -the ground an' swore off you got on a spree an' helt the baby over the -well an' threatened to drap 'er in ef I didn't find a bottle, an' you'd -'a' done it, too." - -Pole laughed softly. "I reckon yo' re right, old gal," he said. -"Besides, ef I can' t--ef I ain't man enough to let up with a bottle -in the house I won't do it without. But the sight or smell of it is hell -itse'f to a lover of the truck. Ef I was to tell you what a little thing -started me on this last spree you'd laugh. I went to git a shave in a -barber shop, an' when the barber finished he soaked my face in bay-rum -an' it got in my mustache. I kept smellin' it all mornin' an' tried to -wipe it off, but she wouldn't wipe. All the time I kept walkin' up an' -down in front o' Luke Sell-more's bar. Finally I said to myself: 'Well, -ef you have to have a bar-room stuck under yore nose all day like a wet -sponge, old man, you mought as well have one whar it 'll taste better, -an' I slid up to the counter." The woman sighed audibly, but she made no -reply. "Is Billy awake?" Pole suddenly asked. - -"No, you know he ain't," said Mrs. Baker. - -"Well, I want to take 'im in my bed." Pole stood out on the floor in the -sheet of moonlight that fell through the open door. - -"I wouldn't, Pole," said the woman. "The pore little feller's been -toddlin' about after the others, draggin' bresh to the heap tell he's -tired. He drapped to sleep at the table with a piece o' bread in his -mouth." - -"I won't wake 'im, God bless his little heart," answered Pole, and he -reached down and took the limp child in his arms and pressed him against -the side of his face. He carried him tenderly across the room and laid -down with him. His wife heard him uttering endearing things to the -unconscious child until she fell asleep. - - - - -XIII - -[Illustration: 9107] - -T was the second Sunday in July, and a bright, clear day. In -that mountainous region the early mornings of dry summer days are -delightfully cool and balmy. Abner Daniel was in his room making -preparations to go to meeting at Rock Crest Church. He had put on one -of his best white shirts, black silk necktie, doeskin trousers, flowered -waistcoat, and long frock-coat, and was proceeding to black his shoes. -Into an old pie-pan he raked from the back of the fireplace a quantity -of soot and added to it a little water and a spoonful of sorghum -molasses from a jug under his bed, stirring the mixture into a paste. -This he applied to his shoes with a blacking-brush, rubbing vigorously -until quite a decent gloss appeared. It was a thing poverty had taught -him just after the war, and to which he still resorted when he forgot to -buy blacking. - -On his way to church, as he was crossing a broom-sedge field and -steering for the wood ahead of him, through which a path made a short -cut to Rock Crest Church, he overtook Pole Baker swinging along in his -shirt-sleeves and big hat. - -"Well, I 'll be bungfuzzled," Abner exclaimed, "ef you hain't got on a -clean shirt! Church?" - -"Yes, I 'lowed I would, Uncle Ab. I couldn't stay away. I told Sally it -ud be the biggest fun on earth. She's a-comin' on as soon as she gits -the childern ready. She's excited, too, an' wants to see how it 'll come -out. She's as big a believer in you as I am, mighty nigh, an' she -'lowed, she did, that she'd bet you'd take hair an' hide off'n that gang -'fore they got good started." - -Abner raised his shaggy eyebrows. If this was one of Pole's jokes it -failed in the directness that usually characterized the jests of the -ex-moonshiner. - -"I wonder what yo' re a-drivin' at, you blamed fool," he said, smiling -in a puzzled fashion. - -Pole was walking in front, and suddenly wheeled about. He took off -his hat, and, wiping the perspiration from his high brow with his -forefinger, he cracked it into the broom-sedge like a whip. - -"Looky' heer, Uncle Ab," he laughed, "what you givin' me?" - -"I was jest tryin' to find out what you was a-givin' me," retorted the -rural philosopher, a dry note of rising curiosity dominating his voice. - -They had reached a rail fence which separated the field from the wood, -and they climbed over it and stood in the shade of the trees. Pole -stared at the old man incredulously. "By hunkley, Uncle Ab, you don't -mean to tell me you don't know what that passle o' hill-Billies is -a-goin' to do with you this mornin' at meetin'?" - -Abner smiled mechanically. "I can't say I do, Pole. I'm at the fust of -it, if thar is to be any--" - -Pole slapped his thigh and gave vent to a loud guffaw that rang through -the trees and was echoed back from a hidden hill-side. - -"Well, what they _are_ a-goin' to do with you 'll be a God's plenty. -They are a-goin' to walk yore log, ur make you do it on all fours so -they kin see you. You've made it hot fer them an' they are a-goin' to -turn t'other cheek an' git a swipe at you. They are a-goin' to show you -whar you come in--ur, ruther, whar you go out." - -Abner's face was a study in seriousness. "You don't say!" he muttered. -"I _did_ notice that brother Dole kinder give our house a wide berth -last night. I reckon he sorter hated to eat at the same table with a -feller he was goin' to hit at to-day. Yes, Dole is at the bottom of it. -I know in reason I pushed 'im too fur the last time he was heer, but -when he rears back an' coughs up sanctimony like he was literally too -full of it fer comfort, I jest cayn't hold in. Seems to me I kin jest -close my eyes an' hit some spot in 'im that makes 'im wiggle like a -tadpole skeered in shallow water. But maybe I mought 'a' got a better -mark to fire at; fer this 'll raise no end of a rumpus, an' they may -try to make me take back water, but I never did crawfish. I couldn't do -that, Pole. No siree, I--I can' t crawfish." - -Abner was a special object of regard as he and Pole emerged from the -wood into the opening in front of the little unpainted meeting-house, -where the men stood about among the buggies and horses, whittling, -gossiping, and looking strange and fresh-washed in their clean clothes. -But it was noticeable that they did not gather around him as had been -their habit. His standing in that religious community was at stake; his -continued popularity depended on the result of that day's investigation. -Pole could afford to stand by him, and he did. They sat down on a log -near the church door and remained silent till the cast-iron bell in the -little belfry, which resembled a dog-kennel, was rattled vigorously as -an announcement that the service was about to begin. They all scurried -in like sheep. Abner went in last, with slow dignity and deliberation, -leaving Pole in a seat near the door. - -He went up the narrow aisle to his accustomed seat near the long-wood -stove. Many eyes were on his profile and the back of his neck. Dole -was seated in the arm-chair behind the preacher's stand, but somehow he -failed to look at Abner as he entered, or even after he had taken his -seat. He seemed busy making notes from the big Bible which lay across -his lap. Abner saw Bishop and his wife come in and sit down, and knew -from the glances they gave him that they had heard the news. Mrs. Bishop -looked keenly distressed, but Bishop seemed to regard the matter only as -a small, buzzing incident in his own troubled career. Besides, Abner was -no blood relative of his, and Bishop had enough to occupy him in looking -after the material interests of his own family without bothering about -the spiritual welfare of a connection by marriage. - -Dole stood up and announced a hymn, and read it from beginning to end -in a mellow, sonorous voice. The congregation, all eying Abner, rose and -sang it energetically; even Abner, who sang a fair bass of the rasping, -guttural variety, popular in the mountains, found himself joining in, -quite unconcerned as to his future right to do so. After this, Dole -led in prayer, standing with both hands resting on the crude, unpainted -stand, the sole ornament of which was a pitcher of water, a tumbler, and -a glass lamp with a green paper shade on it. Abner remarked afterwards -that Dole, in this prayer, used the Lord as a cat's-paw to hit at him. -Dole told the Lord a few things that he had never had the courage to -tell Daniel. Abner was a black sheep in a flock earnestly striving to -keep itself white--a thing in human shape that soiled that with which -it came in contact. He had the subtle tongue of the serpent that blasted -the happiness of the primeval pair in the Garden of Eden. Under the -cloak of wit and wisdom he was continually dropping poison into the -beverages of earnest folk who had not the religious courage to close -their ears. As a member of a consecrated body of souls, it was the -opinion of many that Abner was out of place, but that was to be decided -after careful investigation in the Lord's presence and after ample -testimony pro and con had been submitted. Any one wishing to show that -the offending member had a right to remain in good standing would be -gladly listened to, even prayerfully. On the other hand, such members -as had had their religious sensibilities wounded should feel that a most -sacred duty rested on them to speak their minds. All this Dole said he -trusted the Lord would sanction and bless in the name of the Lord Jesus -Christ, the Saviour and Director of all men. - -Dole then started another hymn, and when it had been sung he announced -that no sermon would be preached that day, as the important business in -hand would consume all available time before the dinner-hour. Then he -courageously faced Abner. His countenance was pale and determined, -his tone perfunctory and sharp as a knife. - -"I reckon, brother Daniel," he said, "that you have a idee who I've been -talkin' about?" - -Abner was slightly pale, but calm and self-possessed. The light of -merriment, always kindled by contact with Dole, danced in his eyes. "I -kinder 'lowed I was the one," he said, slowly, "an' I'm sorter curis -to see who' ll speak an' what they 'll say. I 'll tell you now I ain't -a-goin' to do myse'f jestice. I 'ain't been to a debatin' club sence I -was a boy, but I 'll do my best." - -Dole stroked his beard and consulted a scrap of paper in the palm of his -hand. "Brother Throg-martin," he called out, suddenly, and a short, fat -man on a bench behind Abner rose and cleared his throat. - -"Now, brother Throgmartin," went on the preacher, "jest tell some o' -the things you've heerd brother Daniel say that struck you as bein' -undoctrinal an' unbecomin' a member of this body." - -"Well, sir," Throgmartin began, in a thin, high voice that cut the -profound silence in the room like a rusty blade, "I don't raily, in -my heart o' hearts, believe that Ab--brother Daniel--has the right -interpretation of Scriptur'. I remember, after you preached last -summer about the sacred teachin' in regard to future punishment, that -Ab--brother Daniel--an' me was walkin' home together. Ever' now an' then -he'd stop in the road an' laugh right out sudden-like over what you'd -contended." - -"Oh, he did, did he?" Dole's face hardened. He couldn't doubt that part -of the testimony, for it was distinctly Abner's method. - -"Yes, sir," responded Throgmartin, sternly, "he 'lowed what you'd said -was as funny to him as a circus clown's talk, an' that it was all he -could do to hold in. He 'lowed ef you was to git up in a Darley church -with sech talk as that they'd make you preach to niggers. He 'lowed he -didn't believe hell was any hot place nohow, an' that he never could -be made to believe that the Lord ud create folks an' then barbecue 'em -alive through all eternity. He said it sorter turned his stomach to see -jest a little lamb roasted at a big political gatherin', an' that no God -he believed in would institute sech long torture as you spoke about when -you brought up the mustard-seed p'int." - -"He deliberately gives the lie to Holy Scripture, then," said Dole, -almost beside himself with rage. "What else did he say of a blasphemous -nature?" - -"Oh, I hardly know," hesitated the witness, his brow wrinkled -thoughtfully. - -"Well," snarled Dole, "you hain't told half you said to me this mornin' -on the way to meetin'. What was his remark about the stars havin' people -on 'em ever' bit an' grain as worthy o' salvation as us all?" - -"I disremember his exact words. Perhaps Ab--brother Daniel--will refresh -my memory." Throg-martin was gazing quite respectfully at the offender. -"It was at Billy Malone's log-rollin', you know, Ab; me 'n' you'd eat a -snack together, an' you said the big poplar had strained yore side an' -wanted to git it rubbed." - -Abner looked straight at Dole. The corners of his big, honest mouth were -twitching defiantly. - -"I said, I think," he answered, "that no matter what some folks mought -believe about the starry heavens, no man ever diskivered a big world -with a tail to it through a spy-glass without bein' convinced that thar -was other globes in the business besides jest this un." - -Dole drew himself up straight and gazed broadly over his congregation. -He felt that in the estimation of unimaginative, prosaic people like his -flock Abner's defence would certainly fall. - -"Kin I ax," he asked, sternly, "how you happen to think like you do?" - -Abner grasped the back of the bench in front of him and pulled himself -up, only to sink back hesitatingly into his seat. "Would it be out o' -order fer me to stand?" he questioned. - -Dole spread a hard, triumphant smile over the congregation. "Not at all, -if it will help you to give a sensible answer to my question." - -"Oh, I kin talk settin'," retorted the man on trial. "I jest didn't know -what was right an' proper, an' I 'lowed I could hit that spit-box better -standin' than I kin over brother Tarver's legs." - -The man referred to quickly slid along the bench, giving Abner his place -near the aisle, and Abner calmly emptied his mouth in the wooden box -filled with sawdust and wiped his lips. - -"I hardly know why I think like I do about other worlds," he answered, -slowly, "unless it's beca'se I've always had the notion that the -universe is sech a powerful, whoppin' big thing. Most folks believe that -the spot they inhabit is about all thar is to creation, anyway. That's -human natur'. About the biggest job I ever tackled was to drive a hungry -cow from bad grass into a good patch. She wants to stay thar an' eat, -an' that's about the way it is with folks. They are short-sighted. It -makes most of 'em mad to tell 'em they kin better the'r condition. I've -always believed that's the reason they make the bad place out so bad; -they've made up the'r minds to live thar, an' they ain't a-goin' to -misrepresent it. They are out o' fire-wood in this life an' want to have -a good sweat in the next." - - - - -XIV - - -[Illustration: 9115] - -T looked as if Dole thought he could get down to the matter better out -of the pulpit, so he descended the steps on the side near Abner, and -stood on the floor inside the altar railing. - -"We didn't assemble heer to argue with brother Daniel," he informed the -congregation, "fer that's evidently jest what he'd like. It would be -raily kind of you all to consider what he's jest said as the product of -a weak brain ruther 'n a bad heart. Brother Throgmartin, have you any -other charges to prefer agin brother Daniel?" Dole looked as if he had -already been apprised of the extent of the witness's testimony. - -"That's all I keer to say," replied the man addressed, and he coughed. - -Dole consulted the scrap of paper in his hand, and while he did so Abner -stole a glance at Bishop and his wife. Mrs. Bishop had her handkerchief -to her eyes as if she were crying, and her husband's face wore the -impatient look of a man detained by trivialities. - -"Brother Daniel," the preacher began, suddenly, "charges has been -preferred agin you on the score that you are a profane man. What have -you got to say on that line?" - -Abner bent his head and spat down into the hopper-shaped box in the -aisle. - -"I hardly know, brother Dole," he said. "It's all owin' to what -profanity is an' what it hain't. I don't know that I ever used but one -word out o' the general run, an' that is 'dem.' I don't believe thar's -any more harm in sayin' 'dem' than 'scat,' ur gruntin' when thar's no -absolute call fer it. I don't know as anybody knows what it means. -I don't. I've axed a number o' times, but nobody could tell me, so I -knowed it wasn't patented anyway. Fer a long time I 'lowed nobody used -it but me. I met a feller from up in Yankeedom that said 'darn,' an' -another from out West that said 'dang,' so I reckon they are all three -in a bunch." - -At this juncture some one in the rear of the church laughed out, and the -entire congregation turned its head. It was Pole Baker. He was red in -the face, had his big hand pressed tightly over his mouth, and was bent -over the bench towards the open doorway. Abner's eyes sparkled with -appreciative merriment as he saw him, but he did not permit himself -to smile. Dole could not hide his irritation, for Pole's unalloyed -enjoyment had communicated itself to some of the less rigid members, -and he felt that the reply which was stinging his tongue would fall less -forcefully than if the incident hadn't happened. - -He held up his hand to invoke silence and respect. "I believe such a -word, to say the least, is unbecoming in a Christian, and I think the -membership will back me up in it." - -"I don't look at it that away," argued Abner. "I'd be above takin' the -Lord's name in vain, but a little word that nobody cayn't find no fault -with or tell its origin shorely is different." - -"Well, that 'll be a matter to decide by vote." - -Dole paused a moment and then introduced another topic. - -"A report has gone round among the members that you said that red-handed -murderer who killed a man over in Fannin' an' was hung, an' passed -on without a single prayer fer pardon to his Maker--that he'd stand -a chance fer redemption. In all my experience I've never heerd sech a -dangerous doctrin' as that, brother Daniel--never, as I myself hope to -be redeemed." - -"I said he'd have a chance--I _thought_," said Abner. "I reckon I must -'a' got that idee from what Jesus said to the thief on the cross. You -see, brother Dole, I believe the Almighty gives us all equal chances, -an' I don't believe that feller in Fannin' had as good a opportunity to -git his heart saftened as the feller did that was dyin' right alongside -o' the great Redeemer o' the world. Nobody spoke a kind word to the -Fannin' man; on the contrary, they was hootin' an' spittin' at 'im night -an' day, an' they say the man he killed had pestered 'im all his life. -Scriptur' says we ort to forgive a man seventy times seven, an' that -is four hundred an' ninety. Why they didn't make it even five hundred -I never could tell. An' yet you-uns try to make folks believe the Lord -that made us, frail as we are an' prone to sin, won't forgive us once -ef we happen to die sudden. Shucks! that doctrine won't hold water; it's -hide-bound an' won't stretch one bit. It seems to me that the trouble -with yore--" - -"We haven't time to listen to a speech on the subject," interrupted the -preacher, whose anger was inflamed by hearing Pole Baker sniggering. "If -thar is anybody else that has anything to say we'd be glad to hear from -'em." - -Then Mrs. Bishop rose, wiping her eyes. She was pale and deeply -agitated. "I jest want to ax you all to be lenient with my pore -brother," she began, her thin voice cracking under its strain. "I've -predicted that he'd bring disrepute down on us with his ready tongue an' -odd notions. I've tried an' tried to stop 'im, but it didn't do a bit o' -good." - -"It's very good of you to speak in his behalf," said Dole, as she sank -back into her seat. "I'm sure the membership will do its duty, sister -Bishop." - -Then a little, meanly clad man behind Daniel stood up. It was Jasper -Marmaduke, a ne 'er-do-well farmer, who had a large family, few friends, -and no earthly possessions. He was greatly excited, and as white as if -he were on trial for his life. - -"I ain't no member," he began. "I know I ort to be, but I hain't. I -don't know whether a outsider's got a right to chip into this or not, -but it seems to me I 'll bu'st wide open ef I don't git up heer an' say -as loud as I kin holler that Abner Daniel's the best man I ever seed, -knowed, ur heerd tell of." Tears were on the man's face and his voice -shook with emotion. "He's fetched food an' medicine over to my folks an' -run after a doctor when all the rest o' humanity had turned the'r backs -on us. He made me promise not to cheep it to a soul, but I'm a-goin' to -tell it--tell it, ef he never speaks to me agin. I ain't no godly man, -an' this thing's makin' me so mad I feel like throwin' rocks!" And with -a sob bursting from him, Marmaduke strode from the church with a loud -clatter of his untied shoes. - -"Good! Good man!" spoke up Pole Baker, impulsively, unconscious of where -he was. "Jas', yo're the right stuff." And then, in the dead silence -that followed his ejaculation, Pole realized what he had said and -lowered his head in red embarrassment, for Dole's fierce eyes were -bearing down on him. The preacher's pent-up wrath burst; he was really -more infuriated at the man who had just left the church, but he had to -make an example of some one, and Pole had laid himself open to attack. - -"This is no place fer rowdies," he snarled. "That outlaw back thar who -has been continually disturbing these proceedings ort to be jailed. He's -undertakin' to bring his violations of decency into the very house of -God." - -A vast surprise clutched the congregation, who, knowing Pole, scented -trouble. And Pole did not disappoint them. With his flabby hat in his -brawny grasp, Pole stood up, but his wife, who sat on the women's side -across the aisle from him with her three eldest children, stepped to -him and drew him back in his seat, sitting by him and whispering -imploringly. Dole stared fiercely for a moment, and then, seeing that -the disturbance was over, he shrugged his broad shoulders and applied -himself to the business in hand. - -"Is thar anybody else pro or con that ud like to be heerd?" - -It was the widow Pellham, sitting well towards the front, who now rose. -"I feel like Jas' Marmaduke does," she began, falteringly. Her hearers -could not see her face, for she wore a black calico sunbonnet, and it -was tilted downward. "I believe I 'll be committin' of a grievous sin ef -I let my natural back'ard-ness keep me quiet. Abner Daniel was the fust, -last, an' only pusson that made me see the true way into God's blessed -sunshine out o' the pitch-black darkness that was over me. All of you, -especially them livin' nigh me, knowed how I acted when my daughter Mary -died. We'd lived together sence she was born, an' after her pa passed -away she was all I had. Then God up an' tuck 'er. I tell you it made a -devil out'n me. I liter'ly cussed my Maker an' swore revenge agin 'Im. -I quit meetin' an' closed my door agin my neighbors. They all tried to -show me whar I was wrong, but I wouldn't listen. Some nights I set up -from dark till daylight without candle or fire, bemeanin' my God fer the -way He'd done me. You remember, brother Dole, that you come a time or -two an' prayed an' read, but I didn't budge out'n my cheer an' wouldn't -bend a knee. Then that other little preacher, that was learnin' to -preach, an' tuck yore place when you went off to bury yore mother--he -come an' made a set at me, but every word he said made me wuss. I -ordered _him_ off the hill, an' told 'im ef he appeared agin I'd set my -dog on 'im. I don't know why everybody made me so mad, but they did. The -devil had me by the leg, an' was a-drag-gin' me as fast to his hole as -a dog kin trot. But one mornin' Abner Daniel come over with that thar -devilish twinkle in his eyes that ud make a cow laugh, an' begun to -banter me to sell 'im the hay off'n my little neck o' land betwixt the -creek an' the road. I kept tellin' 'im I didn't want to sell, but he -kept a-com-in' an' a comin', with no end o' fool talk about this un an' -that un, tell somehow I got to watchin' fer 'im, but still I wouldn't -let nobody else in. Then one day, after I'd refused to sell an' told -'im I'd _give_ 'im the hay, he growed serious an' said, ses he: 'Sister -Pellham, I don't want the hay on that patch. I've been deliberately -lyin'. I've been comin' over heer as a friend, to try to make you feel -better.' Then he set in, an', as God is my highest judge, ef thar 'll -be any more speritual talk on t'other shore it 'll be after Abner Daniel -gits thar. He jest rolled me about in his hands like a piece o' wheat -dough. He showed me what aileded me as plain as I could p'int out the -top o' old Bald Mountain to you on a cleer day. He told me, I remember, -that in grievin' like I was, I was sinnin' agin the Holy Ghost, an' jest -as long as I did it I'd suffer wuss an' wuss as a penalty. He said it -was a fight betwixt me an' my Maker an' that I was bound to be worsted. -He said that when my Mary come into the world I couldn't tell whar -she was from, nur why the Lord had fetched 'er, but I was jest pleased -beca'se it suited me to be pleased, but, ses he, when she went back into -the great mystery o' God's beautiful plan I wasn't satisfied beca'se it -didn't suit me to be. He said it was downright selfishness, that had -no part nur parcel in the kingdom o' heaven. He said to me, ses he, -'Sister, ef you 'll jest fer one minute make up yore mind that Mary is in -better hands 'an she was in yor'n '--an' you kin bet yore bottom dollar -she is--'you 'll feel as light as a feather. 'I had a tussle, but it -come, God bless him! it come. It was jest like a great light had bu'sted -over me. I fell down on my knees before 'im an' shouted an' shouted till -I was as limp as a wet rag. I had always thought I was converted away -back in the sixties when I was a gal, but I wasn't. I got my redemption -that day under Abner Daniel's talk, an' I shall bless 'im an' sing his -name on my dyin' bed. I don't want to entertain no spiteful feelin' s, -but ef he goes out I 'll have to. I wouldn't feel right in no church too -puore to fellowship with Abner Daniel." - -"Good! Good woman!" shouted Pole Baker, as if he were at a political -speaking. She sat down. The house seemed profoundly moved. People were -thinking of the good things they had heard about Abner Daniel. However, -the turn of affairs did not suit Dole, who showed decided anger. His -eyes flashed as they rested on Pole Baker, who had offended him again. - -"I shall have to ax that law-breaker back thar to leave the church," -he said. "I think it's come to a purty pass ef strong, able-bodied -church-members will set still an' allow the'r own house o' worship to be -insulted by such a rascal as that one." - -Pole rose; many thought he was going to leave, but to the surprise of -all he walked deliberately up to the altar and laid his hand upon the -railing. - -"Looky' heer," he said, "they call you the fightin' preacher. They say -you believe in hittin' back when yo' re hit. I'm heer to show you that -ef I am a outlaw I ain't afeerd o' you, an' I ain't a-goin' to be -abused by you when you are under the cloak o' this meetin'. When you -say some 'n' you think is purty good you wink at some brother in -the amen-corner an' he yells 'Amen 'loud enough to be heerd to the -cross-roads. Then you go on as if nothin' had happened. What I said back -thar was jest my way o' sayin' amen. Little Jas' Marmaduke hit you in a -weak spot; so did what Mis' Pellham said, an' yo' re tryin' to take yore -spite out on me. That won't work. I come heer to see fair play, an' I'm -a-goin' to do it. Uncle Ab's a good man an' I'm heer to testify to it. -He's come nigher--him an' Alan Bishop, that's a chip off'n 'im--to turn -me into the right way than all the shoutin'-bees I ever attended, an' -I've been to as many as thar are hairs on my head. I ain't bald, nuther. -Now ef you want to have it out with me jest wait an' meet me outside, -whar we 'll both have fair play." - -Dole was quivering with rage. "I kin whip a dozen dirty scoundrels like -you," he panted. "Men like you insult ministers, thinking they won't -fight, but after meetin' I 'll simply wipe up the ground with you." - -"All right, 'nough said!" and Pole sat down. There was silence for a -moment. Dole's furious panting could be heard all over the room. -Then Abner Daniel rose. A vast change had come over him. The light of -quizzical merriment had faded from his face; nothing lay there except -the shadows of deepest regret. "I've been wrong--wrong--_wrong!_" he -said, loudly. "I'm dead wrong, ur Pole Baker never would 'a' wanted to -fight, an' brother Dole wouldn't 'a' been driv' to lose his temper in -the pulpit. I'm at the bottom o' all this rumpus that has kept you all -from listenin' to a good sermon. You've not found me hard to git along -with when I see my error, an' I promise that I 'll try from this day on -to keep from shovin' my notions on folks that ain't ready fer 'em. I want -to stay in the church. I think every sane man an' woman kin do good in a -church, an' I want to stay in this un." - -The confession was so unexpected, and furnished Dole with such an easy -loop-hole for gracefully retiring from a most unpleasant predicament, -that he actually beamed on the speaker. - -"I don't think any more need be said," he smiled. "Brother Daniel has -shown himself willing to do the right thing, an' I propose that -the charges be dropped." Thereupon a vote was taken, and it went -overwhelmingly in Abner's favor. After the benediction, which followed -immediately, Pole Baker hurried across to Daniel. "I declare, you make -me sick, Uncle Ab," he grumbled. "What on earth did you mean by takin' -back-water? You had 'im whar the wool was short; he was white at the -gills. You could 'a' mauled the life out'n 'im. Ef I'd--" - -But Abner, smiling indulgently, had a watchful eye on Dole, and was -moving forward to shake the preacher's outstretched hand. - -"Well, I 'll be damned!" Pole grunted, half aloud and in high disgust, as -he pushed his way through the crowd to the door. - -Abner found him waiting for him near the hitch-ing-post, where he had -been to untie Bishop's horse. - -"I reckon," he said, "bein' as you got so mighty good yorese'f, 'at you -think I acted wrong." - -"Not any wuss'n I did, Pole," replied the old man, seriously. "My advice -to you is to go to Dole an' tell 'im you are sorry." - -"Sorry hell!" - -"It ud be better fer you," half smiled Abner. "Ef you don't, some o' -them hill-Billies 'll make a case at court agin you fer disturbin' -public worship. Before a grand jury o' mossbacks a man with yore record -ud not stand any better chance o' comin' cleer 'n a old bird-nest ud -o' makin' good soup. When you was a-runnin' of yore still it made you -powerful mad to have revenue men after you, didn't it? Well, this heer -shebang is Dole's still, my boy, whar he claims to make good sperits -out'n bad material, an' he's got a license, which is more 'n you could -'a' said." - -"I reckon yo' re right," said Pole. "I 'll wait fer 'im." - - - - -XV - - -[Illustration: 9125] - -N the middle of the following week some of the young people of Darley -gave a picnic at Morley's Spring, a beautiful and picturesque spot about -a mile below Bishop's farm. Alan had received an urgent invitation to -join the party, and he rode down after dinner. - -It was a hot afternoon, and the party of a dozen couples had scattered -in all directions in search of cool, shady nooks. Alan was by no means -sure that Miss Barclay would be there, but, if the truth must be told, -he went solely with the hope of at least getting another look at her. He -was more than agreeably surprised, for, just as he had hitched his horse -to a hanging bow of an oak near the spring, Frank Hillhouse came -from the tangle of wild vines and underbrush on a little hill-side and -approached him. - -"You are just the fellow I'm looking for," said Frank. "Miss Dolly's -over there in a hammock, and I want to leave somebody with her. Old man -Morley promised me the biggest watermelon in his patch if I'd come over -for it. I won't be long." - -"Oh, I don't care how long you are," smiled Alan. "You can stay all day -if you want to." - -"I thought you wouldn't mind," grinned Frank. "I used to think you were -the one man I had to fight, but I reckon I was mistaken. A feller in -love imagines everybody in creation is against him." - -Alan made no reply to this, but hurried away to where Dolly sat, a new -magazine in her hands and a box of candies on the grass at her feet. -"I saw you riding down the hill," she said, with a pretty flush and no -little excitement. "To tell the truth, I sent Frank after the melon when -I recognized you. He's been threatening to go all the afternoon, but I -insisted on it. You may be surprised, but I have a business message for -you, and I would have made Frank drive me past your house on the way -home if you hadn't come." - -"Business," Alan laughed, merrily; he felt very happy in her presence -under all her assurances of welcome. "The idea of your having a business -message! That's really funny." - -"Well, that's what it is; sit down." She made room for him in the -hammock, and he sat beside her, his foolish brain in a whirl. "Why, yes, -it is business; and it concerns you. I fancy it is important; anyway, it -may take you to town to-night." - -"You don't mean it," he laughed. She looked very pretty, in her light -organdie gown and big rustic hat, with its wide, flowing ribbons. - -"Yes, it is a message from Rayburn Miller, about that railroad idea of -yours." - -"Really? Then he told you about that?" - -"Yes; he was down to see me last week. He didn't seem to think much -of it then--but"--she hesitated and smiled, as if over the memory of -something amusing--"he's been thinking of it since. As Frank and I drove -through the main street this morning--Frank had gone in a store to get -a basket of fruit--he came to me on his way to the train for Atlanta. He -hadn't time to say much, but he said if you were out here to-day to -tell you to come in town to-night without fail, so as to meet him at -his office early in the morning. He 'll be back on the midnight train. I -asked him if it was about the railroad, and he said it was--that he had -discovered something that looked encouraging." - -"I'm glad of that," said Alan, a thrill of excitement passing over him. -"Rayburn threw cold water on my ideas the other day, and--" - -"I know he did, and it was a shame," said Dolly, warmly. "The idea of -his thinking he is the only man in Georgia with originality! Anyway, I -hope it will come to something." - -"I certainly do," responded Alan. "It's the only thing I could think of -to help my people, and I am willing to stake all I have on it--which is, -after all, nothing but time and energy." - -"Well, don't you let him nor any one else discourage you," said the -girl, her eyes flashing. "A man who listens to other people and puts his -own ideas aside is unworthy of the brain God gave him. There is another -thing"--her voice sank lower and her eyes sought the ground. "Rayburn -Miller is a fine, allround man, but he is not perfect by any means. He -talks freely to me, you know; he's known me since I was knee-high. Well, -he told me--he told me of the talk he had with you at the dance that -night. Oh, that hurt me--hurt me!" - -"He told you that!" exclaimed Alan, in surprise. "Yes, and it actually -disgusted me. Does he think all men ought to act on that sort of advice? -He might, for he has made an unnatural man of himself, with all his -fancies for new faces; but you are not that kind, Alan, and I'm sorry -you and he are so intimate--not that he can influence you _much_, but he -has already, _in a way_, and that has pained me deeply." - -"He has influenced me?" cried Alan, in surprise. "I think you are -mistaken." - -"You may not realize it, but he has," said Dolly, with gentle and yet -unyielding earnestness. "You see, you are so very sensitive that it -would not be hard to make you believe that a young man ought not to keep -on caring for a girl whose parents object to his attentions." - -"Ah!" He had caught her drift. - -There was a pause. At the foot of the hill a little brook ran merrily -over the water-browned stones, and its monotonous lapping could be heard -distinctly. Under the trees across the open some of the couples had -drawn together and were singing: - - "I see the boat go 'round the bend, - - Good-bye, my lover, good-bye." - -Dolly had said exactly what he had never hoped to hear her say, and the -fact of her broaching such a subject in such a frank, determined way -sent a glow of happiness all over him. - -"I don't think," he began, thoughtfully, "that Rayburn or any man could -keep me from"--he looked into her full, expectant eyes, and then plunged -madly--"could keep me from caring for you, from loving you with all my -heart, Dolly; but it really is a terrible thing to know that you are -robbing a girl of not only the love of her parents but her rightful -inheritance, when, when"--he hurried on, seeing that an impulse to speak -was urging her to protest--"when you haven't a cent to your name, and, -moreover, have a black eye from your father's mistakes." - -"I knew that's what he'd said!" declared the girl, almost white with -anger. "I knew it! Oh, Alan, Rayburn Miller might be able to draw back -and leave a girl at such a time, but no man could that truly loves -as--as I believe you love me. I have known how you have felt all this -time, and it has nearly broken my heart, but I could not write to you -when you had never even told me, what you have to-day. You must not let -anybody or anything influence you, Alan. I'd rather be a poor man' s -wife, and do my own work, than let a paltry thing like my father's money -keep me from standing by the man I love." - -Alan' s face was ablaze. He drew himself up and gazed at her, all his -soul in his eyes. "Then I shall not give you up," he declared; "not for -anything in the world. And if there is a chance in the railroad idea I -shall work at it ten times as hard, now that I have talked with you." - -They sat together in blissful ignorance of the passage of time, -till some one shouted out that Frank Hill-house was coming with the -watermelon. Then all the couples in sight or hearing ran to the spring, -where Hillhouse could be seen plunging the big melon into the water. -Hattie Alexander and Charlie Durant, who had been perched on a jutting -bowlder high up on the hill behind Dolly and Alan, came half running, -half sliding down, catching at the trees to keep from falling. - -"Better come get your teeth in that melon," Hattie said, with a knowing -smile at Dolly. They lived next door to each other and were quite -intimate. - -"Come on, Alan." Dolly rose. "Frank will never forgive me if I don't -have some." - -"I sha 'n' t have time, if I go to town to-night," replied Alan. "I have -something to do at home first." - -"Then I won't keep you," Dolly smiled, "for you must go and meet Rayburn -Miller. I'm going to hope that he has had good luck in Atlanta." - -The world had never seemed so full of joy and hope as Alan rode -homeward. The sun was setting in glorious splendor beyond the towering -mountains, above which the sky seemed an ocean of mother-of-pearl and -liquid gold. Truly it was good to be alive. At the bars he met Abner -Daniel with a fishing-cane in his hands, his bait-gourd under his arm. - -"I know right whar you've been," he said, with a broad smile, as he -threw down the bars for Alan to pass through. "I seed that gang drive -by in all the'r flurry this mornin', the queen bee in the lead with that -little makeshift of a man." - -Alan dismounted to prevent his uncle from putting up the bars, and they -walked homeward side by side. - -"Yes, and I've had the time of my life," said the young man. "I talked -to her for a solid hour." - -"I could see that in yore face," said Abner, quietly. "You couldn't hide -it, an' I 'll bet she didn't lose time in lettin' you know what she never -could hide from me." - -"We understand each other better now," admitted Alan. - -"Well, I've certainly set my heart on the match--on gittin' her in our -family," affirmed Abner. "Durn-ed ef--I declare, sometimes I'm afeerd -I'm gone on 'er myse'f. Yes, I want you 'n' her to make it. I want to -set an' smoke an' chaw on yore front porch, an' heer her back in the -kitchen fryin' ham an' eggs, an'," the old man winked, "I don't know -as I'd object to trottin' some 'n' on my knee, to sorter pass the time -betwixt meals." - -"Oh, come off, Uncle Ab!" said Alan, with a flush, "that's going too -far." - -The old man whisked his bait-gourd round under his other arm. His eyes -twinkled, and he chuckled. "'Tain' t goin' as fur as havin' one on each -knee an' both pine blank alike an' exactly the same age. I've knowed -that to happen in my day an' time, when nobody wasn't even lookin' fer -a' increase." - - - - -XVI - - -[Illustration: 9131] - -ATTIE ALEXANDER and Charlie Durant reached home before Dolly and -Hillhouse, and as Dolly alighted from the buggy at the front gate and -was going up the flower-bordered walk Hattie came to the side fence and -called out: - -"Oh, Dolly, come here quick; I've got some 'n' to tell you." - -"Well, wait till I get my hat off," answered Dolly. - -"No, I can't wait; come on, or you 'll wish you had." - -"What is it, goosie?" Dolly smiled, as she tripped across the grass, her -face flushed from her rapid drive. - -"Doll, darling, I've got you in an _awful_ scrape. I know you 'll never -forgive me, but I couldn't help it. When Charlie left me at the gate -mother come out and asked me all about the picnic, who was there an' who -talked to who, and all about it. Among other things I told her about you -and Alan getting together for such a nice, long talk, and--" - -"Oh, I don't mind her," broke in Dolly, as she reached for the skirt of -her gown to rescue it from the dew on the high grass. - -"Wait, wait; I'm not through by a jugful," panted Hattie. "Just then -your pa came along an' asked if you'd got home. I told him you hadn't, -an' then he up and asked me if Alan Bishop was out there. I had to say -yes, of course, for you know how strict mother is about telling a fib, -and then what do you think he did? He come right out plain and asked -if Alan talked to you by yourself. I didn't know what on earth to do. -I reckon I actually turned white, and then mother chipped in and said: -'Tell the truth, daughter; a story never mends matters; besides, Colonel -Barclay, you must be more reasonable; young folks will be young folks, -and Alan Bishop would be my choice if I was picking out a husband for my -girl.' And then you ought to have heard your pa snort; it was as loud as -a horse kicking up his heels in the lot. He wheeled round an' made for -the house like he was shot out of a gun." - -"I reckon he 'll raise the very Old Harry," opined Dolly, grimly. "But I -don't care; he's driven me about as far as he can." - -"I wouldn't make him any madder," advised the innocent mischief-maker, -with a doleful expression. "It's all my fault. I--" - -"No, it wasn't," declared Dolly. "But he can't run over me with his -unreasonable ideas about Alan Bishop." - -With that she turned and went towards the house, her head down. On the -veranda she met her mother, who was waiting for her with a pleasurable -smile. "You've stirred up yore pa awful," she said, laughing -impulsively, and then trying to veil it with a seriousness that sat -awkwardly on her. "You'd better dodge him right now. Oh, he's hot! He -was just saying this morning that he believed you and Frank were getting -on fine, and now he says Frank is an idiot to take a girl to a picnic to -meet his rival. How did it happen?" - -"Just as I intended it should, mother," Dolly said. "I knew he was -coming, and sent Frank off after a watermelon. He didn't have sense -enough to see through my ruse. If I'd treated Alan that way he'd simply -have looked straight through me as if I'd been a window-pane. Mother, -I'm not going to put up with it. I tell you I won't. I know what there -is in Alan Bishop better than father does, and I am not going to stand -it." - -"You ain't, heigh?" thundered Barclay across the hall, and he stalked -out of the sitting-room, looking over his eye-glasses, a newspaper in -his hand. "Now, my lady, let me say to you that Alan Bishop shall never -darken my door, and if you meet him again anywhere you shall go away and -stay." - -"Father "--Dolly had never stood so tall in her high-heeled shoes nor so -straight--"Father, you insulted Alan just now before Mrs. Alexander and -Hattie, and I'm not going to have you do it any more. I love him, and I -shall never love any other man, nor marry any other man. I know he loves -me, and I'm going to stick to him." - -"Then the quicker you get away from here the better," said the old man, -beside himself with rage. "And when you go, don't you dare to come back -again." - -The Colonel stalked from the room. Dolly glanced at her mother, who had -a pale smile of half-frightened enjoyment on her face. - -"I think you said 'most too much," Mrs. Barclay said. "You'd better not -drive him too far." - -Dolly went up to her room, and when supper was called, half an hour -later, she declined to come down. However, Mrs. Barclay sent up a tray -of delicacies by Aunt Milly, the old colored woman, which came back -untouched. - -It was the custom of the family to retire rather early at that season -of the year, and by half-past nine the house was dark and still. Mrs. -Barclay dropped to sleep quickly, but waked about one o' clock, and lay -unable to drift into unconsciousness again for the delightful pastime of -thinking over her daughter's love affair. She began to wonder if Dolly, -too, might not be awake, and the prospect of a midnight chat on that of -all topics made her pulse beat quickly. Slipping noiselessly out of bed, -so as not to wake her husband, who was snoring in his bed across the -room, she glided up-stairs. She had not been there a moment before the -Colonel was waked by a low scream from her, and then he heard her bare -feet thumping on the floor overhead as she crossed the hall into the -other rooms. She screamed out again, and the Colonel sprang up, grasped -his revolver, which always lay on the bureau, and ran into the hall. -There he met his wife, half sliding down the stairs. - -"Dolly's gone," she gasped. "Her bed hasn't been touched. Oh, Seth, do -you reckon anything has happened to her?" - -The old man stared in the dim light of the hall, and then turned towards -the door which opened on the back veranda. He said not a word, but was -breathing hard. The cabin of old Ned and his wife, Aunt Milly, was near -by. - -"Ned; oh, Ned!" called out the Colonel. - -"Yes, marster!" - -"Crawl out o' that bed and come heer!" - -"Yes, marster; I'm a-comin'." - -"Oh, Seth, do you reckon--do you--?" - -"Dry up, will you?" thundered Barclay. "Are you comin', Ned?" - -Uncle Ned's gray head was thrust out at the partly open door. - -"You want me, marster?" - -"Yes; what do you suppose I called you for if I didn't want you. Now I -don't want any lies from you. You know you can't fool me. I want to know -if you carried a note from this house to anybody since sundown." - -"A note must have been sent," ventured Mrs. Barclay, in an undertone. -"Dolly never would have gone to him. He must have been notified and come -after her." - -"Dry up, for God's sake!" yelled the Colonel over his shoulder to the -spectre by his side. "Answer me, you black rascal." - -"Marse Seth, young miss, she--" - -"She sent a note to Alan Bishop, didn't she?" interpolated the Colonel. - -"Marster, I didn't know it was any harm. I des 'lowed it was some prank -o' young miss'. Oh, Lordy!" - -"You might know you'd do suppen, you old sap-haid," broke in Aunt Milly -from the darkness of the cabin. "I kin count on you ever' time." - -"Get back in bed," ordered the Colonel, and he walked calmly into his -room and lay down again. His wife followed him, standing in the middle -of the room. - -"Aren't you going to do anything?" she said. Her voice was charged with -a blending of tears and a sort of feminine eagerness that is beyond the -comprehension of man. - -"Do anything? What do you think I ought to do? Raise an alarm, ring the -church-bells, and call out the hook-and-ladder company? Huh! She's made -her bed; let her lie on it." - -"You are heartless--you have no feeling," cried his wife. The very core -of her desire was to get him to talk about the matter. If he was not -going to rouse the neighborhood, and thus furnish some one to talk to, -he, at least, ought to be communicative. - -"Well, you'd better go to bed," snarled her husband. - -"No"--she scratched a match and lighted a candle--"I'm going up-stairs -and see if she left a note. Now, you see, _I_ had to think of that. The -poor girl may have written something." - -There did seem to be a vestige of reason in this, and the old man said -nothing against it, throwing himself back on his pillow with a stifled -groan. - -After about half an hour Mrs. Barclay came back; she stood over him, -holding the candle so that its best rays would fall on his face. - -"She didn't write one word," was her announcement. "I reckon she knew -we'd understand or find out from Uncle Ned. And just to think!"--Mrs. -Barclay now sat down on a chair across the back of which lay the -Colonel's trousers, holding the candle well to the right that she might -still see the rigid torture of his face--"just to think, she's only -taken the dress she had on at the picnic. It will be a poor wedding for -her, when she's always said she wanted a lot of bridesmaids and ushers -and decorations. Poor child! Maybe they had to drive into the country -to get somebody to marry them. I know brother Lapsley wouldn't do it -without letting us know. I reckon she 'll send the first thing in the -morning for her trunk, if--" Mrs. Barclay gazed more steadily--"if she -don't come herself." - -"Well, she needn't come herself," grunted the reclining figure as it -flounced under the sheets to turn its face to the wall. - -"You wouldn't be that hard on our only child, just because she--" - -"If you don't go to bed," the words rebounded from the white plastering -an inch from the speaker's lips, "you 'n' me 'll have a row. I've said -what I'd do, and I shall do it!" - -"Well, I'm going out to speak to Aunt Milly a minute," said Mrs. -Barclay, and, drawing on a thin graywrapper and sliding her bare feet -into a pair of slippers, she shuffled out to the back porch. - -"Come here, Aunt Milly," she called out, and she sat down on the highest -step and waited till the fat old woman, enveloped in a coarse gray -blanket, joined her. - -"Aunt Milly, did you ever hear the like?" she said. "She 'ain't made -off sho 'nough, have she, Miss Annie?" - -"Yes, she's gone an' done it; her pa drove her just a little too far. I -reckon she railly does love Alan Bishop, or thinks she does." - -"I could take a stick an' baste the life out'n Ned," growled the black -woman, leaning against the veranda post; she knew better than to sit -down in the presence of her mistress, even if her mistress had invited -her to talk. - -"Oh, he didn't know any better," said Mrs. Barclay. "He always -would trot his legs off for Dolly, and"--Mrs. Barclay's tone was -tentative--"it wouldn't surprise me if Alan Bishop paid him to help -to-night." - -"No, he didn't help, Miss Annie. Ned's been in bed ever since he come -back fum town des atter supper. He tol' me des now dat de young man was -in a room at de hotel playin' cyards wid some more boys an' he got up -an' writ Miss Dolly er note; but Ned went straight to bed when he got -home." - -"Then, Alan must have got her to meet him at the front gate, don't you -reckon? He didn't drive up to the house either, for I think I would have -heard the wheels. He must have left his turn-out at the corner." - -"Are you a-goin' to set there all night?" thundered the Colonel from his -bed. "How do you expect anybody to sleep with that low mumbling going -on, like a couple of dogs under the house?" - -Mrs. Barclay got up, with a soft, startled giggle. - -"He can' t sleep because he's bothered," she said, in a confidential -undertone. "We'd better go in. I don't want to nag him too far; it's -going hard with Dolly as it is. I'm curious to see if he really will -refuse to let her come back. Do you reckon he will, Milly?" - -"I sw'ar I don't know, Miss Annie," replied the dark human shape from -the depths of her blanket. "He sho is a caution, an' you kin see he's -tormented. I 'll bet Ned won't have a whole skin in de mornin'." - -The Colonel, despite his sullen effort to conceal the fact from his -wide-awake wife, slept very little during the remainder of that night, -and when he rose at the usual hour he went out to see his horse fed. - -Mrs. Barclay was fluttering from the dining-room to the kitchen, -gossiping with the cook, who had run out of anything to say on the -subject and could only grunt, "Yes'um, and no'um," according to the -reply she felt was expected. Aunt Milly was taking a plate of waffles -into the dining-room when a little negro boy, about five years of age, -the son of the cook at the Alexanders', crawled through a hole in the -fence between the two houses and sauntered towards the kitchen. On the -door-step he espied a black kitten that took his fancy and he caught it -and began to stroke it with his little black hand. - -"What you want _now?_" Aunt Milly hovered over him like an angry hen. -"Want ter borrow suppen, I boun' you; yo'-alls folks is de beatenes' -people ter borrow I ever lived alongst." - -The boy seemed to have forgotten his errand in his admiration for the -kitten. - -"What you atter now?" snarled Aunt Milly, "eggs, flour, sugar, salt, -pepper, flat-iron? Huh, we-all ain't keepin' er sto'." - -The boy looked up suddenly and drew his ideas together with a jerk. -"Miss Dolly, she say sen 'er Mother Hubbub wrappin' dress, hangin' on de -foot er her bed-post." - -"What?" gasped Aunt Milly, and, hearing the exclamation, Mrs. Barclay -came to the door and paused to listen. - -"Miss Dolly," repeated the boy, "she say sen 'er 'er wrappin' dress -off'n de foot-post er 'er bed; en, en, she say keep 'er two waffles hot -en, en dry--not sobby--en ter git 'er dat fresh cream fer 'er coffee in -'er lill pitcher whut she lef' in de ice-box." - -"Dolly? Dolly?" cried Mrs. Barclay. "You are surely mistaken, Pete. -Where did you see her?" - -"Over 't we-all's house," said the boy, grabbing the kitten which had -slid from his momentarily inattentive fingers. - -"Over 't yo'-all's house!" cried Milly, almost in a tone of horror, "en, -en is her husban' wid 'er?" - -The boy grinned contemptuously. - -"Huh, Miss Dolly ain't no married ooman--you know she ain't, huh! I -seh, married! Look heer"--to the kitten--"don't you scratch me, boy!" - -Mrs. Barclay bent over him greatly excited. "What was she doing over at -your house, Pete?" - -"Nothin' w'en I seed 'er 'cep'jest her en Miss Hattie lyin' in de bed -laughin' en car'yin' on." - -"Oh, Lordy!" Mrs. Barclay's eyes were riveted on Aunt Milly's beaming -face, "do you reckon--?" - -"She's slep 'over dar many times before now, Miss Annie," said Aunt -Milly, and she burst into a round, ringing laugh, her fat body shaking -like a mass of jelly. "She done it time en ergin--time en ergin." - -"Well, ain't that a purty mess?" said Mrs. Barclay, almost in a tone of -disappointment. "I 'll get the wrapper, Pete, and you tell her to put it -on and hurry over here as soon as she possibly can." - -A few minutes later Dolly came from the Alexander's and met her mother -at the gate. "Oh, Dolly," Mrs. Barclay cried, "you've got us in an awful -mess. We missed you about midnight and we thought--your father made Ned -acknowledge that he took a note to Alan Bishop from you, and we thought -you had gone off to get married. Your father's in an awful temper, -swearing you shall never--" - -Dolly tossed her head angrily. "Well, you needn't say I got you into it; -you did it yourselves and I don't care how much you suffer. I say! When -I go to get married it will not be that way, you can depend on it. Now, -I reckon, it will be all over town that--" - -"No, it needn't get out of the family," Mrs. Barclay assured her, in a -guilty tone of apology. "Your pa wouldn't let me raise any alarm. But -you _did_ send a note to Alan Bishop, Dolly." - -"Yes, I knew he was in town, and would be here to-day, and I simply -wrote him that father was angry at our seeing each other again and that -I hoped he would avoid meeting him just now--that was all." - -"Well, well, well." Mrs. Barclay hurried through the house and out to -where Barclay stood at the lot fence watching Ned curry his horse. - -"What do you reckon?" she gasped. "Dolly didn't go off at all; she just -went to spend the night with Hattie Alexander." - -His face changed its expression against his will; the blood flowed into -the pallor and a satisfied gleam shot from his half-closed eyes. He -turned from her, looking over the fence at the horse. - -"You're leavin' a splotch on that right hind leg," he said. "Are you -stone blind?" - -"I was gittin' roun' to it, marster," said the negro, looking his -surprise over such an unexpected reproof. "No; she just wrote Alan that -you was displeased at them getting together yesterday and advised him to -dodge you to-day while he is in town." - -"Well, he'd better!" said the Colonel, gruffly, as they walked towards -the house. "You tell her," he enjoined--"you tell her what I said when I -thought she _was_ gone. It will be a lesson to her. She can tell now how -I 'll do if she _does_ go against me in this matter." - -"I reckon you are glad she didn't run off," replied his wife -thoughtfully. "The Lord only knows what you'd do about writing your -letters without her help. I believe she knows more about your business -right now than you do, and has a longer head. You'd' a' saved a thousand -dollars by taking her advice the other day about that cotton sale." - - - - -XVII - - -[Illustration: 9142] - -N his way to Rayburn Miller's office that morning Alan decided that he -would not allude to the note he had received the previous evening from -Dolly. He did not like the cynical mood into which such subjects seemed -to draw his friend. He knew exactly what Miller would say, and felt that -it would be too personal to be agreeable. - -He found the lawyer standing in the door of his little office building -waiting for him. - -"I reckon my message surprised you," Miller said, tentatively, as he -shook hands. - -"It took me off my feet," smiled Alan. "You see, I never hoped to get -you interested in that scheme, and when I heard you were actually going -to Atlanta about it, I hardly knew what to make of it." - -Miller turned into his office, kicked a chair towards Alan and dropped -into his creaking rocker. - -"It was not due to you that I did get interested," he said. "Do you -know, I can't think of it without getting hot all over with shame. To -tell you the truth, there is one thing I have always been vain about. I -didn't honestly think there was a man in Georgia that could give me any -tips about investments, but I had to take back water, and for a woman. -Think of that--a woman knocked me off my perch as clean and easy as she -could stick a hair-pin in a ball of hair. I'm not unfair; when anybody -teaches me any tricks, I acknowledge the corn an' take off my hat. -It was this way: I dropped in to see Miss Dolly the other evening. I -accidentally disclosed two things in an offhand sort of way. I told her -some of the views I gave you at the dance in regard to marriage and love -and one thing and another, and then, in complimenting you most highly in -other things, I confess I sort o' poked fun at your railroad idea." - -"I thought you had," said Alan, good-naturedly; "but go on." - -"Well, she first read me a lecture about bad, empty, shallow men, whose -very souls were damned by their past careers, interfering with the pure -impulses of younger men, and I 'll swear I felt like crawling in a -hole and pulling the hole in after me. Well, I got through that, in -a fashion, because she didn't want me to see her real heart, and that -helped me. Then she took up the railroad scheme. You know I had -heard that she advised her father in all his business matters, but, -geewhilikins! I never dreamt she could give me points, but she did--she -simply did. She looked me straight in the eye and stared at me like a -national bank examiner as she asked me to explain why that particular -road could not be built, and why it would not be a bonanza for the -owners of the timber-land. I thought she was an easy fish at first, and -I gave her plenty of line, but she kept peppering me with unanswerable -questions till I lay down on the bank as weak as a rag. The first bliff -she gave me was in wanting to know if there were not many branch roads -that did not own their rolling stock. She said she knew one in the iron -belt in Alabama that didn't own a car or an engine, and wouldn't have -them as a free gift. She said if such a road were built as you plan -these two main lines would simply fall over each other to send out cars -to be loaded for shipment at competitive rates. By George! it was a -corker. I found out the next day that she was right, and that doing away -with the rolling stock, shops, and so forth, would cut down the cost of -your road more than half." - -"That's a fact," exclaimed Alan, "and I had not thought of it." - -"She's a stronger woman than I ever imagined," said Miller. "By George! -if she were not on your string, I'd make a dead set for her. A wife like -that would make a man complete. She's in love with you--or thinks she -is--but she hasn't that will o' the wisp glamour. She's business from -her toes to her fingertips. By George! I believe she makes a business -of her love affair; she seems to think she 'll settle it by a sum in -algebra. But to get back to the railroad, for I've got lots to tell you. -What do you reckon I found that day? You couldn't guess in a thousand -years. It was a preliminary survey of a railroad once planned from -Darley right through your father's purchase to Morganton, North -Carolina. It was made just before the war, by old Colonel Wade, who, in -his day, was one of the most noted surveyors in the State. This end of -the line was all I cared about, and that was almost as level as a floor -along the river and down the valley into the north end of town. It's -a bonanza, my boy. Why that big bottle of timber-land has never been -busted is a wonder to me. If as many Yankees had been nosing about -here as there have been in other Southern sections it would have been -snatched up long ago." - -"I'm awfully glad to hear you say all this," said Alan, "for it is the -only way out of our difficulty, and something has to be done." - -"It may cost you a few years of the hardest work you ever bucked down -to," said Miller, "and some sleepless nights, but I really believe you -have fallen on to a better thing than any I ever struck. I could make -it whiz. I've already done something that will astonish you. I happen -to know slightly Tillman Wilson, the president of the Southern Land and -Timber Company. Their offices are in Atlanta. I knew he was my man to -tackle, so when I got to Atlanta yesterday I ran upon him just as if -it were accidental. I invited him to lunch with me at the Capitol City -Club--you know I'm a non-resident member. You see, I knew if I put -myself in the light of a man with something to sell, he'd hurry away -from me; but I didn't. As a pretext, I told him I had some clients up -here who wanted to raise a considerable amount of money and that the -security offered was fine timber-land. You see that caught him; he -was on his own ground. I saw that he was interested, and I boomed the -property to the skies. The more I talked the more he was interested, -till it was bubbling out all over him. He's a New-Englander, who thinks -a country lawyer without a Harvard education belongs to an effete -civilization, and I let him think he was pumping me. I even left off my -g's and ignored my r's. I let him think he had struck the softest thing -of his life. Pretty soon he begun to want to know if you cared to sell, -but I skirted that indifferently as if I had no interest whatever in it. -I told him your father had bought the property to hold for an advance, -that he had spent years of his life picking out the richest timber spots -and buying them up. Then he came right out, as I hoped he would, and -asked me the amount you wanted to borrow on the property. I had to speak -quick, and remembering that you had said the old gentleman had put in -about twenty thousand first and last, I put the amount at twenty-five -thousand. I was taking a liberty, but I can easily get you out of it if -you decide not to do it." - -"Twenty-five thousand! On that land?" Alan cried. "It would tickle my -father to death to sell it for that." - -"I can arrange the papers so that you are not liable for any security -outside of the land, and it would practically amount to a sale if you -wished it, but you don't wish it. I finally told him that I had an idea -that you would sell out for an even hundred thousand." - -"A hundred thousand!" repeated Alan, with a cheery laugh. "Yes, we'd let -go at that." - -"Well, the figures didn't scarce him a bit, for he finally came right -out and asked me if it was my opinion that in case his company made the -loan, you would agree to give him the refusal of the land at one hundred -thousand. I told him I didn't know, that I thought it possible, but -that just then I had no interest in the matter beyond borrowing a little -money on it. He asked me how long I was going to stay in Atlanta. I told -him I was going to a bank and take the night train back. 'The banks will -stick you for a high rate of interest,' he said, jealously. 'They don't -do business for fun, while, really, our concern happens just now to have -some idle capital on hand. Do you think you could beat five per cent.? -I admitted that it was low enough, but I got up as if I was suddenly -reminded that the banks close early in the afternoon. 'I think we can -make the loan,' he said, 'but I must first see two or three of the -directors. Can't you give me two hours?' I finally gave in and promised -to meet him at the Kimball House at four. I went to a matine, saw it -half over, and went in at the ladies' entrance of the hotel. I saw him -looking about for me and dodged him." - -"Dodged him?" echoed Alan. "Why--" - -Miller laughed. "You don't suppose I'd let a big fish like that see me -flirting my hook and pole about in open sunlight, do you? I saw by his -manner that he was anxious to meet me, and that was enough; besides, you -can't close a deal like that in a minute, and there are many slips. I -went back to the club and threw myself on a lounge and began to smoke -and read an afternoon paper. Presently he came in a cab. I heard him -asking for me in the hall and buried my head in the paper. He came in -on me and I rose and looked stupid. I can do it when I try--if it _is_ -something God has failed at--and I began to apologize. - -"He didn't seem to care. 'If it had been a deal of your own,' he said -with a laugh, 'you'd have been more prompt,' and I managed to look -guilty. Then he sat down. - -"'Our directors are interested,' he said, confidentially. 'The truth is -there is not another concern in America that can handle that property as -cheaply as we can. We happen to have a railroad about that length up -in East Tennessee that has played out, and you see we could move it to -where it would do some good.' - -"As soon as he told me that I knew he was our meat; besides, I saw trade -in his eye as big as an arc-light. To make a long tale short, he is -coming up here tonight, and if your father is willing to accept the -loan, he can get the money, giving only the land as security--provided -we don't slip up. Here's the only thing I'm afraid of. When Wilson gets -here he may get to making inquiries around and drop on to the report -that your father is disgusted with his investment, and smell a mouse -and pull off. What I want to do is to get at him the first thing after -breakfast in the morning, so you'd better bring your father and mother -in early. If we once get Wilson's twenty-five thousand into it, we can -eventually sell out. The main thing is the loan. Don't you think so?" - -"I certainly do," said Alan. "Of course, a good many things might -interfere; we'd have to get a right of way and a charter before the road -could be built, and I reckon they won't buy till they are sure of those -things." - -"No it may take a long time and a lot of patience," said Miller. "But -your father could afford to wait if he can get his money back by means -of the loan. I tell you that's the main thing. If I had offered to sell -Wilson the whole thing at twenty-five thousand he never would have come -up here, but he is sure now that the property is just what he is looking -for. Oh, we are not certain of him by a long jump! It all depends on -whether he will insist on going over there or not. If he does, those -moss-backs will bu'st the thing wide open. If he comes straight to my -office in the morning the deal may be closed, but if he lies around the -hotel talking, somebody will spoil our plans and Wilson will hang off to -make his own terms later--if he makes any at all. It's ticklish, but we -may win." - -"It _is_ a rather ticklish situation," admitted Alan, "but even if we do -get the loan on the property, don't you think Wilson may delay matters -and hope to scoop the property in for the debt?" - -"He might," Miller smiled, "if he didn't want to move that railroad -somewhere else, and, besides, your father can keep the money in suitable -shape to pay off the note in any emergency and free himself." - -"I don't know how to thank you, old man," answered Alan. "If you had -been personally interested in this you could not have done more." - -Miller threw himself back in his chair and smiled significantly. "Do I -look like a man with nothing in it?" he asked. - -"But you haven't anything in it," retorted Alan, wonderingly. - -"That's all you know about it" Miller laughed. - -"If the road is built I 'll make by it. This is another story. As soon -as I saw you were right about putting a railroad into the mountains, I -began to look around for some of that timber-land. I didn't have long -to wait, for the only man that holds much of it besides Colonel -Barclay--Peter Mosely, whom Perkins fooled just as he did your -father--came in. He was laying for me, I saw it in his eye. The Lord had -delivered him to me, and I was duly thankful. He was a morsel I liked -to look at. He opened up himself, bless you! and bragged about his fine -body of virgin timber. I looked bored, but let him run on till he was -tired; then I said: - -"'Well, Mosely, what do you intend to do with your white elephant? You -know it's not just the sort Barnum is looking for.' - -"He kind o' blinked at that, but he said, 'I've half a notion to sell. -The truth is, I've got the finest investment open to me that I ever had. -If I could afford to wait a few years I could coin money out of this -property, but I believe in turning money quick.' - -"'So do I,' said I, and watched him flirt about in the frying-pan. Then -I said, 'What is the price you hold it at?' - -"'I thought,' said he, 'that I ought to get as much as I paid.' - -"'As much as you paid Abe Tompkins and Perkins?' I said, with a grin. -'Do you think you could possibly sell a piece of land for as much as -those sharks? If you can, you'd better go in the real-estate business. -You'd coin money. Why, they yanked two thousand out of you, didn't -they?' - -"'I don't really think Perkins had anything to do with it,' he said. -'That's just a report out about old man Bishop's deal. I bought my land -on my own judgment.' - -"'Well,' I said, 'how will fifteen hundred round wheels strike you?' - -"'I believe I 'll take you up,' he said. 'I want to make that other -investment.' So we closed and I went at once to have the deed recorded -before he had a chance to change his mind. Now, you see, I'm interested -in the thing, and I'm going to help you put it through. If your folks -want the loan, bring them in in the morning, and if we can manage our -Yankee just right, we 'll get the money." - - - - -XVIII - - -[Illustration: 9151] - -FTER supper that evening the Bishops sat out on the veranda to get the -cool air before retiring. There was only one light burning in the house, -and that was the little, smoky lamp in the kitchen, where the cook was -washing the dishes. Bishop sat near his wife, his coat off and vest -unbuttoned, his chair tilted back against the weatherboarding. Abner -Daniel, who had been trying ever since supper to cheer them up in regard -to their financial misfortune, sat smoking in his favorite chair near -the banisters, on top of which he now and then placed his stockinged -feet. - -"You needn't talk that away, brother Ab," sighed Mrs. Bishop. "Yo're -jest doin' it out o' goodness o' heart. We might as well face the truth; -we've got to step down from the position we now hold, an' present way o' -livin'. And thar's Adele. Pore child! She said in 'er last letter that -she'd cried 'er eyes out. She was bent on comin' home, but 'er uncle -William won't let 'er. He said she'd not do any good." - -"An' she wouldn't," put in Bishop, gruffly. "The sight o' you an' Alan -before me all the time is enough to show me what a fool I've been." - -"You are both crossin' bridges 'fore you git to 'em," said Abner. "A -lots o' folks has come out'n scrapes wuss'n what you are in, ten to one. -I'ain't never mentioned it, but my land hain't got no mortgage on it, -an' I could raise a few scads, to he'p keep up yore intrust an' taxes -till you could see yore way ahead." - -"Huh!" snorted his brother-in-law. "Do you reckon I'd let as old a man as -you are, an' no blood kin, stake his little all to help me out of a hole -that is gittin' deeper an' wider all the time--a hole I deliberately got -myse'f into? Well, not much!" - -"I wouldn't listen to that nuther," declared Mrs. Bishop, "but not many -men would offer it." - -They heard a horse trotting down the road and all bent their heads to -listen. "It's Alan," said Abner. "I was thinkin' it was time he was -showin' up." - -Mrs. Bishop rose wearily to order the cook to get his supper ready, and -returned to the veranda just as Alan Was coming from the stable. He -sat down on the steps, lashing the legs of his dusty trousers with his -riding-whip. It was plain that he had something of importance to say and -they all waited in impatient silence. - -"Father," he said, "I've had a talk with Rayburn Miller about your land; -he and I have lately been working on a little idea of mine. You know -there are people who will lend money on real-estate. How would it suit -you to borrow twenty-five thousand dollars on that land, giving that -alone as security." - -There was a startled silence, and Bishop broke it in a tone of great -irritation. - -"Do you take me fer a plumb fool?" he asked. "When I want you an' Miller -to dabble in my business I 'll call on you. Twenty-five thousand, I say! -If I could exchange every acre of it fer enough to lift the mortgage on -this farm an' keep a roof over our heads I'd do it gladly. Pshaw!" - -There was another silence, and then Alan began to explain. He almost -seemed to his father and mother to be some stranger, as he sat there -in the half dark ness, his eyes hidden by the brim of his soft hat, -and told them how he had worried over their trouble till the idea of -building a railroad had come to him. Then Miller had become interested, -after discouraging him, and had gone to Atlanta to see Wilson, and it -remained for the next day to decide what the outcome would be in regard -to the big loan. - -While he talked Mrs. Bishop sat like a figure cut from stone, and Bishop -leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his big face in his hands. It -was as if a tornado of hope had blown over him, shaking him through and -through. - -"You been doin' this to he'p me out," he gasped, "an' I never so much as -axed yore opinion one way or another." - -"I'd rather see you make money out of that purchase than anything in the -world," said his son, with feeling. "People have made fun of you in -your old age, but if we can build the road and you can get your hundred -thousand dollars some of these folks will laugh on the other side of -their faces." - -Bishop was so full of excitement and emotion that he dared not trust his -voice to utterance. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, -pretending to be calm, though his alert wife saw that he was quivering -in every limb. - -"Oh, Alan," she cried, "don't you see how excited your pa is? You ought -not to raise his hopes this way on such an uncertainty. As Mr. Miller -said, there may be some slip and we'd be right back where we was, and -feel wuss than ever." - -Bishop rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro on the veranda. -"It ain't possible," they heard him saying. "I won't git out as easy as -that--I jest cayn't!" - -"Perhaps it would be wrong to expect too much," said Alan, "but I was -obliged to tell you what we are going in town for to-morrow." - -Bishop wheeled and paused before them. "Ef Wilson puts up the money I'd -have enough to lift the mortgage an' a clean twenty thousand besides to -put in some good investment." - -Aunt Maria, the colored cook, came out and timidly announced that Alan's -supper was on the table, but no one heard her. She crossed the veranda -and touched the young man on the shoulder. - -"Supper's raidy, Marse Alan," she said, "en it's gittin' col' ergin." - -He rose and followed her into the dining-room and sat down in his -accustomed place at the long table. When he had eaten he went back to -the group on the veranda. - -"I think I 'll go up to bed," he told them. "My ride and running around -at Darley has made me very tired. Father, get all your papers together -and let's take an early start in the morning." - -But despite his feeling of weariness, Alan found he could not sleep. -The bright moonlight, streaming in at his window, seemed a disturbing -element. About eleven o'clock he heard some one turning the windlass at -the well, and later the clatter of falling utensils in the kitchen, and -the dead thump of a heavy tread below. He knew then that his father was -up, and, like himself, unable to sleep. Presently Mrs. Bishop slipped -into his room. - -"Are you awake, son?" She spoke in a whisper that she might not disturb -him if he were asleep. - -He laughed. "I haven't closed my eyes; it seems to me I have gone over -my conversation with Miller a thousand times." - -"I've give up tryin'," she told him, with a gratified little laugh. -"I think I could, though, if your pa would 'a' kept still. He's in -the kitchen now makin' him a cup o' strong coffee. He's been over them -papers ever since you come up-stairs. Alan, I'm actually afeerd he -couldn't stand it if that man didn't put up the money." - -"It would go hard with him," said Alan. "Has Uncle Ab gone to sleep?" - -"No; he's settin' in the door o' his room chawin' tobacco; he lays the -blame on yore pa. I don't think I ever saw him so irritated before. But -nobody ain't to blame but hisse'f. He's jest excited like the rest of -us. I've seed 'im lie an' snore with a bigger noise goin' on around 'im -'an yore pa is a-makin'." - - - - -XIX - - -[Illustration: 9156] - -S Henry, Aunt Maria's husband, who was the chief farm-hand, was busy -patching fences the next morning, Bishop sent over for Pole Baker to -drive the spring-wagon. Alan sat beside Pole, and Abner and Bishop and -Mrs. Bishop occupied the rear seats. - -Alan knew he could trust Pole, drunk or sober, and he confided his plans -to the flattered fellow's ears. Pole seemed to weigh all the chances for -and against success in his mind as he sat listening, a most grave and -portentous expression on his massive face. - -"My opinion is the feller 'll be thar as shore as preachin'," he said. -"But whether you git his wad or not, that's another question. Miller's -as sharp as a briar, an', as he says, if Wilson gits to talkin' about -that land to any o' these hill-Billies they 'll bu'st the trade or die -tryin'. Jest let 'em heer money's about to change hands an' it 'll make -'em so durn jealous they 'll swear a lie to keep it away from anybody -they know. That's human natur'." - -"I believe you are right," said Alan, pulling a long face; "and I'm -afraid Wilson will want to make some inquiries before he closes." - -"Like as not," opined the driver; "but what I'd do, ef I was a-runnin' -it, would be to git some feller to strike up with 'im accidental-like, -an' liter'ly fill 'im to the neck with good things about the property -without him ever dreamin' he was bein' worked." - -The two exchanged glances. Alan had never looked at the man so -admiringly. At that moment he seemed a giant of shrewdness, as well as -that of physical strength. - -"I believe you are right, Pole," he said, thoughtfully. - -"That's what I am, an', what's more, I'm the one that could do the -fillin', without him ever knowin' I had a funnel in his mouth. If I -can't do it, I 'll fill my hat with saft mud an' put it on." - -Alan smiled warmly. "I 'll mention it to Miller," he said. "Yes, you -could do it, Pole--if any man on earth could." - -Driving up to Miller's office they found the door open, and the owner -came out with a warm smile of greeting and aided Mrs. Bishop to alight. -"Well," he smiled, when they had taken seats in the office. "We have -gained the first step towards victory. Wilson is at the hotel. I saw his -name on the register this morning." - -The elder Bishops drew a breath of relief. The old man grounded his -heavy walking-stick suddenly, as if it had slipped through his inert -fingers. - -"I'm trustin' you boys to pull me through," he said, with a shaky laugh. -"I hain't never treated Alan right, an' I'm heer to confess it. I 'lowed -I was the only one in our layout with any business sense." - -"So you are willing to accept the loan?" said Miller. - -"Willin'? I reckon I am. I never slept one wink last night fer feer -some 'n' 'll interfere with it." - -Miller reflected a moment and then said: "I am afraid of only one thing, -and that is this: Not one man in a million will make a trade of this -size without corroborating the statements made by the people he is -dealing with. Wilson is at breakfast by this time, and after he is -through he may decide to nose around a little before coming to me. I'm -afraid to go after him; he would think I was over-anxious. The trouble -is that he may run upon somebody from out in the mountains--there are a -lot in town already--and get to talking. Just one word about your biting -off more than you can chaw, Mr. Bishop, would make 'im balk like a mean -mule. He thinks I'm favoring him now, but let him get the notion that -you haven't been holding that land for at least a hundred thousand an' -the thing would bu'st like a bubble." - -Alan mentioned Pole Baker's proposition. Miller thought it over for a -moment, his brow wrinkled, and then he said: "Good!--a good idea, but -you must call Pole in and let me give him a few pointers. By George! he -could keep Wilson away from dangerous people anyway." - -Alan went after Pole, and Miller took him into his consultation-room in -the rear, where they remained for about fifteen minutes. When they came -out Pole's face was very grave. "I won't forget a thing," he said to -Miller. "I understand exactly what you want. When I git through with -'im he 'll want that land bad enough to pay anything fer it, an' he won't -dream I'm in cahoot with you, nuther. I can manage that. I ain't no fool -ef I do have fits." - -"Do you remember my description of him?" asked Miller. - -"You bet I do--thick-set, about fifty, bald, red-faced, sharp, black -eyes, iron gray hair, an' mighty nigh always with a cigar in his mouth." - -"That's right," laughed Miller, "now do your work, and we won't forget -you. By all means keep him away from meddlesome people." - -When Pole had left the office and Miller had resumed his revolving-chair -Mrs. Bishop addressed him, looking straight into his eyes. - -"I don't see," she said, in a timid, hesitating way, and yet with a note -of firmness dominating her tone--"I don't see why we have to go through -all this trickery to make the trade. Ef the land is good security fer -the money we needn't be afeerd of what the man will find out. Ef it ain' -t good security I don't want his money as fer as I'm concerned." - -"I was jest thinkin' that, too," chimed in her husband, throwing a -troubled glance all round. "I want money to help me out o' my scrape, -but I don't want to trick no man, Yankee or what not, into toatin' my -loads. As Betsy says, it seems to me if the land's wuth the money we -needn't make such a great to-do. I'm afeerd I won't feel exactly right -about it." - -The young men exchanged alarmed glances. - -"You don't understand," said Miller, lamely, but he seemed to be -unprepared for views so heretical to financial dealings, and could not -finish what he had started to say. - -"Why," said Alan, testily, "the land is worth all Wilson can make out of -it with the aid of his capital and the railroad he proposes to lay -here. Father, you have spent several years looking up the best timbered -properties, and getting good titles to it, and to a big lumber company a -body of timber like you hold is no small tiling. We don't want to cheat -him, but we do want to keep him from trying to cheat us by getting the -upper hand. Rayburn thinks if he finds out we are hard up he 'll try to -squeeze us to the lowest notch." - -"Well," sighed Mrs. Bishop, "I'm shore I never had no idea we'd resort -to gittin' Pole Baker to tole anybody around like a hog after a yeer o' -corn. I 'lowed we was going to make a open-and-shut trade that we could -be proud of, an' stop folk's mouths about Alfred's foolish dealin' -s. But," she looked at Abner, who stood in the doorway leading to the -consultation-room, "I 'll do whatever brother Ab thinks is right. I never -knowed 'im to take undue advantage of anybody." - -They all looked at Abner, who was smiling broadly. - -"Well, I say git his money," he replied, with a short, impulsive -laugh--"git his money, and then ef you find he's starvin', hand 'im back -what you feel you don't need. I look on a thing like this sorter like -I did on scramblin' fer the upper holt in war-times. I remember I shot -straight at a feller that was climbin' up the enemy's breastworks on his -all-fours. I said to myse'f, ef this ball strikes you right, old chap, -'fore you drap over the bank, yo're one less agin the Confederacy; ef -it don't you kin pop away at me. I don't think I give 'im anything but -a flesh-wound in the back--beca'se he jest sagged down a little an' -crawled on--an' that's about the wust you could do fer Wilson. I believe -he ort to hold the bag awhile. Alf's hung on to it till his fingers ache -an' he's weak at the knees. I never did feel like thar was any harm in -passin' a counterfeit bill that some other chap passed on me. Ef -the government, with all its high-paid help, cayn't keep crooked -shinplasters from slidin' under our noses, it ortn't to kick agin our -lookin' out fer ourse'ves." - -"You needn't lose any sleep about the Southern Land and Timber Company, -Mrs. Bishop," said Miller. "They will take care of themselves--in fact, -we 'll have to keep our eyes peeled to watch them even if we get this -loan. Wilson didn't come up here for his health." - -"Oh, mother's all right," said Alan, "and so is father, but they must -not chip in with that sort of talk before Wilson." - -"Oh no, you mustn't," said Miller. "In fact, I think you'd better let me -and Alan do the talking. You see, if you sit perfectly quiet he 'll think -you are reluctant about giving such big security for such a small amount -of money, and he will trade faster." - -"Oh, I'm perfectly willin' to keep quiet," agreed the old man, who now -seemed better satisfied. - -Pole Baker left the office with long, swinging strides. There was an -entrance to the Johnston House through a long corridor opening on the -street, and into this Pole slouched. The hotel office was empty save for -the clerk who stood behind the counter, looking over the letters in the -pigeon-holed key-rack on the wall. There was a big gong overhead which -was rung by pulling a cord. It was used for announcing meals and calling -the porter. A big china bowl on the counter was filled with wooden -tooth-picks, and there was a show-case containing cigars. Pole glanced -about cautiously without being noticed by the clerk, and then withdrew -into the corridor, where he stood for several minutes, listening. -Presently the dining-room door opened and Wilson strolled out and walked -up to the counter. - -"What sort of cigars have you got?" he said to the clerk. - -"Nothing better than ten, three for a quarter," was the respectful -reply, as the clerk recognized the man who had asked for the best room -in the house. - -Wilson thrust his fingers into his vest-pocket and drew out a cigar. "I -guess I can make what I have last me," he said, transferring his glance -to Pole Baker, who had shambled across the room and leaned heavily over -the open register. "Want to buy any chickins--fine fryin' size?" he -asked the clerk. - -"Well, we are in the market," was the answer. "Where are they?" - -"I didn't fetch 'em in to-day," said Pole, dryly. "I never do till I -know what they are a-bringin'. You'd better make a bid on a dozen of 'em -anyway. They are the finest ever raised on Upper Holly Creek, jest this -side o' whar old man Bishop's lumber paradise begins." - -Pole was looking out of the corner of his eye at the stranger, and -saw his hand, which was in the act of striking a match, suddenly stay -itself. - -"We don't bid on produce till we see it," said the clerk. - -"Well, I reckon no harm was done by my axin'," said Pole, who felt the -eyes of the stranger on him. - -"Do you live near here?" asked Wilson, with a smile half of apology at -addressing a stranger, even of Pole's humble stamp. - -"No." Pole laughed and waved his hand towards the mountains in the west, -which were plainly discernible in the clear morning light. "No, I'm -a mountain shanghai. I reckon it's fifteen mile on a bee-line to my -shack." - -"Didn't you say you lived near old Mr. Bishop's place?" asked Wilson, -moving towards the open door which led to the veranda. - -"I don't know which place o' his'n you mean," said Pole when they were -alone outside and Wilson had lighted his cigar. "That old scamp owns the -whole o' creation out our way. Well, I 'll take that back, fer he don't -own any land that hain't loaded down with trees, but he's got territory -enough. Some thinks he's goin' to seceed from the United States an' -elect himself President of his own country." - -Wilson laughed, and then he said: "Have you got a few minutes to spare?" - -"I reckon I have," said Pole, "ef you've got the mate to that cigar." - -Wilson laughed again as he fished the desired article from his pocket -and gave it and a match to Pole. Then he leaned against the heavy -railing of the banisters. "I may as well tell you," he said, "I'm a -dealer in lumber myself, and I'd like to know what kind of timber you -have out there." - -Pole pulled at the cigar, thrust it well into the corner of his mouth -with the fire end smoking very near his left eye, and looked thoughtful. -"To tell you the truth, my friend," he said, "I railly believe you'd be -wastin' time to go over thar." - -"Oh, you think so." It was a vocal start on the part of Wilson. - -"Yes, sir; the truth is, old man Bishop has simply raked into his dern -clutch ever' acre o' fine timber out that away. Now ef you went east, -over t'other side o' the mountains, you mought pick out some good -timber; but as I said, old man Bishop's got it all in a bag out our way. -Saw-mill?" - -"No, I don't run a saw-mill," said Wilson, with an avaricious sparkle in -his eye. "I sometimes buy timbered lands for a speculation, that's all." - -Pole laughed. "I didn't see how you could be a saw-mill man an' smoke -cigars like this an' wear them clothes. I never knowed a saw-mill man to -make any money." - -"I suppose this Mr. Bishop is buying to sell again," said Wilson, -tentatively. "People generally have some such idea when they put money -into such property." Pole looked wise and thoughtful. "I don't know -whether he is or not," he said. "But my opinion is that he 'll hold on to -it till he's in the ground. He evidently thinks a good time's a-comin'! -Thar was a feller out thar t'other day with money to throw at cats; he's -been tryin' to honeyfuggle the old man into a trade, but I don't think -he made a deal with 'im." - -"Where was the man from?" Wilson spoke uneasily. "I don't railly know, -but he ain't a-goin' to give up. He told Neil Fulmore at his store that -he was goin' home to see his company an' write the old man a proposition -that ud fetch 'im ef thar was any trade in 'im." - -Wilson pulled out his watch. - -"Do you happen to know where Mr. Rayburn Miller's law office is?" he -asked. - -"Yes; it's right round the corner. I know whar all the _white_ men -in this town do business, an' he's as white as they make 'em, an' as -straight as a shingle." - -"He's an acquaintance of mine," said Wilson. "I thought I'd run in and -see him before I leave." - -"It's right round the corner, an' down the fust side street, towards the -court-house. I 'ain't got nothin' to do; I 'll p'int it out." - -"Thank you," said Wilson, and they went out of the house and down the -street together, Pole puffing vigorously at his cigar in the brisk -breeze. - -"Thar you are," said Pole, pointing to Miller's sign. "Good-day, sir; -much obleeged fer this smoke," and with his head in the air Pole walked -past the office without looking in. - -"Good-morning," exclaimed Miller, as Wilson entered. "You are not an -early riser like we are here in the country." He introduced Wilson all -round, and then gave him a chair near his desk and facing him rather -than the others. - -"This is the gentleman who owns the property, I believe," said Wilson, -suavely, as he indicated Bishop. - -Miller nodded, and a look of cunning dawned in his clear eye. - -"Yes. I have just been explaining to Mr. and Mrs. Bishop that the mere -signing of a paper such as will be necessary to secure the loan will -not bind them at all in the handling of their property. You know how -cautious older people are nowadays in regard to legal matters. Now, Alan -here, their son, understands the matter thoroughly, and his mind is not -at all disturbed." - -Wilson fell into the preliminary trap. "Oh no; it's not a binding -thing at all," he said. "The payment of the money back to us releases -you--that is, of course," Wilson recovered himself, "if we make the -loan." - -Several hearts in the room sank, but Miller's face did not alter in the -slightest. "Oh, of course, if the loan is made," he said. - -Wilson put his silk hat on the top of Miller's desk, and flicked the -ashes from his cigar into a cuspidor. Then he looked at Mrs. Bishop -suddenly--"Does the lady object to smoking?" - -"Not at all," said the old lady--"not at all." - -There was a pause as Wilson relighted his cigar and pulled at it in -silence. A step sounded on the sidewalk and Trabue put his head in at -the door. Miller could have sworn at him, but he smiled. "Good-morning, -Squire," he said. - -"I see you are busy," said the intruder, hastily. - -"Just a little, Squire. I 'll see you in a few minutes." - -"Oh, all right." The old lawyer moved on down the sidewalk, his hands in -his pockets. - -Miller brought up the subject again with easy adroitness. "I mentioned -your proposition to my clients--the proposition that they allow you the -refusal of the land at one hundred thousand, and they have finally come -round to it. As I told them, they could not possibly market a thing like -that as easily and for as good a price as a company regularly in the -business. I may have been wrong in giving such advice, but it was the -way I felt about it." - -Without realizing it, Wilson tripped in another hole dug by Miller's -inventive mind. - -"They couldn't do half as well with it," the Boston man said. "In fact, -no one could, as I told you, pay as much for the property as we can, -considering the railroad we have to move somewhere, and our gigantic -facilities for handling lumber in America and abroad. Still I think, and -our directors think, a hundred thousand is a big price." - -Miller laughed as if amused. "That's five dollars an acre, you know, -but I'm not here to boom Mr. Bishop's timber-land. In fact, all this -has grown out of my going down to Atlanta to borrow twenty-five thousand -dollars on the property. I think I would have saved time if I hadn't run -on you down there, Mr. Wilson." - -Wilson frowned and looked at his cigar. - -"We are willing," said he, "to make the loan at five per cent, per annum -on two conditions." - -"Well, out with them," laughed Miller. "What are they?" - -"First," said Wilson, slowly and methodically, "we want the refusal of -the property at one hundred thousand dollars." - -A thrill of triumph passed over the silent group. Alan saw his father's -face fill with sudden hope, and then it seemed to stand in abeyance as -if doubt had already mastered it. Abner Daniel caught his beard in his -stiff fingers and slowly slid them downward. Mrs. Bishop's bonnet hid -her face, but her fingers were twitching excitedly as they toyed with -the fringe of her shawl. - -Miller's indifference was surprising. "For what length of time do you -want the refusal of the property at that figure?" he asked, almost in a -tone of contempt. - -Wilson hung fire, his brow wrinkled thoughtfully. - -"Till it is decided positively," he got out finally, "whether we can get -a charter and a right of way to the property." - -To those who were not following the details as closely as were Alan and -Miller the reply of the latter fell discouragingly, even Abner Daniel -glared in open horror of what he regarded as an unfavorable turn in the -proceedings. - -"That's entirely too indefinite to suit my clients," said the lawyer. -"Do you suppose, Mr. Wilson, that they want to hang their property up -on a hook like that? Why, if you didn't attend to pushing your road -through--well, they would simply be in your hands, the Lord only knows -how long." - -"But we intend to do all we can to shove it through," said Wilson, with -a flush. - -"You know that is not a business-like proposition, Mr. Wilson," said -Miller, with a bland smile. "Why, it amounts to an option without any -limit at all." - -"Oh, I don't know," said Wilson, lamely. "Mr. Bishop will be interested -just as we are in getting a right of way through--in fact, it would -insure us of his help. We can't buy a right of way; we can't afford it. -The citizens through whose property the road runs must be persuaded -to contribute the land for the purpose, and Mr. Bishop, of course, has -influence up here with his neighbors." - -"Still he would be very imprudent," said Miller, "to option his property -without any limit. Now here's what we are willing to do. As long as -you hold Mr. Bishop's note for twenty-five thousand dollars unpaid, you -shall have the refusal of the land at one hundred thousand dollars. Now -take my advice"--Miller was smiling broadly--"let it stand at that." - -Wilson reflected for a moment, and then he said: "All right; let -that go. The other condition is this--and it need be only a verbal -promise--that nothing be said about my company's making this loan nor -our securing the refusal of the property." - -"That will suit us," said Miller. "Mr. Bishop' doesn't care to have -the public know his business. Of course, the mortgage will have to be -recorded at the court-house, but that need not attract attention. I -don't blame Mr. Bishop," went on Miller, in a half-confidential tone. -"These people are the worst gossips you ever saw. If you meet any of -them they will tell you that Mr. Bishop has bu'sted himself wide open by -buying so much timber-land, but this loan will make him as solid as the -Bank of England. The people don't understand his dealings, and they are -trying to take it out on him by blasting his reputation for being one of -the solidest men in his county." - -"Well, that's all, I believe," said Wilson, and Miller drew a blank -sheet of legal-cap paper to him and began to write. Half an hour later -the papers were signed and Miller carelessly handed Wilson's crisp pink -check on a New York bank to Mr. Bishop. - -"There you are, Mr. Bishop," he said, with a smile; "you didn't want any -one else to have a finger in that big pie of yours over there, but you -needed money, and I 'll tell you as a friend that a hundred thousand cash -down will be about as well as you can do with that land. It takes money, -and lots of it, to make money, and Mr. Wilson's company can move the -thing faster than you can." - -"That's a fact," said Wilson, in a tone that betrayed -self-gratification. "Now we must all pull together for the railroad." He -rose and turned to Miller. "Will you come with me to record the paper?" - -"Certainly," said Miller, and they both left together. - -The Bishop family were left alone, and the strain being lifted, they -found themselves almost wholly exhausted. - -"Is it all over?" gasped the old woman, standing up and grasping her -son's arm. - -"We've got his money," Alan told her, with a glad smile, "and a fair -chance for more." - -The pink check was fluttering in old Bishop's hand. Already the old -self-willed look that brooked no interference with his personal affairs -was returning to his wrinkled face. - -"I 'll go over to Craig's bank an' deposit it," he said to Alan. "It 'll -take a day or two to collect it, but he'd let me check on it right now -fer any reasonable amount." - -"I believe I'd ask him not to mention the deposit," suggested Alan. - -"Huh! I reckon I've got sense enough to do that." - -"I thought you intended to pay off the mortgage on our farm the fust -thing," ventured Mrs. Bishop. - -"We can' t do it till the note's due next January," said Bishop, -shortly. "I agreed to keep the money a yeer, an' Martin Doe 'll make me -hold to it. But what do you reckon I care as long as I've got some 'n' to -meet it with?" - -Mrs. Bishop's face fell. "I'd feel better about it if it was cleer," she -faltered. "But the Lord knows we ort to feel thankful to come out as we -have. If it hadn't been fer Alan--Mr. Miller said that Alan--" - -"Ef you all hadn't made sech a eternal row," broke in Bishop, testily, -"I'd 'a' had more timber-land than this. Colonel Barclay has as fine a -strip as any I got, an' he's bantered me for a trade time an' agin." - -Abner Daniel seldom sneered at anybody, no matter what the provocation -was, but it seemed impossible for him to refrain from it now. - -"You've been lookin' fer the last three months like a man that needed -more land," he said. "Jest no furder back 'an last night you 'lowed ef -you could git enough fer yore folly to raise the debt off'n yore farm -you'd die happy, an' now yo' re a-frettin' beca'se you didn't buy up the -sides o' the earth an' give nobody else a foothold. Le' me tell you the -truth, even ef it _does_ hurt a little. Ef Alan hadn't thought o' this -heer railroad idea, you'd 'a' been the biggest human pancake that ever -lay flat in its own grease." - -"I hain't said nothin' to the contrary," admitted Bishop, who really -took the reproof well. "Alan knows what I think about it." - -Then Bishop and his wife went to Craig's bank, and a moment later Miller -returned, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. - -"We got through, and he's gone to catch his train," he said. - -"It worked as smooth as goose-grease. I wonder what Pole Baker said to -him, or if he saw him. I have an idea he did, from the way Wilson danced -to our music." - -"Heer's Pole now," said Abner, from the door. "Come in heer, you -triflin' loafer, an' give an account o' yorese'f." - -"I seed 'im makin' fer the train," laughed Pole, "an' so I sneaked in to -see what you-uns done. He walked like he owned the town." - -"It went through like lightning, without a hitch or a bobble," Abner -told him. "We was jest a-won-derin' what you shot into 'im." - -"I hardly know," Pole sniggered. "I got to talkin' to 'im an' it looked -to me like I was chippin' off tan-bark with the sharpest tool I ever -handled. Every lick seemed to draw blood, an' he stood an' tuck it -without a start or a shiver. I said to myse'f: 'Pole Baker, yo're -nothin' but a rag-tag, bob-tail mountain Hoosier, an' he's a slick duck -from up North, with a gold watch-chain an' a silk beaver, but he's a -lappin' up what you say like a hungry kitten does a pan o' milk. Go it, -old boy, an' ef you win, you 'll he'p the finest man out o' trouble--I -mean Alan Bishop, by gum--that ever lived.' It seemed to me I was -filled with the fire of heaven. I could 'a' been at it yet--fer I'd -jest started--but he drawed his watch on me, an' made a shoot fer this -office, me with 'im, fer feer some yokel would strike up with 'im. I -mighty nigh shoved 'im in at the door." - -"You did noble," said Miller, while Pole and Alan were silently -clasping hands. "Now I told you we wouldn't forget you. Go down to -Wimbley's and tell him to give you the best suit of clothes he's got, -and to charge them to me 'n' Alan." - -Pole drew himself up to his full height, and stared at the lawyer with -flashing eyes. - -"Damn yore soul," he said; "don't you say a thing like that to me agin. -I 'll have you know I've got feelin' s as well as you or anybody else. -I'd cut off this right arm an' never wince to do Alan Bishop a favor, -but I 'll be danged ef anybody kin look me over after I've done a -_little_ one an' pay me for it in store-clothes. I don't like that one -bit, an' I ain't afeerd to say so." - -"I didn't mean any offence, Pole," apologized Miller, most humbly. - -"Well, you wouldn't 'a' said it to _some_ men," growled Pole, "I know -that. When I want pay fer a thing like that, I 'll jest go to that corner -o' the street an' look down at that rock-pile, whar Alan found me one -day an' paid me out jest to keep me from bein' the laughin'-stock o' -this town." - -Alan put his arm over his shoulder. "Rayburn didn't mean any harm," -he said, gently. "You are both my friends, and we've had a big victory -to-day; let's not have hard feelings." - -Pole hung his head stubbornly and Miller extended his hand. Abner Daniel -was an attentive listener, a half smile on his face. - -"Say, Pole," he said, with a little laugh, "you run down to Wimbley's -an' tell 'im not to wrop up that suit. I'm a-owin' him a bill, an' he -kin jest credit the value of it on my account." - -Pole laughed heartily and thrust his big hand into Miller's. - -"Uncle Ab," he said, "you'd make a dog laugh." - -"I believe yo' re right," said Abner, significantly, and then they all -roared at Pole's expense. - -The next day Alan received the following letter from Dolly Barclay: - -"_DEAR ALAN,--Rayburn Miller told me in confidence of your wonderful -success yesterday, and I simply cried with joy. I knew--I felt that you -would win, and this is, as he says, a glorious beginning. I am so proud -of you, and I am so full of hope to-day. All our troubles will come -out right some day, and now that I know you love me I can wait. Rayburn -would not have confided so much to me, but he said, while he would not -let me tell father anything about the prospective railroad, he wanted -me to prevent him from selling his tract of land near yours. You know -my father consults me about all his business, and he will not dispose of -that property without my knowing of it. Oh, wouldn't it he a fine joke -on him to have him profit by your good judgment._" - -Alan was at the little post-office in Filmore's store when he received -the letter, and he folded it and restored it to its envelope with a -heart filled with love and tenderness. As he walked home through the -woods, it seemed to him that everything in nature was ministering to his -boundless happiness. He felt as light as air as he strode along. "God -bless her dear, dear little soul!" he said, fervently. - - - - -XX - - -[Illustration: 9173] - -BOUT a week after this transaction Rayburn Miller went to Atlanta on -business for one of his clients, and while there he incidentally called -at the offices of the Southern Land and Timber Company, hoping to meet -Wilson and learn something about his immediate plans in regard to the -new railroad. But he was informed that the president of the company had -just gone to New York, and would not be back for a week. - -Rayburn was waiting in the rotunda of the Kimball House for his train, -which left at ten o' clock, when he ran across his friend, Captain Ralph -Burton, of the Gate City Guards, a local military company. - -"Glad to see you," said the young officer. "Did you run up for the -ball?" - -"What ball is that?" asked Miller. "I am at the first of it." - -"Oh, we are giving one here in this house tonight," answered Burton, who -was a handsome man of thirty-five, tall and erect, and appeared at -his best in his close-fitting evening-suit and light overcoat. "Come -up-stairs and I 'll introduce you to a lot of strangers." - -"Can't," Rayburn told him. "I've got to leave at ten o' clock." - -"Well, you've got a good hour yet," insisted the officer. "Come up on -the next floor, where the orchestra is, anyway, and we can sit down and -watch the crowd come in." - -Miller complied, and they found seats on the spacious floor overlooking -the thronged office. From where they sat they could look through several -large drawing-rooms into the ballroom beyond. Already a considerable -number of people had assembled, and many couples were walking about, -even quite near to the two young men. - -"By George!" suddenly exclaimed Miller, as a couple passed them, "who is -that stunning-looking blonde; she walks like a queen." - -"Where?" asked Burton, looking in the wrong direction. - -"Why, there, with Charlie Penrose." - -"Oh, that one," said Burton, trying to think, "I know as well as I know -anything, but her name has slipped my memory. Why, she's visiting the -Bishops on Peachtree Street--a Miss Bishop, that's it." - -"Adele, little Adele? Impossible!" cried Rayburn, "and I've been -thinking of her as a child all these years." - -"So you know her?" said Captain Burton. - -"Her brother is a chum of mine," explained Miller. "I haven't seen her -since she went to Virginia to school, five years ago. I never would have -recognized her in the world. My Lord! she's simply regal." - -"I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her," said the Captain; "but I've -heard lots about her from the boys who go to Bishop's. They say she's -remarkably clever--recites, you know, and takes off the plantation negro -to perfection. She's a great favorite with Major Middleton, who doesn't -often take to the frying size. She has been a big drawing card out at -Bishop's ever since she came. The boys say the house overflows every -evening. Are you going to speak to her?" - -"If I get a good chance," said Rayburn, his eyes on the couple as they -disappeared in the ballroom. "I don't like to go in looking like this, -but she'd want to hear from home." - -"Oh, I see," said Burton. "Well, you'd better try it before the grand -march sweeps everything before it." - -As Miller entered the ballroom, Penrose was giving Adele a seat behind -a cluster of palms, near the grand piano, around which the German -orchestra was grouped. He went straight to her. - -"You won't remember me, Miss Adele," he said, with a smile, "but I'm -going to risk speaking to you, anyway." - -She looked up from the bunch of flowers in her lap, and, in a startled, -eager sort of way, began to study his face. - -"No, I do not," she said, flushing a little, and yet smiling agreeably. - -"Well, I call that a good joke," Penrose broke in, with a laugh, as he -greeted Miller with a familiar slap on the shoulder. "Why, Rayburn, on -my word, she hasn't talked of anybody else for the last week, and here -she--" - -"You are _not_ Rayburn Miller!" Adele exclaimed, and she stood up to -give him her hand. "Yes, I have been talking of you, and it seems to me -I have a thousand things to say, and oh, so many thanks!" - -There was something in this impulsive greeting that gave Miller a -delectable thrill all over. - -"You were such a little thing the last time I saw you," he said, almost -tenderly. "I declare, you have changed--so, so remarkably." - -She nodded to Penrose, who was excusing himself, and then she said to -Miller, "Are you going to dance to-night?" - -He explained that he was obliged to take the train which left in a few -minutes. - -He saw her face actually fall with disappointment. The very genuineness -of the expression pleased him inexplicably. "Then I must hurry," she -said. "Would you mind talking to me a little while?" - -"Nothing could possibly please me so much," said he. "Suppose we stroll -around?" - -She took his arm and he led her back to the rotunda overlooking the -office. - -"So you are Rayburn Miller!" she said, looking at him wonderingly. "Do -you know, I have pictured you in my mind many times since mother wrote -me all about how you rescued us from ruin. Oh, Mr. Miller, I could not -in a thousand years tell you how my heart filled with gratitude to -you. My mother goes into the smallest details in her letters, and she -described your every word and action during that transaction in your -office. I could tell just where her eyes filled and her throat choked -up by her quivering handwriting. I declare, I looked on you as a sort -of king with unlimited power. If I were a man I'd rather use my brain to -help suffering people than to be made President of the United States -and be a mere figure-head. You must not think I am spoiled by all this -glitter and parade down here. The truth is, I heartily despise it. I -wanted to be at home so bad when I got that letter that I cried myself -to sleep." - -"You must not forget that your brother conceived the plan," Miller -protested, "and that I only--" - -"Oh yes; I know Alan thought of it," she interrupted, "but without your -experience and firmness it would have remained in his dear old brain -till the Lord knows when. The idea of their being in debt was slowly -killing my father and mother, and you came to their relief just when -they were unable to bear it any longer. I'm so glad you thought of -borrowing that money." - -Just then a young man, half a head shorter than Adele, came up -hurriedly. "Oh, here you are," he exclaimed, in a gasp of relief. "I've -been looking for you everywhere. This is mine, you know--the grand -march. They are all ready." - -Adele smiled pleasantly. "I hope you 'll excuse me from it, Mr. -Tedcastle," she said. "I've just met a friend from home; I want to talk -with him, and--" - -"But, Miss Bishop, I--" - -"I asked you to please excuse me, Mr. Tedcastle." Miller saw her face -harden, as if from the sneer of contempt that passed over it. "I hope -it will not be necessary for me to explain my reasons in detail until I -have a little more time at my disposal." - -"Oh, certainly not, Miss Bishop," said the young man, red with anger, as -he bowed himself away. - -"What's society coming to?" Adele asked Miller, with a nervous little -laugh. "Does a lady have to get down on her knees and beg men, little -jumping-jacks, like that one, to excuse her, and pet them into a -good-humor when she has good reason to change her mind about an -engagement? That's a sort of slavery I don't intend to enter." - -"You served him right," said Miller, who had himself resented the -young man's childish impetuosity, and felt like slapping him for his -impertinence. - -Adele shrugged her fine shoulders. "Let's not waste any more time -talking about him," she said. "I was going to tell you how happy you -made them all. When I read mother's description of their return home -that night--how she went round looking at each object and touching it, -that she might realize it was hers again; and how father sat up till -past midnight talking incessantly about it; and all the droll things -Uncle Abner said, I cried and laughed by turns. I longed to see you, to -tell you how I felt about what you did, and yet, now that I'm with you, -all I say seems utterly weak and--inadequate." - -"It seems wonderfully nice to me," Miller declared. "I don't deserve -anything, and yet--well, I like to hear you talk." He laughed. "Whether -I deserve it or not, I could listen to you for a week on a stretch." - -In truth, Rayburn Miller had never in all his varied social career -become so suddenly and startlingly interested in any woman. It all -seemed like a dream, and a most delicious one--the gay assemblage, the -intermittent strains of the music, the touch of the stately creature -on his arm, the perfume of her flowers, her hair, her eyes! He suddenly -felt fearful of the passage of time, the leaving of his train, the -approach of some one to claim her attention. He could not explain the -spell she had thrown on him. Was it because she was his friend's sister, -and so astoundingly pretty, frank, and sensible, or could it be that--? - -His train of thought was broken by the approach of Miss Ida Bishop, -Adele's cousin, a rather plain girl, who, with her scrawny neck and -scant hair--which rebelled against being made much of--would have -appeared to better advantage in a street costume. - -"Oh, Adele," she cried, reproachfully, "what _do_ you mean? Do you know -you have mortally offended Mr. Tedcastle? He had the march with you." - -"And I asked him as a favor to excuse me from it," said Adele, simply. -"I had just met Mr. Miller, who is to leave on an early train, and I -wanted to talk to him about home. Have you been introduced? My cousin, -Miss Bishop, Mr. Rayburn Miller." - -Miss Bishop bowed indifferently, and looked as if she still saw no -justification in the slight under question. - -"I'm awfully sorry," she said, reprovingly. "Mr. Tedcastle has been as -nice to you as he could be, and this is the way you show appreciation -for it. I don't blame him for being mad, do you, Mr. Miller?" - -"I'm afraid I'd be a prejudiced witness," he smiled, "benefiting as I am -by the gentleman' s discomfiture; but, really, I can' t think that -any circumstances could justify a man in pressing a lady to fill an -engagement when she chooses not to do so for any reason of hers." - -"I knew you'd say that," said Adele. "If anybody has a right to be -offended it is I, for the way he has acted without waiting for my full -explanation." - -"Oh, that is a high and mighty course that will do better for novels -than real life," disagreed Miss Ida Bishop. "The young men are badly -spoiled here, and if we want attention we've got to humor them." - -"They shall not be spoiled by me," declared Adele. "Why," shrugging her -shoulders, contemptuously, "if I had to run after them and bind up their -bruises every time they fell down, I'd not appreciate their attentions. -Besides, Mr. Tedcastle and his whole ilk actually put me to sleep. -What do they talk about? Driving, pet dogs, flowers, candies, -theatre-parties, and silly bosh, generally. Last Sunday Senator Hare -dined at uncle's, and after dinner he and I were having really a -wholesome sort of talk, and I was respecting myself--well, a little like -I am now--when in traped 'Teddy' with his hangers-on. Of course, I had -to introduce them to the Senator, and I felt like a fool, for he knew -they were my 'company,' and it was impossible to keep them quiet. They -went on with their baby talk, just as if Senator Hare were being given -an intellectual treat. Of course, there are _some_ grown-up men in -Atlanta, but they are driven to the clubs by the swarms of little -fellows. There comes Major Middleton, one of the old rgime. He may ask -me to dance with him. Now watch; if he does, I 'll answer him just as I -did Mr. Tedcastle, and you shall see how differently he will treat it." - -The Major, a handsome man of powerful physique and a great shock of -curly, iron-gray hair, approached Adele, and with a low bow held out his -hand. - -"I'm after the next dance, my dear," he said. "You are one of the very -few who ever dance with me, and I don't want to go home without it." - -Adele smiled. "I'm very sorry, Major," she said; "but I hope you 'll -excuse me this evening." - -"Oh, that's all right, my dear _child_," he said. "No, don't explain. I -know your reasons are all right. Go ahead and enjoy yourself in your own -way." - -"I won my bet," Adele laughed. "Major, I knew so well what you would say -that I bet on it," and then she explained the situation. - -"Tedcastle ought to be spanked," said the Major, in his high-keyed -voice. "A girl who had not rather hear from home than spin around with -him ought not to have a home. I'm going to mine rather early tonight. I -came only to show the boys how to make my famous Kentucky punch." - -When the Major and Miss Ida Bishop had gone and left them together, -Adele looked over the railing at the big clock in the office. "We have -only a few minutes longer--if you are to take that train," she said, -regretfully. - -"I never had as little interest in trains in my life," he said. And he -meant it. - -"Not in the trains on our new road?" she laughed. - -"They are too far ahead to interfere with my comfort," he retorted. -"This one is a steam nightmare." - -"I presume you really could not miss it?" Her long-lashed eyes were -down. - -He hesitated; the simple thought suggested by her thrilled him as he had -never been thrilled before. - -"Because," she added, "it would be so nice to have you come out -to-morrow afternoon to tea, about four." - -He drew out his watch and looked at it waveringly. - -"I could send a night message," he said, finally. "I really don't want -to go. Miss Adele, I don't want to go at all." - -"I don't want you to either," she said, softly. "It seems almost as if -we are quite old friends. Isn't that strange?" - -He restored his watch to his pocket. "I shall stay," he said, "and I -shall call to-morrow afternoon." - -Some one came for her a few minutes later, and he went down to the -office and out into the street. He wanted to walk, to feel his body in -action, keeping pace with his throbbing, bounding brain. His whole being -was aflame with a fire which had never burned in him before. - -"Alan' s little sister!" he kept repeating to himself. "Little -Adele--she's wonderful, wonderful! Perhaps she may be _the_ woman. By -George! she _is_--she _is!_ A creature like that, with that soul full -of appreciation for a man' s best efforts, would lift a fellow to the -highest rung on the ladder of human effort. Alan's little sister! And -the idiot never told me, never intimated that she was--a goddess." - -In his room at the hotel that night he slept little, his brain being -so active with his new experience. He saw her the next afternoon alone, -over a dainty tea-service of fragile china, in a Turkish corner in -William Bishop's great, quiet, house, and then proposed driving her the -next day to the Driving Club. He remained a week, seeing her, under some -pretext or other, every day during that time. Sometimes it was to call -with her on friends of hers. Once it was to attend a barbecue given by -Captain Burton at a club-house in the country, and once he gave her and -her cousin a luncheon at the Capitol City Club with a box at the matine -afterwards. He told himself that he had never lived before, and that, -somehow, he was just beginning. - -"No," he mused, as he sat in his train homeward bound. "I can't tell -Alan. I simply couldn't do it, after all the rubbish I have crammed into -him. Then she's his sister. I couldn't talk to him about her--not now, -anyway." - - - - -XXI - - -[Illustration: 9183] - -M glad you got back." Rayburn's sister, Mrs. Lampson, said to him at -breakfast the morning following his return on the midnight train. "We -are having a glorious meeting at our church." - -"Oh, is that so?" said the young man, sipping his coffee. "Who is -conducting it?" - -"Brother Maynell," answered Mrs. Lampson, enthusiastically, a tinge of -color in her wan, thin face. "He's a travelling evangelist, who has -been conducting revivals all over the South. It is really remarkable the -interest he has stirred up. We are holding prayer-meetings morning and -afternoon, though only the ladies meet in the afternoon. I conducted the -meeting yesterday." - -"Oh no; did you, really? Why, sis--" - -"Don't begin to poke fun at me," said Mrs. Lamp-son. "I know I didn't -do as well as some of the others, but I did the best I could, because I -felt it was my duty." - -"I was not going to make fun," said Miller, soothingly; "but it seems -mighty strange to think of you standing up before all the rest, and--" - -"It was not such a very hard thing to do," said the lady, who was older -than her brother by ten years. She had gray hairs at her temples, and -looked generally as if she needed out-door exercise and some diversion -to draw her out of herself. - -Rayburn helped himself to the deliciously browned, fried chicken, in its -bed of cream gravy, and a hot puffy biscuit. - -"And how does Mr. Lapsley, the regular preacher, like this innovation?" -he questioned. "I reckon you all pay the new man a fee for stirring -things up?" - -"Yes; we agreed to give him two hundred dollars, half of which goes to -an orphan asylum he is building. Oh, I don't think brother Lapsley -minds much, but of course it must affect him a little to see the great -interest brother Maynell has roused, and I suppose some are mean enough -to think he could have done the same, if he had tried." - -"No, it's clearly a case of a new broom," smiled Rayburn, buttering his -biscuit. "Old Lap might get up there and groan and whine for a week -and not touch a mourner with a ten-foot pole. The other chap knows his -business, and part of his business is not to stay long enough to wear -out his pet phrases or exhaust his rockets. I'm sorry for Lapsley; he's -paid a regular salary, and is not good for any other sort of work, and -this shows him up unfairly. In the long run, I believe he 'll get as many -into the church as the other man, and they will be more apt to stick. -Sister, that's the trouble with these tin-pan revivals. The biggest -converts backslide. I reckon you are working over old material now." - -Mrs. Lampson frowned and her lip stiffened. - -"I don't like your tone in speaking of such things," she said. "Indeed, -Rayburn, I have been deeply mortified in the last week by some remarks -that have been made about you. I didn't intend to mention them, but you -make me do it." - -"Oh, I knew they wouldn't let me rest," said Miller; "they never do in -their annual shake-ups." - -"Brother, you are looked on by nearly all religious workers in town as -a dangerous young man--I mean dangerous to the boys who are just growing -up, because they all regard you as a sort of standard to shape their -conduct by. They see you going to balls and dances and playing cards, -and they think it is smart and will not be interested in our meetings. -They see that you live and seem to prosper under it, and they follow in -your footsteps. I am afraid you don't realize the awful example you are -setting. Brother May-nell has heard of you and asked me about you the -other day. Some people think you have been in Atlanta all this time to -avoid the meeting." - -"I didn't know it was going on," said Miller, testily. "I assure you I -never run from a thing like that. The best thing to do is to add fuel to -the fire--it burns out quicker." - -"Well, you will go out to meeting, won't you?" insisted the sweet-voiced -woman. "You won't have them all thinking you have no respect for the -religion of our father and mother--will you?" - -Rayburn squirmed under this close fire. - -"I shall go occasionally when there is _preaching_," he said, -reluctantly. "I would be out of place at one of the--the knock-down and -drag-out shouting-bees." Then, seeing her look of horror at the words -which had unthoughtedly glided from his lips, he strove to make amends. -"Oh, sister, do--_do_ be reasonable, and look at it from my point of -view. I don't believe that's the way to serve God or beautify the world. -I believe in being happy in one's own way, just so that you don't tread -on the rights of other people." - -"But," said Mrs. Lampson, her eyes flashing, "you _are_ treading on -the rights of others. They are trying to save the souls of the rising -generation in the community, and you and your social set use your -influence in the other direction." - -"But what about the rights of my social set, if you want to call it -by that name?" Miller retorted, warmly. "We have the right to enjoy -ourselves in our way, just as you have in yours. We don't interfere--we -never ask you to close up shop so we can have a dance or a picnic, but -you do. If we dare give a party while some revivalist is filling his -pockets in town the revivalist jumps on us publicly and holds us up as -examples of headlong plungers into fiery ruin. There is not a bit of -justice or human liberty in that, and you 'll never reach a certain -element till you quit such a course. Last year one of the preachers in -this town declared in the pulpit that a girl could not be pure and dance -a round dance. It raised the very devil in the hearts of the young men, -who knew he was a dirty liar, and they got up as many dances out of -spite as they possibly could. In fact, some of them came near knocking -the preacher down on the street. I am a conservative sort of fellow, but -I secretly wished that somebody would slug that man in the jaw." - -"I'm really afraid you are worse than ever," sighed Mrs. Lampson. "I -don't know what to do with you." She laughed good-naturedly as she rose -and stood behind his chair, touching his head tenderly. "It really does -make me rather mad," she confessed, "to hear them making you out such a -bad stripe when I know what a wonderful man you really are for your age. -I really believe some of them are jealous of your success and standing, -but I do want you to be more religious." When Miller reached his office -about ten o' clock and had opened the door he noticed that Craig's bank -on the corner across the street was still closed. It was an unusual -occurrence at that hour and it riveted Miller's attention. Few people -were on the street, and none of them seemed to have noticed it. -The church-bell in the next block was ringing for the revivalist's -prayer-meeting, and Miller saw the merchants and lawyers hurrying by on -their way to worship. Miller stood in his front door and bowed to them -as they passed. Trabue hustled out of his office, pulling the door to -with a jerk. - -"Prayer-meeting?" he asked, glancing at Miller. - -"No, not to-day," answered Miller; "got some writing to do." - -"That preacher's a hummer," said the old lawyer. "I've never seen his -equal. He'd 'a' made a bang-up criminal lawyer. Why, they say old Joe -Murphy's converted--got out of his bed at midnight and went to Tim -Slocum's house to get 'im to pray for 'im. He's denied thar was a God -all his life till now. I say a preacher's worth two hundred to a town if -it can do that sort of work." - -"He's certainly worth it to Slocum," said Miller, with a smile. "If I'd -been denying there was a God as long as he has, I'd pay more than that -to get rid of the habit. Slocum's able, and I think he ought to foot -that preacher's bill." - -"You are a tough customer, Miller," said Trabue, with a knowing laugh. -"You'd better look out--May-nell's got an eye on you. He 'll call out -yore name some o' these days, an' ask us to pray fer you." - -"I was just wondering if there's anything wrong with Craig," said -Miller. "I see his door's not open." - -"Oh, I reckon not," said the old lawyer. "He's been taking part in the -meeting. He may have overslept." - -There was a grocery-store near Miller's office, and the proprietor came -out on the sidewalk and joined the two men. His name was Barnett. He was -a powerful man, who stood six feet five in his boots; he wore no coat, -and his suspenders were soiled and knotted. - -"I see you-uns is watchin' Craig's door," he said. "I've had my eye on -it ever since breakfast. I hardly know what to make of it. I went -thar to buy some New York exchange to pay for a bill o' flour, but he -wouldn't let me in. I know he's thar, for I seed 'im go in about an -hour ago. I mighty nigh shook the door off'n the hinges. His clerk, that -Western fellow, Win-ship, has gone off to visit his folks, an' I reckon -maybe Craig's got all the book-keepin' to do." - -"Well, he oughtn't to keep his doors closed at this time of day," -remarked Miller. "A man who has other people's money in his charge can' -t be too careful." - -"He's got some o' mine," said the grocer, "and Mary Ann Tarpley, my -wife's sister, put two hundred thar day before yesterday. Oh, I reckon -nothin' s wrong, though I do remember I heerd somebody say Craig bought -cotton futures an' sometimes got skeerd up a little about meetin' his -obligations." - -"I have never heard that," said Rayburn Miller, raising his brows. - -"Well, I have, an' I've heerd the same o' Winship," said the grocer, -"but I never let it go no furder. I ain't no hand to circulate ill -reports agin a good member of the church." - -Miller bit his lip and an unpleasant thrill passed over him as Trabue -walked on. "Twenty-five thousand," he thought, "is no small amount. It -would tempt five men out of ten if they were inclined to go wrong, and -were in a tight." - -The grocer was looking at him steadily. - -"You bank thar, don't you?" he asked. - -Miller nodded: "But I happen to have no money there right now. I made a -deposit at the other bank yesterday." - -"Suspicious, heigh? Now jest a little, wasn't you?" The grocer now spoke -with undisguised uneasiness. - -"Not at all," replied the lawyer. "I was doing some business for the -other bank, and felt that I ought to favor them by my cash deposits." - -"You don't think thar's anything the matter, do you?" asked the grocer, -his face still hardening. - -"I think Craig is acting queerly--very queerly for a banker," was -Miller's slow reply. "He has always been most particular to open up -early and--" - -"Hello," cried out a cheery voice, that of the middle-aged proprietor -of the Darley Flouring Mills, emerging from Barnett's store. "I see -you fellows have your eye on Craig's front. If he was a drinking man we -might suspicion he'd been on a tear last night, wouldn't we?" - -"It looks damned shaky to me," retorted the grocer, growing more -excited. "I'm goin' over there an' try that door again. A man 'at has my -money can't attract the attention Craig has an' me say nothin'." - -The miller pulled his little turf of gray beard and winked at Rayburn. - -"You been scarin' Barnett," he said, with a tentative inflection. "He's -easily rattled. By-the-way, now that I think of it, it does seem to me -I heard some of the Methodists talkin' about reproving Craig an' Winship -for speculatin' in grain and cotton. I know they've been dabblin' in -it, for Craig always got my market reports. He's been dealin' with a -bucket-shop in Atlanta." - -"I'm going over there," said Miller, abruptly, and he hurried across in -the wake of the big grocer. The miller followed him. On the other side -of the street several people were curiously watching the bank door, and -when Barnett went to it and grasped the handle and began to shake it -vigorously they crossed over to him. - -"What's wrong?" said a dealer in fruits, a short, thick-set man with a -florid face; but Barnett's only reply was another furious shaking of the -door. - -"Why, man, what's got into you?" protested the fruit-dealer, in a rising -tone of astonishment. "Do you intend to break that door down?" - -"I will if that damned skunk don't open it an' give me my money," said -Barnett, who was now red in the face and almost foaming at the mouth. -"He's back in thar, an' he knows it's past openin' time. By gum! I know -more 'n I'm goin' to tell right now." - -This was followed by another rattling of the door, and the grocer's -enormous weight, like a battering-ram, was thrown against the heavy -walnut shutter. - -"Open up, I say--open up in thar!" yelled the grocer, in a voice hoarse -with passion and suspense. - -A dozen men were now grouped around the doorway. Barnett released the -handle and stood facing them. - -"Somethin' s rotten in Denmark," he panted. "Believe me or not, fellows, -I know a thing or two. This bank's in a bad fix." - -A thrill of horror shot through Miller. The words had the ring of -conviction. Alan Bishop's money was in bad hands if it was there at all. -Suddenly he saw a white, trembling hand fumbling with the lower part of -the close-drawn window-shade, as if some one were about to raise it; but -the shade remained down, the interior still obscured. It struck Miller -as being a sudden impulse, defeated by fear of violence. There was a -pause. Then the storm broke again. About fifty men had assembled, all -wild to know what was wrong. Miller elbowed his way to the door and -stood on the step, slightly raised above the others, Barnett by his -side. "Let me speak to him," he said, pacifically. Barnett yielded -doggedly, and Rayburn put his lips to the crack between the two -folding-doors. - -"Mr. Craig!" he called out--"Mr. Craig!" - -There was no reply, but Rayburn heard the rustling of paper on the -inside near the crack against which his ear was pressed, and then the -edge of a sheet of writing-paper was slowly shoved through. Rayburn -grasped it, lifting it above a dozen outstretched hands. "Hold on!" he -cried, authoritatively. "Til read it." The silence of the grave fell on -the crowd as the young man began to read. - -"Friends and citizens," the note ran, "Winship has absconded with every -dollar in the vaults, except about two hundred dollars in my small safe. -He has been gone two days, I thought on a visit to his kinfolks. I have -just discovered the loss. I'm completely ruined, and am now trying to -make out a report of my condition. Have mercy on an old man." - -Rayburn's face was as white as that of a corpse. The paper dropped from -his hand and he stepped down into the crowd. He was himself no loser, -but the Bishops had lost their all. How could he break the news to them? -Presently he began to hope faintly that old Bishop might, within the -last week, have drawn out at least part of the money, but that hope was -soon discarded, for he remembered that the old man was waiting to invest -the greater part of the deposit in some Shoal Creek Cotton Mill stock -which had been promised him in a few weeks. No, the hope was groundless. -Alan, his father, Mrs. Bishop, and--Adele--Miller's heart sank down into -the very ooze of despair. All that he had done for Adele's people, and -which had roused her deepest, tenderest gratitude, was swept away. What -would she think now? - -His train of thought was rudely broken by an oath from Barnett, who, -with the rage of a madman, suddenly threw his shoulder against the door. -There was a crash, a groan of bursting timber and breaking bolts, and -the door flew open. For one instant Miller saw the ghastly face and -cowering form of the old banker behind the wire-grating, and then, with -a scream of terror, Craig ran into a room in the rear, and thence made -his escape at a door opening on the side street. The mob filled the -bank, and did not discover Craig's escape for a minute; then, with a -howl of rage, it surged back into the street. Craig was ahead of them, -running towards the church, where prayer-meeting-was being held, the -tails of his long frock-coat flying behind him, his worn silk hat in his -convulsive grasp. - -"Thar he goes!" yelled Barnett, and he led the mob after him, all -running at the top of their speed without realizing why they were doing -so. They gained on the fleeing banker, and Barnett could almost touch -him when they reached the church. With a cry of fear, like that of a -wild animal brought to bay, Craig sprang up the steps and ran into the -church, crying and groaning for help. - -A dozen men and women and children were kneeling at the altar to get the -benefit of the prayers of the ministers and the congregation, but they -stood up in alarm, some of them with wet faces. - -The mob checked itself at the door, but the greater part of it crowded -into the two aisles, a motley human mass, many of them without coats or -hats. The travelling evangelist seemed shocked out of expression; but -the pastor, Mr. Lapsley, who was an old Confederate soldier, and used to -scenes of violence, stood calmly facing them. - -"What's all this mean?" he asked. - -"I came here for protection," whined Craig, "to my own church and -people. This mob wants to kill me--tear me limb from limb." - -"But what's wrong?" asked the preacher. - -"Winship," panted Craig, his white head hanging down as he stood -touching the altar railing--"Win-ship's absconded with all the money -in my vault. I'm ruined. These people want me to give up what I haven't -got. Oh, God knows, I would refund every cent if I had it!" - -"You shall have our protection," said the minister, calmly. "They won't -violate the sacredness of the house of God by raising a row. You are -safe here, brother Craig. I'm sure all reasonable people will not blame -you for the fault of another." - -"I believe he's got my money," cried out Barnett, in a coarse, sullen -voice, "and the money of some o' my women folks that's helpless, and -he's got to turn it over. Oh, he's got money some'r's, I 'll bet on -that!" - -"The law is your only recourse, Mr. Barnett," said the preacher, calmly. -"Even now you are laying yourself liable to serious prosecution for -threatening a man with bodily injury when you can't prove he's wilfully -harmed you." - -The words told on the mob, many of them being only small depositors, -and Barnett found himself without open support. He was silent. Rayburn -Miller, who had come up behind the mob and was now in the church, went -to Craig's side. Many thought he was proffering his legal services. - -"One word, Mr. Craig," he said, touching the quivering arm of the -banker. - -"Oh, you're no loser," said Craig, turning on him. "There was nothing to -your credit." - -"I know that," whispered Miller, "but as attorney for the Bishops, I -have a right to ask if their money is safe." The eyes of the banker went -to the ground. - -"It's gone--every cent of it!" he said. "It was their money that tempted -Winship. He'd never seen such a large pile at once." - -"You don't mean--" But Miller felt the utter futility of the question on -his tongue and turned away. Outside he met Jeff Dukes, one of the town -marshals, who had been running, and was very red in the face and out of -breath. - -"Is that mob in thar?" he asked. - -"Yes, and quiet now," said Miller. "Let them alone; the important thing -is to put the police on Winship's track. Come back down-town." - -"I 'll have to git the particulars from Craig fust," said Dukes. "Are you -loser?" - -"No, but some of my clients are, and I'm ready to stand any expense to -catch the thief." - -"Well, I 'll see you in a minute, and we 'll heat all the wires out of -town. I 'll see you in a minute." - -Farther down the street Miller met Dolly Barclay. She had come straight -from her home, in an opposite direction from the bank, and had evidently -not heard the news. - -"I'm on my way to prayer-meeting," she smiled. "I'm getting good to -please the old folks, but--" She noticed his pale face. "What is the -matter? Has anything--" - -"Craig's bank has failed," Rayburn told her briefly. "He says Winship -has absconded with all the cash in the vaults." - -Dolly stared aghast. "And you--you--" - -"I had no money there," broke in Miller. "I was fortunate enough to -escape." - -"But Alan--Mr. Bishop?" She was studying his face and pondering his -unwonted excitement. "Had they money there?" - -Miller did not answer, but she would not be put aside. - -"Tell me," she urged--"tell me that." - -"If I do, it's in absolute confidence," he said, with professional -firmness. "No one must know--not a soul--that they were depositors, for -much depends on it. If Wilson knew they were hard up he might drive them -to the wall. They were not only depositors, but they lose every cent -they have--twenty-five thousand dollars in a lump." - -He saw her catch her breath, and her lips moved mutely, as if repeating -the words he had just spoken. "Poor Alan!" he heard her say. "This is -too, _too_ much, after all he has gone through." - -Miller touched his hat and started on, but she joined him, keeping by -his side like a patient, pleading child. He marvelled over her strength -and wonderful poise. "I am taking you out of your way, Miss Dolly," he -said, gently, more gently than he had ever spoken to her before. - -"I only want to know if Alan has heard. Do--do tell me that." - -"No, he's at home. I shall ride out as soon as I get the matter in the -hands of the police." - -She put out her slender, shapely hand and touched his arm. - -"Tell him," she said, in a low, uncertain voice, "that it has broken my -heart. Tell him I love him more than I ever did, and that I shall stick -to him always." - -Miller turned and took off his hat, giving her his hand. - -"And I believe you will do it," he said. "He's a lucky dog, even if he -_has_ just struck the ceiling. I know him, and your message will soften -the blow. But it's awful, simply awful! I can't now see how they can -possibly get from under it." - -"Well, tell him," said Dolly, with a little, soundless sob in her -throat--"tell him what I told you." - - - - -XXII - - -[Illustration: 9196] - -HAT afternoon the breeze swerved round from the south, bringing vague -threats About three o' clock Alan, his his mother and father were in the -front yard, looking at the house, with a view to making some alterations -that had been talked of for several years past. - -"I never had my way in anything before," Mrs. Bishop was running on, in -the pleased voice of a happy child, "and I'm glad you are goin' to -let me this once. I want the new room to jut out on this side from -the parlor, and have a bay-window, and we must cut a wide foldin'-door -between the two rooms. Then the old veranda comes down and the new one -must have a double floor, like Colonel Sprague's on the river, except -ours will have round, white columns instead o' square, if they do cost a -trifle more." - -"She knows what she wants," said Bishop, with one of his infrequent -smiles, "and I reckon we'd save a little to let her boss the job, ef she -don't hender the carpenters by too much talk. I don't want 'em to put in -a stick o' lumber that ain't the best." - -"I'm glad she's going to have her way," said Alan. "She's wanted a -better house for twenty years, and she deserves it." - -"I don't believe in sech fine feathers," said Bishop, argumentatively. -"I'd a leetle ruther wait till we see whether Wilson's a-goin' to put -that road through--then we _could_ afford to put on a dab or two o' -style. I don't know but I'd move down to Atlanta an' live alongside o' -Bill, an' wear a claw-hammer coat an' a dicky cravat fer a change." - -"Then you mought run fer the legislatur'," spoke up Abner Daniel, who -had been an amused listener, "an' git up a law to pen up mad dogs at -the dangerous part o' the yeer. Alf, I've always thought you'd be a' -ornament to the giddy whirl down thar. William was ever' bit as green -as you are when he fust struck the town. But he had the advantage o' -growin' up an' sorter ripenin' with the place. It ud be hard on you at -yore time o' life." - -At this juncture Alan called their attention to a horseman far down the -road. "It looks like Ray Miller's mare," he remarked. "This is one of -his busy days; he can' t be coming to fish." - -"Railroad news," suggested Abner. "It's a pity you hain't connected by -telegraph." - -They were all now sure that it was Miller, and with no little curiosity -they moved nearer the gate. - -"By gum! he's been givin' his mare the lash," said Abner. "She's fairly -kivered with froth." - -"Hello, young man," Alan called out, as Miller dismounted at a -hitching-post just outside the fence and fastened his bridle-rein. "Glad -to see you; come in." - -Miller bowed and smiled as he opened the gate and came forward to shake -hands. - -"We are certainly glad you came, Mr. Miller," said Mrs. Bishop, with all -her quaint cordiality. "Ever since that day in the office I've wanted a -chance to show you how much we appreciate what you done fer us. Brother -Ab will bear me out when I say we speak of it mighty nigh ever'day." - -Miller wore an inexpressible look of embarrassment, which he tried to -lose in the act of shaking hands all round the group, but his platitudes -fell to the ground. Abner, the closest observer among them, already had -his brows drawn together as he pondered Miller's unwonted lack of ease. - -"Bring any fishing-tackle?" asked Alan. - -"No, I didn't," said the lawyer, jerking himself to that subject -awkwardly. "The truth is, I only ran out for a little ride. I've got to -get back." - -"Then it _is_ business, as brother Ab said," put in Mrs. Bishop, -tentatively. - -Miller lowered his eyes to the ground and then raised them to Alan's -face. - -"Yes, it's railroad business," said Abner, his voice vibrant with -suspense. - -"And it's not favorable," said Alan, bravely. "I can see that by your -looks." - -Miller glanced at his mare, and lashed the leg of his top-boots with his -riding-whip. "No, I have bad news, but it's not about the railroad. I -could have written, but I thought I'd better come myself." - -"Adele!" gasped Mrs. Bishop. "You have heard--" - -"No, she's well," said Miller. "It's about the money you put in Craig's -bank." - -"What about that?" burst from old Bishop's startled lips. - -"Craig claims Winship has absconded with all the cash. The bank has -failed." - -"Failed!" The word was a moan from Bishop, and for a moment no one -spoke. A negro woman at the wash-place behind the house was using -a batting-stick on some clothing, and the dull blows came to them -distinctly. - -"Is that so, Ray?" asked Alan, calm but pale to the lips. - -"I'm sorry to say it is." - -"Can anything at all be done?" - -"I've done everything possible already. We have been telegraphing the -Atlanta police all morning about tracing Winship, but they don't seem -much interested. They think he's had too big a start on us. You see, -he's been gone two days and nights. Craig says he thought he was on a -visit to relatives till he discovered the loss last night." - -"It simply spells ruin, old man," said Alan, grimly. "I can see that." - -Miller said nothing for a moment--then: - -"It's just as bad as it could be, my boy," he said. "I see no reason -to raise false hopes. There is a strong feeling against Craig, and -no little suspicion, owing to the report that he has been speculating -heavily, but he has thrown himself on the protection of his church, and -even some of his fellow-members, who lose considerably, are standing by -him." - -Here old Bishop, with compressed lips, turned and walked unsteadily into -the house. With head hanging low and eyes flashing strangely, his -wife followed him. At the steps she paused, her sense of hospitality -transcending her despair. "You must stay to early supper, anyway, Mr. -Miller," she said. "You could ride back in the cool o' the evening." - -"Thank you, but I must hurry right back, Mrs. Bishop," Miller said. - -"And Dolly--does she know?" asked Alan, when his mother had disappeared -and Abner had walked to the hitching-post, and stood as if thoughtfully -inspecting Miller's mare. Miller told him of their conversation that -morning, and Alan' s face grew tender and more resigned. - -"She's a brick!" said Miller. "She's a woman I now believe in -thoroughly--she and one other." - -"Then there _is_ another?" asked Alan, almost cheerfully, as an effect -of the good news that had accompanied the bad. - -"Yes. I see things somewhat differently of late," admitted Miller, in -an evasive, non-committal tone. "Dolly Barclay opened my eyes, and when -they were open I saw--well, the good qualities of some one else. I may -tell you about her some day, but I shall not now. Get your horse and -come to town with me. We must be ready for any emergency." - -Abner Daniel came towards them. "I don't want to harm nobody's -character," he said; "but whar my own kin is concerned, I'm up an' wide -awake. I don't know what you think, but I hain't got a speck o' faith -in Craig hisse'f. He done me a low, sneakin' trick once that I ketched -up with. He swore it was a mistake, but it wasn't. He's a bad egg--you -mind what I say; he won't do." - -"It may be as you say, Mr. Daniel," returned Miller, with a lawyer's -reserve on a point unsubstantiated by evidence, "but even if he has the -money hidden away, how are we to get it from him?" - -"I'd find a way," retorted Daniel, hotly, "so I would." - -"We 'll do all we can," said Miller. - -Daniel strode into the house and Alan went after his horse. Miller stood -at the gate, idly tapping his boot with his whip. - -"Poor Mrs. Bishop!" he said, his eyes on the house; "how very much she -resembled Adele just now, and she is bearing it just like the little -girl would. I reckon they 'll write her the bad news. I wish I was there -to--soften the blow. It will wring her heart." - - - - -XXIII - - -[Illustration: 9201] - -HAT evening after supper the family remained, till bedtime, in the big, -bare-looking dining-room, the clean, polished floors of which gleamed in -the light of a little fire in the big chimney. Bishop's chair was tilted -back against the wall in a dark corner, and Mrs. Bishop sat knitting -mechanically. Abner was reading--or trying to read--a weekly paper at -the end of the dining-table, aided by a dimly burning glass-lamp. Aunt -Maria had removed the dishes and, with no little splash and clatter, was -washing them in the adjoining kitchen. - -Suddenly Abner laid down his paper and began to try to console them for -their loss. Mrs. Bishop listened patiently, but Bishop sat in the very -coma of despair, unconscious of what was going on around him. - -"Alf," Abner called out, sharply, "don't you remember what a -close-fisted scamp I used to be about the time you an' Betsy fust -hitched together?" - -"No, I don't," said the man addressed, almost with a growl at being -roused from what could not have been pleasant reflections. - -"I remember folks said you was the stingiest one in our family," struck -in Mrs. Bishop, plaintively. "Law me! I hain't thought of it from that -day to this. It seems powerful funny now to think of you havin' sech a -reputation, but I railly believe you had it once." - -"An' I deserved it," Abner folded his paper, and rapped with it on the -table. "You know, Betsy, our old daddy was as close as they make 'em; he -had a rope tied to every copper he had, an' I growed up thinkin' it was -the only safe course in life. I was too stingy to buy ginger-cake an' -cider at camp-meetin' when I was dyin' fer it. I've walked round an' -round a old nigger woman's stand twenty times with a dry throat an' my -fingers on a slick dime, an' finally made tracks fer the nighest spring. -I had my eyes opened to stinginess bein' ungodly by noticin' its effect -on pa. He was a natural human bein' till a body tetched his pocket, -an' then he was a rantin' devil. I got to thinkin' I'd be like 'im by -inheritance ef I didn't call a halt, an' I begun tryin' in various ways -to reform. I remember I lent money a little freer than I had, which -wasn't sayin' much, fer thar was a time when I wouldn't 'a' sold a man -a postage-stamp on a credit ef he'd 'a' left it stuck to the back o' my -neck fer security. - -"But I 'll tell you how I made my fust great big slide towards -reformation. It tuck my breath away, an' lots o' my money; but I did it -with my eyes open. I was jest a-thinkin' a minute ago that maybe ef I -told you-uns about how little it hurt me to give it up you mought sleep -better to-night over yore own shortage. Alf, are you listenin'?" - -"Yes, I heerd what you said," mumbled Bishop. - -Abner cleared his throat, struck at a moth with his paper, and -continued: "Betsy, you remember our cousin, Jimmy Bartow? You never -knowed 'im well, beca'se you an' Alf was livin' on Holly Creek about -that time, an' he was down in our neighborhood. He never was wuth -shucks, but he twisted his mustache an' greased his hair an' got 'im a -wife as easy as fallin' off a log. He got to clerkin' fer old Joe Mason -in his store at the cross-roads, and the sight o' so much change passin' -through his fingers sort o' turned his brain. He tuck to drinking an' -tryin' to dress his wife fine, an' one thing or other, that made -folks talk. He was our double fust cousin, you know, an' we tuck a big -interest in 'im on that account. After a while old Joe begun to miss -little dribs o' cash now an' then, an' begun to keep tab on Jimmy, an' -'fore the young scamp knowed it, he was ketched up with as plain as day. - -"Old Joe made a calculation that Jimmy had done 'im, fust and last, to -the tune of about five hundred dollars, an' told Jimmy to set down by -the stove an' wait fer the sheriff. - -"Jimmy knowed he could depend on the family pride, an' he sent fer all -the kin fer miles around. It raised a awful rumpus, fer not one o' our -stock an' generation had ever been jailed, an' the last one of us didn't -want it to happen. I reckon we was afeerd ef it once broke out amongst -us it mought become a epidemic. They galloped in on the'r hosses an' -mules, an' huddled around Mason. They closed his doors, back an' front, -an' patted 'im on the back, an' talked about the'r trade an' influence, -an' begged 'im not to prefer charges; but old Joe stood as solid as -a rock. He said a thief was a thief, ef you spelt it back'ards or -for'ards, or ef he was akin to a king or a corn-fiel' nigger. He said -it was, generally, the bigger the station the bigger the thief. Old Joe -jest set at his stove an' chawed tobacco an' spit. Now an' then he'd -stick his hands down in his pockets an' rip out a oath. Then Jimmy's -young wife come with her little teensy baby, an' set down by Jimmy, -skeerd mighty nigh out of 'er life. Looked like the baby was skeerd too, -fer it never cried ur moved. Then the sheriff driv' up in his buggy an' -come in clinkin' a pair o' handcuffs. He seed what they was all up to -an' stood back to see who would win, Jimmy's kin or old Joe. All at once -I tuck notice o' something that made me madder'n a wet hen. They all -knowed I had money laid up, an' they begun to ax old Mason ef I'd put -up the five hundred dollars would he call it off. I was actu'ly so mad -I couldn't speak. Old Joe said he reckoned, seein' that they was all so -turribly set back, that he'd do it ef I was willin'. The Old Nick got -in me then as big as a side of a house, an' I give the layout about -the toughest talk they ever had. It didn't faze 'em much, fer all they -wanted was to git Jimmy free, an' so they tuck another tack. Ef they'd -git up half amongst 'em all, would I throw in t'other half? That, ef -anything, made me madder. I axed 'em what they tuck me fer--did I look -like a durn fool? An' did they think beca'se they was sech fools I was -one? - -"Old Tommy Todd, Jimmy's own uncle, was thar, but he never had a word to -say. He jest set an' smoked his pipe an' looked about, but he wouldn't -open his mouth when they'd ax him a question. He was knowed to be sech a -skinflint that nobody seemed to count on his help at all, an' he looked -like he was duly thankful fer his reputation to hide behind in sech a -pressure. - -"Then they lit into me, an' showed me up in a light I'd never appeared -in before. They said I was the only man thar without a family to -support, an' the only one thar with ready cash in the bank, an' that -ef I'd let my own double fust cousin be jailed, I was a disgrace to 'em -all. They'd not nod to me in the big road, an' ud use the'r influence -agin my stayin' in the church an' eventually gittin' into the kingdom o' -Heaven. I turned from man to devil right thar. I got up on the head of a -tater-barrel behind the counter, an' made the blamedest speech that ever -rolled from a mouth inspired by iniquity. I picked 'em out one by one -an' tore off their shirts, an' chawed the buttons. The only one I let -escape was old Tommy; he never give me a chance to hit him. Then I -finally come down to the prisoner at the bar an' I larruped him. Ever' -time I'd give a yell, Jimmy ud duck his head, an' his wife ud huddle -closer over the baby like she was afeerd splinters ud git in its eyes. I -made fun of 'em till I jest had to quit. Then they turned the'r backs -on me an' begun to figure on doin' without my aid. It was mortgage -this, an' borrow this, an' sell this hoss or wagon or mule or cow, an' a -turrible wrangle. I seed they was gittin' down to business an' left 'em. - -"I noticed old Tommy make his escape, an' go out an' unhitch his hoss, -but he didn't mount. Looked like he 'lowed he was at least entitled to -carryin' the news home, whether he he'ped or not. I went to the spring -at the foot o' the rise an' set down. I didn't feel right. In fact, I -felt meaner than I ever had in all my life, an' couldn't 'a' told -why. Somehow I felt all at once ef they did git Jimmy out o' hock an' -presented 'im to his wife an' baby without me a-chippin' in, I'd never -be able to look at 'em without remorse, an' I did think a lots o' Jimmy's -wife an' baby. I set thar watchin' the store about as sorry as a proud -sperit kin feel after a big rage. Fust I'd hope they'd git up the -required amount, an' then I'd almost hope they wouldn't. Once I actually -riz to go offer my share, but the feer that it ud be refused stopped me. -On the whole, I think I was in the mud about as deep as Jimmy was in the -mire, an' I hadn't tuck nobody's money nuther. All at once I begun to -try to see some way out o' my predicament. They wouldn't let me chip in, -but I wondered ef they'd let me pay it all. I believed they would, an' -I was about to hurry in the store when I was balked by the thought -that folks would say I was a born idiot to be payin' my lazy, triflin' -kinfolks out o' the consequences o' the'r devilment; so I set down agin, -an' had another wrastle. I seed old Tommy standin' by his hoss chawin' -his ridin'-switch an' watchin' the door. All at once he looked mighty -contemptible, an' it struck me that I wasn't actin' one bit better, so I -ris an' plunged fer the door. Old Tommy ketched my arm as I was about to -pass 'im an' said, 'What you goin' to do, Ab?' An' I said, 'Uncle Tommy, -I'm a-goin' to pay that boy out ef they 'll let me.' - -"'You don't say,' the old fellow grunted, lookin' mighty funny, an' he -slid in the store after me. Somehow I wasn't afeerd o' nothin' with -or without shape. I felt like I was walkin' on air in the brightest, -saftest sunshine I ever felt. They was all huddled over Mason's desk -still a-figurin' an' a-complainin' at the uneven division. Jimmy -set thar with his head ducked an' his young wife was tryin' to fix -some'n' about the baby. She looked like she'd been cryin.'I got up on my -tater-barrel an' knocked on the wall with a axe-handle to attract the'r -attention. Then I begun. I don't know what I said, or how it sounded, -but I seed Jimmy raise his head an' look, an' his wife push back her -poke-bonnet an' stare like I'd been raised from the grave. Along with my -request to be allowed to foot the whole bill, I said I wanted to do it -beca'se I believed I could show Jimmy an' his wife that I was doin' -it out o' genuine regard fer 'em both, an' that I wanted 'em to take -a hopeful new start an' not be depressed. Well, sir, it was like an -avalanche. I never in all my life seed sech a knocked-out gang. Nobody -wanted to talk. The sheriff looked like he was afeerd his handcuffs ud -jingle, an' Jimmy bu'st out cryin'. His wife sobbed till you could -'a' heerd her to the spring. She sprung up an' fetched me her baby an' -begged me to kiss it. With her big glad eyes, an' the tears in 'em, she -looked nigher an angel than any human bein' I ever looked at. Jimmy went -out the back way wipin' his eyes, an' I went to Mason's desk to write -him a check fer the money. He come to my elbow an' looked troubled. - -"'I said it was five hundred dollars,'said he, 'but I was sorter -averagin' the loss. I ain't a-goin' to run no risks in a matter like -this. I'd feel better to call it four hundred. You see, Jimmy's been a -sort o' standby with me, an' has fetched me lots o' trade. Make it four -hundred and I 'll keep 'im. I don't believe he 'll ever git wrong agin.' - -"And Jimmy never did. He stayed thar for five yeer on a stretch, an' -was the best clerk in the county. I was paid a thousandfold. I never met -them two in my life that they didn't look jest like they thought I was -all right, an' that made me feel like I was to some extent. Old Tommy, -though, was the funniest thing about it. He bored me mighty nigh to -death. He'd come to my cabin whar I was livin' at the time an' set by my -fire an' smoke an' never say hardly a word. It looked like some 'n' was -on his mind, an' he couldn't git it off. One night when he'd stayed -longer 'n usual, I pinned 'im down an' axed 'im what was the matter. He -got up quick an' said nothin' aileded 'im, but he stopped at the fence -an' called me out. He was as white as a sheet an' quiverin' all over. -Said he: 'I've got to have this over with, Ab. I may as well tell you -an' be done with it. It's been botherin' the life out o' me, an' I 'll -never git rid of it till it's done. I want to pay you half o' that money -you spent on Jimmy. I had the cash that day, an' it 'ain't done me one -bit o' good sence then. I 'll never sleep well till I go you halvers.' - -"'I cayn't sell that to you, Uncle Tommy,' I said, laughin'. 'No, siree, -you couldn't chip into that investment ef you doubled yore offer. I've -found out what it is wuth. But,' said I, 'ef you've got two hundred -that's burnin' a hole in yore pocket, ur conscience, an' want to yank it -out, go give it to Jimmy's wife to he'p her educate that baby.' - -"It struck 'im betwixt the eyes, but he didn't say yes or no. He slid -away in the moonlight, all bent over an' quiet. I never seed 'im agin -fer a month, an' then I called 'im out of a crowd o' fellers at the -court-house an' axed 'im what he'd done. He looked bothered a little, -but he gave me a straight look like he wasn't ready to sneak out o' -anything. - -"'I thought it over,' said he, 'but I railly don't see no reason why I -ort to help Jimmy's child any more 'n a whole passle o' others that have -as much claim on me by blood; but somehow I do feel like goin' cahoot -with you in what's already been done, an' I'm still ready to jine you, -ef you are willin'.' - -"I didn't take his money, but it set me to thinkin'. When old Tommy -died, ten years after that, they found he had six wool socks filled with -gold an' silver coin under his house, an' nobody ever heerd o' his doin' -any charity work. I wish now that I'd 'a' lifted that cash an' 'a' put -it whar it would do good. If I had he'd 'a' had a taste o' some 'n' that -never glorified his pallet." - -When Abner concluded, Mrs. Bishop went to the fire and pushed the chunks -together into a heap in the fireplace. Bishop moved in his chair, but he -said nothing. - -"I remember heerin' about that, brother Ab," Mrs. Bishop said, a -reminiscent intonation in her voice. "Some folks wondered powerful over -it. I don't believe money does a body much good jest to hold an' keep. -As the Lord is my judge, I jest wanted that bank deposit fer Alan and -Adele. I wanted it, an' I wanted it bad, but I cayn't believe it was a -sin." - -Something like a groan escaped Bishop's lips as he lowered the front -posts of his chair to the floor. - -"What's the use o' talkin' about it?" he said, impatiently. "What's the -use o' anything?" - -He rose and moved towards the door leading to his room. - -"Alfred," Mrs. Bishop called to him, "are you goin' to bed without -holdin' prayer?" - -"I'm goin' to omit it to-night," he said. "I don't feel well, one bit. -Besides, I reckon each pusson kin pray in private according to the way -they feel." - -Abner stood up, and removing the lamp-chimney he lighted a candle by the -flame. - -"I tried to put a moral lesson in what I said just now," he smiled, -mechanically, "but I missed fire. Alf's sufferin' is jest unselfishness -puore an' undefiled; he wants to set his children up in the world. This -green globe is a sight better 'n some folks thinks it is. You kin find a -little speck o' goody in mighty nigh ever' chestnut." - -"That's so, brother Ab," said his sister; "but we are ruined -now--ruined, ruined!" - -"Ef you will look at it that way," admitted Abner, reaching for his -candle; "but thar's a place ahead whar thar never was a bank, or a -dollar, or a railroad, an' it ain't fur ahead, nuther. Some folks say -it begins heer in this life." - - - - -XXIV - - -[Ill 9000] - -S Abner Daniel leaned over the rail-fence in front of Pole Baker's -log-cabin one balmy day, two weeks later, he saw evidences of the -ex-moonshiner's thriftlessness combined with an inordinate love for his -children. A little express-wagon, painted red, such as city children -receive from their well-to-do parents on Christmas, was going to ruin -under a cherry-tree which had been bent to the ground by a rope-swing -fastened to one of its flexible boughs. The body of a mechanical -speaking-doll lay near by, and the remains of a toy air-rifle. After -a protracted spree Pole usually came home laden down with such -peace-offerings to his family and conscience. His wife might go without -a needed gown, and he a coat, but his children never without toys. -Seeing Abner at the fence, Mrs. Baker came to the low door and stood -bending her head to look out. - -"I heerd at home," said Abner, "that Pole was over thar axin' fer me. -I've been away to my peach-orchard on the hill." - -"Yes, he's been over thar twice," said the woman. "He's back of the -house some'r's settin' a trap fer the children to ketch some birds in. -I 'll blow the horn. When I blow twice he knows he's wanted right off." - -She took down a cow's-horn from a nail on the wall, and going to the -door on the opposite side of the house she gave two long, ringing -blasts, which set half a dozen dogs near by and some far off to barking -mellowly. In a few minutes Pole appeared around the corner of the cabin. - -"Hello, Uncle Ab," he said. "Won't you come in?" - -"No, hain't time," smiled the old man. "I jest come over to see how much -money you wanted to borrow." - -"I don't want any o' yo'rn," said Pole, leaning over the fence, his -unbuttoned shirt-sleeves allowing his brawny, bare arms to rest on the -top rail. "I wanted to talk to you about Alan an' that bank bu'st-up." - -"You've been to town, I heer," said Abner, deeply interested. - -"Yes, an' I've been with Alan an' Miller fer the last week tryin' to -do some 'n', but we couldn't. They've been sendin' telegrams by the -basketful, an' Jeff Dukes has trotted his legs off back an' forth, but -nothin' hain't been done." - -"You say the' hain't?" Abner's voice quivered and fell. - -"No; they both kept up the'r sperits purty well fer about ten days -beca'se that dang Atlanta chief of police kept wirin' he was on a scent -o' Winship; but day before yesterday they give in. We was a-settin' -in Miller's office when the last message come from Atlanta. They said -they'd been after the wrong man, an' that they'd give up. You ort to 'a' -seed Alan's face. Miller tried to cheer 'im up, but it wasn't no go. -Then who do you think come? Alan's sweetheart. She axed to see 'im, an' -they talked awhile in the front room; then Miller come back an' said -she'd axed to be introduced to me. Jest think of it! I went in and seed -she'd been a-cryin'. She got up, by jinks! an' ketched my hand an' said -she wanted to thank me beca'se I'd been sech a friend to Alan. Uncle Ab, -I felt as mean as a egg-suckin' dog, beca'se thar was Alan flat o' his -back, as the feller said, an' I hadn't turned a hand to he'p 'im. And -thar she was, the gal he loves an' wants, an' his poverty standin' -betwixt 'em. I couldn't say nothin', an' I reckon I looked more kinds of -a damn fool than she ever seed on two legs." - -"Well, what did you do?" asked Abner, too much moved by Pole's graphic -picture to speak with his usual lightness. - -"What did I do? I made my bow an' slid. I made a bee-line fer Murray's -bar an' put two down as fast as they could shovel 'em out. Then I tuck -another, an' quit countin'. I begun to think I owned the shebang, an' -broke several billiard-cues an' throwed the chalk around. Then Dukes -come an' said he'd give me a chance to escape trial fer misconduct, ef -I'd straddle my hoss an' make fer home. I agreed, but thar was one thing -I had to do fust. I had promised Alan not to drink any more, an' so I -didn't want to sneak away to hide it. I went to Miller's house, whar -he's stayin', an' called 'im out. I told 'im I'd jest come fer no other -reason 'an to let 'im see me at my wust. I felt like it was the only -manly way, after I'd broke faith with a friend as true as he is." - -"Too bad!" sighed Abner. "I 'll bet it hurt Alan to see you in that fix." - -"Well, he didn't complain," said Pole. "But he put his arm around me an' -come as nigh cryin' as I ever seed a strong man. 'It's my fault, Pole,' -ses he. 'I can see that.' Then him an' Miller both tried to git me to -go up-stairs in that fine house an' go to bed an' sleep it off, but I -wouldn't. I come on home an' got mad at Sally fer talkin' to me, an' -come as nigh as peas hittin' 'er in the jaw. But that's over, Uncle Ab. -What I'm in fer now is work. I ain't no fool. I'm on a still hunt, an' -I jest want yore private opinion. I don't want you to commit yorese'f, -unless you want to; but I'd go more on yore jedgment than any man' s in -this county. I want to know ef you think old Craig is a honest man at -heart. Now don't say you don't know, an' keep yore mouth shet; fer what -I want to know, an' _all_ I want to know, is how you feel about that one -thing." - -Abner hung his head down. His long thumb trembled as its nail went under -a splinter on the rail and pried it off. - -"I see what you are a-drivin' at," he said. "You jest want to feel shore -o' yore ground." Abner began to chew the splinter and spit out the broken -bits. He was silent, under Pole's anxious gaze, for a minute, and then -he laughed dryly. "I reckon me 'n' you has about the same suspicions," -he said. "That p'int's been worryin' me fer several days, an' I didn't -let it end, thar nuther." - -"Ah! you didn't?" exclaimed Baker. "You say you didn't, Uncle Ab?" - -"No; I got so I couldn't lie down at night without the idea poppin' into -my head that maybe Craig had made a tool of Winship fer some minor crime -an' had hustled 'im out o' the country so he could gobble up what was in -the bank an' pose as a injured man in the community." - -"Same heer, pine blank!" said Pole, eagerly. "What did you do, Uncle -Ab?" - -"I went to Darley an' attended his church last Sunday," replied the old -man, a tense expression in his eyes. "I got a seat in the amen-corner, -whar I could see him, an' all through preachin' I watched 'im like a -hawk. He didn't look to me like a man who had bu'sted on wind alone. He -had a fat, oily, pink look, an' when they axed 'im to lead in prayer it -looked to me like he was talkin' more to the people 'an he was to God. -I didn't like his whine, an' what he said didn't seem to come from the -cellar. But I seed that he was makin' converts to his side as fast as -a dog kin trot. The Presbyterians an' Baptists has been accusin' the -Methodists o' packin' more bad eggs 'an they have, an' it looks like -Craig's crowd's a-goin' to swear he's fresh whether he is or not. After -meetin' was over I walked ahead of him an' his fine lady, who has made -the mistake o' tryin' to kiver the whole business up with silk an' -feathers, an' waited fer 'em nigh the'r gate. I told 'im I wanted a -word with 'im, an' they axed me in the parlor. I smelt dinner, but they -didn't mention it. I wasn't goin' to eat thar nohow. Well, I set in an' -jest told Craig what had been troublin' me. I said the loss o' my folk's -money was as bad as death, an' that thar'd been so much talk agin him, -an' suspicion, that I had jest come to headquarters. Ef he had any money -laid away, I was thar to tell 'im it never would do 'im any good, an' ef -he didn't, I wanted to beg his pardon fer my evil thoughts, an' try to -git the matter off'n my mind." - -"Good God! did you railly tell 'im that, Uncle Ab?" - -"Yes, an' I had a deep-laid reason. I wanted to make 'im mad an' study -'im. He did git mad. He was as red as a dewberry, an' quivered from head -to foot. Thar's two kinds o' mad--the justified an' the unjustified. -Make a good man rail mad by accusin' 'im, an' he 'll justify hisse'f or -bu'st; but ef you make a bad un mad by accusin' 'im, he 'll delight in -showin' you he's done wrong--ef it hurts you _an' he's safe_. Thar's -right whar I landed Craig. He had the look, as plain as day, o' sayin', -'Yes, dang you, I did it, an' you cayn't he'p yorese'f!' His wife had -gone in the back part o' the house, an' after a while I heerd her new -shoes a-creakin' at the door betwixt the two rooms. Now a pair o' shoes -don't walk up to a door squeakin' like mice an' then stop all of a -sudden without reason. I knowed she was a-listenin', an' I determined -she should not heer me say she was purty. I told 'im louder 'an ever that -folks was a-talkin', an' a-talkin', an' that fetched her. She flung open -the door an' faced me as mad as a turtle on its back. She showed her -hand, too, an' I knowed she was in cahoot with 'im. She cussed me black -an' blue fer a uncouth, meddlin' devil, an' what not." - -"By gum!" said Pole, his big eyes expanding. "But you didn't gain much -by that, did you?" - -"Jest satisfied myself that Alan's money--or some of it--wasn't out o' -creation, that's all." - -"I have my reasons fer believin' like you do," said Pole. - -"You say you have." - -Pole glanced furtively over his shoulder at his cabin to see that no one -was within hearing, then said: - -"You know Winship is old Fred Parson's nephew. Well, old Fred's always -been a stanch friend to me. We moonshined it together two yeer, though -he never knowed my chief hidin'-place. In fact, nobody knows about -that spot, Uncle Ab, even now. Well, I had a talk with him an' axed -his opinion about his nephew. He talks as straight as a shingle, an' he -ain't no idiot. He says it's all bosh about Winship takin' away all that -boodle." - -"He does, does he?" Abner nodded, as if to himself. - -"Yes, and he don't claim Winship ain't guilty, nuther; he jest holds -that he was too small a dabbler in devilment. He thinks, as I do, that -Craig run 'im off with threats of arrest an' picked that chance to -bu'st. He thinks Winship's in a safe place an' never will be fetched -back." - -Abner drew himself up straight. - -"Have you talked to Alan an' Miller on that line?" - -"Tried to," grunted Pole, in high disgust, "but Miller says it's no -good to think of accusin' Craig. He says we can' t prove a thing on 'im, -unless we ketch Winship. He says that sort of a steal is the easiest -thing on earth, an' that it's done every day. But that's beca'se he was -fetched up in the law," Pole finished. "We-uns out heer in the mountains -kin fish up other ways o' fetchin' a scamp to time without standin' 'im -up before a thick-headed jury, or lettin' 'im out on bond till he dies -o' old age. You've got sense enough to know that, Uncle Ab." - -The slanting rays of the setting sun struck the old man in the face. -There was a tinkle of cow-bells in the pasture below the cabin. The -outlaw in Pole Baker was a thing Abner Daniel deplored; and yet, to-day -it was a straw bobbing about on the troubled waters of the old man' -s soul towards which, if he did not extend his hand, he looked -interestedly. A grim expression stole into his face, drawing the merry -lines down towards his chin. - -"I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy," he said. - -Pole Baker grunted in sheer derision. "I've done fool things whar thar -wasn't a thing to be made by 'em. By gum! I'd do ten dozen fer jest a -bare chance o' shakin' that wad o' cash in Alan Bishop's face, an' so -would you, dern yore hide--so would you, Uncle Ab Daniel!" - -Abner blinked at the red sun. - -"The boy's been bad treated," he said, evasively; "bad, bad, bad! It's -squeezed life an' hope out o' him." - -"Well, you are a church-member, an' so _fur_ in good-standin'," said -Pole, "an' I ain't agoin' to pull you into no devilment; but ef I see -any way--I say _ef_ I see any way, I 'll come an' tell you the news." - -"I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy," said Abner, and turned to go. He -paused a few paces away and said, "I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy, -Pole." He motioned towards the cabin. "You've got them in thar to look -after." - -Pole let him walk on a few paces, then he climbed over the fence and -caught him up. He drew the piece of quartz containing the tiny nugget -of gold from his pocket, which he had shown Abner and Dole on a former -occasion. "You see that, Uncle Ab," he said. "That dirty rock is like -friendship in general, but that little yaller lump is like my friendship -fer Alan Bishop. It's the puore thing, solid an' heavy, an' won't lose -color. You don't know when that boy done his first favor to me. It was -away back when we was boys together. A feller at Treadwell's mill one -day, behind my back, called me a bad name--a name no man will take or -can. He used my mother's name, God bless her! as puore an' holy a woman -as ever lived, to git back at me. He hadn't no sooner spoke it than Alan -was at his throat like a wild-cat. The skunk was bigger 'n him, but Alan -beat 'im till he was black all over. I never heerd about it till about -two weeks after it happened an' the feller had moved out West. Alan -wouldn't let nobody tell me. I axed 'im why he hadn't let me know. -'Beca'se,'ses he, 'you'd 'a' killed 'im an' 'a' got into trouble, an' he -wasn't wuth it. 'That's what he said, Uncle Ab." Pole's big-jawed face -was full of struggling emotion, his voice was husky, his eyes were -filling. "That's why it's a-killin' me to see 'im robbed of all he's -got--his pride, his ambition, an' the good woman that loves 'im. Huh! ef -I jest _knowed_ that pie-faced hypocrite had his money he wouldn't have -it long." - -"I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy, Pole." Abner looked into the fellow's -face, drew a long, trembling breath, and finished, "I wouldn't--but I 'll -be dumed ef I know what I'd do!" - - - - -XXV - - -[Illustration: 9218] - -HE following morning Pole rose before daylight and rode to Darley. As -he reached the place, the first rays of the sun were touching the -slate-covered spire of the largest church in town. - -He went to a public wagon-yard and hitched his horse to one of the -long racks. A mountain family he knew slightly had camped in the yard, -sleeping in their canvas-covered wagon, and were making coffee over a -little fire. Pole wanted a cup of the beverage, but he passed on into a -grocery-store across the street and bought a dime's worth of cheese and -hard-tack crackers. This was his breakfast. He washed it down with a -dipper of water from the street well, and sat around the store chatting -with the clerk, who was sprinkling the floor, and sweeping and dusting -the long room. The clerk was a red-headed young man with a short, -bristling mustache, and a suit of clothes that was too large for him. - -"Don't Mr. Craig stay around Fincher's warehouse a good deal?" Pole -asked, as the clerk rested for a moment on his broom near him. - -"Mighty nigh all day long," was the reply; "him an' Fincher's some kin, -I think." - -"On his wife's side," said Pole. "I want to see Mr. Craig. I wonder ef -he 'll be down thar this mornin'." - -"Purty apt," said the clerk. "Fincher's his best friend sence his -bu'st-up, an' they are mighty thick. I reckon he gits the cold-shoulder -at a lots o' places." - -"You don't say!" - -"An' of course he wants somewhar to go besides home. In passing I've -seed 'im a-figurin' several times at Fincher's desk. They say he's got -some notion o' workin' fer Fincher as his bookkeeper." - -"Well, he 'll have to make a livin' some way," said Pole. - -The clerk laughed significantly. - -"Ef it ain't already made," said he, with a smile. Pole stood up. "I -don't think that's right," he said, coldly. "Me nur you, nur nobody, -hain't got no right to hint at what we don't know nothin' about. Mr. -Craig may 'a' lost ever' cent he had." - -"In a pig's valise!" sneered the red-headed man. "I'd bet my hat he's -got money--an' plenty of it, huh!" - -"Well, I don't know nothin' about it," said Pole, still coldly. "An' -what's more, Dunn, I ain't a-goin' about smirchin' any helpless man's -character, nuther. Ef I knowed he had made by the bu'st I'd talk -different, but I don't know it!" - -"Oh, I see which side you are on, Baker," laughed the clerk. "Folks are -about equally divided. Half is fer 'im an' half agin. But mark my words, -Craig will slide out o' this town some day, an' be heerd of after a -while a-gittin' started agin some'r's else. That racket has been worked -to death all over the country." - -Pole carried the discussion no further. Half an hour passed. Customers -were coming in from the wagon-yard and examining the wares on the -counters and making slow purchases. The proprietor came in and let the -clerk go to breakfast. Pole stood in the doorway, looking up the street -in the direction of Craig's residence. Presently he saw the ex-banker -coming from the post-office, reading his mail. Pole stepped back into -the store and let him go by; then he went to the door again and saw -Craig go into Fincher's warehouse at the end of the next block of -straggling, wooden buildings. Pole sauntered down the sidewalk in that -direction, passing the front door of the warehouse without looking in. -The door at the side of the house had a long platform before it, and on -it Fincher, the proprietor, was weighing bales of hay which were being -unloaded from several wagons by the countrymen who were disposing of it. - -"Hello, Mr. Fincher," Pole greeted him, familiarly. "Want any help -unloadin'?" - -"Hello, Baker," said Fincher, looking up from the blank-book in which he -was recording the weights. "No, I reckon they can handle it all right." -Fincher was a short, fat man, very bald, and with a round, laughing -face. He had known Pole a long time and considered him a most amusing -character. "How do you come on, Pole?" - -"Oh, about as common. I jest thought them fellers looked sorter -light-weight." - -The men on the wagon laughed as they thumped a bale of hay on to the -platform. "You'd better dry up," one of them said. "We 'll git the mayor -to put you to work agin." - -"Well, he 'll have to be quicker about it than he was the last time," -said Pole, dryly. - -Some one laughed lustily from behind a tall stack of wheat in bags -in the warehouse. It was Lawyer Trabue. He came round and picked up -Fincher's daily paper, as he did every morning, and sat down and began -to read it. - -"Now you are talkin'," he said. "Thar was more rest in that job, Pole, -than any you ever undertook. They tell me you didn't crack a rock." - -Fincher laughed as he closed his book and struck Baker with it -playfully. "Pole was too tired to do that job," he said. "He was born -that way." - -"Say, Mr. Trabue," retaliated Pole, "did you ever heer how I got the -best o' Mr. Fincher in a chicken trade?" - -"I don't think I ever did, Pole," laughed the lawyer, expectantly. "How -was it?" - -"Oh, come off, don't go over that again," said Fincher, flushing. - -"It was this away," said Pole, with a broad, wholesome grin. "My cousin, -Bart Wilks, was runnin' the restaurant under the car-shed about two yeer -ago. He was a new hand at the business, an' one day he had a awful rush. -He got a telegram that a trainload o' passengers had missed connection -at Chattanooga an' would have to eat with him. He was powerful rattled, -runnin' round like a dog after its tail. He knowed he'd have to have a -lot o' fryin' chickens, an' he couldn't leave the restaurant, so he -axed me ef I'd take the money an' go out in town an' buy 'em fer 'im. I -consented, an' struck Mr. Fincher, who was sellin' sech truck then. He -'lowed, you know, that I jest wanted one, or two at the outside, fer my -own use, so when I seed a fine coop out in front an' axed the price of -'em he kinder drawed on his beerd till his mouth fell open, an' studied -how he could make the most out o' me. After a while he said: 'Well, -Pole, I 'll make 'em ten cents apiece ef I pick 'em, an' fifteen ef you -pick 'em.' I sorter skeerd the chickens around an' seed thar was two or -three tiny ones hidin' under the big ones, an' I seed what he was up to, -but I was ready fer 'im. 'All right,' ses I, 'you pick 'em.' Thar was -two or three loafers standin' round an' they all laughed at me when Mr. -Fincher got down over the coop an' finally ketched one about the size -of a robin an' hauled it out. 'Keep on a-pickin',' ses I, an' he made a -grab fer one a little bigger an' handed it up to me. Then he stuck his -hands down in his pockets, doin' his best to keep from laughin'. The -gang yelled then, but I wasn't done. 'Keep on a-pickin',' ses I. An' he -got down agin. An', sir, I got that coop at about four cents apiece less -'n he'd paid fer 'em. He tried to back, but the gang wouldn't let 'im. -It was the cheapest lot o' chickens I ever seed. I turned the little -ones out to fatten, an' made Wilks pay me the market-price all round fer -the bunch." - -"I 'll be bound you made some 'n' out of it," said Trabue. "Fincher, did -you ever heer how that scamp tuck in every merchant on this street about -two yeer ago?" - -"Never heerd anything except his owin' 'em all," said Fincher, with a -laugh. - -"I could put 'im in the penitentiary fer it," affirmed the lawyer. "You -know about that time thar was a powerful rivalry goin' on among the -storekeepers. They was movin' heaven an' earth to sell the'r big stocks. -Well, one of the spryest in the lot, Joe Gaylord, noticed that Pole was -powerful popular with mountain-folks, an' he made 'im a proposition, -bindin' 'im down to secrecy. He proposed to give Pole ten per cent, -commission on all the goods he'd he'p sell by bringin' customers in the -store. Pole hesitated, beca'se, he said, they might find it out, an' Joe -finally agreed that all Pole would have to do was to fetch 'em in, give -the wink, an' him an' his clerks would do the rest. It worked mighty -slick fer a while, but Pole noticed that very often the folks he'd -fetch in wouldn't be pleased with the goods an' prices an' ud go trade -some'r's else. Then what do you think the scamp did? He went to every -store in town an' made a secret contract to git ten per cent, on all -sales, an' he had the softest snap you ever heerd of. He'd simply -hang onto a gang from the country, whether he knowed 'em or not, an' -foller 'em around till they bought; then he'd walk up an' rake in his -part." - -"I got left once," said Pole, laughing with the others. "One gang that I -stuck to all day went over to Melton an' bought." - -"Well, the merchants caught on after a while an' stopped him," said -Trabue; "but he made good money while he was at it. They'd 'a' sent 'im -up fer it, ef it hadn't been sech a good joke on 'em." - -"I don't know about that," replied Pole, thoughtfully. "I was doin' all -I agreed, an' ef they could afford to pay ten per cent, to anybody, they -mought as well 'a' paid it to me. I drawed trade to the whole town. The -cigars an' whiskey I give away amounted to a lots. I've set up many a -night tellin' them moss-backs tales to make 'em laugh." - -"Well, ef you ever git into any trouble let me know," said Trabue, as he -rose to go. "I 'll defend you at half price; you'd be a sight o' help to -a lawyer. I 'll be hanged if I ever seed a better case 'an you made -out in the mayor's court, an' you hadn't a thing to back it up with, -nuther." - -The hay was unloaded and the wagons driven away. Fincher stood eying -Pole with admiration. "It's a fact," he said. "You could 'a' made -some 'n' out o' yorese'f, if you'd 'a' been educated, an' had a showin'." -Pole jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Craig, who was standing in -the front door, looking out into the street. "Everybody don't git a fair -showin' in this world, Mr. Fincher," he said. "That man Craig hain't -been treated right." - -The jovial expression died out of the merchant's face, and he leaned -against the door-jamb. - -"You are right thar," he said--"dead right. He's been mighty unlucky and -bad treated." - -Pole grasped the brim of his massive hat, and drew it from his shaggy -head. "It makes me so all-fired mad sometimes, Mr. Fincher, to heer -folks a-runnin' that man down, that I want to fight. I ain't no -religious man myse'f, but I respect one, an' I've always put him down in -my book as a good man." - -"So 've I," said the merchant, and he looked towards the subject of -their conversation and called out: "Craig, oh, Craig, come back heer a -minute." - -Pole put on his hat and stared at the ground. He made a gesture as if of -protest, but refrained from speaking. - -"What's wanted?" Craig came down to them. He was smoking a cigar -and wore a comfortable look, as if he had been fighting a hard but -successful fight and now heard only random shots from a fleeing enemy. - -"You ain't a candidate fer office," laughed Fincher, "but nearly all -men like to know they've got friends. This chap heer's been standin' up -fer you. He says it makes him mad to hear folks talk agin you." - -"Oh, it's Baker!" exclaimed the ex-banker, shaking hands with Pole and -beaming on him. "Well, I don't know a man I'd rather have for a friend," -he said, smoothly. - -Pole tossed his head, and looked straight into the speaker's eye. "I'm -fer human justice, Mr. Craig," he said. "An' I don't think folks -has treated you right. What man is thar that don't now an' then make -mistakes, sir? You've always had means, an' I never was anything but -a pore mountain-boy, but I've always looked on you as a good man, a -law-abidin' man, an' I don't like to heer folks try to blame you fer -what another man done. When you had plenty, I never come nigh you, -beca'se I knowed you belonged to one life an' me another, but now you -are flat o' yore back, sir, I'm yore friend." - -Craig's face beamed; he pulled his beard; his eyes danced. - -"I'm glad there are men in the world like you, Baker," he said. "I say -I'm glad, and I mean it." - -Fincher had begun to look over the figures in his book, and walked to -the front. - -"Oh, my friendship ain't wuth nothin'," said Pole. "I know that. I -never was in the shape to he'p nobody, but I know when a man' s treated -right or wrong." - -"Well, if you ever need assistance, and I can help you, don't fail to -call on me," Craig spoke with a tone of sincerity. - -Pole took a deep breath and lowered his voice, glancing cautiously into -the house, as if fearful of being overheard. - -"Well, I _do_ need advice, Mr. Craig," he said. "Not money, nor nothin' -expensive, but I've laid awake night after night wishing 'at I could run -on some man of experience that I could ax fer advice, an' that I could -trust. Mr. Craig, I 'll be blamed ef I don't feel like tellin' you -some 'n' that never has passed my lips." - -Craig stared in interested astonishment. "Well, you can trust me, -Baker," he said; "and if I can advise you, why, I 'll do it with -pleasure." - -There was a cotton compress near by, with its vast sheds and platforms, -and Pole looked at it steadily. He thrust his hand into his pants pocket -and kept it there for a full minute. Then he shook his head, drew out -his hand, and said: "I reckon I won't bother you to-day, Mr. Craig. Some -day I 'll come in town an' tell you, but--" Pole looked at the sun. "I -reckon I'd better be goin'." - -"Hold on," Craig caught Pole's arm. The exbanker was a natural man. -Despite his recent troubles, he had his share of curiosity, and Pole's -manner and words had roused it to unwonted activity. "Hold on," he said. -"What's your hurry? I've got time to spare if you have." - -Pole hung his head for a moment in silence, then he looked the old -man in the face. "Mr. Craig," he began, in even a lower voice, "do you -reckon thar's any gold in them mountains?" Pole nodded to the blue wave -in the east. - -Craig was standing near a bale of cotton and he sat down on it, first -parting the tails of his long, black coat. - -"I don't know; there might be," he said, deeply interested, and yet -trying to appear indifferent. "There is plenty of it in the same range -further down about Dalonega." - -Pole had his hand in the right pocket of his rough jean trousers. - -"Is thar anybody in this town that could tell a piece o' gold ef they -seed it?" he asked. - -"Oh, a good many, I reckon," said Craig, a steely beam of excitement in -his unsteady eye. "I can, myself. I spent two years in the gold-mines of -California when I was a young man." - -"You don't say! I never knowed that." Pole had really heard of that -fact, but his face was straight. He had managed to throw into it a most -wonderful blending of fear and over-cautiousness. - -"Oh yes; I've had a good deal of experience in such things." - -"You don't say!" Pole was looking towards the compress again. - -Craig laughed out suddenly, and put his hand on Pole's shoulder with a -friendly, downward stroke. - -"You can trust me, Baker," he said, persuasively, "and it may be that I -could be of assistance to you." - -There was something like an actual tremor of agitation in Pole's rough -hand as he drew his little nugget from its resting-place at the bottom -of his pocket. With a deep, indrawn breath, he handed it to Craig. "Is -that thar little lump gold or not?" he asked. - -Craig started visibly as his eyes fell on the piece of gold. But he took -it indifferently, and examined it closely. - -"Where did you run across that?" he asked. - -"I want to know ef it's the puore thing," answered Pole. - -Craig made another examination, obviously to decide on the method he -would apply to a situation that claimed all his interest. - -"I think it is," he said; "in fact, I know it is." - -Pole took it eagerly, thrust it back into his pocket, and said: - -"Mr. Craig, I know whar thar's a vein o' that stuff twenty yards thick, -runnin' clean through a mountain." - -"You do!" Craig actually paled under his suppressed excitement. - -"Yes, sir; an' I kin buy it, lock, stock, and barrel, fer five hundred -dollars--the feller that owns it ud jump at it like a duck on a -June-bug. That's my secret, Mr. Craig. I hain't one dollar to my name, -but from this day on I'm goin' to work hard an' save my money till I own -that property. I'm a-goin' down to Atlanta next week, whar people don't -know me, an' have a lump of it bigger 'n this examined, an' ef it's gold -I 'll own the land sooner or later." - -Craig glanced to the rear. - -"Come back here," he said. Opening a door at the end of the warehouse, -he led Pole into a more retired spot, where they would be free from -possible interruption. Then, in a most persuasive voice, he continued: -"Baker, you need a man of experience with you in this. Besides, if there -is as much of--of that stuff as you say there is, you wouldn't be able -to use all you could make out of it. Now, it might take you a long time -to get up the money to buy the land, and there is no telling what might -happen in the mean time. I'm in a close place, but I could raise five -hundred dollars, or even a thousand. My friends still stick to me, you -know. The truth is, Baker, I'd like the best in the world to be able to -make money to pay back what some of my friends have lost through me." - -Pole hung his head. He seemed to be speaking half to himself and on the -verge of a smile when he replied: "I'd like to see you pay back some of -'em too, Mr. Craig." - -Craig laid his hand gently on Pole's shoulder. - -"How about lettin' me see the place, Baker?" he said. - -Pole hesitated, and then he met the ex-banker's look with the expression -of a man who has resigned himself to a generous impulse. - -"Well, some day when you are a-passin' my way, stop in, an' I 'll--" - -"How far is it?" broke in Craig, pulling his beard with unsteady -fingers. - -"A good fifteen miles from heer," said Pole. - -Craig smiled. "Nothin' but an easy ride," he declared. "I've got a horse -doin' nothing in the stable. What's to hinder us from going to-day--this -morning--as soon as I can go by for my horse?" - -"I don't keer," said Pole, resignedly. "But could you manage to go -without anybody knowin' whar you was bound fer?" - -"Easy enough," Craig laughed. He was really pleased with Pole's extreme -cautiousness. - -"Then you mought meet me out thar some'r's." - -"A good idea--a good idea, Baker." - -"Do you know whar the Ducktown road crosses Holly Creek, at the foot o' -Old Pine Mountain?" - -"As well as I know where my house is." - -Pole looked at the sun, shading his eyes with his hand. - -"Could you be thar by eleven o'clock?" - -"Easy enough, Baker." - -"Well, I 'll meet you--I'm a-goin' to trust you, Mr. Craig, an' when you -see the vein, ef you think thar's enough money in it fer two--but we can -see about that later." - -"All right, Baker. I 'll be there. But say," as Pole was moving away, -"you are a drinking man, and get a little off sometimes. You haven't -said anything about this where anybody--" - -Pole laughed reassuringly. "I never have been drunk enough to do that, -Mr. Craig, an', what's more, I never will be." - - - - -XXVI - - -[Illustration: 9230] - -BOUT noon that day, as Pole Baker sat on a fallen tree near the -road-side in the loneliest spot of that rugged country, his horse -grazing behind him, he saw Craig coming up the gradual incline from -the creek. Pole stood up and caught the bridle-rein of his horse and -muttered: - -"Now, Pole Baker, durn yore hide, you've got brains--at least, some -folks say you have--an' so has he. Ef you don't git the best of that -scalawag yo' re done fer. You've put purty big things through; now put -this un through or shet up." - -"Well, heer you are," merrily cried out the ex-banker, as he came up. -He was smiling expectantly. "Your secret's safe with me. I hain't met a -soul that I know sence I left town." - -"I'm glad you didn't, Mr. Craig," Pole said. "I don't want anybody -a-meddlin' with my business." He pointed up the rather steep and rocky -road that led gradually up the mountain. "We've got two or three mile -furder to go. Have you had any dinner?" - -"I put a cold biscuit and a slice of ham in my pocket," said Craig. "It -'ll do me till supper." - -Pole mounted and led the way up the unfrequented road. - -"I may as well tell you, Mr. Craig, that I used to be a moonshiner in -these mountains, an'--" - -"Lord, I knew that, Baker. Who doesn't, I'd like to know?" - -Pole's big-booted legs swung back and forth like pendulums from the -flanks of his horse. - -"I was a-goin' to tell you that I had a hide-out, whar I kept stuff -stored, that wasn't knowed by one livin' man." - -"Well, you must have had a slick place from all I've heerd," said Craig, -still in his vast good-humor with himself and everybody else. - -"The best natur' ever built," said Pole; "an' what's more, it was in -thar that I found the gold. I reckon it ud 'a' been diskivered long ago, -ef it had 'a' been above ground." - -"Then it's in--a sort of cave?" ventured Craig. - -"That's jest it; but I've got the mouth of it closed up so it ud fool -even a bloodhound." - -Half an hour later Pole drew rein in a most isolated spot, near a great -yawning canon from which came a roaring sound of rushing water and -clashing winds. The sky overhead was blue and cloudless; the air at that -altitude was crisp and rarefied, and held the odor of spruce pine. With -a laugh Pole dismounted. "What ef I was to tell you, Mr. Craig, that you -was in ten yards o' my old den right now." - -Craig looked about in surprise. "I'd think you was makin' fun o' -me--tenderfootin', as we used to say out West." - -"I'm givin' it to you straight," said Pole, pointing with his -riding-switch. "Do you see that pile o' rocks?" - -Craig nodded. - -"Right under them two flat ones is the mouth o' my den," said Pole. "Now -let's hitch to that hemlock, an' I 'll show you the whole thing." - -When they had fastened their horses to swinging limbs in a dense thicket -of laurel and rhododendron bushes, they went to the pile of rocks. - -"I toted mighty nigh all of 'em from higher up," Pole explained. "Some -o' the biggest I rolled down from that cliff above." - -"I don't see how you are going to get into your hole in the ground," -said Craig, with a laugh of pleasant anticipation. - -Pole picked up a big, smooth stick of hickory, shaped like a crowbar, -and thrust the end of it under the largest rock. "Huh! I 'll show you in -a jiffy." - -It was an enormous stone weighing over three hundred pounds; but with -his strong lever and knotted muscles the ex-moonshiner managed to slide -it slowly to the right, disclosing a black hole about two feet square in -the ragged stone. From this protruded into the light the ends of a crude -ladder leading down about twenty-five feet to the bottom of the cave. - -"Ugh!" Craig shuddered, as he peered into the dank blackness. "You don't -mean that we are to go down there?" - -It was a crisis. Craig seemed to be swayed between two impulses--a -desire to penetrate farther and an almost controlling premonition of -coming danger. Pole met the situation with his usual originality and -continued subtlety of procedure. With his big feet dangling in the hole -he threw himself back and gave vent to a hearty, prolonged laugh that -went ringing and echoing about among the cliffs and chasms. - -"I 'lowed this ud make yore flesh crawl," he said. "Looks like the -openin' to the bad place, don't it?" - -"It certainly does," said Craig, somewhat reassured by Pole's levity. - -"Why, it _ain' t_ more 'n forty feet square," said Pole. "Wait till I run -down an' make a light. I've got some fat pine torches down at the foot -o' the ladder." - -"Well, I believe I _will_ let you go first," said Craig, with an uneasy -little laugh. - -Pole went down the ladder, recklessly thumping his heels on the rungs. -He was lost to sight from above, but in a moment Craig heard him strike -a match, and saw the red, growing flame of a sputtering torch from which -twisted a rope of smoke. When it was well ablaze, Pole called up the -ladder: "Come on, now, an' watch whar you put yore feet. This end o' the -ladder is solid as the rock o' Gibralty." - -The square of daylight above was cut off, and in a moment the ex-banker -stood beside his guide. - -"Now come down this way," said Pole, and with the torch held high he led -the way into a part of the chamber where the rock overhead sloped, down -lower. Here lay some old whiskey-barrels, two or three lager-beer kegs, -and the iron hoops of several barrels that had been burned. There were -several one-gallon jugs with corn-cob stoppers. Pole swept his hand over -them with a laugh. "If you was a drinkin' man, I could treat you to a -thimbleful or two left in them jugs," he said, almost apologetically. - -"But I don't drink, Baker," Craig said. His premonition of danger seemed -to have returned to him, and to be driven in by the dank coolness of the -cavern, the evidence of past outlawry around him. - -Pole heaped his pieces of pine against a rock, and added to them the -chunks of some barrel-staves, which set up a lively popping sound like a -tiny fusillade of artillery. - -"You see that rock behind you, Mr. Craig?" asked Pole. "Well, set -down on it. Before we go any furder, me'n you've got to have a -understanding." - -The old man stared hesitatingly for an instant, and then, after -carefully feeling of the stone, he complied. - -"I thought we already--but, of course," he said, haltingly, "I'm ready -to agree to anything that 'll make you feel safe." - -"I kinder 'lowed you would,'' and to Craig's overwhelming astonishment -Pole drew a revolver from his hip-pocket and looked at it, twirling the -cylinder with a deft thumb. - -"You mean, Baker--'' But Craig's words remained unborn in his bewildered -brain. The rigor of death itself seemed to have beset his tongue. A cold -sweat broke out on him. - -"I mean that I've tuck the trouble to fetch you heer fer a purpose, Mr. -Craig, an' thar ain't any use in beatin' about the bush to git at it." - -Craig made another effort at utterance, but failed. Pole could hear his -rapid breathing and see the terrified gleaming of his wide-open eyes. - -"You've had a lots o' dealin' s, Mr. Craig," said Pole. "You've made yore -mistakes an' had yore good luck, but you never did a bigger fool thing -'an you did when you listened to my tale about that lump o' gold." - -"You've trapped me!" burst from Craig's quivering lips. - -"That's about the size of it." - -"But--why?" The words formed the beginning and the end of a gasp. - -Pole towered over him, the revolver in his tense hand. - -"Mr. Craig, thar is one man in this world that I'd die fer twenty times -over. I love 'im more than a brother. That man you've robbed of every -dollar an' hope on earth. I've fetched you heer to die a lingerin' -death, ef--ef, I say, _ef_--you don't refund his money. That man is Alan -Bishop, an' the amount is twenty-five thousand dollars to a cent." - -"But I haven't any money," moaned the crouching figure; "not a dollar -that I kin lay my hands on." - -"Then you are in a damn bad fix," said Pole. "Unless I git that amount -o' money from you you 'll never smell a breath o' fresh air or see -natural daylight." - -"You mean to kill a helpless man?" The words were like a prayer. - -"I'd bottle you up heer to die," said Pole Baker, firmly. "You've met me -in this lonely spot, an' no man could lay yore end to me. In fact, all -that know you would swear you'd run off from the folks you've defrauded. -You see nothin' but that money o' Alan Bishop's kin possibly save you. -You know that well enough, an' thar ain't a bit o' use palaverin' about -it. I've fetched a pen an' ink an' paper, an' you've got to write me an -order fer the money. If I have to go as fur off as Atlanta, I 'll take -the fust train an' go after it. If I git the money, you git out, ef I -don't you won't see me agin, nur nobody else till you face yore Maker." - -Craig bent over his knees and groaned. - -"You think I _have_ money," he said, straightening up. "Oh, my God!" - -"I _know_ it," said Pole. "I don't think anything about it--I _know_ -it." - -He took out the pen and ink from his pants pocket and unfolded a sheet -of paper. "Git to work," he said. "You needn't try to turn me, you -damned old hog!" - -Craig raised a pair of wide-open, helpless eyes to the rigid face above -him. - -"Oh, my God!" he said, again. - -"You let God alone an' git down to business," said Pole, taking a fresh -hold on the handle of his weapon. "I'm not goin' to waste time with you. -Either you git me Alan Bishop's money or you 'll die. Hurry up!" - -"Will you keep faith with me--if--if--" - -"Yes, durn you, why wouldn't I?" A gleam of triumph flashed in the -outlaw's eyes. Up to this moment he had been groping in experimental -darkness. He now saw his way clearly and his voice rang with dawning -triumph. - -The ex-banker had taken the pen and Pole spread out the sheet of paper -on his knee. - -"What assurance have I?" stammered Craig, his face like a death-mask -against the rock behind him. "You see, after you got the money, you -might think it safer to leave me here, thinking that I would prosecute -you. I wouldn't, as God is my judge, but you might be afraid--" - -"I'm not afraid o' nothin'," said Pole. "Old man, you couldn't handle me -without puttin' yorese'f in jail fer the rest o' yore life. That order's -a-goin' to be proof that you have money when you've swore publicly that -you didn't. No; when I'm paid back Alan Bishop's money I 'll let you go. -I don't want to kill a man fer jest tryin' to steal an' not makin' the -riffle." - -The logic struck home. The warmth of hope diffused itself over the gaunt -form. "Then I 'll write a note to my wife," he said. - -Pole reached for one of the torches and held it near the paper. - -"Well, I'm glad I won't have to go furder'n Darley," he said. "It 'll be -better fer both of us. By ridin' peert I can let you out before sundown. -You may git a late supper at Darley, but it's a sight better'n gittin' -none heer an' no bed to speak of." - -"I'm putting my life in your hands, Baker," said Craig, and with an -unsteady hand he began to write. - -"Hold on thar," said Pole. "You 'll know the best way to write to -her, but when the money's mentioned I want you to say the twenty-five -thousand dollars deposited in the bank by the Bishops. You see I'm not -goin' to tote no order fer money I hain't no right to. An' I 'll tell -you another thing, old man, you needn't throw out no hint to her to have -me arrested. As God is my final judge, ef I'm tuck up fer this, they 'll -never make me tell whar you are. I'd wait until you'd pegged out, -anyway." - -"I'm not setting any trap for you, Baker," whined Craig. "You've got the -longest head of any man I ever knew. You've got me in your power, and -all I can ask of you is my life. I've got Bishop's money hidden in my -house. I am willing to restore it, if you will release me. I can write -my wife a note that will cause her to give it to you. Isn't that fair?" - -"That's all I want," said Pole; "an' I 'll say this to you, I 'll agree to -use my influence with Alan Bishop not to handle you by law; but the best -thing fer you an' yore family to do is to shake the dirt of Darley off'n -yore feet an' seek fresh pastures. These 'round heer ain't as green, in -one way, as some I've seed." - -Craig wrote the note and handed it up to Baker. Pole read it slowly, and -then said: "You mought 'a' axed 'er to excuse bad writin' an' spellin', -an' hopin' these few lines will find you enjoyin' the same blessin' s; -but ef it gits the boodle that's all I want. Now you keep yore shirt on, -an' don't git skeerd o' the darkness. It will be as black as pitch, an' -you kin heer yore eyelids creak after I shet the front door, but I 'll -be back--ef I find yore old lady hain't run off with a handsomer man -an' tuck the swag with 'er. I'm glad you cautioned 'er agin axin' me -questions." - -Pole backed to the foot of the ladder, followed by Craig. - -"Don't leave me here, Baker," he said, imploringly. "Don't, for God's -sake! I swear I 'll go with you and get you the money." - -"I can't do that, Mr. Craig; but I 'll be back as shore as fate, ef I get -that cash," promised Pole. "It all depends on that. I 'll keep my word, -if you do yore'n." - -"I am going to trust you," said the old man, with the pleading -intonation of a cowed and frightened child. - -After he had gotten out, Pole thrust his head into the opening again. -"It 'll be like you to come up heer an' try to move this rock," he -called out, "but you mought as well not try it, fer I'm goin' to add -about a dump-cart load o' rocks to it to keep the wolves from diggin' -you out." - - - - -XXVII - - -[Illustration: 9239] - -AYBURN MILLER and Alan spent that day on the river trying to catch fish, -but with no luck at all, returning empty-handed to the farm-house for -a late dinner. They passed the afternoon at target-shooting on the lawn -with rifles and revolvers, ending the day by a reckless ride on their -horses across the fields, over fences and ditches, after the manner of -fox-hunting, a sport not often indulged in in that part of the country. - -In the evening as they sat in the big sitting-room, smoking after-supper -cigars, accompanied by Abner Daniel, with his long, cane-stemmed pipe, -Mrs. Bishop came into the room, in her quiet way, smoothing her apron -with her delicate hands. - -"Pole Baker's rid up an' hitched at the front gate," she said. "Did you -send 'im to town fer anything, Alan?" - -"No, mother," replied her son. "I reckon he's come to get more meat. Is -father out there?" - -"I think he's some'r's about the stable," said Mrs. Bishop. - -Miller laughed. "I guess Pole isn't the best pay in the world, is he?" - -"Father never weighs or keeps account of anything he gets," said Alan. -"They both make a guess at it, when cotton is sold. Father calls it -'lumping' the thing, and usually Pole gets the lump. But he's all right, -and I wish we could do more for him. Father was really thinking about -helping him in some substantial way when the crash came--" - -"Thar!" broke in Daniel, with a gurgling laugh, "I've won my bet. I bet -to myse'f jest now that ten minutes wouldn't pass 'fore Craig an' his -bu'st-up would be mentioned." - -"We have been at it, off and on, all day," said Miller, with a -low laugh. "The truth is, it makes me madder than anything I ever -encountered." - -"Do you know why?" asked Abner, seriously, just as Pole Baker came -through the dining-room and leaned against the door-jamb facing them. -"It's beca'se"--nodding a greeting to Pole along with the others--"it's -beca'se you know in reason that he's got that money." - -"Oh, I wouldn't say _that_," protested Miller, in the tone of a man of -broad experience in worldly affairs. "I wouldn't say that." - -"Well, I would, an' do," said Abner, in the full tone of decision. "I -_know_ he's got it!" - -"Well, yo' re wrong thar, Uncle Ab," said Pole, striding forward and -sinking into a chair. "You've got as good jedgment as any man I ever run -across. I thought like you do once. I'd 'a' tuck my oath that he had it -about two hours by sun this evenin', but I kin swear he hain't a cent -of it now." - -"Do you mean that, Pole?" Abner stared across the wide hearth at him -fixedly. - -"He hain't got it, Uncle Ab." Pole was beginning to smile mysteriously. -"He _did_ have it, but he hain't got it now. I got it from 'im, blast -his ugly pictur'!" - -"_You_ got it?" gasped Daniel. "_You?_" - -"Yes. I made up my mind he had it, an' it deviled me so much that I -determined to have it by hook or crook, ef it killed me, or put me in -hock the rest o' my life." Pole rose and took a packet wrapped in brown -paper from under his rough coat and laid it on the table near Alan. -"God bless you, old boy," he said, "thar's yore money! It's all thar. I -counted it. It's in fifties an' hundreds." - -Breathlessly, and with expanded eyes, Alan broke the string about the -packet and opened it. - -"Great God!" he muttered. - -Miller sprang up and looked at the stack of bills, but said nothing. -Abner, leaning forward, uttered a little, low laugh. - -"You--you didn't kill 'im, did you, Pole, old boy--you didn't, did you?" -he asked. - -"Didn't harm a hair of his head," said Pole. "All I wanted was Alan' s -money, an' thar it is!" - -"Well," grunted Daniel, "I'm glad you spared his life. And I thank God -you got the money." - -Miller was now hurriedly running over the bills. - -"You say you counted it, Baker?" he said, pale with pleased excitement. - -"Three times; fust when it was turned over to me, an' twice on the way -out heer from town." - -Mrs. Bishop had not spoken until now, standing in the shadows of the -others as if bewildered by what seemed a mocking impossibility. - -"Is it our money--is it our'n?" she finally found voice to say. "Oh, is -it, Pole?" - -"Yes, 'm," replied Pole. "It's yo'rn." He produced a crumpled piece of -paper and handed it to Miller. "Heer's Craig's order on his wife fer -it, an' in it he acknowledges it's the cash deposited by Mr. Bishop. He -won't give me no trouble. I've got 'im fixed. He 'll leave Darley in the -mornin'. He's afeerd this 'll git out an' he 'll be lynched." - -Alan was profoundly moved. He transferred his gaze from the money to -Pole's face, and leaned towards him. - -"You did it out of friendship for me," he said, his voice shaking. - -"That's what I did it fer, Alan, an' I wish I could do it over agin. -When I laid hold o' that wad an' knowed it was the thing you wanted -more'n anything else, I felt like flyin'." - -"Tell us all about it, Baker," said Miller, wrapping up the stack of -bills. - -"All right," said Pole, but Mrs. Bishop interrupted him. - -"Wait fer Alfred," she said, her voice rising and cracking in delight. -"Wait; I 'll run find 'im." - -She went out through the dining-room towards the stables, calling her -husband at every step. "Alfred, oh, Alfred!" - -"Heer!" she heard him call out from one of the stables. - -She leaned over the fence opposite the closed door, behind which she had -heard his voice. - -"Oh, Alfred!" she called, "come out, quick! I've got news fer you--big, -big news!" - -She heard him grumbling as he emptied some ears of corn into the trough -of the stall containing Alan' s favorite horse, and then with a growl he -emerged into the starlight. - -"That fool nigger only give Alan's hoss six ears o' corn," he fumed. "I -know, beca'se I counted the cobs; the hoss had licked the trough clean, -an' gnawed the ends o' the cobs. The idea o' starvin' my stock right -before my--" - -"Oh, Alfred, what _do_ you think has happened?" his wife broke in. -"We've got the bank money back! Pole Baker managed somehow to get it. -He's goin' to tell about it now. Come on in!" - -Bishop closed the door behind him; he fumbled with the chain and padlock -for an instant, then he moved towards her, his lip hanging, his eyes -protruding. - -"I 'll believe my part o' that when--" - -"But," she cried, opening the gate for him to pass through, "the money's -thar in the house on the table; it's been counted. I say it's thar! -Don't you believe it?" - -The old man moved through the gate mechanically. He paused to fasten it -with the iron ring over the two posts. But after that he seemed to lose -the power of locomotion. He stood facing her, his features working. - -"I 'll believe my part o' that cat-an'-bull story when I see--" - -"Well, come in the house, then," she cried. "You kin lay yore hands -on it an' count it. It's a awful big pile, an' nothin' less than -fifty-dollar bills." - -Grasping his arm, she half dragged, half led him into the house. -Entering the sitting-room, he strode to the table and, without a word, -picked up the package and opened it. He made an effort to count the -money, but his fingers seemed to have lost their cunning, and he gave it -up. - -"It's all there," Miller assured him, "and it's your money. You needn't -bother about that." - -Bishop sat down in his place in the chimney corner, the packet on his -knees, while Pole Baker, modestly, and not without touches of humor, -recounted his experiences. - -"The toughest job I had was managin' the woman," Pole laughed. "You kin -always count on a woman to be contrary. I believe ef you was tryin' -to git some women out of a burnin' house they'd want to have the'r way -about it. She read the order an' got white about the gills an' screamed, -low, so nobody wouldn't heer 'er, an' then wanted to ax questions. -That's the female of it. She knowed in reason that Craig was dead fixed -an' couldn't git out until she complied with the instructions, but she -wanted to know all about it. I reckon she thought he wouldn't give full -particulars--an' he won't, nuther. She wouldn't budge to git the money, -an' time was a-passin'. I finally had a thought that fetched 'er. I told -'er Craig was confined in a place along with a barrel o' gunpowder; that -a slow fuse was burnin' towards 'im, an' that he'd go sky-high at about -sundown ef I didn't git thar an' kick out the fire. Then I told 'er -she'd be arrested fer holdin' the money, an' that got 'er in a trot. She -fetched it out purty quick, a-cryin' an' abusin' me by turns. As soon -as the money left 'er hands though, she begun to beg me to ride fast. -I wanted to come heer fust; but I felt sorter sorry fer Craig, an' went -an' let 'im out. He was the gladdest man to see me you ever looked at. -He thought I was goin' to leave 'im thar. He looked like he wanted to -hug me. He says Winship wasn't much to blame. They both got in deep -water speculatin', an' Craig was tempted to cabbage on the twenty-five -thousand dollars." - -When Pole had concluded, the group sat in silence for a long time. It -looked as if Bishop wanted to openly thank Pole for what he had done, -but he had never done such a thing in the presence of others, and he -could not pull himself to it. He sat crouched up in his tilted chair as -if burning up with the joy of his release. - -The silence was broken by Abner Daniel, as he filled his pipe anew and -stood over the fireplace. - -"They say money's a cuss an' the root of all evil," he said, dryly. "But -in this case it's give Pole Baker thar a chance to show what's in 'im. -I'd 'a' give the last cent I have to 'a' done what he did to-day. I -grant you he used deception, but it was the fust-water sort that that -Bible king resorted to when he made out he was goin' to divide that -baby by cuttin' it in halves. He fetched out the good an' squelched the -bad." Abner glanced at Pole, and gave one of his impulsive inward laughs. -"My boy, when I reach t'other shore I expect to see whole strings o' -sech law-breakers as you a-playin' leap-frog on the golden sands. You -don't sing an' pray a whole lot, nur keep yore religion in sight, but -when thar's work to be done you shuck off yore shirt an' do it like a -wild-cat a-scratchin'." - -No one spoke after this outburst for several minutes, though the glances -cast in his direction showed the embarrassed ex-moonshiner that one and -all had sanctioned Abner Daniel's opinion. - -Bishop leaned forward and looked at the clock, and seeing that it was -nine, he put the money in a bureau-drawer and turned the key. Then he -took down the big family Bible from its shelf and sat down near the -lamp. They all knew what the action portended. - -"That's another thing," smiled Abner Daniel, while his brother-in-law -was searching for his place in the big Book. "Money may be a bad thing, -a cuss an' a evil, an' what not, but Alf 'ain't felt like holdin' -prayer sence the bad news come; an' now that he's got the scads once -more the fust thing is an appeal to the Throne. Yes, it may be a bad -thing, but sometimes it sets folks to singin' an' shoutin'. Ef I was -a-runnin' of the universe, I believe I'd do a lots o' distributin' in -low places. I'd scrape off a good many tops an' level up more. Accordin' -to some, the Lord's busy watchin' birds fall to the ground. I reckon -our hard times is due to them pesky English sparrows that's overrun -ever'thing." - -"You'd better dry up, Uncle Ab," said Pole Baker. "That's the kind o' -talk that made brother Dole jump on you." - -"Huh! That's a fact," said Daniel; "but this is in the family." - -Then Bishop began to read in his even, declamatory voice, and all the -others looked steadily at the fire in the chimney, their faces lighted -up by the flickering flames. - -When they had risen from their knees after prayer, Pole looked at Abner -with eyes from which shot beams of amusement. He seemed to enjoy nothing -so much as hearing Abner's religious opinions. - -"You say this thing has set Mr. Bishop to prayin', Uncle Ab?" he asked. - -"That's what," smiled Abner, who had never admired Baker so much before. -"Ef I stay heer, an' they ever git that railroad through, I'm goin' to -have me a pair o' knee-pads made." - - - - -XXVIII - - -[Illustration: 9247] - -BOUT a week after the events recorded in the preceding chapter, old -man Bishop, just at dusk one evening, rode up to Pole Baker's humble -domicile. - -Pole was in the front yard making a fire of sticks, twigs, and chips. - -"What's that fer?" the old man questioned, as he dismounted and hitched -his horse to the worm fence. - -"To drive off mosquitoes," said Pole, wiping his eyes, which were red -from the effects of the smoke. "I 'll never pass another night like the -last un ef I kin he'p it. I 'lowed my hide was thick, but they bored fer -oil all over me from dark till sun-up. I never 've tried smoke, but Hank -Watts says it's ahead o' pennyr'yal." - -"Shucks!" grunted the planter, "you ain't workin' it right. A few rags -burnin' in a pan nigh yore bed may drive 'em out, but a smoke out heer -in the yard 'll jest drive 'em in." - -"What?" said Pole, in high disgust. "Do you expect me to sleep sech hot -weather as this is with a fire nigh my bed? The durn things may eat me -raw, but I 'll be blamed ef I barbecue myse'f to please 'em." - -Mrs. Baker appeared in the cabin-door, holding two of the youngest -children by their hands. "He won't take my advice, Mr. Bishop," she -said. "I jest rub a little lamp-oil on my face an' hands an' they don't -tetch me." Pole grunted and looked with laughing eyes at the old man. - -"She axed me t'other night why I'd quit kissin' 'er," he said. "An' I -told 'er I didn't keer any more fer kerosene than the mosquitoes did." - -Mrs. Baker laughed pleasantly, as she brought out a chair for Bishop and -invited him to sit down. He complied, twirling his riding-switch in his -hand. From his position, almost on a level with the floor, he could see -the interior of one of the rooms. It was almost bare of furniture. Two -opposite corners were occupied by crude bedsteads; in the centre of the -room was a cradle made from a soap-box on rockers sawn from rough poplar -boards. It had the appearance of having been in use through several -generations. Near it stood a spinning-wheel and a three-legged stool. -The sharp steel spindle gleamed in the firelight from the big log and -mud chimney. - -"What's the news from town, Mr. Bishop?" Pole asked, awkwardly, for it -struck him that Bishop had called to talk with him about some business -and was reluctant to introduce it. - -"Nothin' that interests any of us, I reckon, Pole," said the old man, -"except I made that investment in Shoal Cotton Factory stock." - -"That's good," said Pole, in the tone of anybody but a man who had never -invested a dollar in anything. "It's all hunkey, an' my opinion is that -it 'll never be wuth less." - -"I did heer, too," added Bishop, "that it was reported that Craig had -set up a little grocery store out in Texas, nigh the Indian Territory. -Some thinks that Winship 'll turn up thar an' jine 'im, but a body never -knows what to believe these days." - -"That shore is a fact," opined Pole. "Sally, that corn-bread's -a-burnin'; ef you'd use less lamp-oil you'd smell better." - -Mrs. Baker darted to the fireplace, raked the live coals from beneath -the cast-iron oven, and jerked off the lid in a cloud of steam and -smoke. She turned over the pone with the aid of a case-knife, and then -came back to the door. - -"Fer the last month I've had my eye on the Bascome farm," Bishop was -saying. "Thar's a hundred acres even, some good bottom land and upland, -an' in the neighborhood o' thirty acres o' good wood. Then thar's -a five-room house, well made an' tight, an' a barn, cow-house, an' -stable." - -"Lord! I know the place like a book," said Pole; "an' it's a dandy -investment, Mr. Bishop. They say he offered it fer fifteen hundred. It's -wuth two thousand. You won't drap any money by buyin' that property, -Mr. Bishop. I'd hate to contract to build jest the house an' well an' -out-houses fer a thousand." - -"I bought it," Bishop told him. "He let me have it fer a good deal less -'n fifteen hundred, cash down." - -"Well, you made a dandy trade, Mr. Bishop. Ah, that's what ready money -will do. When you got the cash things seem to come at bottom figures." - -Old Bishop drew a folded paper from his pocket and slapped it on his -knee. "Yes, I closed the deal this evenin', an' I was jest a-thinkin' -that as you hain't rented fer next yeer--I mean--" Bishop was ordinarily -direct of speech, but somehow his words became tangled, and he delivered -himself awkwardly on this occasion. "You see, Alan thinks that you -'n Sally ort to live in a better house than jest this heer log-cabin, -an'--" - -The wan face of the tired woman was aglow with expectation. She sank -down on the doorstep, and sat still and mute, her hands clasping each -other in her lap. She had always disliked that cabin and its sordid -surroundings, and there was something in Bishop's talk that made her -think he was about to propose renting the new farm, house and all, -to her husband. Her mouth fell open; she scarcely allowed herself to -breathe. Then, as Bishop paused, her husband's voice struck dumb dismay -to her heart. It was as if she were falling from glowing hope back to -tasted despair. - -"Thar's more land in that farm an' I could do jestice to, Mr. Bishop; but -ef thar's a good cabin on it an' you see fit to cut off enough fer me'n -one hoss I'd jest as soon tend that as this heer. I want to do what you -an' Alan think is best all'round." - -"Oh, Pole, Pole!" The woman was crying it to herself, her face lowered -to her hands that the two men might not see the agony written in her -eyes. A house like that to live in, with all those rooms and fireplaces, -and windows with panes of glass in them! She fancied she saw her -children playing on the tight, smooth floors and on the honeysuckled -porch. For one minute these things had been hers, to be snatched away -by the callous indifference of her husband, who, alas! had never cared a -straw for appearances. - -"Oh, I wasn't thinking about _rentin'_ it to you," said Bishop, and the -woman's dream was over. She raised her head, awake again. "You -see," went on Bishop, still struggling for proper expression, "Alan -thinks--well, he thinks you are sech a born fool about not acceptin' -help from them that feels nigh to you, an' I may as well say grateful, -exceedingly grateful, fer what you've done, things that no other livin' -man could 'a' done. Alan thinks you ort to have the farm fer yore own -property, an' so the deeds has been made out to--" - -Pole drew himself up to his full height. His big face was flushed, half -with anger, half with a strong emotion of a tenderer kind. He stood -towering over the old man like a giant swayed by the warring winds of -good and evil, "I won't heer a word more of that, Mr. Bishop," he said, -with a quivering lip; "not a word more. By golly! I mean what I say. I -don't want to heer another word of it. This heer place is good enough -fer me an' my family. It's done eight yeer, an' it kin do another -eight." - -"Oh, Pole, Pole, _Pole!_" The woman's cry was now audible. It came -straight from her pent-up, starving soul and went right to Bishop's -heart. - -"You want the place, don't you, Sally?" he said, calling her by her -given name for the first time, as if he had just discovered their -kinship. He could not have used a tenderer tone to child of his own. - -"Mind, mind what you say, Sally!" ordered Pole, from the depths of his -fighting emotions. "Mind what you say!" - -The woman looked at Bishop. Her glance was on fire. - -"Yes, I want it--I _want_ it!" she cried. "I ain't goin' to lie. I want -it more right now than I do the kingdom of heaven. I want it ef we have -a right to it. Oh, I don't know." She dropped her head in her lap and -began to sob. - -Bishop stood up. He moved towards her in a jerky fashion and laid his -hand on the pitifully tight knot of hair at the back of her head. - -"Well, it's yores," he said. "Alan thought Pole would raise a kick agin -it, an' me'n him had it made out in yore name, so he couldn't tetch it. -It's yores, Sally Ann Baker. That's the way it reads." - -The woman's sobs increased, but they were sobs of unbridled joy. With -her apron to her eyes she rose and hurried into the house. - -The eyes of the two men met. Bishop spoke first: - -"You've got to give in, Pole," he said. "You'd not be a man to stand -betwixt yore wife an' a thing she wants as bad as she does that place, -an', by all that's good an' holy, you sha 'n' t." - -"What's the use o' me tryin' to git even with Alan," Pole exclaimed, -"ef he's eternally a-goin' to git up some 'n'? I've been tickled to death -ever since I cornered old Craig till now, but you an' him has sp'iled it -all by this heer trick. It ain't fair to me." - -"Well, it's done," smiled the old man, as he went to his horse; "an' ef -you don't live thar with Sally, I 'll make 'er git a divorce." - -Bishop had reached a little pig-pen in a fence-corner farther along, on -his way home, when Mrs. Baker suddenly emerged from a patch of high corn -in front of him. - -"Is he a-goin' to take it, Mr. Bishop?" she asked, panting from her -hurried walk through the corn that hid her from the view of the cabin. - -"Yes," Bishop told her; "I'm a-goin' to send two wagons over in the -morning to move yore things. I wish it was ten times as good a place -as it is, but it will insure you an' the children a living an' a -comfortable home." - -After the manner of many of her kind, the woman uttered no words of -thanks, but simply turned back into the corn, and, occupied with her own -vision of prosperity and choking with gratitude, she hurried back to the -cabin. - - - - -XXIX - - -[Illustration: 9253] - -HE summer ended, the autumn passed, 'and Christmas approached. Nothing -of much importance had taken place among the characters of this little -history. The Southern Land and Timber Company, and Wilson in particular, -had disappointed Miller and Alan by their reticence in regard to the -progress of the railroad scheme. At every meeting with Wilson they -found him either really or pretendedly indifferent about the matter. His -concern, he told them, was busy in other quarters, and that he really -did not know what they would finally do about it. - -"He can' t pull the wool over my eyes," Miller told his friend, after -one of these interviews. "He simply thinks he can freeze you out by -holding off till you have to raise money." - -"He may have inquired into my father's financial condition," suggested -Alan, with a long face. - -"Most likely," replied the lawyer. - -"And discovered exactly where we stand." - -"Perhaps, but we must not believe that till we know it. I'm going to -try to checkmate him. I don't know how, but I 'll think of something. -He feels that he has the upper hand now, but I 'll interest him some of -these days." - -Alan's love affair had also been dragging. He had had numerous -assurances of Dolly's constancy, but since learning how her father had -acted the night he supposed she had eloped with Alan, her eyes had been -opened to the seriousness of offending Colonel Barclay. She now -knew that her marriage against his will would cause her immediate -disinheritance, and she was too sensible a girl to want to go to Alan -without a dollar and with the doors of her home closed against her. -Besides, she believed in Alan' s future. She, somehow, had more faith in -the railroad than any other interested person. She knew, too, that she -was now more closely watched than formerly. She had, with firm finality, -refused Frank Hillhouse's offer of marriage, and that had not helped her -case in the eyes of her exasperated parent. Her mother occupied neutral -ground; she had a vague liking for Alan Bishop, and, if the whole truth -must be told, was heartily enjoying the situation. She was enjoying it -so subtly and so heartily, in her own bloodless way, that she was at -times almost afraid of its ending suddenly. - -On Christmas Eve Adele was expected home from Atlanta, and Alan had come -in town to meet her. As it happened, an accident delayed her train so -that it would not reach Darley till ten o' clock at night instead of six -in the evening, so there was nothing for her brother to do but arrange -for their staying that night at the Johnston House. Somewhat to Alan' -s surprise, who had never discovered the close friendship and constant -correspondence existing between Miller and his sister, the former -announced that he was going to spend the night at the hotel and drive -out to the farm with them the next morning. Of course, it was agreeable, -Alan reflected, but it was a strange thing for Miller to propose. - -From the long veranda of the hotel after supper that evening the two -friends witnessed the crude display of holiday fireworks in the street -below. Half a dozen big bonfires made of dry-goods boxes, kerosene and -tar barrels, and refuse of all kinds were blazing along the main street. -Directly opposite the hotel the only confectionery and toy store in the -place was crowded to overflowing by eager customers, and in front of it -the purchasers of fireworks were letting them off for the benefit of the -bystanders. Fire-crackers were exploded by the package, and every now -and then a clerk in some store would come to the front door and fire off -a gun or a revolver. - -All this noise and illumination was at its height when Adele's train -drew up in the car-shed. The bonfires near at hand made it as light as -day, and she had no trouble recognizing the two friends. - -"Oh, what an awful racket!" she exclaimed, as she released herself from -Alan' s embrace and gave her hand to Miller. - -"It's in your honor," Miller laughed, as, to Alan' s vast astonishment, -he held on to her hand longer than seemed right. "We ought to have had -the brass band out." - -"Oh, I'm so glad to get home," said Adele, laying her hand on Miller's -extended arm. Then she released it to give Alan her trunk-checks. "Get -them, brother," she said. "Mr. Miller will take care of me. I suppose -you are not going to drive home to-night." - -"Not if you are tired," said Miller, in a tone Alan had never heard -his friend use to any woman, nor had he ever seen such an expression -on Miller's face as lay there while the lawyer's eyes were feasting -themselves on the girl's beauty. - -Alan hurried away after the trunks and a porter. He was almost blind -with a rage that was new to him. Was Miller deliberately beginning a -flirtation with Adele at a moment's notice? And had she been so spoiled -by the "fast set" of Atlanta during her stay there that she would allow -it--even if Miller was a friend of the family? He found a negro porter -near the heap of luggage that had been hurled from the baggage-car, and -ordered his sister's trunks taken to the hotel. Then he followed the -couple moodily up to the hotel parlor. He was destined to undergo -another shock, for, on entering that room, he surprised Miller and Adele -on a sofa behind the big square piano with their heads suspiciously near -together, and so deeply were they engaged in conversation that, although -he drew up a chair near them, they paid no heed to him further than to -recognize his appearance with a lifting of their eyes. They were talking -of social affairs in Atlanta and people whose names were unfamiliar to -Alan. He rose and stood before the fireplace, but they did not notice -his change of position. Truly it was maddening. He told himself that -Adele's pretty face and far too easy manner had attracted Miller's -attention temporarily, and the fellow was daring to enter one of his -flirtations right before his eyes. Alan would give him a piece of his -mind at the first opportunity, even if he was under obligations to him. -Indeed, Miller had greatly disappointed him, and so had Adele. He had -always thought she, like Dolly Barclay, was different from other girls; -but no, she was like them all. Miller's attention had simply turned her -head. Well, as soon as he had a chance he would tell her a few things -about Miller and his views of women. That would put her on her -guard, but it would not draw out the poisoned sting left by Miller's -presumption, or indelicacy, or whatever it was. Alan rose and stood at -the fire unnoticed for several minutes, and then he showed that he -was at least a good chaperon, for he reached out and drew on the -old-fashioned bell-pull in the chimney-corner. The porter appeared, and -Alan asked: "Is my sister's room ready?" - -"Yes, it's good and warm now, suh," said the negro. "I started the fire -an hour ago." - -Miller and Adele had paused to listen. - -"Oh, you are going to hurry me off to bed," the girl said, with an -audible sigh. - -"You must be tired after that ride," said Alan, coldly. - -"That's a fact, you must be," echoed Miller. "Well, if you have to go, -you can finish telling me in the morning. You know I'm going to spend -the night here, where I have a regular room, and I 'll see you at -breakfast." - -"Oh, I'm so glad," said Adele. "Yes, I can finish telling you in the -morning." Then she seemed to notice her brother's long face, and she -laughed out teasingly: "I 'll bet he and Dolly are no nearer together -than ever." - -"You are right," Miller joined in her mood; "the Colonel still has his -dogs ready for Alan, but they 'll make it up some day, I hope. Dolly is -_next_ to the smartest girl I know." - -"Oh, you _are_ a flatterer," laughed Adele, and she gave Miller her -hand. "Don't forget to be up for early breakfast. We must start soon in -the morning. I'm dying to see the home folks." - -Alan was glad that Miller had a room of his own, for he was not in -a mood to converse with him; and when Adele had retired he refused -Miller's proffered cigar and went to his own room. - -Miller grunted as Alan turned away. "He's had bad news of some sort," -he thought, "and it's about Dolly Barclay. I wonder, after all, if she -would stick to a poor man. I begin to think some women would. Adele is -of that stripe--yes, she is, and isn't she stunning-looking? She's a -gem of the first water, straight as a die, full of pluck and--she's all -right--all right!" - -He went out on the veranda to smoke and enjoy repeating these things -over to himself. The bonfires in the street were dying down to red -embers, around which stood a few stragglers; but there was a blaze of -new light over the young man' s head. Along his horizon had dawned a -glorious reason for his existence; a reason that discounted every reason -he had ever entertained. "Adele, Adele," he said to himself, and then -his cigar went out. Perhaps, his thoughts ran on in their mad race with -happiness--perhaps, with her fair head on her pillow, she was thinking -of him as he was of her. - -Around the corner came a crowd of young men singing negro songs. They -passed under the veranda, and Miller recognized Frank Hillhouse's voice. -"That you, Frank?" Miller called out, leaning over the railing. - -"Yes--that you, Ray?" Hillhouse stepped out into view. "Come on; we are -going to turn the town over. Every sign comes down, according to custom, -you know. Old Thad Moore is drunk in the calaboose. They put him in late -this evening. We are going to mask and let him out. It's a dandy racket; -we are going to make him think we are White Caps, and then set him down -in the bosom of his family. Come on." - -"I can't to-night," declined Miller, with a laugh. "I'm dead tired." - -"Well, if you hear all the church bells ringing, you needn't think it's -fire, and jump out of your skin. We ain't going to sleep to-night, and -we don't intend to let anybody else do it." - -"Well, go it while you are young," Miller retorted, with a laugh, and -Hillhouse joined his companions in mischief and they passed on singing -merrily. - -Miller threw his cigar away and went to his room. He was ecstatically -happy. The mere thought that Adele Bishop was under the same roof with -him, and on the morrow was going to people who liked him, and leaned on -his advice and experience, gave him a sweet content that thrilled him -from head to foot. - -"Perhaps I ought to tell Alan," he mused, "but he 'll find it out soon -enough; and, hang it all, I can' t tell him how I feel about his own -sister, after all the rot I've stuffed into him." - - - - -XXX - - -[Illustration: 9260] - -HE next morning, as soon as he was up, Alan went to his sister's room. -He found her dressed and ready for him. She was seated before a cheerful -grate-fire, looking over a magazine she had brought to pass the time on -the train. - -"Come in," she said, pleasantly enough, he reflected, now that Miller -was not present to absorb her attention. "I expected you to get up a -little earlier. Those guns down at the bar-room just about daybreak -waked me, and I couldn't go to sleep again. There is no use denying -it, Al, we have a barbarous way of amusing ourselves up here in North -Georgia." - -He went in and stood with his back to the fire, still unable to rid his -brow of the frown it had worn the night before. - -"Oh, I reckon you've got too citified for us," he said, "along with -other accomplishments that fast set down there has taught you." - -Adele laid her book open on her lap. - -"Look here, Alan," she said, quite gravely. "What's the matter with -you?" - -"Nothing, that I know of," he said, without meeting her direct gaze. - -"Well, there is," she said, as the outcome of her slow inspection of his -clouded features. - -He shrugged his shoulders and gave her his eyes steadily. - -"I don't like the way you and Miller are carrying on." He hurled the -words at her sullenly. "You see, I know him through and through." - -"Well, that's all right," she replied, not flinching from his indignant -stare; "but what's that got to do with my conduct and his?" - -"You allow him to be too familiar with you," Alan retorted. "He's not -the kind of a man for you to--to act that way with. He has flirted with -a dozen women and thrown them over; he doesn't believe in the honest -love of a man for a woman, or the love of a woman for a man." - -"Ah, I am at the first of this!" Adele, instead of being put down by his -stormy words, was smiling inwardly. Her lips were rigid, but Alan saw -the light of keen amusement in her eyes. "Is he _really_ so dangerous? -That makes him doubly interesting. Most girls love to handle masculine -gunpowder. Do you know, if I was Dolly Barclay, for instance, an affair -with you would not be much fun, because I'd be so sure of you. The dead -level of your past would alarm me." - -"Thank Heaven, all women are not alike!" was the bolt he hurled at -her. "If you knew as much about Ray Miller as I do, you'd act in a more -dignified way on a first acquaintance with him." - -"On a first--oh, I see what you mean!" Adele put her handkerchief to her -face and treated herself to a merry laugh that exasperated him beyond -endurance. Then she stood up, smoothing her smile away. "Let's go -to breakfast. I'm as hungry as a bear. I told Rayburn--I mean your -dangerous friend, Mr. Miller--that we'd meet him in the dining-room. He -says he's crazy for a cup of coffee with whipped cream in it. I ordered -it just now." - -"The dev--" Alan bit the word in two and strode from the room, she -following. The first person they saw in the big dining-room was Miller, -standing at the stove in the centre of the room warming himself. He -scarcely looked at Alan in his eagerness to have a chair placed for -Adele at a little table reserved for three in a corner of the room, -which was presided over by a slick-looking mulatto waiter, whose father -had belonged to Miller's family. - -"I've been up an hour," he said to her. "I took a stroll down the street -to see what damage the gang did last night. Every sign is down or hung -where it doesn't belong. To tease the owner, an old negro drayman, whom -everybody jokes with, they took his wagon to pieces and put it together -again on the roof of Harmon's drug-store. How they got it there is -a puzzle that will go down in local history like the building of the -Pyramids." - -"Whiskey did it," laughed Adele; "that will be the final explanation." - -"I think you are right," agreed Miller. - -Alan bolted his food in grum silence, unnoticed by the others. Adele's -very grace at the table, as she prepared Miller's coffee, and her apt -repartee added to his discomfiture. He excused himself from the table -before they had finished, mumbling something about seeing if the horses -were ready, and went into the office. The last blow to his temper was -dealt by Adele as she came from the dining-room. - -"Mr. Miller wants to drive me out in his buggy to show me his horses," -she said, half smiling. "You won't mind, will you? You see, he 'll want -his team out there to get back in, and--" - -"Oh, I don't mind," he told her. "I see you are bent on making a goose -of yourself. After what I've told you about Miller, if you still--" - -But she closed his mouth with her hand. - -"Leave him to me, brother," she said, as she turned away. "I'm old -enough to take care of myself, and--and--well, I know men better than -you do." - -When Alan reached home he found that Miller and Adele had been there -half an hour. His mother met him at the door with a mysterious smile on -her sweet old face, as she nodded at the closed door of the parlor. - -"Don't go in there now," she whispered. "Adele and Mr. Miller have been -there ever since they come. I railly believe they are in love with -each other. I never saw young folks act more like it. When I met 'em it -looked jest like he wanted to kiss me, he was so happy. Now wouldn't it -be fine if they was to get married? He's the nicest man in the State, -and the best catch." - -"Oh, mother," said Alan, "you don't understand. Rayburn Miller is--" - -"Well, Adele will know how to manage him," broke in the old lady, too -full of her view of the romance to harken to his; "she ain't no fool, -son. She 'll twist him around her finger if she wants to. She's pretty, -an' stylish, an' as sharp as a brier. Ah, he's jest seen it all and -wants her; you can't fool me! I know how people act when they are in -love. I've seen hundreds, and I never saw a worse case on both sides -than this is." - -Going around to the stables to see that his horses were properly -attended to, Alan met his uncle leaning over the rail-fence looking -admiringly at a young colt that was prancing around the lot. - -"Christmas gift," said the old man, suddenly. "I ketched you that time -shore pop." - -"Yes, you got ahead of me," Alan admitted. - -The old man came nearer to him, nodding his head towards the house. -"Heerd the news?" he asked, with a broad grin of delight. - -"What news is that?" Alan asked, dubiously. "Young Miss," a name given -Adele by the negroes, and sometimes used jestingly by the family--"Young -Miss has knocked the props clean from under Miller." Alan frowned and -hung his head for a moment; then he said: - -"Uncle Ab, do you remember what I told you about Miller's opinion of -love and women in general?" - -The old man saw his drift and burst into a full, round laugh. - -"I know you told me what he said about love an' women in general, but I -don't know as you said what he thought about women in _particular_. This -heer's a particular case. I tell you she's fixed 'im. Yore little sis -has done the most complete job out o' tough material I ever inspected. -He's a gone coon; he 'll never make another brag; he's tied hand an' -foot." - -Alan looked straight into his uncle's eyes. A light was breaking on him. -"Uncle Ab," he said, "do you think he is--really in love with her?" - -"Ef he ain't, an' don't ax yore pa an' ma fer 'er before a month's gone, -I 'll deed you my farm. Now, look heer. A feller knows his own sister -less'n he does anybody else; that's beca'se you never have thought of -Adele follerin' in the trail of womankind. You'd hate fer a brother o' -that town gal to be raisin' sand about you, wouldn't you? Well, you go -right on an' let them two kill the'r own rats." - -Alan and his uncle were returning to the house when Pole Baker -dismounted at the front gate and came into the yard. - -Since becoming a landed proprietor his appearance had altered for the -better most materially. He wore a neat, well-fitting suit of clothes -and a new hat, but of the same broad dimensions as the old. Its brim was -pinned up on the right side by a little brass ornament. - -"I seed Mr. Miller drive past my house awhile ago with Miss Adele," he -said, "an' I come right over. I want to see all of you together." - -Just then Miller came out of the parlor and descended the steps to join -them. - -"Christmas gift, Mr. Miller!" cried Pole. "I ketched you that time." - -"And if I paid up, you'd cuss me out," retorted the lawyer, with a -laugh. "I haven't forgotten the row you raised about that suit of -clothes. Well, what's the news? How's your family?" - -"About as common, Mr. Miller," said Pole. "My wife's gittin' younger -an' younger ever'day. Sence she moved in 'er new house, an' got to -whitewashin' fences an' makin' flower-beds, an' one thing another, she -looks like a new person. I'd 'a' bought 'er a house long ago ef I'd 'a' -knowed she wanted it that bad. Oh, we put on the lugs now! We wipe with -napkins after eatin', an' my littlest un sets in a high-chair an' says -'Please pass the gravy,' like he'd been off to school. Sally says she's -a-goin' to send 'em, an' I don't keer ef she does; they 'll stand head, -ef they go; the'r noggin' s look like squashes, but they're full o' -seeds, an' don't you ferget it." - -"That they are!" intoned Abner Daniel. - -"I've drapped onto a little news," said Pole. "You know what a old -moonshiner cayn't pick up in these mountains from old pards ain't wuth -lookin' fer." - -"Railroad?" asked Miller, interestedly. - -"That's fer you-uns to make out," said Baker. "Now, I ain't a-goin' to -give away my authority, but I rid twenty miles yesterday to substantiate -what I heerd, an' know it's nothin' but the truth. You all know old -Bobby Milburn's been buyin' timber-land up about yore property, don't -you?" - -"I didn't know how much," answered Miller, "but I knew he had secured -some." - -"Fust and last in the neighborhood o' six thousand acres," affirmed -Pole, "an' he's still on the war-path. What fust attracted my notice was -findin' out that old Bobby hain't a dollar to his name. That made me -suspicious, an' I went to work to investigate." - -"Good boy!" said Uncle Abner, in an admiring undertone. - -"Well, I found out he was usin' Wilson's money, an' secretly buyin' fer -him; an' what's more, he seems to have unlimited authority, an' a big -bank account to draw from." - -There was a startled pause. It was broken by Miller, whose eyes were -gleaming excitedly. - -"It's blame good news," he said, eying Alan. - -"Do you think so?" said Alan, who was still under his cloud of -displeasure with his friend. - -"Yes; it simply means that Wilson intends to build that road. He's been -quiet, and pretending indifference, for two reasons. First, to bring us -to closer terms, and next to secure more land. Alan, my boy, the plot -thickens! I'm getting that fellow right where I want him. Pole, you have -brought us a dandy Christmas gift, but I 'll be blamed if you get a thing -for it. I don't intend to get shot." - -Then they all went to find Bishop to tell him the news. - - - - -XXXI - - -[Illustration: 9267] - -T was a cold, dry day about the middle of January. They were killing -hogs at the farm. Seven or eight negroes, men and women, had gathered -from all about in the neighborhood to assist in the work and get the -parts of the meat usually given away in payment for such services. - -Two hogsheads for hot water were half buried in the ground. A big iron -pot with a fire beneath it was heating water and a long fire of logs -heaped over with big stones was near by. When hot, the stones were to be -put into the cooling water to raise the temperature, it being easier to -do this than to replace the water in the pot. The hogs to be killed were -grunting and squealing in a big pen near the barn. - -Abner Daniel and old man Bishop were superintending these preparations -when Alan came from the house to say that Rayburn Miller had just ridden -out to see them on business. "I think it's the railroad," Alan informed -his father, who always displayed signs of almost childish excitement -when the subject came up. They found Miller in the parlor being -entertained by Adele, who immediately left the room on their arrival. -They all sat down before the cheerful fire. Miller showed certain signs -of embarrassment at first, but gradually threw them off and got down to -the matter in hand quite with his office manner. - -"I've got a proposition to make to you, Mr. Bishop," he opened up, -with a slight flush on his face. "I've been making some inquiries about -Wilson, and I am more and more convinced that he intends to freeze us -out--or you rather--by holding off till you are obliged to sell your -property for a much lower figure than you now ask him for it." - -"You think so," grunted Bishop, pulling a long face. - -"Yes; but what I now want to do is to show him, indirectly, that we are -independent of him." - -"Huh!" ejaculated Bishop, even more dejectedly--"huh! I say!" - -Alan was looking at Miller eagerly, as if trying to divine the point he -was about to make. "I must confess," he smiled, "that I can' t well see -how we can show independence right now." - -"Well, I think I see a way," said Miller, the flush stealing over his -face again. "You see, there is no doubt that Wilson is on his high -horse simply because he thinks he could call on you for that -twenty-five thousand dollars and put you to some trouble raising it -without--without, I say, throwing your land on the market. I can' t -blame him," Miller went on, smiling, "for it's only what any business -man would do, who is out for profit, but we must not knuckle to him." - -"Huh, huh!" Bishop grunted, in deeper despondency. - -"How do you propose to get around the knuckling process?" asked Alan, -who had caught the depression influencing his parent. - -"I'd simply take up that note," said the lawyer. "You know, under the -contract, we are privileged to pay it to-morrow if we wish. It would -simply paralyze him. He's so confident that you can' t take it up that -he has not even written to ask if you want to renew it or not. Yes; he's -confident that he 'll rake in that security--so confident that he has -been, as you know, secretly buying land near yours." - -Old Bishop's eyes were wide open. In the somewhat darkened room the -firelight reflected in them showed like illuminated blood-spots. He said -nothing, but breathed heavily. - -"But," exclaimed Alan, "Ray, you know we--father has invested that -money, and the truth is, that he and mother have already had so much -worry over the business that they would rather let the land go at what -was raised on it than to--to run any more risks." - -Bishop groaned out his approval of this elucidation of his condition and -sat silently nodding his head. The very thought of further risks stunned -and chilled him. - -Miller's embarrassment now descended on him in full force. - -"I was not thinking of having your father disturb his investments," he -said. "The truth is, I have met with a little financial disappointment -in a certain direction. For the last three months I have been raking -and scraping among the dry bones of my investments to get up exactly -twenty-five thousand dollars to secure a leading interest in a cotton -mill at Darley, of which I was to be president. I managed to get the -money together and only yesterday I learned that the Northern capital -that was to guarantee the thing was only in the corner of a fellow's eye -up in Boston--a man that had not a dollar on earth. Well, there you are! -I've my twenty-five thousand dollars, and no place to put it. I thought, -if you had just as soon owe me the money as Wilson, that you'd really be -doing me a favor to let me take up the note. You see, it would actually -floor him. He means business, and this would show him that we are not -asking any favors of him. In fact, I have an idea it would scare him out -of his skin. He'd think we had another opportunity of selling. I'm dying -to do this, and I hope you 'll let me work it. Really, I think you ought -to consent. I'd never drive you to the wall and--well--_he_ might." - -All eyes were on the speaker. Bishop had the dazed expression of a -bewildered man trying to believe in sudden good luck. Abner Daniel -lowered his head and shook with low, subdued laughter. - -"You are a jim-dandy, young man," he said to Miller. "That's all there -is about it. You take the rag off the bush. Oh, my Lord! They say in -Alt's meeting-house that it's a sin to play poker with no stakes, but -Alf's in a game with half the earth put up agin another feller's wad as -big as a bale o' hay. Play down, Alf. Play down. You've got a full hand -an' plenty to draw from." - -"We couldn't let you do this, Ray," expostulated Alan. - -"But I assure you it is merely a matter of business with me," declared -the lawyer. "You know I'm interested myself, and I believe we shall come -out all right. I'm simply itching to do it." - -Bishop's face was ablaze. The assurance that a wise young business man -would consider a purchase of his of sufficient value to put a large -amount of money on pleased him, banished his fears, thrilled him. - -"If you feel that way," he said, smiling at the corners of his mouth, -"go ahead. I don't know but what you are plumb right. It will show -Wilson that we ain't beholden to him, an' will set 'im to work ef -anything will." - -So it was finally settled, and no one seemed so well pleased with the -arrangement as Miller himself. Adele entered the room with the air of -one half fearful of intruding, and her three relatives quietly withdrew, -leaving her to entertain the guest. - -"I wonder what's the matter with your brother," Miller remarked, as his -eyes followed Alan from the room. - -"Oh, brother?" laughed Adele. "No one tries to keep up with his whims and -fancies." - -"But, really," said Miller, in a serious tone, "he has mystified me -lately. I wonder if he has had bad news from Dolly. I've tried to get -into a confidential chat with him several times of late, but he seems -to get around it. Really, it seems to me, at times, that he treats me -rather coldly." - -"Oh, if you waste time noticing Al you 'll become a beggar," and Adele -gave another amused laugh. "Take my advice and let him alone." - -"I almost believe you know what ails him," said Miller, eying her -closely. - -"I know what he _thinks_ ails him," the girl responded. - -"And won't you tell me what--what he thinks ails him?" - -"No, I couldn't do that," answered our young lady, with a knowing smile. -"If you are ever any wiser on the subject you will have to get your -wisdom from him." - -She turned to the piano and began to arrange some scattered pieces of -music, and he remained on the hearth, his back to the fire, his brow -wrinkled in pleased perplexity. - -"I 'll have to get my wisdom from him," repeated Miller, pronouncing each -word with separate distinctness, as if one of them might prove the key -to the mystery. - -"Yes, I should think two wise men could settle a little thing like that. -If not, you may call in the third--you know there were three of you, -according to the Bible." - -"Oh, so there were," smiled Miller; "but it's hard to tell when we three -shall meet again. The last time I saw the other two they were having -their sandals half-soled for a tramp across the desert. I came this way -to build a railroad, and I believe I'm going to do it. That's linking -ancient and modern times together with a coupling-pin, isn't it?" - -She came from the piano and stood by him, looking down into the fire. -"Ah," she said, seriously, "if you could _only_ do it!" - -"Would you like it very much?" - -"Very, very much; it means the world to us--to Alan, to father and -mother, and--yes, to me. I hunger for independence." - -"Then it shall be done," he said, fervently. - - - - -XXXII - - -[Illustration: 9273] - -S the elevator in the big building was taking Rayburn Miller up to the -offices of the Southern Land and Timber Company, many reflections passed -hurriedly through his mind. - -"You are going to get the usual cold shoulder from Wilson," he mused; -"but he 'll put it up against something about as warm as he's touched in -many a day. If you don't make him squirm, it will be only because you -don't want to." - -Wilson was busy at his desk looking over bills of lading, receipts, and -other papers, and now and then giving instructions to a typewriter in -the corner of the room. - -"Ahl how are you, Miller?" he said, indifferently, giving the caller his -hand without rising. "Down to see the city again, eh?" - -Rayburn leaned on the top of the desk, and knocked the ashes from his -cigar with the tip of his little finger. - -"Partly that and partly business," he returned, carelessly. - -"Two birds, eh?" - -"That's about it. I concluded you were not coming up our way soon, and -so I decided to drop in on you." - -"Yes, glad you did." Wilson glanced at the papers on his desk and -frowned. "Wish I had more time at my disposal. I'd run up to the club -with you and show you my Kentucky thoroughbreds, but I realty am rushed, -to-day particularly." - -"Oh, I haven't a bit of time to spare myself! I take the afternoon train -home. The truth is, I came to see you for my clients, the Bishops." - -"Ah, I see." Wilson's face clouded over by some mechanical arrangement -known only to himself. "Well, I can' t realty report any progress in -that matter," he said. "All the company think Bishop's figures are away -out of reason, and the truth is, right now, we are over head and ears in -operations in other quarters, and--well, you see how it is?" - -"Yes, I think I do." Miller smoked a moment. "In fact, I told my clients -last month that the matter was not absorbing your attention, and so they -gave up counting on you." - -Wilson so far forgot his pose that he looked up in a startled sort of -way and began to study Miller's smoke-wrapped profile. - -"You say they are not--have not been counting on my company to--to buy -their land?" - -"Why, no," said Miller, in accents well resembling those of slow and -genuine surprise. "Why, you have not shown the slightest interest in -the matter since the day you made the loan, and naturally they ceased to -think you wanted the land. The only reason I called was that the note is -payable to-day, and--" - -"Oh yes, by Jove! that was careless of me. The interest is due. I knew -it would be all right, and I had no idea you would bother to run down -for that. Why, my boy, we could have drawn for it, you know." - -Miller smiled inwardly, as he looked calmly and fixedly through his -smoke into the unsuspecting visage upturned to him. - -"But the note itself is payable to-day," he said, closely on the alert -for a facial collapse; "and, while you or I might take up a paper for -twenty-five thousand dollars through a bank, old-fashioned people like -Mr. and Mrs. Bishop would feel safer to have it done by an agent. That's -why I came." - -Miller, in silent satisfaction, saw the face of his antagonist fall to -pieces like an artificial flower suddenly shattered. - -"Pay the note?" gasped Wilson. "Why--" - -Miller puffed at his cigar and gazed at his victim as if slightly -surprised over the assumption that his clients had not, all along, -intended to avail themselves of that condition in their contract. - -"You mean that the Bishops are ready to--" Wilson began again on another -breath--"to pay us the twenty-five thousand dollars?" - -"And the interest for six months," quietly added Miller, reaching for a -match on the desk. "I reckon you've got the note here. I don't want to -miss my train." - -Wilson was a good business man, but his Puritanical training in New -England had not fitted him for wily diplomacy; besides, he had not -expected to meet a diplomat that day, and did not, even now, realize -that he was in the hands of one. He still believed that Miller was -only a half-educated country lawyer who had barely enough brains and -experience to succeed as a legal servant for mountain clients. Hence, -he now made little effort to conceal his embarrassment into which the -sudden turn of affairs had plunged him. In awkward silence he squirmed -in his big chair. - -"Of course, they can take up their note to-day if they wish," he said, -with alarmed frankness. "I was not counting on it, though." He rose -to his feet. Miller's watchful eye detected a certain trembling of his -lower lip. He thrust his hands into his pockets nervously; and in a tone -of open irritation he said to the young man at the typewriter: "Brown, -I wish you'd let up on that infernal clicking; sometimes I can stand it, -and then again I can' t. You can do those letters in the next room." - -When the young man had gone out, carrying his machine, Wilson turned to -Miller. "As I understand it, you, personally, have no interest in the -Bishop property?" - -"Oh, not a dollar!" smiled the lawyer. "I'm only acting for them." - -"Then"--Wilson drove his hands into his pockets again--"perhaps you -wouldn't mind telling me if the Bishops are on trade with other parties. -Are they?" - -Miller smiled and shook his head. "As their lawyer, Mr. Wilson, I simply -couldn't answer that question." - -The blow was well directed and it struck a vulnerable spot. - -"I beg your pardon," Wilson stammered. "I did not mean to suggest that -you would betray confidence." He reflected a moment, and then he said, -in a flurried tone, "They have not actually sold out, have they?" - -Miller was silent for a moment, then he answered: "I don't see any -reason why I may not answer that question I don't think my clients would -object to my saying that they have not yet accepted any offer." - -A look of relief suffused itself over Wilson's broad face. - -"Then they are still open to accept their offer to me?" - -Miller laughed as if highly amused at the complication of the matter. - -"They are bound, you remember, only so long as you hold their note." - -"Then I tell you what to do," proposed Wilson. "Go back and tell them -not to bother about payment, for a few days, anyway, and that we will -soon tell them positively whether we will pay their price or not. That's -fair, isn't it?" - -"It might seem so to a man personally interested in the deal," admitted -Miller, as the introduction to another of his blows from the shoulder; -"but as lawyer for my clients I can only obey orders, like the boy who -stood on the burning deck." - -Wilson's face fell. The remote clicking of the typewriter seemed to -grate upon his high-wrought nerves, and he went and slammed the partly -opened door, muttering something like an oath. On that slight journey, -however, he caught an idea. - -"Suppose you wire them my proposition and wait here for a reply," he -suggested. - -Miller frowned. "That would do no good," he said. "I'm sorry I can' t -explain fully, but the truth is this: I happen to know that they wish, -for reasons of their own, to take up the note you hold, and that nothing -else will suit them." - -At this juncture Wilson lost his grip on all self-possession, -and degenerated into the sullen anger of sharp and unexpected -disappointment. - -"I don't feel that we are being fairly treated," he said. "We most -naturally assumed that your clients wanted to--to extend our option on -the property for at least another six months. We assumed that from the -fact that we had no notification from them that they would be ready to -pay the note to-day. That's where we feel injured, Mr. Miller." - -Rayburn threw his cigar into a cuspidor; his attitude of being a -non-interested agent was simply a stroke of genius. Behind this plea -he crouched, showing himself only to fire shots that played havoc with -whatever they struck. - -"I believe my clients _did_ feel, I may say, honor bound to you to sell -for the price they offered; but--now I may be mistaken--but I'm sure -they were under the impression, as I was, too, that you only wanted the -property provided you could build a railroad from Dar-ley to it, and--" - -"Well, that's true," broke in Wilson. "That's quite true." - -"And," finished Miller, still behind his inevitable fortification, "they -tell me that you have certainly shown indifference to the project ever -since the note was given. In fact, they asked me pointedly if I thought -you meant business, and I was forced, conscientiously, to tell them that -I thought you seemed to have other fish to fry." - -Wilson glared at the lawyer as if he wanted to kick him for a stupid -idiot who could not do two things at once--work for the interests of his -clients and not wreck his plans also. It had been a long time since he -had found himself in such a hot frying-pan. - -"So you think the thing is off," he said, desperately, probably -recalling several purchases of land he had made in the section he had -expected to develop. "You think it's off?" - -"I hardly know what to say," said Miller. "The old gentleman, Mr. -Bishop, is a slow-going old-timer, but his son is rather up to date, -full of energy and ambition. I think he's made up his mind to sell that -property." - -Wilson went to his desk, hovered over it like a dark, human cloud, and -then reluctantly turned to the big iron safe against the wall, obviously -to get the note. His disappointment was too great for concealment. With -his fat, pink hand on the silver-plated combination-bolt he turned to -Miller again. - -"Would you mind sitting down till I telephone one or two of the -directors?" - -"Not at all," said Miller, "if you 'll get me a cigar and the -_Constitution_. The Atlanta baseball team played Mobile yesterday, and I -was wondering--" - -"I don't keep track of such things," said Wilson, coming back to his -desk, with an impatient frown, to ring his call-bell for the office-boy. - -"Oh yes, I believe football is your national sport," said Miller, with -a dry smile. "Well, it's only a difference between arms and legs--whole -bones and casualties." - -Wilson ordered the cigar and paper when the boy appeared, and, leaving -the lawyer suddenly, he went into the room containing the telephone, -closing the door after him. - -In a few minutes he reappeared, standing before Miller, who was -chewing a cold cigar and attentively reading. He looked up at Wilson -abstractedly. - -"Bully for Atlanta!" he said. "The boys made ten runs before the Mobiles -had scored--" - -"Oh, come down to business!" said the New-Eng-lander, with a ready-made -smile. "Honestly, I don't believe you drowsy Southerners ever will get -over your habit of sleeping during business hours. It seems to be bred -in the bone." - -Miller laughed misleadingly. "Try to down us at a horse-race and we 'll -beat you in the middle of the night. Hang it all, man, you don't know -human nature, that's all! How can you expect me, on my measly fees, to -dance a breakdown over business I am transacting for other people?" - -"Well, that may account for it," admitted Wilson, who seemed bent on -being more agreeable in the light of some fresh hopes he had absorbed -from the telephone-wires. "See here, I've got a rock-bottom proposal -to make to your people. Now listen, and drop that damned paper for a -minute. By Jove! if I had to send a man from your State to attend to -legal business I'd pick one not full of mental morphine." - -"Oh, you wouldn't?" Miller laid down the paper and assumed a posture -indicative of attention roused from deep sleep. "Fire away. I'm -listening." - -"I already had authority to act for the company, but I thought it best -to telephone some of the directors." Wilson sat down in his chair and -leaned towards the lawyer. "Here's what we will do. The whole truth is, -we are willing to plank down the required one hundred thousand for -that property, provided we can lay our road there without incurring the -expense of purchasing the right of way. Now if the citizens along the -proposed line want their country developed bad enough to donate the -right of way through their lands, we can trade." - -There was a pause. Then Miller broke it by striking a match on the sole -of his boot. He looked crosseyed at the flame as he applied it to -his cigar. "Don't you think your people could stand whatever value is -appraised by law in case of refusals along the line?" - -"No," said Wilson. "The price for the land is too steep for that. Your -clients have our ultimatum. What do you say? We can advertise a meeting -of citizens at Springtown, which is about the centre of the territory -involved, and if all agree to give the right of way it will be a trade. -We can have the meeting set for to-day two weeks. How does that strike -you?" - -"I'd have to wire my clients." - -"When can you get an answer?" - -Miller looked at his watch. "By five o' clock this afternoon. The -message would have to go into the country." - -"Then send it off at once." - -A few minutes after five o' clock Miller sauntered into the office. -Wilson sat at his desk and looked up eagerly. - -"Well?" he asked, almost under his breath. - -The lawyer leaned on the top of the desk. "They are willing to grant you -the two weeks' time, provided you sign an agreement for your firm that -you will purchase their property at the price named at the expiration of -that time." - -"With the provision," interpolated Wilson, "that a right of way is -donated." - -"Yes, with that provision," Miller nodded. - -"Then sit down here and write out your paper." - -Miller complied as nonchalantly as if he were drawing up a bill of sale -for a worn-out horse. - -"There you are," he said, pushing the paper to Wilson when he had -finished. - -Wilson read it critically. "It certainly is binding," he said. "You -people may sleep during business hours, but you have your eyes open when -you draw up papers. However, I don't care; I want the Bishops to feel -secure. They must get to work to secure the right of way. It will be no -easy job, I 'll let you know. I've struck shrewd, obstinate people in my -life, but those up there beat the world. Noah couldn't have driven them -in the ark, even after the Flood set in." - -"You know something about them, then?" said Miller, laughing to himself -over the implied confession. - -Wilson flushed, and then admitted that he had been up that way several -times looking the situation over. - -"How about the charter?" asked Miller, indifferently. - -"That's fixed. I have already seen to that." - -"Then it all depends on the right of way," remarked the lawyer as he -drew a check from his pocket and handed it to Wilson. "Now get me that -note," he said. - -Wilson brought it from the safe. - -"Turning this over cuts my option down to two weeks," he said. "But -we 'll know at the meeting what can be done." - -"Yes, we 'll know then what they can do with _you_," said Miller, -significantly, as he put the cancelled note in his pocket and rose to -go. - - - - -XXXIII - - -[Illustration: 9283] - -HEN Miller's train reached Darley and he alighted in the car-shed, he -was met by a blinding snow-storm. He could see the dim lantern of the -hotel porter as he came towards him through the slanting feathery sheet -and the yet dimmer lights of the hotel. - -"Heer! Marse Miller!" shouted the darky; "look out fer dat plank er -you 'll fall in er ditch. Marse Alan Bishop is at de hotel, an' he say -tell you ter stop dar--dat you couldn't git home in dis sto'm no how." - -"Oh, he's in town," said Miller. "Well, I was thinking of spending the -night at the hotel, anyway." - -In the office of the hotel, almost the only occupant of the room besides -the clerk, sat Abner Daniel, at the red-hot coal stove. - -"Why," exclaimed Miller, in surprise, "I didn't know you were in town." - -"The fact is, we're all heer," smiled the old man, standing up and -stretching himself. He looked as if he had been napping. "We fetched the -women in to do some tradin', an' this storm blowed up. We could 'a' made -it home all right," he laughed out impulsively, "but the last one of 'em -wanted a excuse to stay over. They are et up with curiosity to know how -yore trip come out. They are all up in Betsy an' Alf's room. Go up?" - -"Yes, I reckon I'd better relieve their minds." - -Abner offered to pilot him to the room in question, and when it was -reached the old man opened the door without knocking. "Heer's the -man you've been hankerin' to see all day," he announced, jovially. "I -fetched 'im straight up." - -They all rose from their seats around the big grate-fire and shook hands -with the lawyer. - -"He looks like he has news of some kind," said Adele, who was studying -his face attentively. "Now, sir, sit down and tell us are we to be rich -or poor, bankrupt or robber." - -"Don't put the most likely word last," said Abner, dryly. - -"Well," began Miller, as he sat down in the semicircle. "As it -now stands, we've got a chance to gain our point. I have a signed -agreement--and a good one--that your price will be paid if we can get -the citizens through whose property the road passes to donate a right of -way. That's the only thing that now stands between you and a cash sale." - -"They 'll do it, I think," declared Alan, elatedly. - -"I dunno about that," said Abner. "It's owin' to whose land is to be -donated. Thar's some skunks over in them mountains that wouldn't let -the gates o' heaven swing over the'r property except to let themselves -through." - -No one laughed at this remark save Abner himself. Mrs. Bishop was -staring straight into the fire. Her husband leaned forward and twirled -his stiff fingers slowly in front of him. - -"Huh! So it depends on _that_," he said. "Well, it _does_ look like -mighty nigh anybody ud ruther see a railroad run out thar than not, but -I'm no judge." - -"Well, it is to be tested two weeks from now," Miller said. And then he -went into a detailed and amusing account of how he had brought Wilson to -terms. - -"Well, that beats the Dutch!" laughed Abner. "I'd ruther 'a' been thar -'an to a circus. You worked 'im to a queen's taste--as fine as split -silk. You 'n' Pole Baker'd make a good team--you to look after the -bon-tons an' him to rake in the scum o' mankind. I don't know but Pole -could dress up an' look after both ends, once in a while, ef you wanted -to take a rest." - -"I'm always sorry when I heer of it bein' necessary to resort to -trickery," ventured Mrs. Bishop, in her mild way. "It don't look exactly -right to me." - -"I don't like it, nuther," said Bishop. "Ef the land's wuth the money, -an'--" - -"The trouble with Alf," broke in Abner, "is that with all his Bible -readin' he never seems to git any practical benefit out'n it. Now, when -I'm in doubt about whether a thing's right or wrong, I generally find -some Scriptural sanction fer the side I want to win. Some'rs in the -Bible thar was a big, rich king that sent a pore feller off to git 'im -kilt in battle so he could add his woman to his collection. Now, no harm -ever come to the king that I know of, an', fer my part, I don't think -what you did to yank Wilson into line was nigh as bad, beca'se you was -work-in' fer friends. Then Wilson was loaded fer bear his-se'f. War's -over, I reckon, but when Wilson's sort comes down heer expectin' to ride -rough-shod over us agin, I feel like givin' a war-whoop an' rammin' home -a Mini ball." - -"I sha 'n't worry about the morality of the thing," said Miller. "Wilson -was dead set on crushing you to powder. I saw that. Besides, if he takes -the property and builds the road, he 'll make a lot of money out of it." - -After this the conversation languished, and, thinking that the old -people might wish to retire, Miller bade them good-night and went to his -own room. - -A snow of sufficient thickness for sleighing in that locality was a rare -occurrence, and the next morning an odd scene presented itself in front -of the hotel. The young men of the near-by stores had hastily improvised -sleds by taking the wheels from buggies and fastening the axles to rough -wooden runners, and were making engagements to take the young ladies of -the town sleighing. - -"Have you ever ridden in a sleigh?" Miller asked Adele, as they stood at -a window in the parlor witnessing these preparations. - -"Never in my life," she said. - -"Well, you shall," he said. "I 'll set a carpenter at work on my buggy, -and be after you in an hour. Get your wraps. My pair of horses will make -one of those sleds fairly spin." - -About eleven o' clock that morning Alan saw them returning from their -ride, and, much to his surprise, he noted that Dolly Barclay was with -them. As they drew up at the entrance of the hotel, Alan doffed his hat -and stepped forward to assist the ladies out of the sled. - -"Miss Dolly won't stop," said Miller. "Get in and drive her around. -She's hardly had a taste of it; we only picked her up as we passed her -house." - -Alan's heart bounded and then it sank. Miller was smiling at him -knowingly. "Go ahead," he said, pushing him gently towards the sled. -"It's all right." - -Hardly knowing if he were acting wisely, Alan took the reins and sat -down by Dolly. - -Adele stepped up behind to say good-bye to Dolly, and they kissed each -other. It was barely audible, and yet it reached the ears of the restive -horses and they bounded away like the wind. - -"A peculiar way to start horses," Alan laughed. - -"A pleasant way," she said. "Your sister is a dear, dear girl." - -Then he told her his fears in regard to what her father would think of -his driving with her. - -"He's out of town to-day," she answered, with a frank upward glance, -"and mother wouldn't care." - -"Then I'm going to enjoy it fully," he said. "I've been dying to see -you, Dolly." - -"And do you suppose I haven't wanted to see you? When Mr. Miller -proposed this just now it fairly took my breath away. I was afraid you -might happen not to be around the hotel. Oh, there is so much I want to -say--and so little time." - -"When I'm with you I can' t talk," he said. "It seems, in some way, -to take up time like the ticking of a clock. I simply want to close my -eyes, and--be with you, Dolly--_YOU_." - -"I know, but we must be practical, and think of the future. Mr. Miller -tells me there is a chance for your big scheme to succeed. Oh, if it -only would!" - -"Yes, a pretty good chance," he told her; "but even then your father--" - -"He'd not hold out against you then," said Dolly, just for an impulsive -moment clasping his arm as they shot through a snow-drift and turned a -corner of the street leading into the country. - -"Then it must succeed," he said, looking at her tenderly. "It _must_, -Dolly." - -"I shall pray for it--that and nothing else." - -Feeling the slack reins on their backs, the horses slowed up till they -were plodding along lazily. Suddenly the sled began to drag on the clay -road where the wind had bared it of snow, and the horses stopped of -their own accord, looking back at their increased burden inquiringly. -Alan made no effort to start them on again. It was a sequestered spot, -well hidden from the rest of the road by an old hedge of Osage orange -bushes. - -"We must not stop, _dear_," Dolly said, laying her hand again on his -arm. "You know driving is--is different from this. As long as we are -moving in any direction, I have no scruples, but to stop here in the -road--no, it won't do." - -"I was just wondering if we can start them," he said, a mischievous look -in his laughing eye. - -"Start them?" She extended her hand for the reins, but he held them out -of her reach. "Why, what do you mean?" - -"Why, you saw the way they were started at the hotel," he answered, in -quite a serious tone. "Ray has trained them-that way. They won't budge -an inch unless--" - -"Oh, you silly boy!" Dolly was flushing charmingly. - -"It's true," he said. "I'm sorry if you object, for it's absolutely the -only available way." - -She raised her full, trusting eyes to his. - -"You make me want to kiss you, Alan, but--" - -He did not let her finish. Putting his arm around her, he drew her close -to him and kissed her on the lips. "Now, darling," he said, "you are -mine." - -"Yes, I am yours, Alan." - -As they were nearing her house he told her that Wilson had agents out -secretly buying land, and that she must not allow her father to dispose -of his timbered interests until it was decided whether the railroad -would be built. - -She promised to keep an eye on the Colonel's transactions and do all she -could to prevent him from taking a false step. "You may not know it," -she said, "but I'm his chief adviser. He 'll be apt to mention any offer -he gets to me." - -"Well, don't tell him about the railroad unless you have to," he said, -in parting with her at the gate. "But it would be glorious to have him -profit by our scheme, and I think he will." - -"We are going to hope for success, anyway, aren't we?" she said, leaning -over the gate. "I have believed in you so much that I feel almost sure -you are to be rewarded." - -"Miller thinks the chances are good," he told her, "but father is afraid -those men over there will do their best to ruin the whole thing." - -Dolly waved her handkerchief to some one at a window of the house. "It's -mother," she said. "She's shaking her finger at me." - -"I reckon she's mad at me," said Alan, disconsolately. - -"Not much," Dolly laughed. "She's simply crazy to come out and gossip -with us. She would, too, if she wasn't afraid of father. Oh, young -man, you 'll have a mother-in-law that will reverse the order of things! -Instead of her keeping you straight, you 'll have to help us manage her. -Father says she's 'as wild as a buck.'" - -They both laughed from the fulness of their happiness. A buggy on -runners dashed by. It contained a pair of lovers, who shouted and waved -their hands. The sun was shining broadly. The snow would not last long. -The crudest sled of all passed in the wake of the other. It was simply -a plank about twelve inches wide and ten feet long to which a gaunt, -limping horse was hitched. On the plank stood a triumphant lad balancing -himself with the skill of a bareback rider. His face was flushed; he -had never been so full of joy and ozone. From the other direction came -a gigantic concern looking like a snow-plough or a metropolitan -street-sweeper. It was a sliding road-wagon to which Frank Hillhouse had -hitched four sturdy mules. The wagon was full of girls. Frank sat on the -front seat cracking a whip and smoking. A little negro boy sat astride -of the leading mule, digging his rag-clothed heels into the animal's -side. Frank bowed as he passed, but his face was rigid. - -"He didn't intend to ask me," said Dolly. "He hardly speaks to me -since--" - -"Since what?" Alan questioned. - -"Since I asked him not to come to see me so often. I had to do it. He -was making a fool of himself. It had to stop." - -"You refused him?" - -"Yes; but you must go now." Dolly was laughing again. "Mother will be -out here in a minute; she can't curb her curiosity any longer. She'd -make you take her riding, and I wouldn't have you do it for the world. -Good-bye." - -"Well, good-bye." - -"Now, you must hope for the best, Alan." - -"I'm going to. Good-bye." - - - - -XXXIV - - -[Illustration: 9292] - -OLLY had the opportunity to warn her father in regard to his financial -interests sooner than she expected. The very next morning, as she sat -reading at a window in the sitting-room, she overheard the Colonel -speaking to her mother about an offer he had just had for his mountain -property. - -"I believe it's a good chance for me to get rid of it," he was -saying, as he stood at the mantel-piece dipping his pipe into his blue -tobacco-jar. - -"I never did see any sense in paying taxes on land you have never seen," -said Mrs. Barclay, at her sewing-machine. "Surely you can put the money -where it will bring in something." - -"Milburn wants it because there is about a hundred acres that could be -cleared for cultivation. I'm of the opinion that it won't make as good -soil as he thinks, but I'm not going to tell him that." - -"Would you be getting as much as it cost you?" asked Mrs. Barclay, -smoothing down a white hem with her thumb-nail. - -"About five hundred more," her husband chuckled. "People said when -I bought it that I was as big a fool as old Bishop, but you see I've -already struck a purchaser at a profit." - -Then Dolly spoke up from behind her newspaper: "I wouldn't sell it, -papa," she said, coloring under the task before her. - -"Oh, you wouldn't?" sniffed her father. "And why?" - -"Because it's going to be worth a good deal more money," she affirmed, -coloring deeper and yet looking her parent fairly in the eyes. - -Mrs. Barclay broke into a rippling titter as she bent over her work. -"Alan Bishop put that in her head," she said. "They think, the Bishops -do, that they've got a gold-mine over there." - -"You must not sell it, papa," Dolly went on, ignoring her mother's -thrust. "I can't tell you why I don't want you to, but you must -not--you 'll be sorry if you do." - -"I don't know how I'm to keep on paying your bills for flimflam frippery -if I don't sell something," retorted the old man, almost and yet not -quite angry. Indirectly he was pleased at her valuation of his property, -for he had discovered that her judgment was good. - -"And she won't let Frank Hillhouse help," put in Mrs. Barclay, -teasingly. "Poor fellow! I'm afraid he 'll never get over it. He's taken -to running around with school-girls--that's always a bad sign." - -"A girl ought to be made to listen to reason," fumed Barclay, goaded on -to this attack by his wife, who well knew his sore spots, and liked to -rasp them. - -"A girl will listen to the right sort of reason," retorted Dolly, who -was valiantly struggling against an outburst. "Mamma knows how I feel." - -"I know that you are bent on marrying a man without a dollar to his -name," said her father. "You want to get into that visionary gang that -will spend all I leave you in their wild-cat investments, but I tell you -I will cut you out of my property if you do. Now, remember that. I mean -it." - -Dolly crushed the newspaper in her lap and rose. "There is no good -in quarrelling over this again," she said, coldly. "Some day you will -understand the injustice you are doing Alan Bishop. I could make you -see it now, but I have no right to explain." And with that she left the -room. - -Half an hour later, from the window of her room up-stairs, she saw old -Bobby Milburn open the front gate. Under his slouch hat and big gray -shawl he thumped up the gravelled walk and began to scrape his feet -on the steps. There was a door-bell, with a handle like that of a -coffee-mill, to be turned round, but old Bobby, like many of his kind, -either did not know of its existence, or, knowing, dreaded the use -of innovations that sometimes made even stoics like himself feel -ridiculous. His method of announcing himself was by far more sensible, -as it did not even require the removal of his hands from his pockets; -and, at the same time, helped divest his boots of mud. He stamped on -the floor of the veranda loudly and paused to listen for the approach of -some one to admit him. Then, as no one appeared, he clattered along the -veranda to the window of the sitting-room and peered in. Colonel -Barclay saw him and opened the door, inviting the old fellow into the -sitting-room. Old Bobby laid his hat on the floor beside his chair as he -sat down, but he did not unpin his shawl. - -"Well, I've come round to know what's yore lowest notch, Colonel," he -said, gruffly, as he brushed his long, stringy hair back from his ears -and side whiskers. "You see, it's jest this way. I kin git a patch o' -land from Lank Buford that will do me, in a pinch, but I like yore'n -a leetle grain better, beca'se it's nigher my line by a quarter or so; -but, as I say, I kin make out with Buford's piece; an' ef we cayn't -agree, I 'll have to ride over whar he is workin' in Springtown." - -At this juncture Dolly came into the room. She shook hands with -the visitor, who remained seated and mumbled out some sort of gruff -greeting, and went to her chair near the window, taking up her paper -again. Her eyes, however, were on her father's face. - -"I hardly know what to say," answered Barclay, deliberately. "Your price -the other day didn't strike me just right, and so I really haven't been -thinking about it." - -There was concession enough, Dolly thought, in Milburn's eye, if not in -his voice, when he spoke. "Well," he said, carelessly, "bein' as me'n -you are old friends, an' thar always was a sort o' neighborly feelin' -betwixt us, I 'll agree, if we trade, to hire a lawyer an' a scribe to -draw up the papers an' have 'em duly recorded. You know that's always -done by the party sellin'." - -"Oh, that's a _little_ thing," said the Colonel; but his watchful -daughter saw that the mere smallness of Milburn's raise in his offer had -had a depressing effect on her father's rather doubtful valuation of -the property in question. The truth was that Wilson had employed the -shrewdest trader in all that part of the country, and one who worked -all the more effectively for his plainness of dress and rough manner. -"That's a little thing," went on the Colonel, "but here's what I 'll -do--" - -"Father," broke in Dolly, "don't make a proposition to Mr. Milburn. -Please don't." - -Milburn turned to her, his big brows contracting in surprise, but he -controlled himself. "Heigho!" he laughed, "so you've turned trader, too, -Miss Dolly? Now, I jest wish my gals had that much enterprise; they git -beat ef they buy a spool o' thread." - -The Colonel frowned and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly with a real tone of -reproof. "Don't interfere in your father's business," she said. "He can -attend to it." - -The Colonel was not above making capital of the interruption, and he -smiled down on the shaggy visitor. - -"She's been deviling the life out of me not to part with that land. They -say women have the intuition to look ahead better than men. I don't know -but I ought to listen to her, but she ain't running me, and as I was -about to say--" - -"Wait just one minute, papa!" insisted Dolly, with a grim look of -determination on her face. "Just let me speak to you a moment in the -parlor, and then you can come back to Mr. Milburn." - -The face of the Colonel darkened under impatience, but he was afraid -failure to grant his daughter's request would look like over-anxiety to -close with Mil-burn, and so he followed her into the parlor across the -hallway. - -"Now, what on earth is the matter with you?" he demanded, sternly. "I -have never seen you conduct yourself like this before." - -She faced him, touching his arms with her two hands. - -"Father, don't be angry with me," she said, "but when you know what I -do, you will be glad I stopped you just now. Mr. Milburn is not buying -that land for his own use." - -"He isn't?" exclaimed the Colonel. - -"No; he's secretly employed by a concern worth over two million -dollars--the Southern Land and Timber Company of Atlanta." - -"What?" the word came out as suddenly as if some one had struck him on -the breast. - -"No," answered the girl, now pale and agitated. "To save Mr. Bishop -from loss, Alan and Rayburn Miller have worked up a scheme to build a -railroad from Darley to the Bishop property. All arrangements have been -made. There can be no hitch in it unless the citizens refuse to grant -a right of way. In a week from now a meeting is to be advertised. Of -course, it is not a certainty, but you can see that the chance is good, -and you ought not to sacrifice your land." - -"Good Heavens!" ejaculated Barclay, his eyes distended, "is this a -fact?" - -"I am telling you what I have really no right to reveal," said Dolly, -"but I promised Alan not to let you sell if I could help it." - -The Colonel was staggered by the revelation; his face was working under -strong excitement. "I thought that old rascal"--he meant Milburn--"was -powerfully anxious to trade. Huh! Looky' here, daughter, this news -is almost too good to be true. Why, another railroad would make my -town-lots bound up like fury, and as for this mountain-land--whew! It -may be as you say. Ray Miller certainly is a wheel-horse." - -"It was not his idea," said Dolly, loyally. "In fact, he tried his best -to discourage Alan at first--till he saw what could be done. Since then -he's been secretly working at it night and day." - -"Whew!" whistled the Colonel. "I don't care a cent _whose_ idea it is; -if it goes through it's a good one, and, now that I think of it, the -necessary capital is all that is needed to make a big spec' over there." - -"So you won't sell to Mr. Milburn, then?" asked Dolly, humbly grateful -for her father's change of mood. - -"Sell to that old dough-faced scamp?" snorted Barclay. "Well, he 'll -think I won't in a minute! Do you reckon I don't want to have some -sort o' finger in the pie? Whether the road's built or not, I want my -chance." - -"But remember I am giving away state secrets," said Dolly. "He must not -know that you have heard about the road." - -"I 'll not give that away," the old man promised, with a smile, and he -turned to the door as if eager to face Milburn. "Huh! That old scamp -coming here to do me one! The idea!" - -The two men, as they faced each other a moment later, presented an -interesting study of human forces held well in check. The Colonel leaned -on the mantel-piece and looked down at the toe of his boot, with which -he pushed a chunk of wood beneath the logs. - -"You never can tell about a woman' s whims, Mil-burn," he said. "Dolly's -set her heart on holding onto that land, and I reckon I'm too easily -wriggled about by my women folks. I reckon we'd better call it off." - -"Oh, all right--all right!" said Milburn, with a start and a sharp -contraction of his brows. "I'm that away some myse'f. My gals git me -into devilish scrapes sometimes, an' I'm always sayin' they got to stop -it. A man loses too much by lettin' 'em dabble in his business. But I -was jest goin' to say that I mought raise my bid fifty cents on the acre -ruther than trapse away over to Springtown to see Buford." - -There was silence through which several kinds of thoughts percolated. -The raise really amounted to so much that it materially increased -Barclay's growing conviction that the railroad was next to a certainty. -"Huh!" he grunted, his eyes ablaze with the amusement of a winner. "I -wouldn't listen to less than a dollar more on the acre." And as the -gaze of Milburn went down reflectively the Colonel winked slyly, even -triumphantly, at his smiling daughter and said: "Dolly thinks it will -make good land for a peach-orchard. Lots of money is being made that -way." - -"Bosh!" grunted Milburn. "It don't lie right fer peaches. You kin git -jest as much property nigh the railroad as you want fer peaches. You -are a hard man to trade with, but I reckon I 'll have to take yore offer -of--" - -"Hold on, hold on!" laughed the Colonel, his hand upraised. "I didn't -say I'd _take_ that price. I just said I wouldn't listen to less than -a dollar raise. I've listened to many a thing I didn't jump at, like a -frog in muddy water, not knowing what he's going to butt against." - -Under his big shawl Milburn rose like a tent blown upward by wind. -He was getting angry as he saw his commission money taking wing and -flitting out of sight. He had evidently counted on making an easy victim -of Barclay. For a moment he stood twisting his heavy, home-knit gloves -in his horny hands. - -"Now if it's a fair question," he said, as the last resort of a man -ready and willing to trade at any reasonable cost, "what _will_ you -take, cash down, on your honor between us--me to accept or decline?" - -The Colonel's pleasure was of the bubbling, overflowing kind. Every move -made by Milburn was adding fuel to his hopes of the proposed railroad, -and to his determination to be nobody's victim. - -"Look here," he said, "that land has been rising at such a rate since -you came in that I'm actually afraid to let it go. By dinner-time it may -make me rich. Dolly, I believe, on my word, Milburn has discovered gold -over there. Haven't you, Milburn? Now, honor bright." - -"It will be a long time before you find gold or anything else on that -land," Milburn retorted, as he reached for his hat and heavily strode -from the room. - -"Well! I do declare," and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly and her father. -"What on earth does this mean?" The Colonel laughed out, then slapped -his hand over his mouth, as he peered from the window to see if Milburn -was out of hearing. "It's just this way--" - -"Mind, father!" cautioned Dolly. "Do you want it to be all over town by -dinner-time?" - -"Dolly!" cried Mrs. Barclay, "the idea of such a thing!" - -Dolly smiled and patted her mother on the cheek. - -"Don't tell her, papa," she said, with decision. - -"The truth is," said the Colonel, "Dolly really wants to plant peaches. -I don't think there's much in it, but she will have her way." - -"Well, I call that _mean_ of you," retorted Mrs. Barclay, dark with -vexation. "Well, miss, I 'll bet you didn't tell your father who you went -sleigh-riding with." - -The old man frowned suddenly. "Not with Alan Bishop," he said, "after my -positive orders?" - -"He came to tell me about the--the"--Dolly glanced at her mother -suddenly--"about the peaches, papa." - -"Well"--the Colonel was waxing angry--"I won't have it--that's all. I -won't have you--" - -"Wait, papa," entreated the girl, sweetly, "wait till we see about -the--peaches!" And, with a little teasing laugh, she left the room. - - - - -XXXV - - -[Illustration: 9300] - -HE mass-meeting at Springtown was a most important event. It was held in -the court-house in the centre of the few straggling houses which made up -the hamlet. The entire Bishop family, including the servants, attended. -Pole Baker brought his wife and all the children in a new spring-wagon. -Darley society was represented, as the Springtown _Gazette_ afterwards -put it, by the fairest of the fair, Miss Dolly Barclay, accompanied by -her mother and father. - -The court-house yard was alive with groups of men eagerly talking over -the situation. Every individual whose land was to be touched by -the proposed road was on hand to protect his rights. Pole Baker was -ubiquitous, trying to ascertain the drift of matters. He was, however, -rather unsuccessful. He discovered that many of the groups ceased to -talk when he entered them. "Some 'n' s up," he told Alan and Miller in -the big, bare-looking court-room. "I don't know what it is, but I smell -a rat, an' it ain't no little one, nuther." - -"Opposition," said Miller, gloomily. "I saw that as soon as I came. If -they really were in favor of the road they'd be here talking it over -with us." - -"I'm afraid that's it," said Alan. "Joe Bartell is the most interested, -and he seems to be a sort of ringleader. I don't like the way he looks. -I saw him sneer at Wilson when he drove up just now. I wish Wilson -hadn't put on so much style--kid gloves, plug hat, and a negro driver." - -"No, that won't go down with this crowd," agreed Miller. "It might in -the slums of Boston, but not with these lords of the mountains. As -for Bartell, I think I know what ails him. He's going to run for the -legislature and thinks he can make votes by opposing us--convincing his -constituency that we represent moneyed oppression. Well, he may down us, -but it's tough on human progress." - -Alan caught Dolly's eye and bowed. She was seated near her father -and mother, well towards the judge's stand. She seemed to have been -observing the faces of the two friends, and to be affected by their -serious expressions. Adele sat at the long wood stove, several yards -from her parents, who appeared quite as if they were in church waiting -for service to begin. Abner Daniel leaned in the doorway opening into -one of the jury-rooms. Wilson had given him a fine cigar, which he -seemed to be enjoying hugely. - -At the hour appointed for the meeting, to open, a young man who held -the office of bailiff in the county, and seemed proud of his stentorian -voice, opened one of the windows and shouted: - -"Come in to court! Come in to court!" and the motley loiterers below -began to clatter up the broad stairs and fall into the seats. Joe -Bartell, a short, thick-set man in the neighborhood of fifty, with a -florid face and a shock of reddish hair, led about twenty men up the -aisle to the jury-benches at the right of the stand. They were the -land-owners whose consent to grant the right of way was asked. Stern -opposition was clearly written on the leader's brow and more or less -distinctly reflected on the varying faces of his followers. - -"Ef we needed it, it ud be a different matter," Miller overheard him say -in a sudden lull, as the big room settled down into sudden quiet, "but -we kin do without it. We've got along so fur an' we kin furder. All of -us has got good teams." - -Wilson, in his crisp, brusque way, made the opening speech. He told -his hearers just what his company proposed to do and in much the same -cold-blooded way as he would have dictated a letter to his stenographer, -correctly punctuating the text by pauses, and yet, in his own way, -endeavoring to be eloquent. He and his capital were going to dispel -darkness where it had reigned since the dawn of civilization; people -living there now would not recognize the spot ten years from the day the -first whistle of a locomotive shrilled through those rocky gorges and -rebounded from those lofty peaks--silent fingers pointing to God and -speaking of a past dead and gone. All that was needed, he finished, was -the consent of the property-owners appealed to; who, he felt confident, -would not stand in their own light. They looked like intelligent men, -and he believed they did not deceive appearances. - -He had hardly taken his seat when Joe Bartell stood up. Alan and -Miller exchanged ominous glances. They had at once recognized the -inappropriateness of Wilson's speech, and did not like the white, -twitching sneer on Bartell's smooth-shaven face. It was as if Bartell -had been for a long time seeking just such an opportunity to make -himself felt in the community, and there was no doubt that Wilson's -almost dictatorial speech had made a fine opening for him. - -"Fellow-citizens, an' ladies an' gentlemen," he began, "we are glad to -welcome amongst us a sort of a second savior in our Sodom an' Gomorry -of cracker-dom. What the gentleman with the plug hat an' spike-toe shoes -ain't a-goin' to do fer us the Lord couldn't. He looks nice an' talks -nice, an', to use his words, I don't believe he deceives appearances. -I 'll bet one thing, an' that is 'at he won't deceive us. Accordin' to -him we need 'im every hour, as the Sunday-school song puts it. Yes, he's -a-goin' to he'p us powerful an' right off. An', fellow-citizens, I'm -heer to propose a vote o' thanks. He's from away up in Boston, whar, -they tell me, a nigger sets an' eats at the same table with the whites. -When his sort come this away durin' the war, with all the'r up-to-date -impliments of slaughter, they laid waste to ever'thing they struck, shot -us like rabbits in holes, an' then went back an' said they'd had a -good hunt. But they've been livin' high up thar sence the war an' the'r -timber is a-playin' out, an' they want some more now, an' they _want it -bad_. So they send the'r representatives out to find it an' lay hold of -it. How does he happen to come heer? As well as I kin make out, old -Alf Bishop, a good man an' a Southern soldier--a man that I hain't got -nothin' agin, except maybe he holds his head too high, made up his mind -awhile back that lumber would be in demand some day, an' he set to work -buyin' all the timber-land he could lay his hands on. Then, when he had -more'n he could tote, an' was about to go under, he give this gentleman -a' option on it. Well, so fur so good; but, gentlemen, what have _we_ -got to do with this trade? Nothin' as I kin see. But we are expected to -yell an' holler, an' deed 'em a free right of way through our property so -they kin ship the timber straight through to the North an' turn it into -cold Yankee coin. We don't count in this shuffle, gentlemen. We git our -pay fer our land in bein' glad an' heerin' car-bells an' steam-whistles -in the middle o' the night when we want to sleep. The engynes will kill -our hogs, cattle, an' hosses, an' now an' then break the neck o' some -chap that wasn't hit in the war, but we mustn't forget to be glad an' -bend the knee o' gratitude. Of course, we all know the law kin compel -us to give the right of way, but it provides fer just and sufficient -payment fer the property used; an', gentlemen, I'm agin donations. I'm -agin' em tooth an' toe-nail." - -There was thunderous and ominous applause when Bartell sat down. Wilson -sat flushed and embarrassed, twirling his gloves in his hands. He had -expected anything but this personal fusillade. He stared at Miller in -surprise over that gentleman's easy, half-amused smile as he stood up. - -"Gentlemen," he began, "and ladies," he added, with a bow to the right -and left. "As many of you know, I pretend to practise law a little, and -I want to say now that I'm glad Mr. Bartell ain't in the profession. A -lawyer with his keen wit and eloquence could convict an innocent mother -before a jury of her own children. [Laughter.] And that's the point, -gentlemen; we are innocent of the charges against us. I am speaking -now of my clients, the Bishops. They are deeply interested in the -development of this section. The elder Bishop does hold his head high, -and in this case he held it high enough to smell coming prosperity -in the air. He believed it would come, and that is why he bought -timber-lands extensively. As for the accused gentleman from the Hub of -the Universe, I must say that I have known of him for several years and -have never heard a word against his character. He is not a farmer, but a -business man, and it would be unfair to judge him by any other standard. -He is not only a business man, but a big one. He handles big things. -This railroad is going to be a big thing for you and your children. -Yes, Wilson is all right. He didn't fight in the late unpleasantness. He -tells the women he was too young; but I believe he hadn't the heart -to fight a cause as just as ours. His only offence is in the matter of -wearing sharp-toed shoes. There is no law against 'em in Atlanta, and -he's simply gotten careless. He is ignorant of our ideas of proper -dress, as befitting a meek and lowly spirit, which, in spite of -appearances, I happen to know Wilson possesses. However, I have heard -him say that these mountains produce the best corn liquor that ever went -down grade in his system. He's right. It's good. Pole Baker says -it's good, and he ought to know. [Laughter, in which Pole joined -good-naturedly.] That reminds me of a story," Miller went on. "They -tell this of Baker. They say that a lot of fellows were talking of the -different ways they would prefer to meet death if it had to come. One -said drowning, another shooting, another poisoning, and so on; but Pole -reserved his opinion to the last. When the crowd urged him to say what -manner of death he would select, if he had to die and had his choice, he -said: 'Well, boys, ef I had to go, I'd like to be melted up into puore -corn whiskey an' poured through my throat tell thar wasn't a drap left -of me.'[Laughter and prolonged applause.] And Wilson said further, -gentlemen and ladies, that he believed the men and women of this -secluded section were, in their own way, living nearer to God than the -inhabitants of the crowded cities. Wilson is not bad, even if he has a -hang-dog look. A speech like Bartell's just now would give a hang-dog -look to a paling-fence. Wilson is here to build a railroad for your good -and prosperity, and he can' t build one where there is nothing to haul -out. If he buys up timber for his company, it is the only way to get -them to back him in the enterprise. Now, gentlemen of the opposition, -if there are any here to-day, don't let the thought of Wilson's possible -profit rob you of this golden opportunity. I live at Darley, but, as -many of you know, this is my father's native county, and I want to see -it bloom in progress and blossom like the rose of prosperity. I want to -see the vast mineral wealth buried in these mountains dug out for the -benefit of mankind wherever God's sunlight falls." - -Miller sat down amid much applause, a faint part of which came even from -the ranks of Bartell's faction. After this a pause ensued in which no -one seemed willing to speak. Colonel Barclay rose and came to Miller. - -"That was a good talk," he whispered. "You understand how to touch 'em -up. You set them to laughin'; that's the thing. I wonder if it would do -any good for me to try my hand." - -"Do they know you have any timber-land over here?" asked Miller. - -"Oh yes, I guess they do," replied the Colonel. - -"Then I don't believe I'd chip in," advised Miller. "Bartell would throw -it up to you." - -"I reckon you are right," said Barclay, "but for the Lord's sake do -something. It never will do to let this thing fall through." - -"I've done all I can," said Miller, dejectedly. "Bartell's got the -whole gang hoodooed--the blasted blockhead! Wouldn't he make a fine -representative in the legislature?" - -The Colonel went back to his seat, and Wilson came to Miller, just as -Alan approached. - -"It's going to fall flatter than a pancake," said Wilson. "My company -simply cannot afford to buy the right of way. Can' t you choke that -illiterate fellow over there or--or buy him off?" - -"He ain't that sort," said Miller, disconsolately. - -Alan glanced at his father and mother. On their wrinkled faces lay ample -evidences of dejection. The old man seemed scarcely to breathe. Up to -Bartell's speech he had seemed buoyantly hopeful, but his horizon had -changed; he looked as if he were wondering why he had treated himself to -such a bright view of a thing which had no foundation at all. - -At this juncture Abner Daniel rose from his seat near the stove and -slowly walked forward till he stood facing the audience. Immediately -quiet reigned, for he was a man who was invariably listened to. - -"Gentlemen an' ladies," he began, clearing his throat and wiping his -mouth with his long hand. "This ain't no put-in o' mine, gracious knows! -I hain't got nothin', an' I don't expect to lose or gain by what is done -in this matter, but I want to do what I kin fer what I think is right -an' proper. Fer my part, I don't think we kin do without a railroad -much longer. Folks is a-pokin' fun at us, I tell you. It's God's truth. -T'other day I was over at Darley a-walkin' along the railroad nigh -the turnin'-table, whar they flirt engynes round like children on a -flyin'-jinny, when all at once a big strappin' feller with a red flag in -his hand run up an' knocked me off'n the track kerwhallop in a ditch. It -was just in time to keep me from bein' run over by a switch-engyne. He -was as mad as Tucker. 'Looky' heer,' ses he, 'did you think that thing -was playin' tag with you an' ud tap you on the shoulder an' run an' hide -behind a tree? Say, ain't you from Short Pine Destrict, this side o' the -mountains?' I told 'im he'd guessed right, an' he said, 'I'lowed so, fer -thar ain't no other spot on the whirlin' globe that produces folks as -green as gourds.' Well, gentlemen, that floored me; it was bad enough -to be jerked about like a rag doll, but it was tough to heer my section -jeered at. 'What makes you say that?' I axed 'im, as I stood thar tryin' -to git a passle o' wet glass out o' my hip-pocket without cuttin' my -fingers. [Laughter, led by Pole Baker, who sensed the meaning of the -reference.] 'Beca'se,' ses he, 'you moss-backs over thar don't know the -war's over; a nigger from over thar come in town t'other day an' heerd -fer the fust time that he was free. Two men over thar swapped wives -without knowin' thar was a law agin it. Half o' you-uns never laid eyes -on a railroad, an' wouldn't have one as a free gift.' I turned off an' -left 'im an' went up on the main street. Up thar a barber ketched me -by the arm an' said, ses he: 'Come in an' le' me cut that hair. You are -from Short Pine, ain't you?' I axed him why he thought so, an' he said, -ses he, 'beca'se you got a Short Pine hair-cut.'' What's that?'ses I. -An' he laughed at a feller cocked up in a cheer an' said: 'It's a cut -that is made by the women out yore way. They jest turn a saucer upside -down on the men's heads an' trim around the edges. I could tell one a -mile; they make a man look like a bob-tailed mule.'[Laughter, loud and -prolonged.] Yes, as I said, they are a-pokin' all manner o' fun at us, -an' it's chiefly beca'se we hain't got no railroad. The maddest I ever -got on this line was down at Filmore's store one day. A little, slick -chap come along sellin' maps of the United States of America. They was -purty things on black sticks, an' I wanted one fer the wall o' my room. -I was about to buy one, but I thought I'd fust make shore that our -county was on it, so I axed the peddler to p'int it out to me. Well, -after some s'arch, he put his knife-blade on what he called this county, -but lo an' behold! it was mighty nigh kivered with round dots about the -size of fly-specks. 'What's the matter with it?'I axed 'im. 'Oh, you -mean them dots,' ses he, an' he turned to a lot o' reference words in -the corner of the map. 'Them,' ses he, 'them's put thar to indicate the -amount o' ignorance in a locality. You 'll find 'em in all places away -from the railroads; a body kin say what they please agin railroads, but -they fetch schools, an' books, an' enlightenment. You've got a good -many specks' ses he, kinder comfortin' like, 'but some o' these days a -railroad will shoot out this away, an' them brainy men amongst you will -git the chance God intends to give 'em,' Gentlemen, I didn't buy no map. -I wouldn't 'a' had the thing on my wall with them specks a-starin' me -in the face. It wouldn't 'a' done any good to scrape 'em off, fer the'r -traces would 'a' been left. No, friends, citizens, an' well-wishers, -thar ain't but one scraper that will ever rake our specks off, an' -that's the cow-catcher of a steam-engyne. I say let 'er come. Some -objection has been raised on the score o' killin' cattle. That reminds -me of a story they tell on old Burt Preston, who has a farm on the main -line beyant Darley. He was always a-gittin' his stock killed so fast, -an' a-puttin' in heavy claims fer damages, until folks begun to say he -made his livin' by buyin' scrub cattle an' sellin' mashed beef to the -corporation. One day the road sent out a detective to watch 'im, an' -he seed Burt drive a spindlin' yeerlin' out o' the thicket on the track -jest in time to get it knocked off by a through freight. The detective -went back an' reported, an' they waited to see what Preston ud do. -By the next mail they got a claim in which Preston said the yeerlin' -weighed eight hundred pound an' was a fine four-gallon milch-cow. They -threatened to jail 'im, an' Preston agreed to withdraw his claim. But -he got down-hearted an' traded his place fer a farm on t'other railroad, -an' the last I heerd o' him he was at his old trade agin. I reckon -that's about the way we 'll be damaged by gettin' our stock killed. -That's all I got to say, gentlemen. Let's git this road an' scrape our -fly-specks off." - -The big house shook with the applause that greeted this speech. Even the -opposition seemed to be wavering. Only Bartell kept a rigid countenance. -He rose and in a low voice invited his group to repair with him to one -of the jury-rooms. They got up and followed him out. As he was about to -close the door after them he nodded to Miller. "We 'll take a vote on it -an' let you know," he said, coldly. - -"He's going to talk to them," said Miller, aloud to Wilson. "Mr. -Daniel's speech almost shook them out of their boots, and he saw he was -losing ground. It looks squally." - -"You are right," said Wilson, gloomily. "Our chances are very slim." - -Miller caught Adele's eye and went to her. - -"I'm bound to say the outlook is not so favorable," he said. "If we -could have put it to a vote just after your uncle spoke we would have -clinched them, but Bartell thinks his election depends on beating us -today, and being the chief land-owner he has influence." - -"It will break my heart," said the girl, tremulously. "Poor father and -mother! They look as if they were on trial for their lives. Oh, I had so -much hope as we drove over here this morning, but now--" - -"I can' t bear to see you take it that way," said Miller, tenderly. "I -did not intend to speak to you so soon about another matter, but I can' -t put it off. You have become very, very dear to me, little girl. In -fact, I never dreamed there was such a thing as genuine, unselfish love -till I knew you. It seems to me that you were actually created for me. I -want you to be my wife. Somehow I feel that you care for me, at least -a little, and I believe when you realize how much I love you, and how -devoted I shall be, you will love me as I do you." - -To his surprise she averted her face and said nothing, though he -remarked that she had paled a little and compressed her lips. He waited -a moment, then said, anxiously: - -"Haven't you something to say, Adele? Perhaps I have misread you all -along and really have no right to hope. Oh, that would be hard to bear!" - -"It is not that," she said, her breast heaving suddenly. "It is not -that." - -"Not that?" he repeated, his wondering eyes fixed on hers. - -Then she turned to him. - -"Alan has told me of some of your talks to him about love, and--" - -"Oh, he has!" Miller laughed out uneasily. "But surely you wouldn't hold -anything against me that I said before I met you in Atlanta and fell -heels over head in love with you. Besides, I was simply stretching my -imagination to save him from making a serious mistake. But I know what -it is to care for a girl now, and I have wanted to tell him so, but -simply could not face him with my confession--when--when his own sister -was in question." - -"I have tried to believe," Adele hesitated, "that you had changed in -your ideas of love since--since we learned to know each other, and I -confess I succeeded to some extent, but there was one thing that simply -sticks and refuses to be eradicated. It sticks more right now than ever. -I mean this morning, since--" - -"Now you _do_ surprise me," declared Miller. "Please explain. Don't you -see I'm simply dying with impatience?" - -"You pressed the point in one of those talks with brother," said Adele, -quite firmly, "that it was impossible for two people of unequal fortune -to be happy together, and--" - -"Now you wouldn't surely hurl that rubbish at me," broke in Miller. "I -never would have dreamed of saying such a thing if I had not thought -Alan was about to butt his head against a stone wall in the hostility of -Colonel Barclay. If he had been fairly well off and she had been without -money I'd have said sail in and take her, but I knew what a mercenary -old man Barclay is, and I thought I could save the boy from a good many -heartaches." - -"That--even as you now put it--would be hard for a girl in my position -to forget," Adele told him. "For if this enterprise fails to-day, I -shall--just think of it!--I shall not only be penniless, but my father -will owe you a large amount of money that he never will be able to -pay. Oh, I could not bear to go to you under such circumstances! I have -always wanted my independence, and this grates on my very soul." - -Their eyes met in a long, steady stare. "Oh, you must--you really must -not see it that way," floundered the young man. "You will make me very -miserable. I can' t live without you, Adele. Besides, I shall not lose -by the loan I made to your father. The land will bring the money back -sooner or later, and what will it matter? You will be my wife and your -parents will be my parents. Already I love them as my own. Oh, darling, -don't turn me down this way! Really I can' t help the turn matters have -taken, and if you care for me you ought not to wreck our happiness for a -silly whim like this." - -She sat unmoved for a moment, avoiding the fervid glow of his -passion-filled eyes. - -"If this thing fails I shall be very unhappy," she finally said. "Its -success would not make me rich, but it would remove a debt that has -nearly killed me. I have never mentioned it, but it has been like a -sword hanging over my happiness." - -"Then it shall not fail," he told her. "It shall not fail! If those -blockheads vote against it, I 'll buy the right of way, if it takes the -last cent I've got." - -This forced a smile to Adele's lips. "Then we'd be as deep in the mud as -we now are in the mire," she said. Just then Pole Baker came to Miller. - -"I don't want to make no break," he said, "but I've got a idea I'd -like to work on them hill-Billies in the jury-room if you hain't no -objections. I hain't got time to tell you about it, but as you are -a-runnin' the shebang I thought I'd ax permission." - -"Go and do what you think best, Pole," said Miller, recklessly. "We -can trust to your head, and anything is better than nothing just now. I -really think it's gone by the board." - -"All right, thanky'," said Pole, as he shuffled away. He marched -straight to the jury-room, and, without rapping, opened the door and -went in, closing the door after him. He found the men all discussing the -matter and was delighted to find that the strength of the opposition now -rested chiefly in Bartell and a few men who seemed afraid to pull away -from him. Pole slid up to Bartell and said, as he drew him to one side: -"Say, Mr. Bartell, what on earth have you got agin Alan Bishop?" - -"Why, nothin', Pole, as I know of," said Bartell, rather sheepishly. -"Nothin' as I know of." - -"Well, it looks to me like you got a mighty pore way o' showin' -good-will. Why, he's the best friend you got, Mr. Bartell, an' totes -more votes in his vest-pocket fer you than any man in this county." - -"Huh! You don't say!" grunted Bartell, in slow surprise. "Well, he never -told _me_ about it." - -"Beca'se you hain't announced yorese'f yet," said Pole, with a steady -eye and a set face. "Why, he said t'other day to several of us at the -log-rollin'--you remember you rid by on yore bay, leadin' a milch-cow by -a rope. Well, after you passed Alan Bishop said: 'Boys, thar goes the -only man in this county that has convictions an' the courage to stand -by 'em. They say he's goin' to run fer the legislature an' ef he does, -I 'll do all I kin to elect 'im. He 'll make the best representative that -we ever had. He's got brains, _he_ has.'" - -"You don't say!" Bartell's face beamed, his eye kindled and flashed. - -"That's jest what!" - -"I hadn't the least idea he was fer me," said Bartell, drawing a deep -breath. "In fact, I 'lowed he would be agin anybody but a town man." - -"Alan never talks much," said Pole, in a tone of conviction; "he _acts_ -when the time comes fer it. But, la me, Mr. Bartell, this is agoin' to -break him all to pieces. He's in love with old Barclay's gal, an' she is -with him. Ef he puts this road through to-day he 'll git his daddy out -o' debt an' Barclay will withdraw his opposition. I don't know how -you feel, but I'd hate like smoke to bu'st a man all to flinders that -thought as much o' me as Alan does o' you." - -"I never knowed he was fer me," was Bartell's next tottering step in the -right direction. - -"Well, vote fer the right o' way, an' you kin ride to an' from Atlanta -durin' session all rail. Me'n Alan will pull fer you like a yoke o' -steers--me with the moonshiners, an' my mountain clan, that ain't dead -yet, an' him with his gang. What you say? Put up or shet up." - -"I 'll do what I kin," said Bartell, a new light on his face, as he -turned to the others. "Gentlemen," he began, "listen to me a minute. I -see a good many of you was affected by Ab Daniel's speech an' sort o' -want the road, anyway, so if--" - -"I don't exactly like them specks," broke in a fat, middle-aged man at a -window. "By gum! I believe old Ab had us down about right. Ef we kin git -sort o' opened up along with the rest o' creation, I say le's git in the -game. Huh!"--the man finished, with a laughing shrug--"I don't like them -fly-specks one bit." - -"Me nuther," said a man beside him. - -"Nur me!" came from some one else. - -"Well, I'm willin' ef the rest are," announced Bar-tell. "All in favor -hold up yore hands." - -Pole Baker grinned broadly as he counted them. "All up--the last one," -he said, then he sprang for the door and stood before the expectant -audience. - -"Toot! toot!" he cried, imitating the whistle of a locomotive. "All -aboard! The road's a settled thing. They say they don't want no specks, -an' they ain't agoin' to have 'em. Hooray!" - -The audience was electrified by the announcement. For an instant there -was a pause of incredulous astonishment, and then the floor resounded -from the clatter of feet and glad shouts filled the air. - -Alan, his face ablaze with startled triumph, came towards Adele and -Miller. "Pole worked the rabbit-foot on them back there," he said. "I -don't know what he did, but he did something." - -"He told me he had a card left," laughed Miller. "I 'll bet he had it up -his sleeve. There he is now. Oh, Pole, come here!" - -The man thus addressed slouched down the aisle to them, his big, brown -eyes flashing merrily under his heavy brows, his sun-browned face dark -with the flush of triumph. - -"Out with it, you rascal," said Alan. "What did you say to them? -Whatever it was it knocked their props clean from under them." - -"Ef you don't back me in it, I'm a gone dog," said Pole to Alan. "All I -want you to do is to vote for Bartell, ef you kin possibly swallow the -dose." - -A light broke on the two men. "I 'll do it if you say so, Pole," said -Alan. "Not only that, but I 'll work for him if you wish it." - -Pole looked down and pulled at his heavy mustache. "Well," he smiled, "I -reckon he won't harm us any more in the legislatur' than the road 'll do -us good, so you'd better support 'im. I seed the bars down a minute ago, -an' I didn't have no time to consult you. I'd 'a' told a bigger lie 'an -that to clinch this thing." Abner Daniel joined them, smiling broadly, -his eyes twinkling joyously. - -"We've won, Uncle Ab," exclaimed Alan; "what do you think of that?" - -The old jester stroked his face and swung his long body back and forth -in the wind of his content. "I've always argued," said he, "that what is -to be _will_ be, an' it _will_ be a sight sooner 'n most of us count on, -ef we 'll jest keep our sperits up." - -The others moved on, leaving Adele and Miller together. - -"Oh, just look at mamma and papa," she said, in the round, full voice -indicative of deep emotion. "They are so glad they are about to cry." - -"What a dear, dear girl you are," said Miller, softly. "There is nothing -to separate us now, is there?" - -For a moment they met in a full look into each other's eyes. Adele's -voice shook when she replied: "I believe I'm the happiest, proudest girl -in all the world." - -"Then you love me?" - -"I believe I've loved you from the very minute I met you in Atlanta last -summer." - -Alan saw Dolly looking at him and waving her handkerchief, her face -warm and flushed. He was tempted to go to her, but she still sat by her -father and mother, and that fact checked him. Mrs. Barclay caught his -eye, and, rising suddenly, came through the crowd to him. She extended -her gloved hand. - -"You and Dolly must stop your foolishness," she said. "I've been -thinking of a plan to help you two out. If I were you I wouldn't say a -word to her now, but next Sunday night come and take her to church just -like you used to. I 'll attend to Colonel Barclay. He is just tickled to -death over this thing and he won't make any fuss. He is as stubborn as -a mule, though, and when he has to give in, it's better not to let him -think you are gloating over him. He won't bother you any more; I 'll see -to that." - -Alan thanked her. He was so full of happiness that he was afraid to -trust his voice to utterance. As Mrs. Barclay was going back to her -husband and daughter, Pole Baker passed. Alan grasped him by the hand. - -"Say, Pole," he said, his voice full and quavering, "I want to tell you -that I think more of you than I do of any man alive." - -"Well, Alan," said Pole, awkwardly, yet with an eye that did not waver, -"I kin shore return the compliment. Ef it hadn't been fer you an' yore -advice I'd 'a' been in hell long ago, an' as it is, I feel more like -livin' a straight, honest life than I ever did. You never axed me but -one thing that I didn't grant, an' that was to give up whiskey. I don't -know whether I ever will be able to do it or not, but, by the great God -above, I'm agoin' to keep on tryin', fer I know you want it jest fer my -good. I don't want a dram to-day, fer a wonder, an' maybe in time I 'll -git over my thirst." - -As Alan was about to get into his buggy with his uncle, the Colonel and -his wife and daughter passed. With a sheepish look on his face the old -man bowed to the two men, but Dolly stopped before Alan and held out her -hand. - -"You were going away without even speaking to me," she said, a catch in -her voice. "Think of it--to-day of all days to be treated like that!" - -"But your mother told me--" - -"Didn't I tell you she couldn't be relied on?" broke in Dolly, with a -smile. "I have more influence with papa than she has. I know what she -told you. I made her confess it just now. Are you going to town to-day?" - -"Yes," he informed her; "we shall complete the arrangements there." - -"Then come right down to see me as soon as you possibly can," Dolly -said. "I'm dying to see you--to talk with you. Oh, Alan, I'm so--_so_ -happy!" - -"So am I," he told her, as he pressed her hand tenderly. "Then I shall -see you again to-day." - -"Yes, to-day, sure," she said, and she moved on. - -"She's all right," said Abner Daniel, as Alan climbed in the buggy -beside him. "She's all wool an' a yard wide." - -"I reckon you are satisfied with the way it come out, Uncle Ab," said -his nephew, flushing over the compliment to Dolly. - -"Jest want one thing more," said the old man, "an' I can't make out -whether it's a sin or not. I want to face Perkins an' Abe Tompkins. I'd -give my right arm to meet 'em an' watch the'r faces when they heer about -the railroad, an' the price yore pa's land fetched." - -THE END - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Abner Daniel, by Will N. 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Harben - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Abner Daniel - A Novel - -Author: Will N. Harben - -Release Date: November 19, 2015 [EBook #50494] -Last Updated: March 12, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABNER DANIEL *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - ABNER DANIEL - </h1> - <h2> - By Will N. Harben - </h2> - <h4> - Author Of “Westerfelt” - </h4> - <h3> - New York and London - </h3> - <h3> - Harper And Brothers - </h3> - <h4> - 1902 - </h4> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><i><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </i></a> - </h5> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%"> - <img src="images/0003.jpg" alt="0003 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0003.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <h3> - TO - </h3> - <h3> - MY SISTER - </h3> - <h3> - MRS. RAY KNIGHT - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>ABNER DANIEL</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXV </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ABNER DANIEL - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - I - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9007.jpg" alt="9007 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE young man stood in the field road giving directions to a robust negro - who was ploughing the corn, which, in parallel rows, stretched on to the - main road a quarter of a mile distant. The negro placed the point of his - ploughshare a few inches from the first stalk of corn, wound the line - around his wrist, and clucked to his horse. With a jangling jerk of the - trace-chains the animal lunged ahead: the polished ploughshare cut into - the mellow soil and sped onward, curling the gray earth like shavings, and - uprooting and burying the tenacious crab-grass and succulent purslane. - </p> - <p> - It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, but the atmosphere - had dropped a dim veil over the near-by mountain. Even the two-storied - farm-house, with its veranda and white columns, to which the field road - led up a gradual slope, showed only its outlines. However, Alan Bishop, as - he steadied his gaze upon the house, saw the figure of an elderly woman - come out of the gate and with a quick step hurry down to him. It was his - mother; she was tall and angular, and had high cheek-bones and small blue - eyes. She had rather thin gray hair, which was wound into a knot behind - her head, and over it she wore only a small red breakfast shawl which she - held in place by one of her long hands. - </p> - <p> - “Alan,” she said, panting from her brisk walk, “I want you to come to the - house right off. Mr. Trabue has come to see yore pa again an' I can't do a - thing with 'im.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what does he want with him?” asked the young man. His glance was on - the ploughman and his horse. They had turned the far end of the corn-row - and were coming back, only the nodding head of the animal being visible - beyond a little rise. - </p> - <p> - “He's come to draw up the papers fer another land trade yore pa's makin'. - He's the lawyer fer the Tompkins estate. Yore pa tried to buy the land a - yeer ago, but it wasn't in shape to dispose of. Oh, Alan, don't you see - he's goin' to ruin us with his fool notions? Folks all about are - a-laughin' at him fer buyin' so much useless mountain-land. I'm powerful - afeered his mind is wrong.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, mother, what could I do?” Alan Bishop asked impatiently. “You know - he won't listen to me.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you can' t stop 'im,” sighed the woman, “but I wish you'd come - on to the house. I knowed he was up to some 'n'. Ever'day fer the last - week he's been ridin' up the valley an' rollin' and tumblin' at night an' - chawin' ten times as much tobacco as he ort. Oh, he's goin' to ruin us! - Brother Abner says he is buyin' beca'se he thinks it's goin' to advance in - value, but sech property hain't advanced a speck sence I kin remember, an' - is bein' sold ever' yeer fer tax money.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it's very foolish of him,” said the young man as the two turned - towards the house. “Father keeps talking about the fine timber on such - property, but it is entirely too far from a railroad ever to be worth - anything. I asked Rayburn Miller about it and he told me to do all I could - to stop father from investing, and you know he's as sharp a speculator as - ever lived; but it's his money.” - </p> - <p> - There was a paling fence around the house, and the enclosure was alive - with chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks, and peafowls. In the sunshine on the - veranda two pointers lay sleeping, but at the sound of the opening gate - they rose, stretched themselves lazily, and gaped. - </p> - <p> - “They are in the parlor,” said Mrs. Bishop, as she whisked off her - breakfast shawl. “Go right in, I 'll come in a minute. I want to see how - Linda is makin' out with the churnin'. La! I feel like it's a waste o' - time to do a lick o' work with him in thar actin' like a child. Ef we both - go in together it 'll look like we've concocked somethin', but we must - stop 'im ef we kin.” - </p> - <p> - Alan went into the parlor on the left of the wide, uncarpeted hall. The - room had white plastered walls, but the ceiling was of boards planed by - hand and painted sky blue. In one corner stood a very old piano with - pointed, octagonal legs and a stool with hair-cloth covering. The - fireplace was wide and high, and had a screen made of a decorated - window-shade tightly pasted on a wooden frame. Old man Bishop sat near a - window, and through his steel-framed nose-glasses was carefully reading a - long document written on legal-cap paper. He paid no attention to the - entrance of his son, but the lawyer, a short, fat man of sixty-five with - thick black hair that fell below his coat-collar, rose and extended his - hand. - </p> - <p> - “How's Alan?” he asked, pleasantly. “I saw you down in the field as I come - along, but I couldn't catch your eye. You see I'm out after some o' your - dad's cash. He's buying hisse'f rich. My Lord! if it ever <i>does</i> turn - his way he 'll scoop in enough money to set you and your sister up for - life. Folks tell me he owns mighty near every stick of timber-land in the - Cohutta Valley, and what he has he got at the bottom figure.” - </p> - <p> - “If it ever turns his way,” said Alan; “but do you see any prospect of - it's ever doing so, Mr. Trabue?” The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. “I - never bet on another man's trick, my boy, and I never throw cold water on - the plans of a speculator. I used to when I was about your age, but I saw - so many of 'em get rich by paying no attention to me that I quit right - off. A man ought to be allowed to use his own judgment.” Old Bishop was - evidently not hearing a word of this conversation, being wholly absorbed - in studying the details of the deed before him. “I reckon it's all right,” - he finally said. “You say the Tompkins children are all of age?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Effie was the youngest,” answered Trabue, “and she stepped over the - line last Tuesday. There's her signature in black and white. The deed's - all right. I don't draw up any other sort.” - </p> - <p> - Alan went to his father and leaned over him. “Father,” he said, softly, - and yet with firmness, “I wish you'd not act hastily in this deal. You - ought to consider mother's wishes, and she is nearly distracted over it.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop was angry. His massive, clean-shaven face was red. “I'd like to - know what I'd consult her fer,” he said. “In a matter o' this kind a - woman's about as responsible as a suckin' baby.” - </p> - <p> - Trabue laughed heartily. “Well, I reckon it's a good thing your wife - didn't hear that or she'd show you whether she was responsible or not. I - couldn't have got the first word of that off my tongue before my wife - would 'a' knocked me clean through that wall.” - </p> - <p> - Alfred Bishop seemed not to care for levity during business hours, for he - greeted this remark only with a frown. He scanned the paper again and - said: “Well, ef thar's any flaw in this I reckon you 'll make it right.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, I 'll make any mistake of mine good,” returned Trabue. “The - paper's all right.” - </p> - <p> - “You see,” said Alan to the lawyer, “mother and I think father has already - more of this sort of property than he can carry, and—” - </p> - <p> - “I wish you and yore mother'd let my business alone,” broke in Bishop, - firing up again. “Trabue heer knows I've been worryin' 'im fer the last - two months to get the property in salable shape. Do you reckon after he - gets it that away I want to listen to yore two tongues a-waggin' in open - opposition to it?” - </p> - <p> - Trabue rubbed his hands together. “It really don't make a bit of - difference to me, Alan, one way or the other,” he said, pacifically. “I'm - only acting as attorney for the Tompkins estate, and get my fee whether - there's a transfer or not. That's where I stand in the matter.” - </p> - <p> - “But it's not whar I stand in it, Mr. Trabue,” said a firm voice in the - doorway. It was Mrs. Bishop, her blue eyes flashing, her face pale and - rigid. “I think I've got a right—and a big one—to have a - say-so in this kind of a trade. A woman 'at 's stayed by a man's side fer - thirty odd yeer an' raked an' scraped to he'p save a little handful o' - property fer her two children has got a right to raise a rumpus when her - husband goes crooked like Alfred has an' starts in to bankrupt 'em all - jest fer a blind notion o' his'n.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, thar you are!” said Bishop, lifting his eyes from the paper and - glaring at her over his glasses. “I knowed I'd have to have a - knock-down-an'-drag-out fight with you 'fore I signed my name, so sail in - an' git it over. Trabue's got to ride back to town.” - </p> - <p> - “But whar in the name o' common-sense is the money to come from?” the - woman hurled at her husband, as she rested one of her bony hands on the - edge of the table and glared at him. “As I understand it, thar's about - five thousand acres in this piece alone, an' yo're a-payin' a dollar a - acre. Whar's it a-comin' from, I'd like to know? Whar's it to come from?” - </p> - <p> - Bishop sniffed and ran a steady hand over his short, gray hair. “You see - how little she knows o' my business,” he said to the lawyer. “Heer she's - raisin' the devil an' Tom Walker about the trade an' she don't so much as - know whar the money's to come from.” - </p> - <p> - “How <i>was</i> I to know?” retorted the woman, “when you've been tellin' - me fer the last six months that thar wasn't enough in the bank to give the - house a coat o' fresh paint an' patch the barn roof.” - </p> - <p> - “You knowed I had five thousand dollars wuth o' stock in the Shoal River - Cotton Mills, didn't you?” asked Bishop, defiantly, and yet with the - manner of a man throwing a missile which he hoped would fall lightly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I knowed that, but—” The woman's eyes were two small fires - burning hungrily for information beyond their reach. - </p> - <p> - “Well, it happens that Shoal stock is jest the same on the market as ready - money, up a little to-day an' down to-morrow, but never varyin' more'n a - fraction of a cent on the dollar, an' so the Tompkins heirs say they'd - jest as lieve have it, an' as I'm itchin' to relieve them of the'r land, - it didn't take us long to come together.” - </p> - <p> - If he had struck the woman squarely in the face, she could not have shown - more surprise. She became white to the lips, and with a low cry turned to - her son. “Oh, Alan, don't—don't let 'im do it, it's all we have left - that we can depend on! It will ruin us!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, father, surely,” protested Alan, as he put his arm around his - mother, “surely you can't mean to let go your mill investment which is - paying fifteen per cent, to put the money into lands that may never - advance in value and always be a dead weight on your hands! Think of the - loss of interest and the taxes to be kept up. Father, you must listen to—” - </p> - <p> - “Listen to nothin',” thundered Bishop, half rising from his chair. “Nobody - axed you two to put in. It's my business an' I'm a-goin' to attend to it. - I believe I'm doin' the right thing, an' that settles it.” - </p> - <p> - “The right thing,” moaned the old woman, as she sank into a chair and - covered her face with her hands. “Mr. Trabue,” she went on, fiercely, - “when that factory stock leaves our hands we won't have a single thing to - our names that will bring in a cent of income. You kin see how bad it is - on a woman who has worked as hard to do fer her children as I have. Mr. - Bishop always said Adele, who is visitin' her uncle's family in Atlanta, - should have that stock for a weddin'-gift, ef she ever married, an' Alan - was to have the lower half of this farm. Now what would we have to give - the girl—nothin' but thousands o' acres o' hills, mountains an' - gulches full o' bear, wild-cats, and catamounts—land that it ud - break any young couple to hold on to—much less put to any use. Oh, I - feel perfectly sick over it.” - </p> - <p> - There was a heavy, dragging step in the hall, and a long, lank man of - sixty or sixty-five years of age paused in the doorway. He had no beard - except a tuft of gray hair on his chin, and his teeth, being few and far - between, gave to his cheeks a hollow appearance. He was Abner Daniel, Mrs. - Bishop's bachelor brother, who lived in the family. - </p> - <p> - “Hello!” he exclaimed, shifting a big quid of tobacco from one cheek to - the other; “plottin' agin the whites? Ef you are, I 'll decamp, as the - feller said when the bull yeerlin' butted 'im in the small o' the back. - How are you, Mr. Trabue? Have they run you out o' town fer some o' yore - legal rascality?” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon your sister thinks it's rascality that's brought me out to-day,” - laughed the lawyer. “We are on a little land deal.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, I 'll move on,” said Abner Daniel. “I jest wanted to tell Alan - that Rigg's hogs got into his young corn in the bottom jest now an' rooted - up about as many acres as Pole Baker's ploughed all day. Ef they'd - a-rooted in straight rows an' not gone too nigh the stalks they mought 'a' - done the crap more good than harm, but the'r aim or intention, one or - t'other, was bad. Folks is that away; mighty few of 'em root—when - they root at all—fer anybody but the'rse'ves. Well, I 'll git along - to my room.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't go, brother Ab,” pleaded his sister. “I want you to he'p me stand - up fer my rights. Alfred is about to swap our cotton-mill stock fer some - more wild mountain-land.” - </p> - <p> - In spite of his natural tendency to turn everything into a jest—even - the serious things of life—the sallow face of the tall man - lengthened. He stared into the faces around him for a moment, then a slow - twinkle dawned in his eye. - </p> - <p> - “I've never been knowed to take sides in any connubial tustle yet,” he - said to Trabue, in a dry tone. “Alf may not know what he's about right - now, but he's Solomon hisse'f compared to a feller that will undertake to - settle a dispute betwixt a man an' his wife—more especially the - wife. Geewhilikins! I never shall forget the time old Jane Hardeway come - heer to spend a week an' Alf thar an' Betsy split over buyin' a hat-rack - fer the hall. Betsy had seed one over at Mason's, at the camp-ground, an' - determined she'd have one. Maybe you noticed that fancy contraption in the - hall as you come in. Well, Alf seed a nigger unloadin' it from a wagon at - the door one mornin', an' when Betsy, in feer an' tremblin', told 'im what - it was fer he mighty nigh had a fit. He said his folks never had been - above hangin' the'r coats an' hats on good stout nails an' pegs, an' as - fer them umbrella-pans to ketch the drip, he said they was fancy - spit-boxes, an' wanted to know ef she expected a body to do the'r chawin' - an' smokin' in that windy hall. He said it jest should not stand thar with - all them prongs an' arms to attack unwary folks in the dark, an' he toted - it out to the buggy-shed. That got Betsy's dander up an' she put it back - agin the wall an' said it ud stay thar ef she had to stand behind it an' - hold it in place. Alf wasn't done yet; he 'lowed ef they was to have sech - a purty trick as that on the hill it had to stay in the best room in the - house, so he put it heer in the parlor by the piano. But Betsy took it - back two or three times an' he larnt that he was a-doin' a sight o' work - fer nothin', an' finally quit totin' it about. But that ain't what I - started in to tell. As I was a-sayin', old Jane Hardeway thought she'd - sorter put a word in the dispute to pay fer her board an' keep, an' she - told Betsy that it was all owin' to the way the Bishops was raised that - Alf couldn't stand to have things nice about 'im. She said all the Bishops - she'd ever knowed had a natural stoop that they got by livin' in cabins - with low roofs. She wasn't spreadin' 'er butter as thick as she thought - she was—ur maybe it was the sort she was spreadin '—fer Betsy - blazed up like the woods afire in a high wind. It didn't take old Jane - long to diskiver that thar was several breeds o' Bishops out o' jail, an' - she spent most o' the rest o' her visit braggin' on some she'd read about. - She said the name sounded like the start of 'em had been religious an' - substanch.” - </p> - <p> - “Brother Abner,” whined Mrs. Bishop, “I wisht you'd hush all that - foolishness an' help me 'n the children out o' this awful fix. Alfred - always would listen to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” and the old man smiled, and winked at the lawyer, “I 'll give you - both all the advice I kin. Now, the Shoal River stock is a good thing - right now; but ef the mill was to ketch on fire an' burn down thar'd be a - loss. Then as fer timber-land, it ain't easy to sell, but it mought take a - start before another flood. I say it mought, an' then agin it moughtn't. - The mill mought burn, an' then agin it moughtn't. Now, ef you-uns kin be - helped by this advice you are welcome to it free o' charge. Not changin' - the subject, did you-uns know Mrs. Richardson's heffer's got a calf? I - reckon she won't borrow so much milk after hers gits good.” - </p> - <p> - Trabue smiled broadly as the gaunt man withdrew; but his amusement was - short-lived, for Mrs. Bishop began to cry, and she soon rose in despair - and left the room. Alan stood for a moment looking at the unmoved face of - his father, who had found something in the last clause of the document - which needed explanation; then he, too, went out. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - II - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9017.jpg" alt="9017 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9017.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - LAN found his uncle on the back porch washing his face and hands in a - basin on the water-shelf. The young man leaned against one of the wooden - posts which supported the low roof of the porch and waited for him to - conclude the puffing, sputtering operation, which he finally did by - enveloping his head in a long towel hanging from a wooden roller on the - weather-boarding. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he laughed, “yore uncle Ab didn't better matters in thar overly - much. But what could a feller do? Yore pa's as bull-headed as a young - steer, an' he's already played smash anyway. Yore ma's wastin' breath; but - a woman seems to have plenty of it to spare. A woman' s tongue's like a - windmill—it takes breath to keep it a-goin', an' a dead calm ud kill - her business.” - </p> - <p> - “It's no laughing matter, Uncle Ab,” said Alan, despondently. “Something - must have gone wrong with father's judgment. He never has acted this way - before.” - </p> - <p> - The old man dropped the towel and thrust his long, almost jointless - fingers into his vest pocket for a horn comb which folded up like a - jack-knife. “I was jest a-wonderin',” as he began to rake his shaggy hair - straight down to his eyes—“I was jest a-wonderin' ef he could 'a' - bent his skull in a little that time his mule th'owed 'im agin the - sweet-gum. They say that often changes a body powerful. Folks do think - he's off his cazip on the land question, an' now that he's traded his best - nest-egg fer another swipe o' the earth's surface, I reckon they 'll talk - harder. But yore pa ain't no fool; no plumb idiot could 'a' managed yore - ma as well as he has. You see I know what he's accomplished, fer I've been - with 'em ever since they was yoked together. When they was married she was - as wild as a buck, an' certainly made our daddy walk a chalk-line; but - Alfred has tapered 'er down beautiful. She didn't want this thing done one - bit, an' yet it is settled by this time”—the old man looked through - the hall to the front gate—“yes, Trabue's unhitchin'; he's got them - stock certificates in his pocket, an' yore pa has the deeds in his - note-case. When this gits out, moss-backs from heer clean to Gilmer 'll be - trapsin' in to dispose o' land at so much a front foot.” - </p> - <p> - “But what under high heaven will he do with it all?” - </p> - <p> - “Hold on to it,” grinned Abner, “that is, ef he kin rake an' scrape enough - together to pay the taxes. Why, last yeer his taxes mighty nigh floored - 'im, an' the expenses on this county he's jest annexed will push 'im like - rips; fer now, you know, he 'll have to do without the income on his - factory stock; but he thinks he's got the right sow by the yeer. Before - long he may yell out to us to come he'p 'im turn 'er loose, but he's - waltzin' with 'er now.” - </p> - <p> - At this juncture Mrs. Bishop came out of the dining-room wiping her eyes - on her apron. - </p> - <p> - “Mother,” said Alan, tenderly, “try not to worry over this any more than - you can help.” - </p> - <p> - “Your pa's gettin' old an' childish,” whimpered Mrs. Bishop. “He's heerd - somebody say timber-land up in the mountains will some day advance, an' he - forgets that he's too old to get the benefit of it. He's goin' to bankrupt - us.” - </p> - <p> - “Ef I do,” the man accused thundered from the hall, as he strode out, “it - 'll be my money that's lost—money that I made by hard work.” - </p> - <p> - He stood before them, glaring over his eye-glasses at his wife. “I've had - enough of yore tongue, my lady; ef I'd not had so much to think about in - thar jest now I'd 'a' shut you up sooner. Dry up now—not another - word! I'm doin' the best I kin accordin' to my lights to provide fer my - children, an' I won't be interfered with.” - </p> - <p> - No one spoke for a moment. However, Mrs. Bishop finally retorted, as her - brother knew she would, in her own time. - </p> - <p> - “I don't call buyin' thousands o' acres o' unsalable land providin' fer - anything, except the pore-house,” she fumed. - </p> - <p> - “That's beca'se you don't happen to know as much about the business as I - do,” said Bishop, with a satisfied chuckle, which, to the observant - Daniel, sounded very much like exultation. “When you all know what I know - you 'll be laughin' on t'other sides o' yore mouths.” - </p> - <p> - He started down the steps into the yard as if going to the row of - bee-hives along the fence, but paused and came back. He had evidently - changed his mind. “I reckon,” he said, “I 'll jest <i>have</i> to let you - all know about this or I won't have a speck o' peace from now on. I didn't - tell you at fust beca'se nobody kin keep a secret as well as the man it - belongs to, an' I was afeerd it ud leak out an' damage my interests; but - this last five thousand acres jest about sweeps all the best timber in the - whole Cohutta section, an' I mought as well let up. I reckon you all know - that ef—I say <i>ef</i>—my land was nigh a railroad it ud be - low at five times what I paid fer it, don't you? Well, then! The long an' - short of it is that I happen to be on the inside an' know that a railroad - is goin' to be run from Blue Lick Junction to Darley. It 'll be started - inside of the next yeer an' 'll run smack dab through my property. Thar - now, you know more'n you thought you did, don't you?” - </p> - <p> - The little group stared into his glowing face incredulously. - </p> - <p> - “A railroad is to be built, father?” exclaimed Alan. - </p> - <p> - “That's what I said.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Bishop's eyes flashed with sudden hope, and then, as if remembering - her husband's limitations, her face fell. - </p> - <p> - “Alfred,” she asked, sceptically, “how does it happen that you know about - the railroad before other folks does?” - </p> - <p> - “How do I? That's it now—how do I?” and the old man laughed freely. - “I've had my fun out o' this thing, listenin' to what every crank said - about me bein' cracked, an' so on; but I was jest a-lyin' low waitin' fer - my time.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I 'll be switched!” ejaculated Abner Daniel, half seriously, half - sarcastically. “Geewhilikins! a railroad! I've always said one would pay - like rips an' open up a dern good, God-fersaken country. I'm glad you are - a-goin' to start one, Alfred.” - </p> - <p> - Alan's face was filled with an expression of blended doubt and pity for - his father's credulity. “Father,” he said, gently, “are you sure you got - your information straight?” - </p> - <p> - “I got it from headquarters.” The old man raised himself on his toes and - knocked his heels together, a habit he had not indulged in for many a - year. “It was told to me confidentially by a man who knows all about the - whole thing, a man who is in the employ o' the company that's goin' to - build it.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” the exclamation was Abner Daniel's, “do you mean that Atlanta - lawyer, Perkins?” - </p> - <p> - Bishop stared, his mouth lost some of its pleased firmness, and he ceased - the motion of his feet. - </p> - <p> - “What made you mention his name?” he asked, curiously. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I dunno; somehow I jest thought o' him. He looks to me like he mought - be buildin' a railroad ur two.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's the man I mean,” said Bishop, more uneasily. - </p> - <p> - Somehow the others were all looking at Abner Daniel, who grunted suddenly - and almost angrily. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't trust that skunk no furder'n I could fling a bull by the - tail.” - </p> - <p> - “You say you wouldn't?” Bishop tried to smile, but the effort was a facial - failure. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't trust 'im nuther, brother Ab,” chimed in Mrs. Bishop. “As soon - as I laid eyes on 'im I knowed he wouldn't do. He's too mealy-mouthed an' - fawnin'. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth; he bragged on ever'thing we - had while he was heer. Now, Alfred, what we must git at is, what was his - object in tellin' you that tale.” - </p> - <p> - “Object?” thundered her husband, losing his temper in the face of the - awful possibility that her words hinted at. “Are you all a pack an' passle - o' fools? If you must dive an' probe, then I 'll tell you he owns a slice - o' timber-land above Holley Creek, j'inin' some o' mine, an' so he let me - into the secret out o' puore good will. Oh, you all cayn't skeer me; I - ain't one o' the skeerin' kind.” - </p> - <p> - But, notwithstanding this outburst, it was plain that doubt had actually - taken root in the ordinarily cautious mind of the crude speculator. His - face lengthened, the light of triumph went out of his eyes, leaving the - shifting expression of a man taking desperate chances. - </p> - <p> - Abner Daniel laughed out harshly all at once and then was silent. “What's - the matter?” asked his sister, in despair. - </p> - <p> - “I was jest a-wonderin',” replied her brother. - </p> - <p> - “You are?” said Bishop, angrily. “It seems to me you don't do much else.” - </p> - <p> - “Folks 'at wonders a lot ain't so apt to believe ever'thing they heer,” - retorted Abner. “I was just a-wonderin' why that little, spindle-shanked - Peter Mosely has been holdin' his head so high the last week or so. I 'll - bet I could make a durn good guess now.” - </p> - <p> - “What under the sun's Peter Mosely got to do with my business?” burst from - Bishop's impatient lips. - </p> - <p> - “He's got a sorter roundabout connection with it, I reckon,” smiled Abner, - grimly. “I happen to know that Abe Tompkins sold 'im two thousand acres o' - timber-land on Huckleberry Ridge jest atter yore Atlanta man spent the day - lookin' round in these parts.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop was no fool, and he grasped Abner's meaning even before it was - quite clear to the others. - </p> - <p> - “Looky heer,” he said, sharply, “what do you take me fur?” - </p> - <p> - “I'ain't tuck you fer nothin',” said Abner, with a grin. “Leastwise, - I'ain't tuck you fer five thousand dollars' wuth o' cotton-mill stock. To - make a long story short, the Atlanta jack-leg lawyer is akin to the - Tompkins family some way. I don't know exactly what kin, but Joe - Tompkins's wife stayed at Perkins's house when she was down thar havin' er - spine straightened. I'd bet a new hat to a ginger-cake that Perkins never - owned a spoonful o' land up heer, an' that he's jest he'pin' the Tompkins - folks on the sly to unload some o' the'r land, so they kin move West, whar - they've always wanted to go. Peter Mosely is a man on the watch-out fer - rail soft snaps, an' when Perkins whispered the big secret in his yeer, - like he did to you, he started out on a still hunt fer timbered land on - the line of the proposed trunk line due west vy-ah Lickskillet to Darley, - with stop-over privileges at Buzzard Roost, an' fifteen minutes fer hash - at Dog Trot Springs. Then, somehow or other, by hook or crook—mostly - crook—Abe Tompkins wasn't dodgin' anybody about that time; Peter - Mosely could 'a' run agin 'im with his eyes shut on a dark night. I was at - Neil Fulmore's store when the two met, an' ef a trade was ever made - quicker betwixt two folks it was done by telegraph an' the paper was - signed by lightnin'. Abe said he had the land an' wouldn't part with it at - any price ef he hadn't been bad in need o' money, fer he believed it was - chuck-full o' iron ore, soapstone, black marble, an' water-power, to say - nothin' o' timber, but he'd been troubled so much about cash, he said, - that he'd made up his mind to let 'er slide an' the devil take the - contents. I never seed two parties to a deal better satisfied. They both - left the store with a strut. Mosely's strut was the biggest, fer he wasn't - afeerd o' nothin'. Tompkins looked like he was afeerd Mosely ud call 'im - back an' want to rue.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean to say—” But old Bishop seemed unable to put his growing - fear into words. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don't know nothin' fer certain,” said Abner Daniel, - sympathetically; “but ef I was you I'd go down to Atlanta an' see Perkins. - You kin tell by the way he acts whether thar's anything in his railroad - story or not; but, by gum, you ort to know whar you stand. You've loaded - yorese'f from hind to fore quarters, an' ef you don't plant yore feet on - some'n you 'll go down.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop clutched this proposition as a drowning man would a straw. “Well, I - will go see 'im,” he said. “I 'll go jest to satisfy you. As fer as I'm - concerned, I know he wasn't tellin' me no lie; but I reckon you all never - 'll rest till you are satisfied.” - </p> - <p> - He descended the steps and crossed the yard to the barn. They saw him lean - over the rail fence for a moment as if in troubled thought, and then he - seemed to shake himself, as if to rid himself of an unpleasant mental - burden, and passed through the little sagging gate into the stable to feed - his horses. It was now noon. The sun was shining broadly on the fields, - and ploughmen were riding their horses home in their clanking harnesses. - </p> - <p> - “Poor father,” said Alan to his uncle, as his mother retired slowly into - the house. “He seems troubled, and it may mean our ruin—absolute - ruin.” - </p> - <p> - “It ain't no triflin' matter,” admitted Daniel. “Thar's no tellin' how - many thousand acres he may have bought; he's keepin' somethin' to hisse'f. - I remember jest when that durn skunk of a lawyer put that flea in his - yeer. They was at Hanson's mill, an' talked confidential together mighty - nigh all mornin'. But let's not cross a bridge tell we git to it. Let's - talk about some'n else. I hain't never had a chance to tell you, but I - seed that gal in town yesterday, an' talked to 'er.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you, Uncle Ab?” the face of the young man brightened. His tone was - eager and expectant. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'd hitched in the wagon-yard an' run into Hazen's drug-store to git - a box o' axle-grease, an' was comin' out with the durn stuff under my arm - when I run upon 'er a-settin' in a buggy waitin' to git a clerk to fetch - 'er out a glass o' sody-water. She recognized me, an' fer no other earthly - reason than that I'm yore uncle she spoke to me as pleasin' as a basket o' - chips. What was I to do? I never was in such a plight in my life. I'd been - unloadin' side-meat at Bartow's warehouse, an' was kivered from head to - foot with salt and grease. I didn't have on no coat, an' the seat o' my - pants was non est—I don't think thar was any est about 'em, to tell - the truth; but I knowed it wouldn't be the part of a gentleman to let 'er - set thar stretchin' 'er neck out o' socket to call a clerk when I was - handy, so I wheeled about, hopin' an' prayin' ef she did look at me she'd - take a fancy to the back o' my head, an' went in the store an' told 'em to - git a hustle on the'r-se'ves. When I come out, she hauled me up to ax some - questions about when camp-meetin' was goin' to set in this yeer, and when - Adele was comin' home. I let my box o' axle-grease drap, an' it rolled - like a wagon-wheel off duty, an' me after it, bendin'—<i>bendin</i>' - of all positions—heer an' yan in the most ridiculous way. I tell you - I'd never play croquet ur leapfrog in them pants. All the way home I - thought how I'd disgraced you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you are all right, Uncle Ab,” laughed Alan. “She's told me several - times that she likes you very much. She says you are genuine—genuine - through and through, and she's right.” - </p> - <p> - “I'd ruther have her say it than any other gal I know,” said Abner. “She's - purty as red shoes, an', ef I'm any judge, she's genuwine too. I've got - another idee about 'er, but I ain't a-givin' it away jest now.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean that she—” - </p> - <p> - “No,” and the old man smiled mischievously, “I didn't mean nothin' o' the - sort. I wonder how on earth you could 'a' got sech a notion in yore head. - I'm goin' to see how that black scamp has left my cotton land. I 'll bet - he hain't scratched it any deeper'n a old hen would 'a' done lookin' fer - worms.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - III - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9026.jpg" alt="9026 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9026.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE next morning at breakfast Alfred Bishop announced his intention of - going to Atlanta to talk to Perkins, and incidentally to call on his - brother William, who was a successful wholesale merchant in that city. - </p> - <p> - “I believe I would,” said Mrs. Bishop. “Maybe William will tell you what - to do.” - </p> - <p> - “I'd see Perkins fust,” advised Abner Daniel. “Ef I felt shore Perkins had - buncoed me I'd steer cleer o' William. I'd hate to heer 'im let out on - that subject. He's made his pile by keepin' a sharp lookout.” - </p> - <p> - “I hain't had no reason to think I have been lied to,” said Bishop, - doggedly, as he poured his coffee into his saucer and shook it about to - cool. “A body could hear his death-knell rung every minute ef he'd jest - listen to old women an'—” - </p> - <p> - “Old bachelors,” interpolated Abner. “I reckon they <i>are</i> alike. The - longer a man lives without a woman the more he gits like one. I reckon - that's beca'se the man 'at lives with one don't see nothin' wuth copyin' - in 'er, an' vice-a-versy.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Bishop had never been an appreciative listener to her brother's - philosophy. She ignored what he had just said and its accompanying smile, - which was always Abner's subtle apology for such observations. - </p> - <p> - “Are you goin' to tell Adele about the railroad?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon I won't tell 'er to git up a' excursion over it, ”fore the - cross-ties is laid,” retorted Bishop, sharply, and Abner Daniel laughed—that - sort of response being in his own vein. - </p> - <p> - “I was goin' to say,” pursued the softly treading wife, “that I wouldn't - mention it to 'er, ef—ef—Mr. Perkins ain't to be relied on, - beca'se she worries enough already about our pore way o' livin' compared - to her uncle's folks. Ef she knowed how I spent last night she'd want to - come back. But I ain't a-goin' to let brother Ab skeer me yet. It is jest - too awful to think about. What on earth would we do? What would we, I - say?” - </p> - <p> - That afternoon Bishop was driven to Darley by a negro boy who was to bring - the buggy back home. He first repaired to a barber-shop, where he was - shaved, had his hair cut, and his shoes blacked; then he went to the - station half an hour before time and impatiently walked up and down the - platform till the train arrived. - </p> - <p> - It was six o'clock when he reached Atlanta and made his way through the - jostling crowd in the big passenger depot out into the streets. He had his - choice of going at once to the residence of his brother, on Peachtree - Street, the most fashionable avenue of the city, or looking up Perkins in - his office. He decided to unburden his mind by at once calling on the - lawyer, whose office was in a tall building quite near at hand. - </p> - <p> - It was the hour at which Perkins usually left for home, but the old - planter found him in. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's you, Mr. Bishop,” he said, suavely, as he rose from his desk in - the dingy, disordered little room with its single window. He pushed a - chair forward. “Sit down; didn't know you were in town. At your brother's, - I reckon. How are the crops up the road? Too much rain last month, I'm - afraid.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop sank wearily into the chair. He had tired himself out thinking over - what he would say to the man before him and with the awful contemplation - of what the man might say to him. - </p> - <p> - “They are doin' as well as can be expected,” he made answer; but he didn't - approve of even that platitude, for he was plain and outspoken, and hadn't - come all that distance for a mere exchange of courtesies. Still, he lacked - the faculty to approach easily the subject which had grown so heavy within - the last twenty-four hours, and of which he now almost stood in terror. - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's good,” returned Perkins. He took up a pen as he resumed his - seat, and began to touch it idly to the broad nail of his thumb. He was a - swarthy man of fifty-five or sixty, rather tall and slender, with a bald - head that sloped back sharply from heavy, jutting brows, under which a - pair of keen, black eyes shone and shifted. “Come down to see your - daughter,” he said. “Good thing for her that you have a brother in town. - By-the-way, he's a fine type of a man. He's making headway, too; his trade - is stretching out in all directions—funny how different you two are! - He seems to take to a swallow-tail coat and good cigars like a duck to - water, while you want the open sky above you, sweet-smelling fields - around, an' fishing, hunting, sowing, reaping, and chickens—fat, - juicy ones, like your wife fried when I was there. And her apple-butter! - Ice-cream can' t hold a candle to it.” - </p> - <p> - “I 'lowed I'd see William 'fore I went back,” said Bishop, rather - irrelevantly, and, for the lack of something else to do, he took out his - eye-glasses and perched them on his sharp nose, only, on discovering the - inutility of the act, to restore them clumsily to his pocket. He was - trying to persuade himself, in the silence that followed, that, if the - lawyer had known of his trade with the Tompkins heirs, he would naturally - have alluded to it. Then, seeing that Perkins was staring at him rather - fixedly, he said—it was a verbal plunge: “I bought some more - timber-land yesterday!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you did? That's good.” Perkins's eyes fluttered once or twice before - his gaze steadied itself on the face of the man before him. “Well, as I - told you, Mr. Bishop, that sort of a thing is a good investment. I reckon - it's already climbing up a little, ain't it?” - </p> - <p> - “Not much yet.” It struck Bishop that he had given the lawyer a splendid - opportunity to speak of the chief cause for an advance in value, and his - heart felt heavier as he finished. “But I took quite a slice the last time—five - thousand acres at the old figure, you know—a dollar a acre.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say! That <i>was</i> a slice.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop drew himself up in his chair and inhaled a deep breath. It was as - if he took into himself in that way the courage to make his next remark. - </p> - <p> - “I got it from the Tompkins estate.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say. I didn't know they had that much on hand.” - </p> - <p> - There was a certain skill displayed in the lawyer's choice of questions - and observations that somehow held him aloof from the unlettered man, and - there was, too, something in his easy, bland manner that defied the open - charge of underhand dealing, and yet Bishop had not paid out his railroad - fare for nothing. He was not going back to his home-circle no wiser than - when he left it. His next remark surprised himself; it was bluntness - hardened by despair. - </p> - <p> - “Sence I bought the land I've accidentally heerd that you are some kin o' - that family.” - </p> - <p> - Perkins started slightly and raised his brows. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes; on my wife's side, away off, some way or other. I believe the - original Tompkins that settled there from Virginia was my wife's - grandfather. I never was much of a hand to go into such matters.” - </p> - <p> - The wily lawyer had erected as strong a verbal fence as was possible on - such short notice, and for a moment it looked as if Bishop's frankness - would not attempt to surmount it; but it did, in a fashion. - </p> - <p> - “When I heerd that, Perkins, it was natural fer me to wonder why you, you - see—why you didn't tell <i>them</i> about the railroad.” - </p> - <p> - The sallow features of the lawyer seemed to stiffen. He drew himself up - coldly and a wicked expression flashed in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Take my advice, old man,” he snarled, as he threw down his pen and stared - doggedly into Bishop's face, “stick to your farming and don't waste your - time asking a professional lawyer questions which have no bearing on your - business whatever. Now, really, do I have to explain to you my personal - reasons for not favoring the Tompkins people with a—I may say—any - piece of information?” - </p> - <p> - Bishop was now as white as death; his worst suspicions were confirmed; he - was a ruined man; there was no further doubt about that. Suddenly he felt - unable to bridle the contemptuous fury that raged within him. - </p> - <p> - “I think I know <i>why</i> you didn't tell 'em,” was what he hurled at the - lawyer. - </p> - <p> - “You think you do.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it was beca'se you knowed no road was goin' to be built. You told - Pete Mosely the same tale you did me, an' Abe Tompkins unloaded on 'im. - That's a way you have o' doin' business.” - </p> - <p> - Perkins stood up. He took his silk hat from the top of his desk and put it - on. “Oh yes, old man,” he sneered, “I'm a terribly dishonest fellow; but - I've got company in this world. Now, really, the only thing that has - worried me has been your unchristian act in buying all that land from the - Tompkins heirs at such a low figure when the railroad will advance its - value so greatly. Mr. Bishop, I thought you were a good Methodist.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you kin laugh an' jeer all you like,” cried Bishop, “but I can handle - you fer this.” - </p> - <p> - “You are not as well versed in the law as you are in fertilizers, Mr. - Bishop,” sneered the lawyer. “In order to make a case against me, you'd - have to publicly betray a matter I told to you in confidence, and then - what would you gain? I doubt if the court would force me to explain a - private matter like this where the interests of my clients are concerned. - And if the court did, I could simply show the letters I have regarding the - possible construction of a railroad in your section. If you remember - rightly, I did not say the thing was an absolute certainty. On top of all - this, you'd be obliged to prove collusion between me and the Tompkins - heirs over a sale made by their attorney, Mr. Trabue. There is one thing - certain, Mr. Bishop, and that is that you have forfeited your right to any - further confidence in this matter. If the road is built you 'll find out - about it with the rest of your people. You think you acted wisely in - attacking me this way, but you have simply cut off your nose to spite your - face. Now I have a long car-ride before me, and it's growing late.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop stood up. He was quivering as with palsy. His voice shook and rang - like that of a madman. - </p> - <p> - “You are a scoundrel, Perkins,” he said—“a dirty black snake in the - grass. I want to tell you that.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I hope you won't make any charge for it.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it's free.” Bishop turned to the door. There was a droop upon his - whole body. He dragged his feet as he moved out into the unlighted - corridor, where he paused irresolutely. So great was his agony that he - almost obeyed an impulse to go back and fall at the feet of Perkins and - implore his aid to rescue him and his family from impending ruin. The - lawyer was moving about the room, closing his desk and drawing down the - window-shade. Up from the street came the clanging of locomotive bells - under the car-shed, the whir of street-cars, the clatter of cabs on the - cobble-stones. - </p> - <p> - “It's no use,” sighed Bishop, as he made his way down-stairs. “I'm ruined—Alan - an' Adele hain't a cent to their names, an' that devil—” Bishop - paused on the first landing like an animal at bay. He heard the steady - step of Perkins on the floor above, and for a moment his fingers tingled - with the thought of waiting there in the darkness and choking the life out - of the subtle scoundrel who had taken advantage of his credulity. - </p> - <p> - But with a groan that was half a prayer he went on down the steps and out - into the lighted streets. At the first corner he saw a car which would - take him to his brother's, and he hastened to catch it. - </p> - <p> - William Bishop's house was a modern brick structure, standing on a - well-clipped lawn which held a gothic summer-house and two or three marble - statues. It was in the best portion of the avenue. Reaching it, the - planter left the car and approached the iron gate which opened on to the - granite steps leading up the terrace. It was now quite dark and many - pedestrians were hurrying homeward along the sidewalks. Obeying a sudden - impulse, the old man irresolutely passed by the gate and walked farther up - the street. He wanted to gain time, to think whether it would be best for - him in his present state of mind to meet those fashionable relatives—above - all, his matter-of-fact, progressive brother. - </p> - <p> - “Somehow I don't feel one bit like it,” he mused. “I couldn't tell - William. He'd think I wanted to borrow money an' ud git skeerd right off. - He always was afeerd I'd mismanage. An' then I'd hate to sp'ile Adele's - visit, an' she could tell thar was some'n wrong by me bein' heer in sech a - flurry. I reckon I <i>do</i> show it. How could a body he'p it? Oh, my - Lord, have mercy! It's all gone, all—all me'n Betsy has saved.” - </p> - <p> - He turned at the corner of his brother's property and slowly retraced his - halting steps to the gate, but he did not pause, continuing his way back - towards the station. A glance at the house showed that all the lower rooms - were lighted, as well as the big prismatic lamp that hung over the front - door. Bishop saw forms in light summer clothing on the wide veranda. “I - 'll bet that tallest one is Sis,” he said, pathetically. “I jest wish I - could see 'er a little while. Maybe it ud stop this awful hurtin' a little - jest to look at 'er an' heer 'er laugh like she always did at home. She'd - be brave; she wouldn't cry an' take on; but it would hurt 'er away down in - 'er heart, especially when she's mixin' with sech high-flyers an' - money-spenders. Lord, what 'll I do fer cash to send 'er next month? I'm - the land-porest man in my county.” - </p> - <p> - As he went along he passed several fashionable hotels, from which - orchestral music came. Through the plate-glass windows he saw men and - women, amid palms and flowers, dining in evening dress and sparkling - jewels. - </p> - <p> - Reaching the station, he inquired about a train to Darley, and was told - that one left at midnight. He decided to take it, and in the mean time he - would have nothing to occupy him. He was not hungry; the travel and worry - had killed his appetite; but he went into a little café across the street - from the depot and ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee. He drank the - coffee at a gulp, but the food seemed to stick in his throat. After this - he went into the waiting-room, which was thronged with tired women holding - babies in their arms, and roughly clad emigrants with packs and oil-cloth - bags. He sat in one of the iron-armed seats without moving till he heard - his train announced, and then he went into the smoking-car and sat down in - a corner. - </p> - <p> - He reached Darley at half-past three in the morning and went to the only - hotel in the place. The sleepy night-clerk rose from his lounge behind the - counter in the office and assigned him to a room to which a colored boy, - vigorously rubbing his eyes, conducted him. Left alone in his room, he sat - down on the edge of his bed and started to undress, but with a sigh he - stopped. - </p> - <p> - “What's the use o' me lyin' down almost at daybreak?” he asked himself. “I - mought as well be on the way home. I cayn't sleep nohow.” - </p> - <p> - Blowing out his lamp, he went down-stairs and roused the clerk again. - “Will I have to pay fer that bed ef I don't use it?” he questioned. - </p> - <p> - “Why, no, Mr. Bishop,” said the clerk. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I believe I 'll start out home.” - </p> - <p> - “Is your team in town?” asked the clerk. - </p> - <p> - “The team I'm a-goin' to use is. I'm goin' to foot it. I've done the like - before this.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it's a purty tough stretch,” smiled the clerk. “But the roads are - good.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - IV - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9035.jpg" alt="9035 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9035.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - T was a little after sunrise; the family had just left the breakfast-table - when Bishop walked in; his shoes and trousers were damp with dew and - covered with the dust of the road. His wife saw him entering the gate and - called out to him from the hall: - </p> - <p> - “Well, I declare! Didn't you go to Atlanta?” - </p> - <p> - He came slowly up the steps, dragging his feet after him. He had the - appearance of a man beaten by every storm that could fall upon a human - being. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I went,” he said, doggedly. He passed her and went into the - sitting-room, where his brother-inlaw stood at the fireplace lighting his - pipe with a live coal of fire on the tip of a stick. Abner Daniel looked - at him critically, his brows raised a little as he puffed, but he said - nothing. Mrs. Bishop came in behind her husband, sweeping him from head to - foot with her searching eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You don't mean to tell me you walked out heer this mornin',” she cried. - “Lord have mercy!” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know as I've prepared any set speech on the subject,” said her - husband, testily; “but I walked. I could 'a' gone to a livery an' ordered - out a team, but I believe thar's more'n one way o' wearin' sackcloth an' - ashes, an' the sooner I begin the better I 'll feel.” Abner Daniel winked; - the scriptural allusion appealed to his fancy, and he smiled impulsively. - </p> - <p> - “That thar is,” he said. “Thar's a whole way an' a half way. Some folks - jest wear it next to the skin whar it don't show, with broadcloth ur silk - on the outside. They think ef it scratches a little that 'll satisfy the - Lord an' hoodwink other folks. But I believe He meant it to be whole hog - or none.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Bishop was deaf to this philosophy. “I don't see,” she said, in her - own field of reflection—“I don't see, I say, how you got to Atlanta; - attended to business; seed Adele; an' got back heer at sunrise. Why, - Alfred—” - </p> - <p> - But Bishop interrupted her. “Have you all had prayers yet?” - </p> - <p> - “No, you know we hain't,” said his wife, wondering over his strange - manner. “I reckon it can pass jest this once, bein' as you are tired an' - hain't had nothin' to eat.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it can't pass, nuther; I don't want to touch a mouthful; tell the - rest of 'em to come in, an' you fetch me the Book.” - </p> - <p> - “Well!” Mrs. Bishop went out and told the negro woman and her daughter to - stop washing the dishes and go in to prayer. Then she hurried out to the - back porch, where Alan was oiling his gun. - </p> - <p> - “Something's happened to yore pa,” she said. “He acts queer, an' says sech - strange things. He walked all the way from Darley this morning, an' now - wants to have prayers 'fore he touches a bite o' breakfast. I reckon we - are ruined.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm afraid that's it,” opined her son, as he put down his gun and - followed her into the sitting-room. Here the two negroes stood against the - wall. Abner Daniel was smoking and Bishop held the big family Bible on his - quivering knees. - </p> - <p> - “Ef you mean to keep it up,” Abner was saying, argumentatively, “all right - an' good; but I don't believe in sudden spurts o' worship. My hosses is - hitched up ready to haul a load o' bark to the tannery, an' it may throw - me a little late at dinner; but ef you are a-goin' to make a daily - business of it I'm with you.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm a-goin' to be regular from now on,” said Bishop, slowly turning the - leaves of the tome. “I forgot whar I read last.” - </p> - <p> - “You didn't finish about Samson tyin' all them foxes' tails together,” - said Abner Daniel, as he knocked the hot ashes from his pipe into the palm - of his hand and tossed them into the chimney. “That sorter interested me. - I wondered how that was a-goin' to end. I'd hate to have a passle o' foxes - with torches to the'r tails turned loose in my wheat jest 'fore cuttin' - time. It must 'a' been a sight. I wondered how that was a-goin' to end.” - </p> - <p> - “You 'll wonder how <i>yo're</i> a-goin' to end if you don't be more - respectful,” said his sister. - </p> - <p> - “Like the foxes, I reckon,” grinned Abner, “with a eternal torch tied to - me. Well, ef I am treated that away, I 'll go into the business o' - destruction an' set fire to everything I run across.” - </p> - <p> - “Ain' t you goin' to tell us what you did in Atlanta 'fore you have - prayer?” asked Mrs. Bishop, almost resentfully. - </p> - <p> - “No, I hain't!” Bishop snapped. “I 'll tell you soon enough. I reckon I - won't read this mornin'; let's pray.” - </p> - <p> - They all knelt reverently, and yet with some curiosity, for Bishop often - suited his prayers to important occasions, and it struck them that he - might now allude to the subject bound up within him. - </p> - <p> - “Lord, God Almighty,” he began, his lower lip hanging and quivering, as - were his hands clasped in the seat of his chair, “Thou knowest the - struggle Thy creatures are makin' on the face of Thy green globe to live - up to the best of the'r lights an' standards. As I bend before Thee this - mornin' I realize how small a bein' I am in Thy sight, an' that I ort to - bow in humble submission to Thy will, an' I do. For many yeers this family - has enjoyed Thy bounteous blessings. We've had good health, an' the - influence of a Bible-readin', God-fearin' community, an' our childern has - been educated in a way that raised 'em head an' shoulders above many o' - the'r associates an' even blood kin. I don't know exactly whar an' how - I've sinned; but I know I have displeased Thee, fer Thy scourge has fallen - hard an' heavy on my ambitions. I wanted to see my boy heer, a good, - obedient son, an' my daughter thar in Atlanta, able to hold the'r heads up - among the folks they mix with, an' so I reached out. Maybe it was - forbidden fruit helt out by a snake in the devil's service. I don't know—Thou - knowest. Anyways, I steered my course out o' the calm waters o' content - an' peace o' soul into the whirlpool rapids o' avarice an' greed. I'lowed - I was in a safe haven an' didn't dream o' the storm-clouds hangin' over me - till they bust in fury on my head. Now, Lord, my Father, give them hearts - of patience an' forgiveness fer the blunders of Thy servant. What I done, - I done in the bull-headed way that I've always done things; but I meant - good an' not harm. These things we ask in the name o' Jesus Christ, our - blessed Lord an' Master. Amen.” - </p> - <p> - During the latter part of the prayer Mrs. Bishop had been staring at her - husband through her parted fingers, her face pale and agitated, and as she - rose her eyes were glued to his face. - </p> - <p> - “Now, Alfred,” she said, “what are you goin' to tell us about the - railroad? Is it as bad as brother Ab thought it would be?” - </p> - <p> - Bishop hesitated. It seemed as if he had even then to tear himself from - the clutch of his natural stubbornness. He looked into all the anxious, - waiting faces before he spoke, and then he gave in. - </p> - <p> - “Ab made a good guess. Ef I'd 'a' had his sense, or Alan' s, I'd 'a' made - a better trader. It's like Ab said it was, only a sight wuss—a - powerful sight wuss!” - </p> - <p> - “Wuss?” gasped his wife, In fresh alarm. “How could it be wuss? Why, - brother Ab said—” - </p> - <p> - “I never have told you the extent o' my draim's,” went on Bishop in the - current of confession. “I never even told Perkins yesterday. Fust an' last - I've managed to rake in fully twenty thousand acres o' mountain-land. I - was goin' on what I'lowed was a dead-shore thing. I secured all I could - lay my hands on, an' I did it in secret. I was afeerd even to tell you - about what Perkins said, thinkin' it mought leak out an' sp'ile my - chances.” - </p> - <p> - “But, father,” said Alan, “you didn't have enough money to buy all that - land.” - </p> - <p> - “I got it up”—Bishop's face was doggedly pale, almost defiant of his - overwhelming disaster—“I mortgaged this farm to get money to buy - Maybry and Morton's four thousand acres.” - </p> - <p> - “The farm you was going to deed to Alan?” gasped his wife. “You didn't - include that?” - </p> - <p> - “Not in <i>that</i> deal,” groaned Bishop. “I swapped that to Phil Parsons - fer his poplar an' cypress belt.” The words seemed to cut raspingly into - the silence of the big room. Abner Daniel was the only one who seemed - unmoved by the confession. He filled his pipe from the bowl on the - mantel-piece and pressed the tobacco down with his forefinger; then he - kicked the ashes in the chimney till he uncovered a small five coal. He - eyed it for a moment, then dipped it up in the shovel, rolled it into his - pipe, and began to smoke. - </p> - <p> - “So I ain't a-goin' to git no yeerly pass over the new road,” he said, his - object being to draw his brother-in-law back to Perkins's action in the - matter. - </p> - <p> - “Perkins was a-lyin' to me,” answered Bishop. “He hain't admitted it yet; - but he was a-lyin'. His object was to he'p the Tompkins sell out fer a - decent price, but he can' t be handled; he's got me on the hip.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Abner. “I'd ruther keep on swappin' gold dollars fer - mountain-land an' lettin' it go fer taxes 'an to try to beat a lawyer at - his own game. A court-house is like the devil's abode, easy to git into, - no outlet, an' nothin' but scorch while you are thar.” - </p> - <p> - “Hush, fer the name o' goodness!” cried Mrs. Bishop, looking at her - husband. “Don't you see he's dyin' from it? Are you all a-goin' to kill - 'im? What does a few acres o' land ur debts amount to beside killin' a man - 'at's been tryin' to help us all? Alfred, it ain't so mighty awful. You - know it ain't! What did me 'n' you have when we started out but a - log-house boarded up on the outside? an' now we've got our childern - educated an' all of us in good health. I railly believe it's a sin agin - God's mercy fer us to moan an' fret under a thing like this.” - </p> - <p> - “That's the talk,” exclaimed Abner Daniel, enthusiastically. “Now you are - gittin' down to brass tacks. I've always contended—” - </p> - <p> - “For God's sake, don't talk that way!” said Bishop to his wife. “You don't - mean a word of it. You are jest a-sayin' it to try to keep me from seein' - what a fool I am.” - </p> - <p> - “You needn't worry about me, father,” said Alan, firmly. “I am able to - look out for myself an' for you and mother. It's done, and the best thing - to do is to look at it in a sensible way. Besides, a man with twenty - thousand acres of mountain-land paid for is not broken, by a long jump.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I'm gone,” said Bishop, a wavering look of gratitude in his eye as - he turned to his son. “I figured on it all last night. I can't pay the - heavy interest an' come out. I was playin' for big stakes an' got left. - Thar's nothin' to do but give up. Me buyin' so much land has made it rise - a little, but when I begin to try to sell I won't be able to give it - away.” - </p> - <p> - “Thar's some'n in that,” opined Abner Daniel, as he turned to leave the - room. “I reckon I mought as well go haul that tan-bark. I reckon you won't - move out 'fore dinner.” - </p> - <p> - Alan followed him out to the wagon. - </p> - <p> - “It's pretty tough, Uncle Ab,” he said. “I hadn't the slightest idea it - was so bad.” - </p> - <p> - “I wasn't so shore,” said Daniel. “But I was jest a-thinkin' in thar. - You've got a powerful good friend in Rayburn Miller. He's the sharpest - speculator in North Georgia; ef I was you, I'd see him an' lay the whole - thing before him. He 'll be able to give you good advice, an' I'd take it. - A feller that's made as much money as he has at his age won't give a - friend bad advice.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought of him,” said Alan; “but I am a little afraid he will think we - want to borrow money, and he never lets out a cent without the best - security.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you needn't be afeerd on that score,” laughed the old man, as he - reached up on the high wagon-seat for his whip. “I once heerd 'im say that - business an' friendship wouldn't mix any better'n oil an' water.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - V - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9042.jpg" alt="9042 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9042.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE following Saturday Alan went to Darley, as he frequently did, to spend - Sunday. On such visits he usually stayed at the Johnston House, a great, - old-fashioned brick building that had survived the Civil War and remained - untouched by the shot and shell that hurtled over it during that dismal - period when most of the population had “refugeed farther south.” It had - four stories, and was too big for the town, which could boast of only two - thousand inhabitants, one-third of whom were black. However, the smallness - of the town was in the hotel's favor, for in a place where no one would - have patronized a second-class hotel, opposition would have died a natural - death. The genial proprietor and his family were of the best blood, and - the Johnston House was a sort of social club-house, where the church - people held their affairs and the less serious element gave dances. To be - admitted to the hotel without having to pay for one's dinner was the - hallmark of social approval. It was near the ancient-looking brick - car-shed under which the trains of two main lines ran, and a long freight - warehouse of the same date and architecture. Around the hotel were - clustered the chief financial enterprises of the town—its stores, - post-office, banks, and a hall for theatrical purposes. Darley was the - seat of its county, and another relic of the days before the war was its - court house. The principal sidewalks were paved with brick, which in - places were damp and green, and sometimes raised above their common level - by the undergrowing roots of the sycamore-trees that edged the streets. - </p> - <p> - In the office of the hotel, just after registering his name, Alan met his - friend Rayburn Miller, for whose business ability, it may be remembered, - Abner Daniel had such high regard. He was a fine-looking man of - thirty-three, tall and of athletic build; he had dark eyes and hair, and a - ruddy, out-door complexion. - </p> - <p> - “Hello,” he said, cordially. “I thought you might get in to-day, so I came - round to see. Sorry you've taken a room. I wanted you to sleep with me - to-night. Sister's gone, and no one is there but the cook. Hello, I must - be careful. I'm drumming for business right under Sanford's nose.” - </p> - <p> - “I 'll make you stay with me to make up for it,” said Alan, as the clerk - behind the counter laughed good-naturedly over the allusion to himself. - </p> - <p> - “Blamed if I don't think about it,” said Miller. “Come round to the - office. I want to talk to you. I reckon you've got every plough going such - weather as this.” - </p> - <p> - “Took my horse out of the field to drive over,” said Alan, as they went - out and turned down to a side street where there was a row of law offices, - all two-roomed buildings, single-storied, built of brick, and bearing - battered tin signs. One of these buildings was Miller's, which, like all - its fellows, had its door wide open, thus inviting all the lawyers in the - “row” and all students of law to enter and borrow books or use the - ever-open desk. - </p> - <p> - Rayburn Miller was a man among ten thousand in his class. Just after being - graduated at the State University he was admitted to the bar and took up - the practice of law. He could undoubtedly have made his way at this alone, - had not other and more absorbing talents developed within him. Having had - a few thousand dollars left him at his father's death, he began to utilize - this capital in “note shaving,” and other methods of turning over money - for a handsome profit furnished by the unsettled conditions, the time, and - locality. He soon became an adept in many lines of speculation, and as he - was remarkably shrewd and cautious, it is not to be wondered at that he - soon accumulated quite a fortune. - </p> - <p> - “Take a seat,” he said to Alan, as they went into the office, and he threw - himself into the revolving-chair at his littered desk. “I want to talk to - you. I suppose you are in for some fun. The boys are getting up a dance at - the hotel and they want your dollar to help pay the band. It's a good one - this time. They've ordered it from Chattanooga. It will be down on the - seven-thirty-five. Got a match?” - </p> - <p> - Alan had not, and Miller turned his head to the open door. An old negro - happened to be passing, with an axe on his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Heigh, there, Uncle Ned!” Miller called out. - </p> - <p> - The negro had passed, but he heard his name called and he came back and - looked in at the door. - </p> - <p> - “Want me, Marse Rayburn?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you old scamp; get me a match or I 'll shoot the top of your head - off.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, suh; all right, Marse Rayburn!” - </p> - <p> - “You ought to know him,” said Miller, with a smile, as the negro hurried - into the adjoining office. “His wife cooks for Colonel Barclay; he might - tell you if Miss Dolly's going to-night, but I know she is. Frank - Hillhouse checked her name off the list, and I heard him say she'd - accepted. By-the-way, that fellow will do to watch. I think he and the - Colonel are pretty thick.” - </p> - <p> - “Will you never let up on that?” Alan asked with a flush. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know that I shall,” laughed Rayburn. “It seems so funny to see - you in love, or, rather, to see you think you are.” - </p> - <p> - “I have never said I was,” said Alan, sharply. - </p> - <p> - “But you show it so blamed plain,” said Miller. - </p> - <p> - “Heer 'tis, Marse Rayburn. Marse Trabue said you could have a whole box ef - you'd put up wid sulphur ones.” - </p> - <p> - Miller took the matches from the outstretched hand and tossed a cigar to - Alan. “Say, Uncle Ned,” he asked, “do you know that gentleman?” indicating - Alan with a nod of his head. - </p> - <p> - A quizzical look dawned in the old negro's eyes, and then he gave a - resounding guffaw and shook all over. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon I know his hoss, Marse Rayburn,” he tittered. - </p> - <p> - “That's a good one on you, Alan,” laughed Miller. “He knows your 'hoss.'I - 'll have to spring that on you when I see you two together.” - </p> - <p> - As the negro left the office Mr. Trabue leaned in the doorway, holding his - battered silk hat in his hand and mopping his perspiring face. - </p> - <p> - He nodded to Alan, and said to Miller: “Do you want to write?” - </p> - <p> - “Not any more for you, thanks,” said Miller. “I have the back-ache now - from those depositions I made out for you yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don't mean that,” the old lawyer assured him, “but I had to borrow - yore ink just now, and seein' you at yore desk I thought you might need - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, if I do,” jested Miller, “I can buy another bottle at the book-store. - They pay me a commission on the ink I furnish the row. They let me have it - cheap by the case. What stumps me is that you looked in to see if I needed - it. You are breaking the rule, Mr. Trabue. They generally make me hunt for - my office furniture when I need it. They've borrowed everything I have - except my iron safe. Their ignorance of the combination, its weight, and - their confirmed laziness is all that saved it.” - </p> - <p> - When the old lawyer had gone the two friends sat and smoked in silence for - several minutes. Alan was studying Miller's face. Something told him that - the news of his father's disaster had reached him, and that Miller was - going to speak of it. He was not mistaken, for the lawyer soon broached - the subject. - </p> - <p> - “I've been intending to ride out to see you almost every day this week,” - he said, “but business has always prevented my leaving town.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you have heard—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Alan, I'm sorry, but it's all over the country. A man's bad luck - spreads as fast as good war news. I heard it the next day after your - father returned from Atlanta, and saw the whole thing in a flash. The - truth is, Perkins had the cheek to try his scheme on me. I'm the first - target of every scoundrel who has something to sell, and I've learned many - of their tricks. I didn't listen to all he had to say, but got rid of him - as soon as I could. You must not blame the old man. As I see it now, it - was a most plausible scheme, and the shame of it is that no one can be - handled for it. I don't think the Tompkins heirs knew anything of - Perkins's plans at all, except that he was to get a commission, perhaps, - if the property was sold. Trabue is innocent, too—a cat's-paw. As - for Perkins, he has kept his skirts clear of prosecution. Your father will - have to grin and bear it. He really didn't pay a fabulous price for the - land, and if he were in a condition to hold on to it for, say, twenty-five - years, he might not lose money; but who can do that sort of thing? I have - acres and acres of mountain-land offered me at a much lower figure, but - what little money I've made has been made by turning my capital rapidly. - Have you seen Dolly since it happened?” - </p> - <p> - “No, not for two weeks,” replied Alan. “I went to church with her Sunday - before last, and have not seen her since. I was wondering if she had heard - about it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes; she's heard it from the Colonel. It may surprise you, but the - thing has rubbed him the wrong way.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, I don't understand,” exclaimed Alan. “Has he—” - </p> - <p> - “The old man has had about two thousand acres of land over near your - father's purchases, and it seems that he was closely watching all your - father's deals, and, in spite of his judgment to the contrary, Mr. - Bishop's confidence in that sort of real-estate has made him put a higher - valuation on his holdings over there. So you see, now that your father's - mistake is common talk, he is forced to realize a big slump, and he wants - to blame some one for it. I don't know but that your father or some one - else made him an offer for his land which he refused. So you see it is - only natural for him to be disgruntled.” - </p> - <p> - “I see,” said Alan. “I reckon you heard that from Miss Dolly?” - </p> - <p> - Miller smoked slowly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes”—after a pause—“I dropped in there night before last and - she told me about it. She's not one of your surface creatures. She talks - sensibly on all sorts of subjects. Of course, she's not going to show her - heart to me, but she couldn't hide the fact that your trouble was worrying - her a good deal. I think she'd like to see you at the ball to-night. Frank - Hillhouse will give you a dance or two. He's going to be hard to beat. - He's the most attentive fellow I ever run across. He's got a new buggy—a - regular hug-me-tight—and a high-stepping Kentucky mare for the - summer campaign. He 'll have some money at his father's death, and all the - old women say he's the best catch in town because he doesn't drink, has a - Sunday-school class, and will have money. We are all going to wear - evening-suits to-night. There are some girls from Rome visiting Hattie - Alexander, and we don't want them to smell hay in our hair. You know how - the boys are; unless all of us wear spike-tails no one will, so we took a - vote on it and we 'll be on a big dike. There 'll be a devilish lot of - misfits. Those who haven't suits are borrowing in all directions. Frank - Buford will rig out in Colonel Day's antebellum toggery. Did you bring - yours?” - </p> - <p> - “It happens to be at Parker's shop, being pressed,” said Alan. - </p> - <p> - “I've had three in the last six years,” laughed Miller. “You know how much - larger Todd Selman is than I am; he bursted one of mine from collar to - waist last summer at the Springs, and sweated so much that you could dust - salt out of it for a month afterwards. I can't refuse 'em, God bless 'em! - Jeff Higgins married in my best Prince Albert last week and spilled boiled - custard on it; but he's got a good wife and a fair job on a railroad in - Tennessee now. I'd have given him the coat, but he'd never have accepted - it, and been mad the rest of his life at my offer. Parker said somebody - had tried to scrape the custard off with a sharp knife, and that he had a - lot of trouble cleaning it. I wore the coat yesterday and felt like I was - going to be married. Todd must have left some of his shivers in it I - reckon that's as near as I 'll ever come to the hitching-post.” - </p> - <p> - Just then a tall, thin man entered. He wore a rather threadbare - frock-coat, unevenly bound with braid, and had a sallow, sunken, and - rather long face. It was Samuel Craig, one of the two private bankers of - the town. He was about sixty years of age and had a pronounced stoop. - </p> - <p> - “Hello!” he said, pleasantly; “you young bloods are a-goin' to play smash - with the gals' hearts to-night, I reckon. I say go it while you are young. - Rayburn, I want to get one of them iron-clad mortgage-blanks. I've got a - feller that is disposed to wiggle, an' I want to tie 'im up. The inventor - of that form is a blessing to mankind.” - </p> - <p> - “Help yourself,” smiled Miller. “I was just telling Mr. Trabue that I was - running a stationery store, and if I was out of anything in the line I'd - order it for him.” - </p> - <p> - The banker laughed good-humoredly as he selected several of the blanks - from the drawer Rayburn had opened in the desk. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you won't complain as much of hard times as Jake Pitner does,” he - chuckled. “I passed his store the other day, where he was standin' over - some old magazines that he'd marked down. - </p> - <p> - “'How's trade?' I asked 'im. 'It's gone clean to hell,' he said, and I - noticed he'd been drinking. 'I 'll give you a sample of my customers,' he - went on. 'A feller from the mountains come in jest now an' asked the price - of these magazines. I told him the regular price was twenty-five cents - apiece, but I'd marked 'em down to five. He looked at 'em for about half a - hour an' then said he wasn't goin' out o' town till sundown an' believed - he'd take one if I'd read it to him.'” - </p> - <p> - Craig laughed heartily as he finished the story, and Alan and Miller - joined in. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to remember that yarn when you get to over-checkin' on me,” - said Craig, jestingly. “I was just noticing this morning that you have - drawn more than your deposit.” - </p> - <p> - “Over-checked?” said Miller. “You 'll think I have when all my checks get - in. I mailed a dozen to-day. They 'll slide in on you in about a week and - you 'll telegraph <i>Bradstreet's</i> to know how I stand. This is a <i>fine</i> - banker,” Miller went on to Alan. “He twits me about over-checking - occasionally. Let me tell you something. Last year I happened to have ten - thousand dollars on my hands waiting for a cotton factory to begin - operations down in Alabama, and as I had no idea when the money would be - called for I placed it with his nibs here 'on call.'Things got in a tangle - at the mill and they kept waiting, and our friend here concluded I had - given it to him.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you had forgotten you had it,” said Craig, with another of his - loud, infectious laughs. - </p> - <p> - “Anyway,” went on Miller, “I got a sudden order for the amount and ran in - on him on my way from the post-office. I made out my check and stuck it - under his nose. Great Scott! you ought to have seen him wilt. I don't - believe he had half of it in the house, but he had ten million excuses. He - kept me waiting two days and hustled around to beat the band. He thought I - was going to close him up.” - </p> - <p> - “That was a close shave,” admitted Craig. “Never mind about the - over-checking, my boy; keep it up, if it will help you. You are doing - altogether too much business with the other bank to suit me, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VI - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9051.jpg" alt="9051 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9051.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE young people assembled slowly at the dance that evening. Towards dark - it had begun raining, and according to custom two livery-stable carriages, - called “hacks,” were engaged to convey all the couples to and from the - hotel. There was no disputing over who should have the first use of the - vehicles, for the young ladies who had the reputation of getting ready - early on such occasions were gone after first, and those who liked to take - their time in making preparations were left till later. - </p> - <p> - Everything in life is relative, and to young people who often went to even - less pretentious entertainments this affair was rather impressive in its - elegance. Lamps shone everywhere, and bunches of candles blazed and - sputtered in nooks hung about with evergreens. The girls were becomingly - attired in light evening-gowns, and many of them were good-looking, - refined, and graceful. All were soft-spoken and easy in their manners, and - either wore or carried flowers. The evening-suits of the young men were - well in evidence, and more noticeable to the wearers themselves than they - would have been to a spectator used to conventional style of dress. They - could be seen in all stages of inadaptability to figures too large or too - small, and even after the dance began there were several swaps, and a due - amount of congratulation on the improvement from the appreciative fair - sex. The young lady accompanying each young man had pinned a small bouquet - on his lapel, so that it would have been impossible to tell whether a man - had a natural taste for flowers or was the willing victim to a taste - higher than his own. - </p> - <p> - Rayburn Miller and Alan sat smoking and talking in the room of the latter - till about half-past nine o' clock, and then they went down. As a general - rule, young men were expected to escort ladies to dances, when the young - men went at all; but Alan was often excused from so doing on account of - living in the country, and Miller had broken down every precedent in that - respect and never invited a girl to go with him. He atoned for this - shortcoming by contributing most liberally to every entertainment given by - the young people, even when he was out of town. He used to say he liked to - graze and nibble at such things and feel free to go to bed or business at - will. - </p> - <p> - As the two friends entered the big parlor, Alan espied the girl about whom - he had been thinking all day. She was seated in one of the deep, - lace-curtained windows behind the piano. Frank Hillhouse was just - presenting to her a faultlessly attired travelling salesman. At this - juncture one of the floor-managers with a white rosette on his lapel - called Miller away to ask his advice about some details, and Alan turned - out of the parlor into the wide corridor which ran through the house. He - did this in obedience to another unwritten law governing Darley's social - intercourse—that it would be impolite for a resident gentleman to - intrude himself upon a stranger who had just been introduced to a lady. So - he went down to the ground floor and strolled into the office. It was full - of tobacco smoke and a throng of men, some of whom were from the country - and others from the town, drawn to the hotel by the festivities. From the - office a door opened into a bar and billiard room, whence came the - clicking of ivory balls and the grounding of cues. Another door led into - the large dining-room, which had been cleared of its tables that it might - be used for dancing. There was a sawing of fiddles, the twanging of - guitars, the jingle of tambourines, and the groaning of a bass-viol. The - musicians, black and yellow, occupied chairs on one of the tables, which - had been placed against the wall, and one of the floor-managers was - engaged in whittling paraffine-candles over the floor and rubbing it in - with his feet. Seeing what he was doing, some of the young men, desirous - of trying their new patent-leather pumps, came in and began to waltz - singly and in couples. - </p> - <p> - When everything was in readiness the floor-managers piloted the dancers - down-stairs. From the office Alan saw them filing into the big room and - taking seats in the chairs arranged against the walls on all sides. He saw - Frank Hillhouse and Dolly Barclay sit down near the band; the salesman had - disappeared. Alan threw his cigar away and went straight to her. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, here you are,” laughed Frank Hillhouse, as Alan shook hands with her. - “I told Miss Dolly coming on that the west wind would blow you this way, - and when I saw Ray Miller just now I knew you'd struck the town.” - </p> - <p> - “It wasn't exactly the wind,” replied Alan. “I'm afraid you will forget me - if I stay on the farm all the time.” - </p> - <p> - “We certainly are glad to have you,” smiled Miss Barclay. - </p> - <p> - “I knew she'd say that—I knew it—I knew it,” said Hillhouse. - “A girl can always think of nicer things to say to a feller than his rival - can. Old Squire Trabue was teasing me the other day about how hard you was - to beat, Bishop, but I told him the bigger the war the more victory for - somebody; and, as the feller said, I tote fair and am above board.” - </p> - <p> - Alan greeted this with an all but visible shudder. There was much in his - dignified bearing and good appearance to commend him to the preference of - any thinking woman, especially when contrasted to Hill-house, who was only - a little taller than Dolly, and was showing himself even at a greater - disadvantage in his unrefined allusions to his and Alan' s attentions to - her. Indeed, Alan was sorry for the spectacle the fellow was making of - himself, and tried to pass it over. - </p> - <p> - “I usually come in on Saturdays,” he explained. - </p> - <p> - “That's true,” said Dolly, with one of her rare smiles. - </p> - <p> - “Yes”—Hillhouse took another header into forbidden waters—“he's - about joined your church, they tell me.” - </p> - <p> - Alan treated this with an indulgent smile. He did not dislike Hillhouse, - but he did not admire him, and he had never quite liked his constant - attentions to Miss Barclay. But it was an acknowledged fact among the - society girls of Darley that if a girl refused to go out with any young - man in good standing it was not long before she was left at home oftener - than was pleasant. Dolly was easily the best-looking girl in the room; - not, perhaps, the most daintily pretty, but she possessed a beauty which - strength of character and intellect alone could give to a face already - well featured. Even her physical beauty alone was of that texture which - gives the beholder an agreeable sense of solidity. She was well formed, - above medium height, had a beautiful neck and shoulders, dark-gray eyes, - and abundant golden-brown hair. - </p> - <p> - “May I see your card?” asked Alan. “I came early to secure at least one.” - </p> - <p> - At this Frank Hillhouse burst out laughing and she smiled up at Alan. - “He's been teasing me all evening about the predicament I'm in,” she - explained. “The truth is, I'm not going to dance at all. The presiding - elder happened in town to-day, on his way through, and is at our house. - You know how bitter he is against church-members dancing. At first mamma - said I shouldn't come a step; but Mr. Hillhouse and I succeeded in getting - up a compromise. I can only look on. But my friends are having pity on me - and filling my card for what they call stationary dances.” - </p> - <p> - Alan laughed as he took the card, which was already almost filled, and - wrote his name in one of the blank spaces. Some one called Hillhouse away, - and then an awkward silence fell upon them. For the first time Alan - noticed a worried expression on her face, now that it was in repose, but - it lighted up again when she spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You have no button-hole bouquet,” she said, noticing his bare lapel. - “That's what you get for not bringing a girl. Let me make you one.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish you would,” he said, thoughtfully, for as she began to search - among her flowers for some rosebuds and leaves he noted again the - expression of countenance that had already puzzled him. - </p> - <p> - “Since you are so popular,” he went on, his eyes on her deft fingers, “I'd - better try to make another engagement. I'd as well confess that I came in - town solely to ask you to let me take you to church tomorrow evening.” - </p> - <p> - He saw her start; she raised her eyes to his almost imploringly, and then - she looked down. He saw her breast heave suddenly as with tightened lips - she leaned forward to pin the flowers on his coat. The jewels in her rings - flashed under his eyes; there was a delicate perfume in the air about her - glorious head. He had never seen her look so beautiful before. He wondered - at her silence at just such a moment. The tightness of her lips gave way - and they fell to trembling when she started to speak. - </p> - <p> - “I hardly know what to say,” she began. “I—I—you know I said - the presiding elder was at our house, and—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I understand,” broke in Alan; “that's all right. Of course, use your - own—” - </p> - <p> - “No, I must be plain with you,” she broke in, raising a pair of helpless, - tortured eyes to his; “you will not think I had anything to do with it. In - fact, my heart is almost broken. I'm very, very unhappy.” - </p> - <p> - He was still totally at sea as to the cause of her strange distress. - “Perhaps you'd rather not tell me at all,” he said, sympathetically; his - tone never had been so tender. “You need not, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “But it's a thing I could not keep from you long, anyway,” she said, - tremulously. “In fact, it is due you—an explanation, I mean. Oh, - Alan, papa has taken up the idea that we—that we like each other too - much, and—” - </p> - <p> - The life and soul seemed to leave Alan' s face. - </p> - <p> - “I understand,” he heard himself saying; “he does not want me to visit you - any more.” - </p> - <p> - She made no reply; he saw her catch a deep breath, and her eyes went down - to her flowers. The music struck up. The mulatto leader stood waving his - fiddle and calling for “the grand march” in loud, melodious tones. There - was a scrambling for partners; the young men gave their left arms to the - ladies and merrily dragged them to their places. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you do not blame me—that you don't think that I—” but - the clatter and clamor ingulfed her words. - </p> - <p> - “No, not at all,” he told her; “but it's awful—simply awful I I know - you are a true friend, and that's some sort of comfort.” - </p> - <p> - “And I always shall be,” she gulped. “You must try not to feel hurt. You - know my father is a very peculiar man, and has an awful will, and nobody - was ever so obstinate.” - </p> - <p> - Then Alan' s sense of the great injustice of the thing rose up within him - and his blood began to boil. “Perhaps I ought to take my name off your - card,” he said, drawing himself up slightly; “if he were to hear that I - talked to you to-night he might make it unpleasant for you.” - </p> - <p> - “If you do I shall never—<i>never forgive you</i>,” she answered, in - a voice that shook. There was, too, a glistening in her eyes, as if tears - were springing. “Wouldn't that show that you harbored ill-will against me, - when I am so helpless and troubled?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it would; and I shall come back,” he made answer. He rose, for - Hillhouse, calling loudly over his shoulder to some one, was thrusting his - bowed arm down towards her. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon,” he said to Dolly. “I didn't know they had called the - march. We've got some ice-cream hid out up-stairs, and some of us are - going for it. Won't you take some, Bishop?” - </p> - <p> - “No, thank you,” said Alan, and they left him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VI - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9058.jpg" alt="9058 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9058.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - LAN made his way along the wall, out of the track of the promenaders, into - the office, anxious to escape being spoken to by any one. But here several - jovial men from the mountains who knew him intimately gathered around him - and began to make laughing remarks about his dress. - </p> - <p> - “You look fer the world like a dirt-dauber.” This comparison to a kind of - black wasp came from Pole Baker, a tall, heavily built farmer with an - enormous head, thick eyebrows, and long, shaggy hair. He lived on Bishop's - farm, and had been brought up with Alan. “I 'll be derned ef you ain't - nimble on yore feet, though. I've seed you cut the pigeon-wing over on - Mossy Creek with them big, strappin' gals 'fore you had yore sights as - high as these town folks.” - </p> - <p> - “It's that thar vest that gits me,” said another. “I reckon it's cut low - so you won't drap saft victuals on it; but I guess you don't do much - eatin' with that collar on. It don't look like yore Adam's-apple could - stir a peg under it.” - </p> - <p> - With a good-natured reply and a laugh he did not feel, Alan hurried out of - the office and up to his room, where he had left his lamp burning. Rayburn - Miller's hat and light overcoat were on the bed. Alan sat down in one of - the stiff-backed, split-bottom chairs and stared straight in front of him. - Never in his life had he suffered as he was now suffering. He could see no - hope ahead; the girl he loved was lost to him. Her father had heard of the - foolhardiness of old man Bishop, and, like many another well-meaning - parent, had determined to save his daughter from the folly of marrying a - penniless man, who had doubtless inherited his father's lack of judgment - and caution. - </p> - <p> - There was a rap on the closed door, and immediately afterwards Rayburn - Miller turned the knob and came in. His kindly glance swept the face of - his friend, and he said, with forced lightness: - </p> - <p> - “I was doing the cake-walk with that fat Howard girl from Rome when I saw - you leave the room. She can' t hide the fact that she is from a city of - ten thousand population. She kept calling my attention to what our girls - had on and sniggering. She's been to school in Boston and looked across - the ocean from there. You know I don't think we lead the world, but it - makes me fighting mad to have our town sneered at. When she was making so - much fun of the girls' dresses, I came in an inch of asking her if she was - a dressmaker. By God, I did! You remember,” Miller went on lightly, as if - he had divined Alan' s misery and was trying to cheer him up—“you - remember how Percy Lee, Hamilton's shoe-clerk, hit back at that Savannah - girl. She was stopping in this house for a month one summer, and he called - on her and took her driving several times; but one day she let herself - out. 'Everything is so different up here, Mr. Lee,' she giggled. 'Down - home, girls in good society never receive young men in your business.'It - was a lick between the eyes; but old North Georgia was ready for it. - 'Oh,' said Percy, whose mother's blood is as blue as indigo, 'the Darley - girls draw the line, too; I only get to go with hotel girls.'” - </p> - <p> - Alan looked up and smiled, but his face seemed frozen. Miller sat down, - and an awkward silence fell for several minutes. It was broken by the - lawyer. - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to bore you, old man,” he said, “but I just had to follow - you. I saw from your looks as you left the ballroom that something was - wrong, and I am afraid I know what it is.” - </p> - <p> - “You think you do?” asked Alan, flashing a glance of surprise upward. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. You see, Colonel Barclay is a rough, outspoken man, and he made a - remark the other day which reached me. I wasn't sure it was true, so I - didn't mention it; but I reckon my informant knew what he was talking - about.” - </p> - <p> - Alan nodded despondently. “I asked her to go to church with me to-morrow - night. She was awfully embarrassed, and finally told me of her father's - objections.” - </p> - <p> - “I think I know what fired the old devil up,” said Miller. - </p> - <p> - “You do?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it was that mistake of your father's. As I told you, the Colonel is - as mad as a wet hen about the whole thing. He's got a rope tied to every - nickel he's got, and he intends to leave Dolly a good deal of money. He - thinks Frank Hillhouse is just the thing; he shows that as plain as day. - He noticed how frequently you came to see Dolly and scented danger ahead, - and simply put his foot down on it, just as fathers have been doing ever - since the Flood. My dear boy, you've got a bitter pill to take, but you've - got to swallow it like a man. You've reached a point where two roads fork. - It is for you to decide which one you 'll take.” - </p> - <p> - Alan made no reply. Rayburn Miller lighted a cigar and began to smoke - steadily. There was a sound of boisterous laughter in a room across the - corridor. It had been set aside as the dressing-room for the male - revellers, and some of them were there, ordering drinks up from the bar. - Now and then from below came muffled strains of music and the monotonous - shuffling of feet. - </p> - <p> - “It's none of my business,” Miller burst out, suddenly; “but I'm friend - enough of yours to feel this thing like the devil. However, I don't know - what to say. I only wish I knew how far you've gone into it.” - </p> - <p> - Alan smiled mechanically. - </p> - <p> - “If you can' t look at me and see how far I've gone you are blind,” he - said. - </p> - <p> - “I don't mean that,” replied Miller. “I was wondering how far you had - committed yourself—oh, damn it!—made love, and all that sort - of thing.” - </p> - <p> - “I've never spoken to her on the subject,” Alan informed him, gloomily. - </p> - <p> - “Good, good! Splendid!” - </p> - <p> - Alan stared in surprise. - </p> - <p> - “I don't understand,” he said. “She knows—that is, I think she knows - how I feel, and I have hoped that—” - </p> - <p> - “Never mind about that,” interrupted Miller, laconically. “There is a - chance for both of you if you 'll turn square around like sensible human - beings and look the facts in the face.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean—” - </p> - <p> - “That it will be stupid, childish idiocy for either or both of you to let - this thing spoil your lives.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't understand you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you will before I'm through with you, and I 'll do you up brown. - There are simply two courses open to you, my boy. One is to treat Colonel - Barclay's wishes with dignified respect, and bow and retire just as any - European gentleman would do when told that his pile was too small to be - considered.” - </p> - <p> - “And the other?” asked Alan, sharply. - </p> - <p> - “The other is to follow in the footsteps of nearly every sentimental fool - that ever was born, and go around looking like a last year's bird's-nest, - looking good for nothing, and being good for nothing; or, worse yet, - persuading the girl to elope, and thus angering her father so that he will - cut her out of what's coming to her and what is her right, my boy. She may - be willing to live on a bread-and-water diet for a while, but she 'll lose - flesh and temper in the long run. If you don't make as much money for her - as you cause her to lose she 'll tell you of it some day, or at least let - you see it, an' that's as long as it's wide. You are now giving yourself a - treatment in self-hypnotism, telling yourself that life has not and cannot - produce a thing for you beyond that particular pink frock and yellow head. - I know how you feel. I've been there six different times, beginning with a - terrible long first attack and dwindling down, as I became inoculated with - experience, till now the complaint amounts to hardly more than a momentary - throe when I see a fresh one in a train for an hour's ride. I can do you a - lot of good if you 'll listen to me. I 'll give you the benefit of my - experience.” - </p> - <p> - “What good would your devilish experience do me?” said Alan, impatiently. - </p> - <p> - “It would fit any man's case if he'd only believe it. I've made a study of - love. I've observed hundreds of typical cases, and watched marriage from - inception through protracted illness or boredom down to dumb resignation - or sudden death. I don't mean that no lovers of the ideal, sentimental - brand are ever happy after marriage, but I do believe that open-eyed - courtship will beat the blind sort all hollow, and that, in nine cases out - of ten, if people were mated by law according to the judgment of a - sensible, open-eyed jury, they would be happier than they now are. Nothing - ever spoken is truer than the commandment, 'Thou shalt have no other God - but me.'Let a man put anything above the principle of living right and he - will be miserable. The man who holds gold as the chief thing in life will - starve to death in its cold glitter, while a pauper in rags will have a - laugh that rings with the music of immortal joy. In the same way the man - who declares that only one woman is suited to him is making a god of her—raising - her to a seat that won't support her dead, material weight. I frankly - believe that the glamour of love is simply a sort of insanity that has - never been correctly named and treated because so many people have been - the victims of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know,” Alan burst in, almost angrily, “when you talk that way I - think you are off. I know what's the matter with you; you have simply - frittered away your heart, your ability to love and appreciate a good - woman. Thank Heaven! your experience has not been mine. I don't see how - you could ever be happy with a woman. I couldn't look a pure wife in the - face and remember all the flirtations you've indulged in—that is, if - they were mine.” - </p> - <p> - “There you go,” laughed Miller; “make it personal, that's the only way the - average lover argues. I am speaking in general terms. Let me finish. Take - two examples: first, the chap crazily in love, who faces life with the red - rag of his infatuation—his girl. No parental objection, everything - smooth, and a car-load of silverware—a clock for every room in the - house. They start out on their honeymoon, doing the chief cities at the - biggest hotels and the theatres in the three-dollar seats. They soon tire - of themselves and lay it to the trip. Every day they rake away a handful - of glamour from each other, till, when they reach home, they have come to - the conclusion that they are only human, and not the highest order at - that. For a while they have a siege of discontent, wondering where it's - all gone. Finally, the man is forced to go about his work, and the woman - gets to making things to go on the backs of chairs and trying to spread - her trousseau over the next year, and they begin to court resignation. Now - if they had not had the glamour attack they would have got down to - business sooner, that's all, and they would have set a better example to - other plungers. Now for the second illustration. Poverty on one side, - boodle on the other; more glamour than in other case, because of the gulf - between. They get married—they have to; they've inherited the stupid - idea that the Lord is at the bottom of it and that the glamour is His - smile. Like the other couple, their eyes are finally opened to the facts, - and they begin to secretly wonder what it's all about; the one with the - spondoolix wonders harder than the one who has none. If the man has the - money, he will feel good at first over doing so much for his affinity; but - if he has an eye for earthly values—and good business men have—there - will be times when he will envy Jones, whose wife had as many rocks as - Jones. Love and capital go together like rain and sunshine; they are - productive of something. Then if the woman has the money and the man - hasn't, there's tragedy—a slow cutting of throats. She is - irresistibly drawn with the rest of the world into the thought that she - has tied herself and her money to an automaton, for such men are - invariably lifeless. They seem to lose the faculty of earning money—in - any other way. And as for a proper title for the penniless young idiot - that publicly advertises himself as worth enough, in himself, for a girl - to sacrifice her money to live with him—well, the unabridged does - not furnish it. Jack Ass in bill-board letters would come nearer to it - than anything that occurs to me now. I'm not afraid to say it, for I know - you'd never cause any girl to give up her fortune without knowing, at - least, whether you could replace it or not.” - </p> - <p> - Alan rose and paced the room. “That,” he said, as he stood between the - lace curtains at the window, against which the rain beat steadily—“that - is why I feel so blue. I don't believe Colonel Barclay would ever forgive - her, and I'd die before I'd make her lose a thing.” - </p> - <p> - “You are right,” returned Miller, relighting his cigar at the lamp, “and - he'd cut her off without a cent. I know him. But what is troubling me is - that you may not be benefited by my logic. Don't allow this to go any - further. Let her alone from to-night on and you 'll find in a few months - that you are resigned to it, just like the average widower who wants to - get married six months after his loss. And when she is married and has a - baby, she 'll meet you on the street and not care a rap whether her hat's - on right or not. She 'll tell her husband all about it, and allude to you - as her first, second, or third fancy, as the case may be. I have faith in - your future, but you've got a long, rocky row to hoe, and a thing like - this could spoil your usefulness and misdirect your talents. If I could - see how you could profit by waiting I'd let your flame burn unmolested; - but circumstances are agin us.” - </p> - <p> - “I'd already seen my duty,” said Alan, in a low tone, as he came away from - the window. “I have an engagement with her later, and the subject shall be - avoided.” - </p> - <p> - “Good man!” Miller's cigar was so short that he stuck the blade of his - penknife through it that he might enjoy it to the end without burning his - fingers. “That's the talk! Now I must mosey on down-stairs and dance with - that Miss Fewclothes from Rome—the one with the auburn tresses, that - says 'delighted' whenever she is spoken to.” - </p> - <p> - Alan went back to the window. The rain was still beating on it. For a long - time he stood looking out into the blackness. The bad luck which had come - to his father had been a blow to him; but its later offspring had the - grim, cold countenance of death itself. He had never realized till now - that Dolly Barclay was so much a part of his very life. For a moment he - almost gave way to a sob that rose and struggled within him. He sat down - again and clasped his hands before him in dumb self-pity. He told himself - that Rayburn Miller was right, that only weak men would act contrary to - such advice. No, it was over—all, all over. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VIII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9067.jpg" alt="9067 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9067.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - FTER the dance Frank Hillhouse took Dolly home in one of the drenched and - bespattered hacks. The Barclay residence was one of the best-made and - largest in town. It was an old-style Southern frame-house, painted white, - and had white-columned verandas on two sides. It was in the edge of the - town, and had an extensive lawn in front and almost a little farm behind. - </p> - <p> - Dolly's mother had never forgotten that she was once a girl herself, and - she took the most active interest in everything pertaining to Dolly's - social life. On occasions like the one just described she found it - impossible to sleep till her daughter returned, and then she slipped - up-stairs, and made the girl tell all about it while she was disrobing. - To-night she was more alert and wide-awake than usual. She opened the - front door for Dolly and almost stepped on the girl's heels as she - followed her up-stairs. - </p> - <p> - “Was it nice?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, very,” Dolly replied. Reaching her room, she turned up the - low-burning lamp, and, standing before a mirror, began to take some - flowers out of her hair. Mrs. Barclay sat down on the edge of the - high-posted mahogany bed and raised one of her bare feet and held it in - her hand. She was a thin woman with iron-gray hair, and about fifty years - of age. She looked as if she were cold; but, for reasons of her own, she - was not willing for Dolly to remark it. - </p> - <p> - “Who was there?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, everybody.” - </p> - <p> - “Is that so? I thought a good many would stay away because it was a bad - night; but I reckon they are as anxious to go as we used to be. Then you - all did have the hacks?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they had the hacks.” There was a pause, during which one pair of - eyes was fixed rather vacantly on the image in the mirror; the other pair, - full of impatient inquiry, rested alternately on the image and its maker. - </p> - <p> - “I don't believe you had a good time,” broke the silence, in a rising, - tentative tone. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I did, mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what's the matter with you?” Mrs. Barclay's voice rang with - impatience. “I never saw you act like you do to-night, never in my life.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know anything was wrong with me, mother.” - </p> - <p> - “You act queer; I declare you do,” asserted Mrs. Barclay. “You generally - have a lot to say. Have you and Frank had a falling out?” - </p> - <p> - Dolly gave her shoulders a sudden shrug of contempt. - </p> - <p> - “No, we got along as well as we ever did.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought maybe he was a little mad because you wouldn't dance to-night; - but surely he's got enough sense to see that you oughtn't to insult - brother Dill-beck that way when he's visiting our house and everybody - knows what he thinks about dancing.” - </p> - <p> - “No, he thought I did right about it,” said Dolly. - </p> - <p> - “Then what in the name of common-sense is the matter with you, Dolly? You - can' t pull the wool over my eyes, and you needn't try it.” - </p> - <p> - Dolly faced about suddenly. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you 'll sit there all night unless I tell you all about it,” she - said, sharply. “Mother, Alan Bishop was there.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and asked me to let him take me to church to-morrow evening.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he did?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and as I didn't want father to insult him, I—” - </p> - <p> - “You told him what your pa said?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I just told him father didn't want me to receive him any more. Heaven - knows, that was enough.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that was the best thing for you to do.” Mrs. Barclay took a deep - breath, as if she were inhaling a delicious perfume. “It's much better - than to have him plunge in here some day and have your father break out - like he does in his rough way. What did Alan say?” - </p> - <p> - “He said very little; but he looked it. You ought to have seen him. Frank - came up just about that time and invited me to have some ice-cream, and I - had to leave him. He was as white as a sheet. He had made an engagement - with me to sit out a dance, and he didn't come in the room again till that - dance was called, and then he didn't even mention it. He acted so - peculiarly, I could see it was nearly killing him, but he wouldn't let me - bring up the subject again. I came near doing it; but he always steered - round it.” - </p> - <p> - “He's a sensible young man,” declared Mrs. Barclay. “Any one can see that - by looking at him. He's not responsible for his father's foolhardy - venture, but it certainly leaves him in a bad fix as a marrying man. He's - had bad luck, and he must put up with the consequences. There are plenty - of girls who have no money or prospects who would be glad to have him, but—” - </p> - <p> - “Mother,” broke in Dolly, as if she had been listening to her own troubled - thoughts rather than her mother's words; “he didn't act as if he wanted to - see me alone. The other couples who had engagements to talk during that - dance were sitting in windows and out-of-the-way corners, but he kept me - right where I was, and was as carefully polite as if we had just been - introduced. I was sorry for him and mad at the same time. I could have - pulled his ears.” - </p> - <p> - “He's sensible, very sensible,” said Mrs. Barclay, in a tone of warm - admiration. “A man like that ought to get along, and I reckon he will do - well some day.” - </p> - <p> - “But, mother,” said Dolly, her rich, round voice rising like a wave and - breaking in her throat, “he may never think about me any more.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that really would be best, dear, under the circumstances.” - </p> - <p> - “Best?” Dolly blurted out. “How can you say that, when—when—” - </p> - <p> - “Dolly, you are not really foolish about him, are you?” Mrs. Barclay's - face dropped into deeper seriousness. - </p> - <p> - Dolly looked away and was silent for a moment; then she faltered: “I don't - know, mother, I—I'm afraid if I keep on feeling like I do now I 'll - never get over it.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but you 'll not keep on feeling like you do now,” consoled the older - woman. “Of course, right now, just after seeing how hard he took it, you - will kind o' sympathize with him and want to help him; but that will all - pass away. I remember when I was about your age I had a falling out with - Will Despree—a young man my father didn't like because his - grandfather had been an overseer. And, do you know, I thought I would - actually kill myself. I refused to eat a bite and threatened to run away - with Will. To this day I really don't know what I would have done if your - grandfather hadn't scared him away with a shot-gun. Will kept writing - notes to me. I was afraid to answer them, but my father got hold of one - and went after him on a fast horse. Will's family heard what was up and - they kept him out in the swamp for a few days, and then they sent him to - Texas. The whole Despree family took it up and talked scand'lous about - us.” - </p> - <p> - “And you soon got over it, mother?” asked Dolly, almost in a tone of - dismay. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Mrs. Barclay, reflectively, “Will acted the fool so terribly; - he wasn't out in Texas three months before he sent back a marked paper - with an article in it about his engagement to the daughter of a rich man - who, we found out afterwards, used to keep a livery-stable; then I reckon - hardly any girl would keep caring for a boy when his folks was telling - such lies about her family.” - </p> - <p> - Dolly was staring studiously at the speaker. - </p> - <p> - “Mother,” she asked, “don't you believe in real love?” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Barclay laughed as if highly amused. “I believe in a different sort - to the puppy love I had for that boy. Then after that there was another - young man that I thought more of, if anything, than I did of Will; but he - was as poor as Job's turkey, and my folks was all crazy for me 'n' your - pa, who I'd never seen, to get married. I held out against the idea, just - like you are doing with Frank, I reckon; but when your pa come with his - shiny broadcloth coat and spotted silk vest—no, it was satin, I - think, with red spots on it—and every girl in town was crazy to - catch him, and there was no end of reports about the niggers he owned and - his high connections—well, as I say, it wasn't a week before I was - afraid he'd see Joe Tinsley and hear about me 'n' him. My father was in - for the match from the very jump, and so was your pa's folks. He put up at - our house with his nigger servant and didn't want to go about town much. I - reckon I was pleased to have him pick me out, and so we soon fixed it up. - Lordy, he only had to mention Joe Tinsley to me after we got married to - make me do anything he wanted. To this day he throws him up to me, for Joe - never did amount to anything. He tried to borrow money from your pa after - you was born. The neighbors had to feed his children.” - </p> - <p> - “But you loved father, didn't you?” Dolly breathed, in some relief over - what she thought was coming. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I can' t say I did,” said Mrs. Barclay. “We had a terrible time - getting used to one another's ways. You see, he'd waited a good while, and - was some older than I was. After a while, though, we settled down, and now - I'm awful glad I let my father manage for me. You see, what your pa had - and what my father settled on me made us comfortable, and if a couple is - that it's a sight more than the pore ones are.” - </p> - <p> - Dolly stood before her mother, close enough to touch her. Her face wore an - indescribable expression of dissatisfaction with what she had heard. - </p> - <p> - “Mother, tell me one thing,” she said. “Did you ever let either of those - boys—the two that you didn't marry, I mean—kiss you?” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Barclay stared up at her daughter for an instant and then her face - broke into a broad smile of genuine amusement. She lowered her head to her - knee and laughed out. - </p> - <p> - “Dolly Barclay, you are <i>such</i> a fool!” she said, and then she - laughed again almost immoderately, her face in her lap. - </p> - <p> - “I know what <i>that</i> means,” said Dolly, in high disgust. “Mother, I - don't think you can do me any good. You'd better go to bed.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Barclay rose promptly. - </p> - <p> - “I think I'd better, too,” she said. “It makes your pa awful mad for me to - sit up this way. I don't want to hear him rail out like he always does - when he catches me at it.” - </p> - <p> - After her mother had gone, Dolly sat down on her bed. “She never was in - love,” she told herself. “Never, never, never! And it is a pity. She never - could have talked that way if she had really loved anybody as much as—” - But Dolly did not finish what lay on her tongue. However, when she had - drawn the covers up over her the cold tears rose in her eyes and rolled - down on her pillow as she thought of Alan Bishop's brave and dignified - suffering. - </p> - <p> - “Poor fellow!” she said. “Poor, dear Alan!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - IX - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9074.jpg" alt="9074 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9074.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HERE is a certain class of individuals that will gather around a man in - misfortune, and it differs very little, if it differs at all, from the - class that warms itself in the glow of a man' s prosperity. It is made up - of human failures, in the first instance, congratulating themselves on not - being alone in bad luck; in the second, desirous of seeing how a fortunate - man would look and act and guessing at his feelings. From the appearance - of Bishop's home for the first fortnight after his return from Atlanta, - you would have thought that some one was seriously ill in the house or - that some general favorite had returned to the family after a long - absence. - </p> - <p> - Horses were hitched to the fence from the front gate all the way round to - the side entrance. The mountain people seemed to have left their various - occupations to subtly enjoy the spectacle of a common man like themselves - who had reached too far after forbidden fruit and lay maimed and torn - before them. It was a sort of feast at which the baser part of their - spiritual natures was fed, and, starved as they were, it tasted good. Many - of them had never aspired to bettering their lot even with small ventures - such as buying Jersey cows at double the value of common cattle when it - was reported that the former gave four times as much milk and ate less, - and to these cautious individuals Bishop's visible writhing was sweet - confirmation of their own judgment. - </p> - <p> - Their disapproval of the old man's effort to hurry Providence could not - have been better shown than in the failure of them all to comment on the - rascally conduct of the Atlanta lawyer; they even chuckled over that part - of the incident. To their minds Perkins was a sort of far-off - personification of a necessary evil—who, like the devil himself, was - evidently created to show mortals their limitations. They were not going - to say what the lawyer had a right to do or should avoid doing, for they - didn't pretend to know; but they did know what their old neighbor ought to - have done, and if they didn't tell him so to his face they would let him - see it by their actions. Yes, Bishop was a different thing altogether. He - belonged to them and theirs. He led in their meetings, prayed in public, - and had till now headed the list in all charitable movements. - </p> - <p> - The Reverend Charles B. Dole, a tall, spare man of sixty, who preached the - first, second, third, and fourth Sundays of each month in four different - meetinghouses within a day's ride of Bishop's, came around as the guest of - the farm-house as often as his circuit would permit. He was called the - “fightin' preacher,” because he had had several fearless hand-to-hand - encounters with certain moonshiners whose conduct he had ventured to call - ungodly, because unlawful. - </p> - <p> - On the second Saturday after Bishop's mishap, as Dole was to preach the - next day at Rock Crest meetinghouse, he rode up as usual and turned his - horse into the stable and fed him with his own hands. Then he joined Abner - Daniel on the veranda. Abner had seen him ride up and purposely buried his - head in his newspaper to keep from offering to take the horse, for Abner - did not like the preacher “any to hurt,” as he would have put it. - </p> - <p> - Dole did not care much for Abner either. They had engaged in several - doctrinal discussions in which the preacher had waxed furious over some of - Daniel's views, which he described as decidedly unorthodox. Daniel had - kept his temper beautifully and had the appearance of being amused through - it all, and this Dole found harder to forgive than anything Abner had - said. - </p> - <p> - “You all have had some trouble, I heer, sence I saw you last,” said the - preacher as he sat down and began to wipe his perspiring brow with a big - handkerchief. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I reckon it mought be called that,” Abner replied, as he carefully - folded his newspaper and put it into his coat-pocket. “None of us was - expectin' of it an' it sorter bu'sted our calculations. Alf had laid out - to put new high-back benches in Rock Crest, an' new lamps an' one thing - another, an' it seems to me”—Abner wiped his too facile mouth—“like - I heerd 'im say one day that you wasn't paid enough fer yore thunder, an' - that he'd stir around an' see what could be done.” Abner's eyes twinkled. - “But lawsy me! I reckon ef he kin possibly raise the scads to pay the tax - on his investment next yeer he 'll do all the Lord expects.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh, I reckon!” grunted Dole, irritated as usual by Abner's double - meaning. “I take it that the Lord hain't got much to do with human - speculations one way or other.” - </p> - <p> - “Ef I just had that scamp that roped 'im in before me a minute I'd fix - 'im,” said Abner. “Do you know what denomination Perkins belongs to?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I don't,” Dole blurted out, “an' what's more, I don't care.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I acknowledge it sorter interests me,” went on our philosopher, in - an inscrutable tone, “beca'se, brother Dole, you kin often trace a man' s - good ur bad doin' s to his belief in Bible matters. Maybe you don't - remember Jabe Lynan that stold Thad Wilson's stump-suckin' hoss an' was - ketched an' put up. I was at the court-house in Darley when he received - his sentence. His wife sent me to 'im to carry his pipe an' one thing or - other—a pair o' socks an' other necessary tricks—a little can - o' lye-soap, fer one thing. She hadn't the time to go, as she said she had - a patch o' young corn to hoe out. I found 'im as happy as ef he was goin' - off on a excursion. He laughed an' 'lowed it ud be some time 'fore he got - back, an' I wondered what could 'a' made him so contented, so I made some - inquiries on that line. I found that he was a firm believer in - predestination, an' that what was to be was foreordained. He said that he - firmly believed he was predestinated to go to the coal-mines fer - hoss-stealin', an' that life was too short to be kickin' agin the Lord's - way o' runnin' matters; besides, he said, he'd heerd that they issued a - plug o'.tobacco a week to chawin' prisoners, an' he could prove that he - was one o' that sort ef they'd look how he'd ground his jaw-teeth down to - the gums.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” grunted Dole again, his sharp, gray eyes on Abner's face, as if he - half believed that some of his own theories were being sneered at. It was - true that he, being a Methodist, had not advocated a belief in - predestination, but Abner Daniel had on more than one occasion shown a - decided tendency to bunch all stringent religious opinions together and - cast them down as out of date. When in doubt in a conversation with Abner, - the preacher assumed a coldness on the outside that was often not - consistent with the fires within him. “I don't see what all that's got to - do with brother Bishop's mistake,” he said, frigidly, as he leaned back in - his chair. - </p> - <p> - “It sets me to wonderin' what denomination Perkins belongs to, that's - all,” said Abner, with another smile. “I know in reason he's a big Ike in - some church in Atlanta, fer I never knowed a lawyer that wasn't foremost - in that way o' doin' good. I 'll bet a hoe-cake he belongs to some - highfalutin crowd o' worshippers that kneel down on saft cushions an' - believe in scoopin' in all they kin in the Lord's name, an' that charity - begins at home. I think that myse'f, brother Dole, fer thar never was a - plant as hard to git rooted as charity is, an' a body ought to have it - whar they kin watch it close. It 'll die a heap o' times ef you jest look - at it, an' it mighty nigh always has bad soil ur a drougth to contend - with.” - </p> - <p> - Just then Pole Baker, who has already been introduced to the reader, rode - up to the fence and hitched his horse. He nodded to the two men on the - veranda, and went round to the smoke-house to get a piece of bacon Bishop - had promised to sell him on credit. - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” Dole grunted, and he crossed his long legs and swung his foot up - and down nervously. He had the look of a man who was wondering why such - insufferable bores as Abner should so often accompany a free dinner. He - had never felt drawn to the man, and it irritated him to think that just - when his mental faculties needed rest, Abner always managed to introduce - the very topics which made it necessary for him to keep his wits about - him. - </p> - <p> - “Take that feller thar,” Abner went on, referring to Baker. “He's about - the hardest customer in this county, an' yet he's bein' managed right now. - He's got a wife an' seven children an' is a holy terror when he gits - drunk. He used to be the biggest dare-devil moonshiner in all these - mountains; but Alan kept befriendin' 'im fust one way an' another tell he - up one day an' axed Alan what he could do fer 'im. Alan ain't none o' yore - shoutin' kind o' Christians. He shakes a nimble toe at a shindig when he - wants to, an' knows the ace from a ten-spot; but he gits thar with every - claw in the air when some 'n' has to be done. So, when Pole axed 'im that, - Alan jest said, as quiet as ef he was axin' 'im fer a match to light a - cigar, 'Quit yore moonshinin', Pole.' That was all he said. Pole looked - 'im straight in the eye fer a minute, an' then said: - </p> - <p> - “'The hell you say! By God, Alan Bishop, you don't mean that!' - </p> - <p> - “'Yes, I do, Pole,' said Alan, 'quit! Quit smack off!' - </p> - <p> - “'You ax that as a favor?' said Pole. - </p> - <p> - “'Yes, as a favor,' said Alan, 'an' you are a-goin' to do it, too.' - </p> - <p> - “Then Pole begun to contend with 'im. 'You are a-axin' that beca'se you - think I 'll be ketched up with,' he said; 'but I tell you the' ain't no - man on the face o' the earth that could find my still now. You could stand - in two feet of the door to it all day an' not find it if you looked fer it - with a spy-glass. I kin make bug-juice all the rest o' my life an' sell it - without bein' ketched.' - </p> - <p> - “'I want you to give it up,' said Alan, an' Pole did. It was like pullin' - an eye-tooth, but Pole yanked it out. Alan is workin' on 'im now to git - 'im to quit liquor, but that ain't so easy. He could walk a crack with a - gallon sloshin' about in 'im. Now, as I started to say, Alan 'ain't got no - cut-and-dried denomination, an' don't have to walk any particular kind o' - foot-log to do his work, but it's a-goin' on jest the same. Now I don't - mean no reflection on yore way o' hitchin' wings on folks, but I believe - you could preach yore sermons—sech as they are—in Pole Baker's - yeers till Gabriel blowed his lungs out, an' Pole ud still be moonshinin'. - An' sometimes I think that sech fellers as Alan Bishop ort to be paid fer - what they do in betterin' the world. I don't see why you fellers ort - always to be allowed to rake in the jack-pot unless you'd accomplish - more'n outsiders, that jest turn the'r hands to the job at odd times.” - </p> - <p> - Dole drew himself up straight and glared at the offender. - </p> - <p> - “I think that is a rather personal remark, brother Daniel,” he said, - coldly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, maybe it is,” returned Abner; “but I didn't mean fer it to be. I've - heerd you praise up certain preachers fer the good they was a-doin', an' I - saw no harm in mentionin' Alan's method. I reckon it's jest a case o' the - shoe bein' on another foot. I was goin' to tell you how this misfortune o' - Alf's had affected Pole; he's been like a crazy man ever since it - happened. It's been all Alan could do to keep 'im from goin' to Atlanta - and chokin' the life out o' Perkins. Pole got so mad when he wouldn't let - 'im go that he went off cussin' 'im fer all he was worth. I wonder what - sort of a denomination a man ud fit into that 'll cuss his best friends - black an' blue beca'se they won't let 'im fight fer 'em. Yes, he 'll - fight, an' ef he ever does jine the ranks above he 'll do the work o' ten - men when thar's blood to spill. I seed 'im in a row once durin' election - when he was leggin' fer a friend o' his'n; he stood right at the polls an' - wanted to slug every man that voted agin 'im. He knocked three men's teeth - down the'r throats an' bunged up two more so that they looked like they - had on false-faces.” - </p> - <p> - Here the preacher permitted himself to laugh. Being a fighting man - himself, his heart warmed towards a man who seemed to be born to that sort - of thing. - </p> - <p> - “He looks like he could do a sight of it,” was his comment. - </p> - <p> - At this juncture the subject of the conversation came round the house, - carrying a big piece of bacon wrapped in a tow grain-bag. - </p> - <p> - “Say thar, Pole,” Abner called out to the long, lank fellow. “We are - a-goin' to have preachin' at Rock Crest to-morrow; you'd better have a - shirt washed an' hung out to dry. They are a-beatin' the bushes fer yore - sort.” - </p> - <p> - Pole Baker paused and brushed back his long, thick hair from his heavy - eyebrows. - </p> - <p> - “I've been a-waitin' to see ef meetin' ever'd do you any good, Uncle Ab,” - he laughed. “They tell me the more you go the wuss you git to be. Neil - Filmore said t'other day ef you didn't quit shootin' off yore mouth they'd - give you a trial in meetin'.” - </p> - <p> - Abner laughed good-naturedly as he spat over the edge of the veranda floor - to the ground. - </p> - <p> - “That's been talked, I know, Pole,” he said, “but they don't mean it. They - all know how to take my fun. But you come on to meetin'; it will do you - good.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, maybe I will,” promised Pole, and he came to the steps, and, - putting his bacon down, he bent towards them. - </p> - <p> - “It's a powerful hard matter to know exactly what's right an' what's - wrong, in some things,” he said. “Now looky heer.” Thrusting his hand down - into the pocket of his trousers he drew out a piece of quartz-rock with a - lump of yellow gold about the size of a pea half embedded in it. “That - thar's puore gold. I got it this away: A feller that used to be my right - bower in my still business left me when I swore off an' went over to - Dalonega to work in them mines. T'other day he was back on a visit, an' he - give me this chunk an' said he'd found it. Now I know in reason that he - nabbed it while he was at work, but I don't think I'd have a right to - report it to the minin' company, an' so I'm jest obleeged to receive - stolen goods. It ain't wuth more'n a dollar, they tell me, an' I 'll hang - on to it, I reckon, ruther'n have a laborin' man discharged from a job. - I'm tryin' my level best to live up to the line now, an' I don't know how - to manage sech a thing as that. I've come to the conclusion that no harm - will be done nohow, beca'se miners ain't too well paid anyway, an' ef I - jest keep it an' don't git no good out of it, I won't be in it any more'n - ef I'd never got hold o' the blamed thing.” - </p> - <p> - “But the law, brother Baker,” said Dole, solemnly; “without the law we'd - be an awful lot o' people, an' every man ort to uphold it. Render the - things that are Caesar's unto Caesar.” - </p> - <p> - Pole's face was blank for a moment, and Abner came to his rescue with a - broad smile and sudden laugh. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you don't remember him, Pole,” he said. “He's dead. He was a - nigger that used to belong to old man Throgmartin in the cove. He used to - be sech an awful thief during slavery days that it got to be a common - sayin' that everything lyin' round mought as well be his'n, fer he'd take - it sooner ur later, anyways.” - </p> - <p> - “I've heerd o' that nigger,” said Pole, much to the preacher's disgust, - which grew as Pole continued: “Well, they say a feller that knows the law - is broke an' don't report it is as guilty as the man who does the - breakin'. Now, Mr. Dole, you know how I come by this nugget, an' ef you - want to do your full duty you 'll ride over to Dalonega an' report it to - the right parties. I can't afford the trip.” - </p> - <p> - Abner laughed out at this, and then forced a serious look on his face. - “That's what you railly ort to do, brother Dole,” he said. “Them Cæsars - over thar ud appreciate it.” - </p> - <p> - Then Mrs. Bishop came out to shake hands with the preacher, and invited - him to go to his room to wash his face and hands. As the tall man followed - his hostess away, Abner winked slyly at Pole and laughed under his long, - scrawny hand. - </p> - <p> - “Uncle Ab, you ort to be killed,” smiled Pole. “You've been settin' heer - the last half-hour pokin' fun at that feller, an' you know it. Well, I'm - goin' on home. Sally's a-goin' to fry some o' this truck fer me, an' I'm - as hungry as a bear.” - </p> - <p> - A few minutes after he had gone, Dole came out of his room and sat down in - his chair again. “That seems to be a sorter bright young man,” he - remarked. - </p> - <p> - “As bright as a new dollar,” returned Abner, in a tone of warm admiration. - “Did you notice that big, wedge-shaped head o' his'n? It's plumb full o' - brains. One day a feller come down to Filmore's store. He made a business - o' feelin' o' heads an' writin' out charts at twenty-five cents apiece. He - didn't waste much time on the rest o' the scabs he examined; but when he - got to Pole's noggin he talked fer a good hour. I never heerd the like. He - said ef his talents had been properly directed Pole ud 'a' made a big - public man. He said he hadn't run across sech a head in a month o' - Sundays. He was right, you bet, an' every one o' the seven brats Pole's - got is jest as peert as he is. They are a-growin' up in idleness an' rags, - too. I wisht I could meet some o' them dum big Yankees that are a-sendin' - the'r money down heer an' buildin' fine schools to educate niggers an' - neglectin' the'r own race beca'se it fit agin 'em. You cayn't hardly beat - larnin' into a nigger's head, an' it ud be only common-sense to spend - money whar it ud do the most good. I 'ain't got nothin' agin a nigger - bein' larnt to read an' write, but I cayn't stomach the'r bein' forced - ahead o' deservin' white folks sooner 'n the Lord counted on. Them kind o' - Yankees is the same sort that makes pets o' dogs, an' pampers 'em up when - pore white children is in need of food an' affection.” - </p> - <p> - “Pole looks like he had natural capacity,” said Dole. He was fond of - conversing with Abner on any topic except that of religious matters. - </p> - <p> - “He'd make a bang-up detective,” laughed Abner. “One day I was at - Filmore's store. Neil sometimes, when he's rushed, gits Pole to clerk fer - 'im, beca'se he's quick at figures. It happened that Pole had the store to - 'imse'f one day when Neil had gone off to cut down a bee-tree with a - passle o' neighbors, an' a triflin' feller come in an' begun to nose - about. An' when Pole's back was turned to weigh up some cotton in the seed - he stole a pocket-book out o' the show-case. I reckon Pole didn't like his - looks much nohow, fer as soon as the skunk had gone he begun to look about - to see ef he'd tuck anything. All at once he missed the pocket-book, an' - told Neil that night that he was mighty nigh shore the feller lifted it, - but he couldn't railly swear to it. About a week after that he seed the - same feller comin' down the road headed fer the store on his gray mule. Me - 'n' Neil was both thar an' Pole hustled us in the back room, an' told us - to stay thar. He said he was a-goin' to find out ef the feller stold the - book. Neil was afeerd of a row an' tried to prevent 'im, but he jest - shoved us back an' shet the door on us. Neil got 'im a crack in the - partition an' I found me a knothole. - </p> - <p> - “The feller hitched an' come in an' said howdy-do, an' started to take a - cheer nigh the door, but Pole stopped 'im. - </p> - <p> - “'Come heer to the show-case,' ses he; 'I want to show you some 'n'.'The - feller went, an' I seed Pole yank out the box 'at had the rest o' the - pocket-books in it. 'Look y'heer,' Pole said, in a loud, steady voice—you - could 'a' heerd 'im clean to the creek—'look y'heer. The regular - price o' these books is fifty cents; that's what we sell 'em fer; but - you've got to run yore hand down in yore pocket an' give me a dollar fer - one quicker'n you ever made a trade in yore life.' - </p> - <p> - “'What in the hell do you mean?' the feller said. - </p> - <p> - “'I mean exactly what I said, an' you are a-losin' time.' said Pole, - talkin' louder an' louder. 'The price is fifty cents; but you got to gi'me - a dollar fer one. Haul 'er out, my friend; haul 'er out! It 'll be the - cheapest thing you ever bought in yore life.' - </p> - <p> - “The feller was as white as a sheet. He gulped two or three times 'fore he - spoke, then he said: 'I know what you think; you think I took one t'other - day when I was lookin' in the show-case; but you are mistaken.' - </p> - <p> - “'I never said a word about you takin' one,' Pole yelled at 'im, 'but - you'd better yank out that dollar an' buy one; you need it.' - </p> - <p> - “The feller did it. I heerd the money clink as he laid it on the glass an' - I knowed he was convicted. - </p> - <p> - “'They are only wuth fifty cents,' he said, kinder faint-like. - </p> - <p> - “'Yo're a liar,' Pole yelled at 'im, 'fer you've jest paid a dollar fer - one on yore own accord. Now I 'll jest give you two minutes to straddle - that mule. Ef you don't I 'll take you to the sheriff myself, you damned - thief. - </p> - <p> - “'I've always done my tradin' heer,' said the feller, thinkin' that ud - sorter pacify Pole, but he said: 'Yes, an' yore stealin', too, I reckon, - you black-livered jailbird. Git out, git out!' - </p> - <p> - “Me 'n' Neil come in when the feller'd gone, but Pole was actually too mad - to speak. 'He got off too durned light,' he said, after a while. 'I could - 'a' sold 'im a big bill o' goods at a hundred per cent, profit, fer he had - plenty o' money. Now he's ridin' off laughin' at me.'” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - X - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9086.jpg" alt="9086 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9086.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - EIL FILMORE'S store was about half a mile from Bishop's house, at the - crossing of the Darley road and another leading into East Tennessee. Alan - had gone down there one day to engage white labor to work in his growing - cotton, negroes being scarce, owing to the tendency of that race to flock - into the towns. With the aid of Pole Baker, who was clerking that day for - Filmore, he soon employed the men he wanted and started to walk back home. - On the way he was overtaken by his uncle, who was returning from Darley in - his wagon. - </p> - <p> - “Hold on thar,” the old man called out; “ef you are a-goin' home I 'll - rest yore legs.” - </p> - <p> - Alan smiled as he climbed up into the seat by the old man. - </p> - <p> - “I shall certainly appreciate it,” he said. “I'm tired out to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “I sorter thought you looked flabbergasted,” returned Abner, as he swung - his whip over the backs of his sleek horses. “Well, I reckon I could - afford to give you a ride. I hauled that cuss Dole three miles goin' - t'other way. He had the cheek to yell at me from Habbersham's gin-house - an' axed me ef I'd haul 'im. Then he kept me waitin' till he'd helt prayer - an' read to the family.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't seem to like him,” said Alan. “I've noticed that for some - time.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon I don't to any great extent,” said Abner, clucking to his tired - horses; “but it ain't raily to my credit. A feller's wrong som 'er's, - Alan, that allows hisse'f to hate anything the Lord ever made. I've - struggled agin that proposition fer twenty-five yeer. All this talk about - the devil makin' the bad an' the Lord the good is talk through a hat. Bad - things was made 'fore the devil ever jumped from his high estate ur he'd - never preferred a fork to a harp. I've tuck notice, too, that the wust - things I ever seed was sometimes at the root o' the best. Manure is a bad - thing, but a cake of it will produce a daisy bigger 'n any in the field. - Dole makes me gag sometimes; but as narrer as he is twixt the eyes, he may - do some good. I reckon that hell-fire sermon he give us last August made - some of the crowd sweat out a little o' the'r meanness. I'd 'a' been more - merciful on sech a hot day, though. He mought 'a' reserved that harangue - fer some cold day in December when the stove-flues wouldn't work. Ef I'd - 'a' been a-goin' tell about future torment that hot day I'd 'a' said that - every lost soul was made to set on a cake o' ice in a windy spot through - all eternity, an' I'd 'a' started out by singin' 'On Greenland's Icy - Mountain.' But that ain't what I axed you to git in my wagon fer.” - </p> - <p> - “You didn't intend to try to convert me, then?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I didn't, fer you are jest my sort of a Christian—better'n me, - a sight, fer you don't shoot off yore bazoo on one side or t'other, an' - that's the habit I'm tryin' to quit. Ef I could hold in when Dole gits to - spoutin' I'd be a better man. I think I 'll do better now. I've got a - tenpenny nail in my pocket an' whenever he starts in I'm goin' to bite it - an' keep my holt on it till he stops. Yes, you are jest my sort of a - Christian. You believe in breathin' fresh air into yore windpipe, thankin' - God with a clear eye an' a good muscle, an' takin' what He gives you an' - axin' 'Im to pass more ef it's handy. You know the Lord has sent you a - invite to His table, an' you believe in eatin' an' drinkin' an' makin' - merry, jest like you'd have a body do that was stoppin' over night with - you. Yes, I wanted to say some 'n' else to you. As I got to the widder - Snowden's house, a mile this side o' Darley, she came out an' axed me ef - I'd object to deliverin' a couple o' smoke-cured hams to a feller in town - that had ordered 'em. Of course that's what a' old bach' like me 's heer - fer, so I let 'er fling 'em in the back end.” - </p> - <p> - The speaker paused and smiled knowingly, and Alan noticed that he slowed - his horses up by drawing firmly on the reins as if he feared that their - arrival at the farm-house might interrupt what he had to say. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Alan, “you delivered the hams?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” Abner was looking straight ahead of him. “They was fer Colonel Seth - Barclay. I driv' up to the side gate, after I'd helloed in front till I - was hoarse, an' who do you reckon come trippin' out o' the dinin'-room? - </p> - <p> - It was <i>her</i>. Ef you hain't never ketched 'er off'n her guard round - the house, you've missed a treat. Durned ef I don't like 'er better - without a hat on than with all the fluffy flamdoodle that gals put on when - they go out. She was as neat as a new pin, an' seemed powerful glad to see - me. That made me bless the widder Snowden fer sendin' me thar. She said - the cook was off som 'er's, an' that old nigger Ned, the stable-man, was - in the garden-patch behind the house, so she was thar by 'erse'f. She - actually looked like she wanted to tote in the hams 'erse'f ruther'n - bother me; but you bet my old bones hopped off'n this seat quicker'n you - could say Jack Robinson with yore mouth open. I was afeerd my team - wouldn't stand, fer fellers was a-scootin' by on bicycles; but I tuck the - hams to the back porch an' put 'em on a shelf out'n re'ch o' the dogs. - Then I went back to my wagon. She follered me to the fence, an' I noticed - that some 'n' was wrong with 'er. She looked so funny, an' droopy about - the mouth, an' kept a-talkin' like she was afeerd I'd fly off. She axed - all about Adele an' how she was a-makin' out down in Atlanta, an' said - she'd heerd that Sis was mighty popular with the young men, an' from that - she axed about my craps an' the meetin' goin' on at Big Bethel. Finally - she got right white about the mouth, an' said, kinder shaky, that she was - afeerd you was mad about some 'n' her pa'd said about you, an' I never - seed a woman as nigh cryin' as she was without doin' of it. - </p> - <p> - “I told 'er I was at the fust of it; but I'd noticed how worried you've - looked heer of late, an' so I told 'er I'd been afeerd some 'n' had come - betwixt you two. Then she put her head down on the top rail o' the fence - an' helt it thar fer a good minute. After a while she looked up an' told - me all about it an' ended by axin' me ef I thought she was to blame in the - matter. I told 'er no; but her old skunk of a daddy had acted sech a fool - that I couldn't hold in. I reckon I told 'er jest about what I thought o' - him an' the more I raked up agin 'im the better she seemed pleased. I - tried to pin' er down to what she'd be willin' to do in a pinch ef her pa - continued to hold out agin you, but she was too sharp to commit 'erse'f. - It jest looked like she wanted to make up with you an' didn't want no row - nuther.” - </p> - <p> - The horses stopped to drink at a clear stream of water which ran across - the road on a bed of brown pebbles. The bridles were too tight to allow - them to lower their heads, so Alan went out on the heavy tongue between - the pair and unfastened the reins. When he had regained his seat he told - the old man in detail all that had happened at the dance at the hotel, - ending with the advice he had received from Rayburn Miller. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know about that,” Abner said. “Maybe Miller could call a halt - like that an' go on like nothin' had happened. I don't say he could nur - couldn't; but it's fool advice. You mought miss it, an' regret it to yore - dyin' day.” - </p> - <p> - Alan looked at him in some surprise; he had hardly expected just that - stand on the part of a confirmed old bachelor like his uncle. The old - man's glance swept dreamily over the green fields on either side of the - road across which the red rays of the setting sun were streaming. Then he - took a deep breath and lowered the reins till they rested on the backs of - the horses. - </p> - <p> - “My boy,” he began, “I'm a good mind to tell you some 'n' that I hain't - mentioned fer mighty nigh forty yeer. I don't believe anything but my - intrust in that town gal an' you would make me bring it up. Huh! Ray - Miller says you kin pass 'er over jest as ef you'd never seed 'er, does - he? An' go on an' pick an' choose agin. Huh! I wasn't as old as you are by - five yeer when the one I'm talkin' about passed away, jest a week after me - 'n' her 'd come to a understandin'. I've seed women, women, women, sence I - seed 'er corpse that day amongst all that pile o' wild flowers that old - an' young fetched from the woods whar me 'n' 'er used to walk, but ef I - live to be as old as that thar hill I 'll never forget my feelin'. I kin - see 'er right now as plain as I did then, an' sometimes my heart aches as - bad. I reckon you know now why I never got married. Folks has poked a lots - o' fun at me, an' I tuck it as it was intended, but a lots o' times what - they said made me suffer simply awful. They've picked out this un an' that - un, from spring chickins to hags o' all ages, shapes, an' sizes; but the - very thought o' givin' anybody her place made me sick. Thar never was but - one fer me. I may be a fool, but I believe I was intended fer her. Shucks! - Sech skip-abouts as Miller may talk sech bosh as that, but it's because - the Lord never give 'em the glory o' the other thing. It larnt me the - truth about the after-life; I know thar's a time to come, an' a blessed - one, ur the Lord never would 'a' give me that taste of it. She's som 'er's - out o' harm's way, an' when me 'n' her meet I 'll not have a wrinkle, an' - I 'll be able to walk as spry an' hopeful as I did when she was heer. Thar - ort to be punishment reserved fer hard-headed fools that separate lovin' - young folks beca'se one ur t'other hain't jest so many dollars tied in a - rag. Don't you listen to Miller. I don't say you ort to plunge right in - an' make the old man mad; but don't give up. Ef she's what I think she is, - an' she sees you ain't a-goin' to run after no fresh face, she 'll stick - to you like the bark on a tree. The wait won't hurt nuther one of you, - either. My wait ain't a-hurtin' me, an' yore'n won't you. I never seed a - young woman I liked better 'n I do the one you selected, an' I've sent up - many a petition that you'd both make it all right.” - </p> - <p> - The old man raised his reins and clucked to his horses. - </p> - <p> - “Uncle Ab,” said Alan, “you've made a better man of me. I've had a lot of - trouble over this, but you make me hope. I've tried to give her up, but I - simply cannot do it.” - </p> - <p> - “She ain't a-goin' to give you up, nuther,” replied Abner; “that's the - purty part about it. Thar ain't no give up in 'er. She ain't that sort. - She's goin' to give that daddy o' her'n a tussle.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XI - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9092.jpg" alt="9092 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9092.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - NE morning early in July, as Alan was passing Pole Baker's cabin, on his - way to Darley, Pole's wife came out to the fence and stopped him. She was - a slender, ill-clad woman, who had once been pretty, and her face still - had a sort of wistful attractiveness that was appealing to one who knew - what she had been through since her marriage. - </p> - <p> - “Are you goin' to town, Mr. Alan?” she asked, nervously. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Mrs. Baker,” Alan answered. “Is there anything I can do for you?” - </p> - <p> - She did not reply at once, but came through the little gate, which swung - on wooden hinges, and stood looking up at him, a thin, hesitating hand on - his bridle-rein. - </p> - <p> - “I'm afeerd some 'n' s happened to Pole,” she faltered. “He hain't been - home fer two whole days an' nights. It's about time fer 'im to spree agin, - an' I'm powerful afeerd he's in trouble. I 'lowed while you was in town - that you mought inquire about 'im, an' let me know when you come back. - That ud sorter free my mind a little. I didn't close my eyes all last - night.” - </p> - <p> - “I 'll do all I can, Mrs. Baker,” Alan promised. “But you mustn't worry; - Pole can take care of himself, drunk or sober. I 'll be back to-night.” - </p> - <p> - Alan rode on, leaving the pathetic figure at the gate looking after him. - “I wonder,” he mused, “what Uncle Ab would say about love that has that - sort of reward. Poor woman! Pole was her choice, and she has to make the - best of it. Perhaps she loves the good that's in the rascal.” - </p> - <p> - He found Rayburn Miller at his desk, making out some legal document. “Take - a seat,” said Miller, “I 'll be through in a minute. What's the news out - your way?” he asked, as he finished his work and put down his pen. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing new, I believe,” said Alan. “I've been away for two days. Not - having anything else to do, I made it my business to ride over every foot - of my father's big investment, and, to tell you the truth, I've come to - you with a huge idea. Don't laugh; I can't help it. It popped in my head - and sticks, that's all.” - </p> - <p> - “Good. Let me have it.” - </p> - <p> - “Before I tell you what it is,” said Alan, “I want you to promise not to - ridicule me. I'm as green as a gourd in business matters; but the idea has - hold of me, and I don't know that even your disapproval will make me let - it loose.” - </p> - <p> - “That's a good way to put it,” laughed Miller. “The idea has hold of you - and you can't let it loose. It applies more closely to investments than - anything else. Once git into a deal and you are afraid to let it go—like - the chap that held the calf and called for help.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, here it is,” said Alan. “I've made up my mind that a railroad can—and - shall—be built from these two main lines to my father's lumber - bonanza.” Miller whistled. A broad smile ingulfed the pucker of his lips, - and then his face dropped into seriousness. A look almost of pity for his - friend's credulity and inexperience came into his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I must say you don't want a little thing, my boy,” he said, indulgently. - “Remember you are talking to a fellow that has rubbed up against the - moneyed world considerable for a chap raised in the country. The trouble - with you, Alan, is that you have got heredity to contend with; you are a - chip off the old block in spite of your belonging to a later generation. - You have inherited your father's big ideas. You are a sort of Colonel - Sellers, who sees millions in everything you look at.” - </p> - <p> - Alan' s face fell, but there remained in it a tenacious expression that - won Miller's admiration even while he deplored it. There was, too, a ring - of confidence in the young farmer's tone when he replied: - </p> - <p> - “How much would a railroad through that country, eighteen miles in length, - cost?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing but a survey by an expert could answer that, even approximately,” - said the lawyer, leaning back in his creaking chair. “If you had the right - of way, a charter from the State, and no big tunnels to make nor long - bridges to build, you might, I should say, construct the road alone—without - locomotives and rolling-stock generally—for a little matter of one - hundred and fifty thousand. I don't know; I'm only guessing; but it - wouldn't fall under that estimate.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't think it would,” replied Alan, growing more enthusiastic. “Now - then, if there <i>was</i> a railroad to my father's property, how much - would his twenty thousand acres be worth?” - </p> - <p> - Miller smiled again and began to figure on a scrap of paper with a pencil. - “Oh, as for that,” he said, “it would really be worth—standing - uncut, unsawn, including a world of tan-bark—at least twenty-five - dollars an acre, say a clear half million for it all. Oh, I know it looks - as plain as your nose on your face; things always do on paper. It looks - big and it shines; so does a spider-web in the sunshine to a fly; but you - don't want to be no fly, my boy; and you don't want any spider-webs—on - the brain, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - Alan stood up and walked to the door and back; finally he shrugged his - broad shoulders. “I don't care what you say,” he declared, bringing his - hand down firmly on Miller's desk. “It will pay, as sure as I'm alive. - There's no getting around the facts. It will take a quarter of a million - investment to market a half-million-dollar bunch of timber with the land - thrown in and the traffic such a road would secure to help pay expenses. - There are men in the world looking for such opportunities and I'm going to - give somebody a chance.” - </p> - <p> - “You have not looked deep enough into it, my boy,” mildly protested - Miller. “You haven't figured on the enormous expense of running such a - road and the dead loss of the investment after the lumber is moved out. - You'd have a railroad property worth a quarter of a million on your hands. - I can't make you see my position. I simply say to you that I wouldn't - touch a deal like that with a ten-foot pole.” - </p> - <p> - Alan laughed good-naturedly as he laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. - “I reckon you think I'm off,” he said, “but sooner or later I'm going to - put this thing through. Do you hear me? I 'll put it through if it takes - ten years to do it. I want to make the old man feel that he has not made - such a fool of himself; I want to get even with the Thompson crowd, and - Perkins, and everybody that is now poking fun at a helpless old man. I - shall begin by raising money some way or other to pay taxes, and hold on - to every inch of the ground.” - </p> - <p> - Miller's glance fell before the fierce fire of Alan's eyes, and for the - first time his tone wavered. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he said, “you may have the stuff in you that big speculators are - made of, and I may simply be prejudiced against the scheme on account of - your father's blind plunging, and what some men would call - over-cautiousness on my part. I may be trying to prevent what you really - ought to do; but I am advising you as a friend. I only know <i>I</i> would - be more cautious. Of course, you may try. You'd not lose in doing that; in - fact, you'd gain experience. I should say that big dealers in lumber are - the men you ought to see first. They know the values of such investments, - and they are reaching out in all directions now. They have cleaned up the - timber near the railroads.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9097.jpg" alt="9097 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9097.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - ILLER accompanied Alan to the door. Old Trabue stood in front of his - office in his shirt-sleeves, his battered silk hat on the back part of his - head. He was fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan and freely using his - handkerchief on his brow. He bowed cordially to Alan and came towards him. - </p> - <p> - “I want to ask you,” he began, “as Pole Baker any way of raisin' money?” - </p> - <p> - “Not that I know of,” laughed Alan. “I don't know whether he's got a clear - title to the shirt on his back. He owes everybody out our way. My father - is supplying him on time now.” - </p> - <p> - “That was my impression,” said Trabue. “He wanted me to defend 'im the - other day, but he couldn't satisfy me about the fee, an' I let him go. He - first said he could give me a lien on a mule, but he finally admitted that - it wasn't his.” - </p> - <p> - “He's not in trouble, is he?” exclaimed Alan, suddenly recalling Mrs. - Baker's uneasiness. - </p> - <p> - Trabue looked at Miller, who stood leaning in the doorway, and laughed. - “Well, I reckon he might call it that. That chap owned the town two days - ago. He got blind, stavin' drunk, an' wanted to whip us from one end o' - the place to the other. The marshals are afraid of 'im, for they know he - 'll shoot at the drop of a hat, an' the butt of it was stickin' out o' his - hippocket in plain sight. Was you thar, Rayburn? Well, it was better 'n a - circus. Day before yesterday thar was a sort o' street temperance lecturer - in front o' the Johnston House, speakin' on a dry-goods box. He had a lot - o' gaudy pictures illustratin' the appearance of a drinkin' man' s stomach - an' liver, compared to one in a healthy condition. He was a sort of a - snide faker, out fer what he could git dropped in a hat, an' Pole was - sober enough to git on to his game. Pole stood thar with the rest, jest - about able to stand, an' that was all. Finally, when the feller got warmed - up an' got to screechin', Pole begun to deny what he was sayin'. As fast - as he'd make a statement Pole would flatly deny it. The feller on the box - didn't know what a tough customer he had to handle or he'd 'a' gone slow. - As it was, he p'inted a finger o' scorn at Pole an' helt 'im up fer a - example. Pole wasn't sober by a long shot, but you'd 'a' thought he was, - fer he was as steady as a post. He kept grinnin', as cool as a cucumber, - an' sayin', 'Now you know yo' re a-lyin', stranger—jest a-lyin' to - get a few dimes drapped in yore hat. You know nobody's stomach don't look - like that durn chromo. You never seed inside of a drinkin' man, an' yo' re - the biggest liar that ever walked the earth.' This made the crowd laugh at - the little, dried-up feller, an' he got as mad as Old Nick. He begun to - tell Pole his liver was swelled from too much whiskey, an' that he'd bet - he was jest the sort to beat his wife. Most of us thought that ud make - Pole jump on 'im, but he seemed to enjoy naggin' the feller too much to - sp'ile it by a fight. A nigger boy had been carryin' round a bell and a - sign advertisin' Webb's auction sale, an' stopped to see the fun. Pole - heerd the tinkle of the bell, an' tuck it an' begun to ring it in the - lecturer's face. The harder the feller spoke the harder Pole rung. It was - the damnedest racket ever heerd on a public square. Part of the crowd—the - good church folks—begun to say it was a disgrace to the town to - allow a stranger to be treated that away, sence thar was no law agin - public speakin' in the streets. They was in fer callin' a halt, but all - the rest—the drinkin' men, an' I frankly state I was one—secretly - hoped Pole would ring 'im down. When the pore devil finally won I felt - like yellin' hooray, fer I glory in the pluck even of a dare-devil, if - he's a North Georgian an' white. The lecturer had to stop without his - collection, an' went off to the council chamber swearin' agin the town fer - allowin' him to be treated that away. Thar wasn't anything fer the mayor - to do but order Pole's arrest, but it took four men—two regulars and - two deputized men—to accomplish it. - </p> - <p> - “The trial was the richest thing I ever attended. Pole had sobered up jest - enough to be witty, an' he had no more respect fer Bill Barrett's court - than he had fer the lecturer's platform. Him an' Barrett used to fish an' - hunt together when they was boys, an' Pole kept callin' him Bill. It was - Bill this an' Bill that; an' as Barrett had only been in office a month, - he hardly knew how to rise to his proper dignity, especially when he saw - the crowd was laughin' at his predicament. When I declined to defend 'im, - Pole attempted to read the law on the case to Barrett an' show whar he was - right. Barrett let 'im talk because he didn't know how to stop 'im, an' - Pole made the best defence I ever heerd from a unlettered man. It kept the - crowd in a roar. For a while I swear it looked like Pole was goin' to - cleer hisse'f, but Barrett had to do his duty, an' so he fined Pole thirty - dollars, or in default thereof to break rock on the streets fer ten days. - You ort to 'a' heerd Pole snort. 'Looky heer, Bill!' he said, 'you know as - well as yo're a-settin' cocked up thar, makin' folks say 'yore honor' - ever' breath they draw, that I ain't a-goin' to break no rock in that - br'ilin' sun fer ten day 'ca'se I beat that skunk at his own game!' - </p> - <p> - “You 'll have to do it if you don't pay out,” Barrett told 'im. - </p> - <p> - “'Well, I jest won't pay out, an' I won't break rock nuther,' Pole said. - 'You've heerd about the feller that could lead a hoss to water but - couldn't make 'im drink, hain't you? Well, I'm the hoss.' - </p> - <p> - “Yesterday was Pole's fust day on the street. They put a ball an' chain to - one of his ankles an' sent 'im out with the nigger gang, but all day - yesterday an' to-day he hain't worked a lick. He's as stubborn as a mule. - Thar's been a crowd around 'im all the time. You kin see 'im standin' up - as straight as a post in the middle of the street from one end of it to - the other. I'm sorter sorry fer 'im; he looks like he's ashamed at bottom, - but don't want to give in. The funniest thing about the whole thing is - that Pole seems to know more about the law than the mayor. He says unless - they force him to work in the specified ten days they can't hold him any - longer, an' that if they attempt to flog 'im he 'll kill the first man - that lays hands on him. I think Bill Barrett likes him too well to have - 'im whipped, an' the whole town is guyin' him, an' axin' 'im why he don't - make Pole set in.” - </p> - <p> - Alan went down the street to see Pole. He found him seated on a large - stone, a long-handled rock-hammer at his feet. He looked up from under his - broad-brimmed hat, and a crestfallen look came into his big, brown eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry to see this, Pole,” said Alan. - </p> - <p> - Pole stood up at his full height, the chain clanking as he rose. “They - hain't treated me right about this matter, Alan Bishop,” he said, half - resentfully, half as if he recognized his own error. “Bill knows he hain't - done the fair thing. I know I was full, but I jest wanted to have my fun. - That don't justify him in puttin' me out heer with these niggers fer folks - to gap' at, an' he knows it. He ain't a friend right. Me 'n' him has slep' - together on the same pile o' leaves, an' I've let 'im pull down on a - squirrel when I could 'a' knocket it from its perch; an' I've lent 'im my - pointer an' gun many an' many a time. But he's showed what he is! He's got - the wrong sow by the yeer, though, fer ef he keeps me heer till Christmas - I 'll never crack a rock, unless I do it by accidentally step-pin' on it. - Mark my words, Alan Bishop, thar 'll be trouble out o' this.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't talk that way, Pole,” said Alan. “You've broken the law and they - had to punish you for it. If they hadn't they would have made themselves - ridiculous. Why didn't you send me word you were in trouble, Pole?” - </p> - <p> - The fellow hung his head, and then he blurted out: - </p> - <p> - “Beca'se I knowed you would make a fool o' yorese'f an' try to pay me out. - Damn it, Alan Bishop, this ain't no business o' yore'n!” - </p> - <p> - “I 'll make it my business,” said Alan. “How much is your fine? You ought - to have sent me word.” - </p> - <p> - “Sent you hell, Alan Bishop,” growled the prisoner. “When I send you word - to he'p me out of a scrape that whiskey got me into I 'll do it after I've - decently cut my throat. I <i>say!</i>—when you've plead with me like - you have to quit the durn stuff!” - </p> - <p> - At this point of the conversation Jeff Dukes, a man of medium size, - dressed in dark-blue uniform, with a nickel-plated badge shaped like a - shield and bearing the words “Marshal No. 2,” came directly towards them - from a stone-cutter's shop near by. - </p> - <p> - “Look heer, Bishop,” he said, dictatorially, “whar'd you git the right to - talk to that man?” - </p> - <p> - Alan looked surprised. “Am I breaking the law, too?” - </p> - <p> - “You are, ef you hain't got a permit from the mayor in yore pocket.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I have no permit,” replied Alan, with a good-natured smile. “Have - you got another ball an' chain handy?” - </p> - <p> - The officer frowned off his inclination to treat the matter as a jest. - “You ort to have more sense than that,” he said, crustily. “Pole's put out - heer to work his time out, an' ef everybody in town is allowed to laugh - an' joke with him he'd crack about as many rocks as you or me.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a durn liar, Jeff Dukes,” said Pole, angrily. “You are a-makin' - that up to humiliate me furder. You know no law like that never was - inforced. Ef I ever git you out in Pea Vine Destrict I 'll knock a dent in - that egg-shaped head o' yor'n, an' make them eyes look two ways fer - Sunday. You know a gentleman like Alan Bishop wouldn't notice you under - ordinary circumstances, an' so you trump up that excuse to git his - attention.” - </p> - <p> - The two men glared at each other, but Pole seemed to get the best of that - sort of combat, for the officer only growled. - </p> - <p> - “You can insult a man when you are under arrest,” he said, “beca'se you - know I am under bond to keep the peace. But I'm not afeerd of you.” - </p> - <p> - “They tell me you are afeerd o' sperits, though,” retorted the prisoner. - “They tell me a little nigger boy that was shot when a passle o' skunks - went to whip his daddy fer vagrancy stands at the foot o' yore bed ever' - night. Oh, I know what I'm a-talkin' about!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you know a lots,” said the man, sullenly, as his eyes fell. - </p> - <p> - To avoid encouraging the disputants further, Alan walked suddenly away. - The marshal took willing advantage of the opportunity and followed him. - </p> - <p> - “I could make a case agin you,” he said, catching up, “but I know you - didn't mean to violate the ordinance.” - </p> - <p> - “No, of course I didn't,” said Alan; “but I want to know if that fellow - could be released if I paid his fine.” - </p> - <p> - “You are not fool enough to do it, are you?” - </p> - <p> - “That's what I am.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you got the money in yore pocket?” The officer was laughing, as if - at a good joke. - </p> - <p> - “I have.” - </p> - <p> - “Well”—the marshal laughed again as he swung his short club round by - a string that fastened it to his wrist—“well, you come with me, an' - I 'll show you a man that wants thirty dollars wuss than any man I know - of. I don't believe Bill Barrett has slept a wink sence this thing - happened. He 'll be tickled to death to git off so easy. The town has - devilled the life out of him. He don't go by whar Pole's at work—I - mean, whar he ain't at work—fer Pole yells at 'im whenever he sees - 'im.” - </p> - <p> - That night when Alan reached home he sent a servant over to tell Mrs. - Baker that Pole was all right and that he'd be home soon. He had eaten his - supper and had gone up-stairs to go to bed when he heard his name called - outside. Going to a window and looking out, he recognized Pole Baker - standing at the gate in the clear moonlight. - </p> - <p> - “Alan,” he said, softly, “come down heer a minute. I want to see you.” - </p> - <p> - Alan went down and joined him. For a moment Pole stood leaning against the - fence, his eyes hidden by his broad-brimmed slouch hat. - </p> - <p> - “Did you want to see me, Pole?” Alan asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I did,” the fellow swallowed. He made a motion as if to reach out - his hand, but refrained. Then he looked straight into Alan's face. - </p> - <p> - “I couldn't go to sleep till I'd said some 'n' to you,” he began, with - another gulp. “I laid down an' made a try at it, but it wasn't no go. I've - got to say it. I'm heer to swear that ef God, or some 'n' else, don't show - me a way to pay you back fer what you done to-day, I 'll never draw a - satisfied breath. Alan Bishop, yo're a man, <i>God damn it!</i> a man from - yore outside skin to the marrow o' yore bones, an' ef I don't find some - way to prove what I think about you, I 'll jest burn up! I got into that - trouble as thoughtless as I'd play a prank with my baby, an' then they all - come down on me an' begun to try to drive me like a hog out'n a field with - rocks an' sticks, an' the very Old Harry riz in me an' defied 'em. I - reckon thar wasn't anything Bill could do but carry out the law, an' I - knowed it, but I wasn't ready to admit it. Then you come along an' - rendered a verdict in my favor when you needed the money you did it with. - Alan, ef I don't show my appreciation, it 'll be beca'se I don't live long - enough. You never axed me but one thing, an' that was to quit drinkin' - whiskey. I'm goin' to make a try at it, not beca'se I think that 'll pay - you back, but beca'se with a sober head I kin be a better friend to you ef - the chance ever comes my way.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad to hear you say that, Pole,” replied Alan, greatly moved by the - fellow's earnestness. “I believe you can do it. Then your wife and - children—” - </p> - <p> - “Damn my wife an' children,” snorted Pole. “It's <i>you</i> I'm a-goin' to - work fer—<i>you</i>, I say!” - </p> - <p> - He suddenly turned through the open gate and strode homeward across the - fields. Alan stood looking after him till his tall form was lost in the - hazy moonlight, and then he went up to his bed. - </p> - <p> - Pole entered the open door of his cabin and began to undress as he sat on - the side of his crude bedstead, made of unbarked poles fastened to the - bare logs in one corner of the room. His wife and children slept on two - beds on the other side of the room. - </p> - <p> - “Did you see 'im, Pole?” piped up Mrs. Baker from the darkness. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I seed 'im. Sally, say, whar's that bottle o' whiskey I had the last - time I was at home?” - </p> - <p> - There was an ominous silence. Out of it rose the soft breathing of the - children. Then the woman sighed. “Pole, shorely you ain't a-goin' to begin - agin?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I want to bu'st it into smithereens. I don't want it about—I - don't want to know thar's a drap in the house. I've swore off, an' this - time she sticks. Gi'me that bottle.” - </p> - <p> - Another silence. Suddenly the woman spoke. “Pole, you've swore off as many - times as a dog has fleas. Often when I feel bad an' sick when you are off, - a drap o' whiskey makes me feel better. I don't want you to destroy the - last bit in the house jest be-ca'se you've tuck this turn, that may wear - off before daylight. The last time you emptied that keg on the ground an' - swore off you got on a spree an' helt the baby over the well an' - threatened to drap 'er in ef I didn't find a bottle, an' you'd 'a' done - it, too.” - </p> - <p> - Pole laughed softly. “I reckon yo' re right, old gal,” he said. “Besides, - ef I can' t—ef I ain't man enough to let up with a bottle in the - house I won't do it without. But the sight or smell of it is hell itse'f - to a lover of the truck. Ef I was to tell you what a little thing started - me on this last spree you'd laugh. I went to git a shave in a barber shop, - an' when the barber finished he soaked my face in bay-rum an' it got in my - mustache. I kept smellin' it all mornin' an' tried to wipe it off, but she - wouldn't wipe. All the time I kept walkin' up an' down in front o' Luke - Sell-more's bar. Finally I said to myself: 'Well, ef you have to have a - bar-room stuck under yore nose all day like a wet sponge, old man, you - mought as well have one whar it 'll taste better, an' I slid up to the - counter.” The woman sighed audibly, but she made no reply. “Is Billy - awake?” Pole suddenly asked. - </p> - <p> - “No, you know he ain't,” said Mrs. Baker. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I want to take 'im in my bed.” Pole stood out on the floor in the - sheet of moonlight that fell through the open door. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't, Pole,” said the woman. “The pore little feller's been - toddlin' about after the others, draggin' bresh to the heap tell he's - tired. He drapped to sleep at the table with a piece o' bread in his - mouth.” - </p> - <p> - “I won't wake 'im, God bless his little heart,” answered Pole, and he - reached down and took the limp child in his arms and pressed him against - the side of his face. He carried him tenderly across the room and laid - down with him. His wife heard him uttering endearing things to the - unconscious child until she fell asleep. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9107.jpg" alt="9107 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9107.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - T was the second Sunday in July, and a bright, clear day. In that - mountainous region the early mornings of dry summer days are delightfully - cool and balmy. Abner Daniel was in his room making preparations to go to - meeting at Rock Crest Church. He had put on one of his best white shirts, - black silk necktie, doeskin trousers, flowered waistcoat, and long - frock-coat, and was proceeding to black his shoes. Into an old pie-pan he - raked from the back of the fireplace a quantity of soot and added to it a - little water and a spoonful of sorghum molasses from a jug under his bed, - stirring the mixture into a paste. This he applied to his shoes with a - blacking-brush, rubbing vigorously until quite a decent gloss appeared. It - was a thing poverty had taught him just after the war, and to which he - still resorted when he forgot to buy blacking. - </p> - <p> - On his way to church, as he was crossing a broom-sedge field and steering - for the wood ahead of him, through which a path made a short cut to Rock - Crest Church, he overtook Pole Baker swinging along in his shirt-sleeves - and big hat. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I 'll be bungfuzzled,” Abner exclaimed, “ef you hain't got on a - clean shirt! Church?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I 'lowed I would, Uncle Ab. I couldn't stay away. I told Sally it ud - be the biggest fun on earth. She's a-comin' on as soon as she gits the - childern ready. She's excited, too, an' wants to see how it 'll come out. - She's as big a believer in you as I am, mighty nigh, an' she 'lowed, she - did, that she'd bet you'd take hair an' hide off'n that gang 'fore they - got good started.” - </p> - <p> - Abner raised his shaggy eyebrows. If this was one of Pole's jokes it - failed in the directness that usually characterized the jests of the - ex-moonshiner. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what yo' re a-drivin' at, you blamed fool,” he said, smiling in - a puzzled fashion. - </p> - <p> - Pole was walking in front, and suddenly wheeled about. He took off his - hat, and, wiping the perspiration from his high brow with his forefinger, - he cracked it into the broom-sedge like a whip. - </p> - <p> - “Looky' heer, Uncle Ab,” he laughed, “what you givin' me?” - </p> - <p> - “I was jest tryin' to find out what you was a-givin' me,” retorted the - rural philosopher, a dry note of rising curiosity dominating his voice. - </p> - <p> - They had reached a rail fence which separated the field from the wood, and - they climbed over it and stood in the shade of the trees. Pole stared at - the old man incredulously. “By hunkley, Uncle Ab, you don't mean to tell - me you don't know what that passle o' hill-Billies is a-goin' to do with - you this mornin' at meetin'?” - </p> - <p> - Abner smiled mechanically. “I can't say I do, Pole. I'm at the fust of it, - if thar is to be any—” - </p> - <p> - Pole slapped his thigh and gave vent to a loud guffaw that rang through - the trees and was echoed back from a hidden hill-side. - </p> - <p> - “Well, what they <i>are</i> a-goin' to do with you 'll be a God's plenty. - They are a-goin' to walk yore log, ur make you do it on all fours so they - kin see you. You've made it hot fer them an' they are a-goin' to turn - t'other cheek an' git a swipe at you. They are a-goin' to show you whar - you come in—ur, ruther, whar you go out.” - </p> - <p> - Abner's face was a study in seriousness. “You don't say!” he muttered. “I - <i>did</i> notice that brother Dole kinder give our house a wide berth - last night. I reckon he sorter hated to eat at the same table with a - feller he was goin' to hit at to-day. Yes, Dole is at the bottom of it. I - know in reason I pushed 'im too fur the last time he was heer, but when he - rears back an' coughs up sanctimony like he was literally too full of it - fer comfort, I jest cayn't hold in. Seems to me I kin jest close my eyes - an' hit some spot in 'im that makes 'im wiggle like a tadpole skeered in - shallow water. But maybe I mought 'a' got a better mark to fire at; fer - this 'll raise no end of a rumpus, an' they may try to make me take back - water, but I never did crawfish. I couldn't do that, Pole. No siree, I—I - can' t crawfish.” - </p> - <p> - Abner was a special object of regard as he and Pole emerged from the wood - into the opening in front of the little unpainted meeting-house, where the - men stood about among the buggies and horses, whittling, gossiping, and - looking strange and fresh-washed in their clean clothes. But it was - noticeable that they did not gather around him as had been their habit. - His standing in that religious community was at stake; his continued - popularity depended on the result of that day's investigation. Pole could - afford to stand by him, and he did. They sat down on a log near the church - door and remained silent till the cast-iron bell in the little belfry, - which resembled a dog-kennel, was rattled vigorously as an announcement - that the service was about to begin. They all scurried in like sheep. - Abner went in last, with slow dignity and deliberation, leaving Pole in a - seat near the door. - </p> - <p> - He went up the narrow aisle to his accustomed seat near the long-wood - stove. Many eyes were on his profile and the back of his neck. Dole was - seated in the arm-chair behind the preacher's stand, but somehow he failed - to look at Abner as he entered, or even after he had taken his seat. He - seemed busy making notes from the big Bible which lay across his lap. - Abner saw Bishop and his wife come in and sit down, and knew from the - glances they gave him that they had heard the news. Mrs. Bishop looked - keenly distressed, but Bishop seemed to regard the matter only as a small, - buzzing incident in his own troubled career. Besides, Abner was no blood - relative of his, and Bishop had enough to occupy him in looking after the - material interests of his own family without bothering about the spiritual - welfare of a connection by marriage. - </p> - <p> - Dole stood up and announced a hymn, and read it from beginning to end in a - mellow, sonorous voice. The congregation, all eying Abner, rose and sang - it energetically; even Abner, who sang a fair bass of the rasping, - guttural variety, popular in the mountains, found himself joining in, - quite unconcerned as to his future right to do so. After this, Dole led in - prayer, standing with both hands resting on the crude, unpainted stand, - the sole ornament of which was a pitcher of water, a tumbler, and a glass - lamp with a green paper shade on it. Abner remarked afterwards that Dole, - in this prayer, used the Lord as a cat's-paw to hit at him. Dole told the - Lord a few things that he had never had the courage to tell Daniel. Abner - was a black sheep in a flock earnestly striving to keep itself white—a - thing in human shape that soiled that with which it came in contact. He - had the subtle tongue of the serpent that blasted the happiness of the - primeval pair in the Garden of Eden. Under the cloak of wit and wisdom he - was continually dropping poison into the beverages of earnest folk who had - not the religious courage to close their ears. As a member of a - consecrated body of souls, it was the opinion of many that Abner was out - of place, but that was to be decided after careful investigation in the - Lord's presence and after ample testimony pro and con had been submitted. - Any one wishing to show that the offending member had a right to remain in - good standing would be gladly listened to, even prayerfully. On the other - hand, such members as had had their religious sensibilities wounded should - feel that a most sacred duty rested on them to speak their minds. All this - Dole said he trusted the Lord would sanction and bless in the name of the - Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour and Director of all men. - </p> - <p> - Dole then started another hymn, and when it had been sung he announced - that no sermon would be preached that day, as the important business in - hand would consume all available time before the dinner-hour. Then he - courageously faced Abner. His countenance was pale and determined, his - tone perfunctory and sharp as a knife. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon, brother Daniel,” he said, “that you have a idee who I've been - talkin' about?” - </p> - <p> - Abner was slightly pale, but calm and self-possessed. The light of - merriment, always kindled by contact with Dole, danced in his eyes. “I - kinder 'lowed I was the one,” he said, slowly, “an' I'm sorter curis to - see who' ll speak an' what they 'll say. I 'll tell you now I ain't - a-goin' to do myse'f jestice. I 'ain't been to a debatin' club sence I was - a boy, but I 'll do my best.” - </p> - <p> - Dole stroked his beard and consulted a scrap of paper in the palm of his - hand. “Brother Throg-martin,” he called out, suddenly, and a short, fat - man on a bench behind Abner rose and cleared his throat. - </p> - <p> - “Now, brother Throgmartin,” went on the preacher, “jest tell some o' the - things you've heerd brother Daniel say that struck you as bein' - undoctrinal an' unbecomin' a member of this body.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir,” Throgmartin began, in a thin, high voice that cut the - profound silence in the room like a rusty blade, “I don't raily, in my - heart o' hearts, believe that Ab—brother Daniel—has the right - interpretation of Scriptur'. I remember, after you preached last summer - about the sacred teachin' in regard to future punishment, that Ab—brother - Daniel—an' me was walkin' home together. Ever' now an' then he'd - stop in the road an' laugh right out sudden-like over what you'd - contended.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he did, did he?” Dole's face hardened. He couldn't doubt that part of - the testimony, for it was distinctly Abner's method. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” responded Throgmartin, sternly, “he 'lowed what you'd said was - as funny to him as a circus clown's talk, an' that it was all he could do - to hold in. He 'lowed ef you was to git up in a Darley church with sech - talk as that they'd make you preach to niggers. He 'lowed he didn't - believe hell was any hot place nohow, an' that he never could be made to - believe that the Lord ud create folks an' then barbecue 'em alive through - all eternity. He said it sorter turned his stomach to see jest a little - lamb roasted at a big political gatherin', an' that no God he believed in - would institute sech long torture as you spoke about when you brought up - the mustard-seed p'int.” - </p> - <p> - “He deliberately gives the lie to Holy Scripture, then,” said Dole, almost - beside himself with rage. “What else did he say of a blasphemous nature?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I hardly know,” hesitated the witness, his brow wrinkled - thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” snarled Dole, “you hain't told half you said to me this mornin' on - the way to meetin'. What was his remark about the stars havin' people on - 'em ever' bit an' grain as worthy o' salvation as us all?” - </p> - <p> - “I disremember his exact words. Perhaps Ab—brother Daniel—will - refresh my memory.” Throg-martin was gazing quite respectfully at the - offender. “It was at Billy Malone's log-rollin', you know, Ab; me 'n' - you'd eat a snack together, an' you said the big poplar had strained yore - side an' wanted to git it rubbed.” - </p> - <p> - Abner looked straight at Dole. The corners of his big, honest mouth were - twitching defiantly. - </p> - <p> - “I said, I think,” he answered, “that no matter what some folks mought - believe about the starry heavens, no man ever diskivered a big world with - a tail to it through a spy-glass without bein' convinced that thar was - other globes in the business besides jest this un.” - </p> - <p> - Dole drew himself up straight and gazed broadly over his congregation. He - felt that in the estimation of unimaginative, prosaic people like his - flock Abner's defence would certainly fall. - </p> - <p> - “Kin I ax,” he asked, sternly, “how you happen to think like you do?” - </p> - <p> - Abner grasped the back of the bench in front of him and pulled himself up, - only to sink back hesitatingly into his seat. “Would it be out o' order - fer me to stand?” he questioned. - </p> - <p> - Dole spread a hard, triumphant smile over the congregation. “Not at all, - if it will help you to give a sensible answer to my question.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I kin talk settin',” retorted the man on trial. “I jest didn't know - what was right an' proper, an' I 'lowed I could hit that spit-box better - standin' than I kin over brother Tarver's legs.” - </p> - <p> - The man referred to quickly slid along the bench, giving Abner his place - near the aisle, and Abner calmly emptied his mouth in the wooden box - filled with sawdust and wiped his lips. - </p> - <p> - “I hardly know why I think like I do about other worlds,” he answered, - slowly, “unless it's beca'se I've always had the notion that the universe - is sech a powerful, whoppin' big thing. Most folks believe that the spot - they inhabit is about all thar is to creation, anyway. That's human - natur'. About the biggest job I ever tackled was to drive a hungry cow - from bad grass into a good patch. She wants to stay thar an' eat, an' - that's about the way it is with folks. They are short-sighted. It makes - most of 'em mad to tell 'em they kin better the'r condition. I've always - believed that's the reason they make the bad place out so bad; they've - made up the'r minds to live thar, an' they ain't a-goin' to misrepresent - it. They are out o' fire-wood in this life an' want to have a good sweat - in the next.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIV - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9115.jpg" alt="9115 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9115.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - T looked as if Dole thought he could get down to the matter better out of - the pulpit, so he descended the steps on the side near Abner, and stood on - the floor inside the altar railing. - </p> - <p> - “We didn't assemble heer to argue with brother Daniel,” he informed the - congregation, “fer that's evidently jest what he'd like. It would be raily - kind of you all to consider what he's jest said as the product of a weak - brain ruther 'n a bad heart. Brother Throgmartin, have you any other - charges to prefer agin brother Daniel?” Dole looked as if he had already - been apprised of the extent of the witness's testimony. - </p> - <p> - “That's all I keer to say,” replied the man addressed, and he coughed. - </p> - <p> - Dole consulted the scrap of paper in his hand, and while he did so Abner - stole a glance at Bishop and his wife. Mrs. Bishop had her handkerchief to - her eyes as if she were crying, and her husband's face wore the impatient - look of a man detained by trivialities. - </p> - <p> - “Brother Daniel,” the preacher began, suddenly, “charges has been - preferred agin you on the score that you are a profane man. What have you - got to say on that line?” - </p> - <p> - Abner bent his head and spat down into the hopper-shaped box in the aisle. - </p> - <p> - “I hardly know, brother Dole,” he said. “It's all owin' to what profanity - is an' what it hain't. I don't know that I ever used but one word out o' - the general run, an' that is 'dem.' I don't believe thar's any more harm - in sayin' 'dem' than 'scat,' ur gruntin' when thar's no absolute call fer - it. I don't know as anybody knows what it means. I don't. I've axed a - number o' times, but nobody could tell me, so I knowed it wasn't patented - anyway. Fer a long time I 'lowed nobody used it but me. I met a feller - from up in Yankeedom that said 'darn,' an' another from out West that said - 'dang,' so I reckon they are all three in a bunch.” - </p> - <p> - At this juncture some one in the rear of the church laughed out, and the - entire congregation turned its head. It was Pole Baker. He was red in the - face, had his big hand pressed tightly over his mouth, and was bent over - the bench towards the open doorway. Abner's eyes sparkled with - appreciative merriment as he saw him, but he did not permit himself to - smile. Dole could not hide his irritation, for Pole's unalloyed enjoyment - had communicated itself to some of the less rigid members, and he felt - that the reply which was stinging his tongue would fall less forcefully - than if the incident hadn't happened. - </p> - <p> - He held up his hand to invoke silence and respect. “I believe such a word, - to say the least, is unbecoming in a Christian, and I think the membership - will back me up in it.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't look at it that away,” argued Abner. “I'd be above takin' the - Lord's name in vain, but a little word that nobody cayn't find no fault - with or tell its origin shorely is different.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that 'll be a matter to decide by vote.” - </p> - <p> - Dole paused a moment and then introduced another topic. - </p> - <p> - “A report has gone round among the members that you said that red-handed - murderer who killed a man over in Fannin' an' was hung, an' passed on - without a single prayer fer pardon to his Maker—that he'd stand a - chance fer redemption. In all my experience I've never heerd sech a - dangerous doctrin' as that, brother Daniel—never, as I myself hope - to be redeemed.” - </p> - <p> - “I said he'd have a chance—I <i>thought</i>,” said Abner. “I reckon - I must 'a' got that idee from what Jesus said to the thief on the cross. - You see, brother Dole, I believe the Almighty gives us all equal chances, - an' I don't believe that feller in Fannin' had as good a opportunity to - git his heart saftened as the feller did that was dyin' right alongside o' - the great Redeemer o' the world. Nobody spoke a kind word to the Fannin' - man; on the contrary, they was hootin' an' spittin' at 'im night an' day, - an' they say the man he killed had pestered 'im all his life. Scriptur' - says we ort to forgive a man seventy times seven, an' that is four hundred - an' ninety. Why they didn't make it even five hundred I never could tell. - An' yet you-uns try to make folks believe the Lord that made us, frail as - we are an' prone to sin, won't forgive us once ef we happen to die sudden. - Shucks! that doctrine won't hold water; it's hide-bound an' won't stretch - one bit. It seems to me that the trouble with yore—” - </p> - <p> - “We haven't time to listen to a speech on the subject,” interrupted the - preacher, whose anger was inflamed by hearing Pole Baker sniggering. “If - thar is anybody else that has anything to say we'd be glad to hear from - 'em.” - </p> - <p> - Then Mrs. Bishop rose, wiping her eyes. She was pale and deeply agitated. - “I jest want to ax you all to be lenient with my pore brother,” she began, - her thin voice cracking under its strain. “I've predicted that he'd bring - disrepute down on us with his ready tongue an' odd notions. I've tried an' - tried to stop 'im, but it didn't do a bit o' good.” - </p> - <p> - “It's very good of you to speak in his behalf,” said Dole, as she sank - back into her seat. “I'm sure the membership will do its duty, sister - Bishop.” - </p> - <p> - Then a little, meanly clad man behind Daniel stood up. It was Jasper - Marmaduke, a ne 'er-do-well farmer, who had a large family, few friends, - and no earthly possessions. He was greatly excited, and as white as if he - were on trial for his life. - </p> - <p> - “I ain't no member,” he began. “I know I ort to be, but I hain't. I don't - know whether a outsider's got a right to chip into this or not, but it - seems to me I 'll bu'st wide open ef I don't git up heer an' say as loud - as I kin holler that Abner Daniel's the best man I ever seed, knowed, ur - heerd tell of.” Tears were on the man's face and his voice shook with - emotion. “He's fetched food an' medicine over to my folks an' run after a - doctor when all the rest o' humanity had turned the'r backs on us. He made - me promise not to cheep it to a soul, but I'm a-goin' to tell it—tell - it, ef he never speaks to me agin. I ain't no godly man, an' this thing's - makin' me so mad I feel like throwin' rocks!” And with a sob bursting from - him, Marmaduke strode from the church with a loud clatter of his untied - shoes. - </p> - <p> - “Good! Good man!” spoke up Pole Baker, impulsively, unconscious of where - he was. “Jas', yo're the right stuff.” And then, in the dead silence that - followed his ejaculation, Pole realized what he had said and lowered his - head in red embarrassment, for Dole's fierce eyes were bearing down on - him. The preacher's pent-up wrath burst; he was really more infuriated at - the man who had just left the church, but he had to make an example of - some one, and Pole had laid himself open to attack. - </p> - <p> - “This is no place fer rowdies,” he snarled. “That outlaw back thar who has - been continually disturbing these proceedings ort to be jailed. He's - undertakin' to bring his violations of decency into the very house of - God.” - </p> - <p> - A vast surprise clutched the congregation, who, knowing Pole, scented - trouble. And Pole did not disappoint them. With his flabby hat in his - brawny grasp, Pole stood up, but his wife, who sat on the women's side - across the aisle from him with her three eldest children, stepped to him - and drew him back in his seat, sitting by him and whispering imploringly. - Dole stared fiercely for a moment, and then, seeing that the disturbance - was over, he shrugged his broad shoulders and applied himself to the - business in hand. - </p> - <p> - “Is thar anybody else pro or con that ud like to be heerd?” - </p> - <p> - It was the widow Pellham, sitting well towards the front, who now rose. “I - feel like Jas' Marmaduke does,” she began, falteringly. Her hearers could - not see her face, for she wore a black calico sunbonnet, and it was tilted - downward. “I believe I 'll be committin' of a grievous sin ef I let my - natural back'ard-ness keep me quiet. Abner Daniel was the fust, last, an' - only pusson that made me see the true way into God's blessed sunshine out - o' the pitch-black darkness that was over me. All of you, especially them - livin' nigh me, knowed how I acted when my daughter Mary died. We'd lived - together sence she was born, an' after her pa passed away she was all I - had. Then God up an' tuck 'er. I tell you it made a devil out'n me. I - liter'ly cussed my Maker an' swore revenge agin 'Im. I quit meetin' an' - closed my door agin my neighbors. They all tried to show me whar I was - wrong, but I wouldn't listen. Some nights I set up from dark till daylight - without candle or fire, bemeanin' my God fer the way He'd done me. You - remember, brother Dole, that you come a time or two an' prayed an' read, - but I didn't budge out'n my cheer an' wouldn't bend a knee. Then that - other little preacher, that was learnin' to preach, an' tuck yore place - when you went off to bury yore mother—he come an' made a set at me, - but every word he said made me wuss. I ordered <i>him</i> off the hill, - an' told 'im ef he appeared agin I'd set my dog on 'im. I don't know why - everybody made me so mad, but they did. The devil had me by the leg, an' - was a-drag-gin' me as fast to his hole as a dog kin trot. But one mornin' - Abner Daniel come over with that thar devilish twinkle in his eyes that ud - make a cow laugh, an' begun to banter me to sell 'im the hay off'n my - little neck o' land betwixt the creek an' the road. I kept tellin' 'im I - didn't want to sell, but he kept a-com-in' an' a comin', with no end o' - fool talk about this un an' that un, tell somehow I got to watchin' fer - 'im, but still I wouldn't let nobody else in. Then one day, after I'd - refused to sell an' told 'im I'd <i>give</i> 'im the hay, he growed - serious an' said, ses he: 'Sister Pellham, I don't want the hay on that - patch. I've been deliberately lyin'. I've been comin' over heer as a - friend, to try to make you feel better.' Then he set in, an', as God is my - highest judge, ef thar 'll be any more speritual talk on t'other shore it - 'll be after Abner Daniel gits thar. He jest rolled me about in his hands - like a piece o' wheat dough. He showed me what aileded me as plain as I - could p'int out the top o' old Bald Mountain to you on a cleer day. He - told me, I remember, that in grievin' like I was, I was sinnin' agin the - Holy Ghost, an' jest as long as I did it I'd suffer wuss an' wuss as a - penalty. He said it was a fight betwixt me an' my Maker an' that I was - bound to be worsted. He said that when my Mary come into the world I - couldn't tell whar she was from, nur why the Lord had fetched 'er, but I - was jest pleased beca'se it suited me to be pleased, but, ses he, when she - went back into the great mystery o' God's beautiful plan I wasn't - satisfied beca'se it didn't suit me to be. He said it was downright - selfishness, that had no part nur parcel in the kingdom o' heaven. He said - to me, ses he, 'Sister, ef you 'll jest fer one minute make up yore mind - that Mary is in better hands 'an she was in yor'n '—an' you kin bet - yore bottom dollar she is—'you 'll feel as light as a feather. 'I - had a tussle, but it come, God bless him! it come. It was jest like a - great light had bu'sted over me. I fell down on my knees before 'im an' - shouted an' shouted till I was as limp as a wet rag. I had always thought - I was converted away back in the sixties when I was a gal, but I wasn't. I - got my redemption that day under Abner Daniel's talk, an' I shall bless - 'im an' sing his name on my dyin' bed. I don't want to entertain no - spiteful feelin' s, but ef he goes out I 'll have to. I wouldn't feel - right in no church too puore to fellowship with Abner Daniel.” - </p> - <p> - “Good! Good woman!” shouted Pole Baker, as if he were at a political - speaking. She sat down. The house seemed profoundly moved. People were - thinking of the good things they had heard about Abner Daniel. However, - the turn of affairs did not suit Dole, who showed decided anger. His eyes - flashed as they rested on Pole Baker, who had offended him again. - </p> - <p> - “I shall have to ax that law-breaker back thar to leave the church,” he - said. “I think it's come to a purty pass ef strong, able-bodied - church-members will set still an' allow the'r own house o' worship to be - insulted by such a rascal as that one.” - </p> - <p> - Pole rose; many thought he was going to leave, but to the surprise of all - he walked deliberately up to the altar and laid his hand upon the railing. - </p> - <p> - “Looky' heer,” he said, “they call you the fightin' preacher. They say you - believe in hittin' back when yo' re hit. I'm heer to show you that ef I am - a outlaw I ain't afeerd o' you, an' I ain't a-goin' to be abused by you - when you are under the cloak o' this meetin'. When you say some 'n' you - think is purty good you wink at some brother in the amen-corner an' he - yells 'Amen 'loud enough to be heerd to the cross-roads. Then you go on as - if nothin' had happened. What I said back thar was jest my way o' sayin' - amen. Little Jas' Marmaduke hit you in a weak spot; so did what Mis' - Pellham said, an' yo' re tryin' to take yore spite out on me. That won't - work. I come heer to see fair play, an' I'm a-goin' to do it. Uncle Ab's a - good man an' I'm heer to testify to it. He's come nigher—him an' - Alan Bishop, that's a chip off'n 'im—to turn me into the right way - than all the shoutin'-bees I ever attended, an' I've been to as many as - thar are hairs on my head. I ain't bald, nuther. Now ef you want to have - it out with me jest wait an' meet me outside, whar we 'll both have fair - play.” - </p> - <p> - Dole was quivering with rage. “I kin whip a dozen dirty scoundrels like - you,” he panted. “Men like you insult ministers, thinking they won't - fight, but after meetin' I 'll simply wipe up the ground with you.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, 'nough said!” and Pole sat down. There was silence for a - moment. Dole's furious panting could be heard all over the room. Then - Abner Daniel rose. A vast change had come over him. The light of quizzical - merriment had faded from his face; nothing lay there except the shadows of - deepest regret. “I've been wrong—wrong—<i>wrong!</i>” he said, - loudly. “I'm dead wrong, ur Pole Baker never would 'a' wanted to fight, - an' brother Dole wouldn't 'a' been driv' to lose his temper in the pulpit. - I'm at the bottom o' all this rumpus that has kept you all from listenin' - to a good sermon. You've not found me hard to git along with when I see my - error, an' I promise that I 'll try from this day on to keep from shovin' - my notions on folks that ain't ready fer 'em. I want to stay in the - church. I think every sane man an' woman kin do good in a church, an' I - want to stay in this un.” - </p> - <p> - The confession was so unexpected, and furnished Dole with such an easy - loop-hole for gracefully retiring from a most unpleasant predicament, that - he actually beamed on the speaker. - </p> - <p> - “I don't think any more need be said,” he smiled. “Brother Daniel has - shown himself willing to do the right thing, an' I propose that the - charges be dropped.” Thereupon a vote was taken, and it went - overwhelmingly in Abner's favor. After the benediction, which followed - immediately, Pole Baker hurried across to Daniel. “I declare, you make me - sick, Uncle Ab,” he grumbled. “What on earth did you mean by takin' - back-water? You had 'im whar the wool was short; he was white at the - gills. You could 'a' mauled the life out'n 'im. Ef I'd—” - </p> - <p> - But Abner, smiling indulgently, had a watchful eye on Dole, and was moving - forward to shake the preacher's outstretched hand. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I 'll be damned!” Pole grunted, half aloud and in high disgust, as - he pushed his way through the crowd to the door. - </p> - <p> - Abner found him waiting for him near the hitch-ing-post, where he had been - to untie Bishop's horse. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon,” he said, “bein' as you got so mighty good yorese'f, 'at you - think I acted wrong.” - </p> - <p> - “Not any wuss'n I did, Pole,” replied the old man, seriously. “My advice - to you is to go to Dole an' tell 'im you are sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “Sorry hell!” - </p> - <p> - “It ud be better fer you,” half smiled Abner. “Ef you don't, some o' them - hill-Billies 'll make a case at court agin you fer disturbin' public - worship. Before a grand jury o' mossbacks a man with yore record ud not - stand any better chance o' comin' cleer 'n a old bird-nest ud o' makin' - good soup. When you was a-runnin' of yore still it made you powerful mad - to have revenue men after you, didn't it? Well, this heer shebang is - Dole's still, my boy, whar he claims to make good sperits out'n bad - material, an' he's got a license, which is more 'n you could 'a' said.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon yo' re right,” said Pole. “I 'll wait fer 'im.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XV - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9125.jpg" alt="9125 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9125.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - N the middle of the following week some of the young people of Darley gave - a picnic at Morley's Spring, a beautiful and picturesque spot about a mile - below Bishop's farm. Alan had received an urgent invitation to join the - party, and he rode down after dinner. - </p> - <p> - It was a hot afternoon, and the party of a dozen couples had scattered in - all directions in search of cool, shady nooks. Alan was by no means sure - that Miss Barclay would be there, but, if the truth must be told, he went - solely with the hope of at least getting another look at her. He was more - than agreeably surprised, for, just as he had hitched his horse to a - hanging bow of an oak near the spring, Frank Hillhouse came from the - tangle of wild vines and underbrush on a little hill-side and approached - him. - </p> - <p> - “You are just the fellow I'm looking for,” said Frank. “Miss Dolly's over - there in a hammock, and I want to leave somebody with her. Old man Morley - promised me the biggest watermelon in his patch if I'd come over for it. I - won't be long.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don't care how long you are,” smiled Alan. “You can stay all day if - you want to.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you wouldn't mind,” grinned Frank. “I used to think you were - the one man I had to fight, but I reckon I was mistaken. A feller in love - imagines everybody in creation is against him.” - </p> - <p> - Alan made no reply to this, but hurried away to where Dolly sat, a new - magazine in her hands and a box of candies on the grass at her feet. “I - saw you riding down the hill,” she said, with a pretty flush and no little - excitement. “To tell the truth, I sent Frank after the melon when I - recognized you. He's been threatening to go all the afternoon, but I - insisted on it. You may be surprised, but I have a business message for - you, and I would have made Frank drive me past your house on the way home - if you hadn't come.” - </p> - <p> - “Business,” Alan laughed, merrily; he felt very happy in her presence - under all her assurances of welcome. “The idea of your having a business - message! That's really funny.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's what it is; sit down.” She made room for him in the hammock, - and he sat beside her, his foolish brain in a whirl. “Why, yes, it is - business; and it concerns you. I fancy it is important; anyway, it may - take you to town to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't mean it,” he laughed. She looked very pretty, in her light - organdie gown and big rustic hat, with its wide, flowing ribbons. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it is a message from Rayburn Miller, about that railroad idea of - yours.” - </p> - <p> - “Really? Then he told you about that?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; he was down to see me last week. He didn't seem to think much of it - then—but”—she hesitated and smiled, as if over the memory of - something amusing—“he's been thinking of it since. As Frank and I - drove through the main street this morning—Frank had gone in a store - to get a basket of fruit—he came to me on his way to the train for - Atlanta. He hadn't time to say much, but he said if you were out here - to-day to tell you to come in town to-night without fail, so as to meet - him at his office early in the morning. He 'll be back on the midnight - train. I asked him if it was about the railroad, and he said it was—that - he had discovered something that looked encouraging.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad of that,” said Alan, a thrill of excitement passing over him. - “Rayburn threw cold water on my ideas the other day, and—” - </p> - <p> - “I know he did, and it was a shame,” said Dolly, warmly. “The idea of his - thinking he is the only man in Georgia with originality! Anyway, I hope it - will come to something.” - </p> - <p> - “I certainly do,” responded Alan. “It's the only thing I could think of to - help my people, and I am willing to stake all I have on it—which is, - after all, nothing but time and energy.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, don't you let him nor any one else discourage you,” said the girl, - her eyes flashing. “A man who listens to other people and puts his own - ideas aside is unworthy of the brain God gave him. There is another thing”—her - voice sank lower and her eyes sought the ground. “Rayburn Miller is a - fine, allround man, but he is not perfect by any means. He talks freely to - me, you know; he's known me since I was knee-high. Well, he told me—he - told me of the talk he had with you at the dance that night. Oh, that hurt - me—hurt me!” - </p> - <p> - “He told you that!” exclaimed Alan, in surprise. “Yes, and it actually - disgusted me. Does he think all men ought to act on that sort of advice? - He might, for he has made an unnatural man of himself, with all his - fancies for new faces; but you are not that kind, Alan, and I'm sorry you - and he are so intimate—not that he can influence you <i>much</i>, - but he has already, <i>in a way</i>, and that has pained me deeply.” - </p> - <p> - “He has influenced me?” cried Alan, in surprise. “I think you are - mistaken.” - </p> - <p> - “You may not realize it, but he has,” said Dolly, with gentle and yet - unyielding earnestness. “You see, you are so very sensitive that it would - not be hard to make you believe that a young man ought not to keep on - caring for a girl whose parents object to his attentions.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” He had caught her drift. - </p> - <p> - There was a pause. At the foot of the hill a little brook ran merrily over - the water-browned stones, and its monotonous lapping could be heard - distinctly. Under the trees across the open some of the couples had drawn - together and were singing: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “I see the boat go 'round the bend, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Good-bye, my lover, good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Dolly had said exactly what he had never hoped to hear her say, and the - fact of her broaching such a subject in such a frank, determined way sent - a glow of happiness all over him. - </p> - <p> - “I don't think,” he began, thoughtfully, “that Rayburn or any man could - keep me from”—he looked into her full, expectant eyes, and then - plunged madly—“could keep me from caring for you, from loving you - with all my heart, Dolly; but it really is a terrible thing to know that - you are robbing a girl of not only the love of her parents but her - rightful inheritance, when, when”—he hurried on, seeing that an - impulse to speak was urging her to protest—“when you haven't a cent - to your name, and, moreover, have a black eye from your father's - mistakes.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew that's what he'd said!” declared the girl, almost white with - anger. “I knew it! Oh, Alan, Rayburn Miller might be able to draw back and - leave a girl at such a time, but no man could that truly loves as—as - I believe you love me. I have known how you have felt all this time, and - it has nearly broken my heart, but I could not write to you when you had - never even told me, what you have to-day. You must not let anybody or - anything influence you, Alan. I'd rather be a poor man' s wife, and do my - own work, than let a paltry thing like my father's money keep me from - standing by the man I love.” - </p> - <p> - Alan' s face was ablaze. He drew himself up and gazed at her, all his soul - in his eyes. “Then I shall not give you up,” he declared; “not for - anything in the world. And if there is a chance in the railroad idea I - shall work at it ten times as hard, now that I have talked with you.” - </p> - <p> - They sat together in blissful ignorance of the passage of time, till some - one shouted out that Frank Hill-house was coming with the watermelon. Then - all the couples in sight or hearing ran to the spring, where Hillhouse - could be seen plunging the big melon into the water. Hattie Alexander and - Charlie Durant, who had been perched on a jutting bowlder high up on the - hill behind Dolly and Alan, came half running, half sliding down, catching - at the trees to keep from falling. - </p> - <p> - “Better come get your teeth in that melon,” Hattie said, with a knowing - smile at Dolly. They lived next door to each other and were quite - intimate. - </p> - <p> - “Come on, Alan.” Dolly rose. “Frank will never forgive me if I don't have - some.” - </p> - <p> - “I sha 'n' t have time, if I go to town to-night,” replied Alan. “I have - something to do at home first.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I won't keep you,” Dolly smiled, “for you must go and meet Rayburn - Miller. I'm going to hope that he has had good luck in Atlanta.” - </p> - <p> - The world had never seemed so full of joy and hope as Alan rode homeward. - The sun was setting in glorious splendor beyond the towering mountains, - above which the sky seemed an ocean of mother-of-pearl and liquid gold. - Truly it was good to be alive. At the bars he met Abner Daniel with a - fishing-cane in his hands, his bait-gourd under his arm. - </p> - <p> - “I know right whar you've been,” he said, with a broad smile, as he threw - down the bars for Alan to pass through. “I seed that gang drive by in all - the'r flurry this mornin', the queen bee in the lead with that little - makeshift of a man.” - </p> - <p> - Alan dismounted to prevent his uncle from putting up the bars, and they - walked homeward side by side. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and I've had the time of my life,” said the young man. “I talked to - her for a solid hour.” - </p> - <p> - “I could see that in yore face,” said Abner, quietly. “You couldn't hide - it, an' I 'll bet she didn't lose time in lettin' you know what she never - could hide from me.” - </p> - <p> - “We understand each other better now,” admitted Alan. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I've certainly set my heart on the match—on gittin' her in - our family,” affirmed Abner. “Durn-ed ef—I declare, sometimes I'm - afeerd I'm gone on 'er myse'f. Yes, I want you 'n' her to make it. I want - to set an' smoke an' chaw on yore front porch, an' heer her back in the - kitchen fryin' ham an' eggs, an',” the old man winked, “I don't know as - I'd object to trottin' some 'n' on my knee, to sorter pass the time - betwixt meals.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come off, Uncle Ab!” said Alan, with a flush, “that's going too far.” - </p> - <p> - The old man whisked his bait-gourd round under his other arm. His eyes - twinkled, and he chuckled. “'Tain' t goin' as fur as havin' one on each - knee an' both pine blank alike an' exactly the same age. I've knowed that - to happen in my day an' time, when nobody wasn't even lookin' fer a' - increase.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XVI - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9131.jpg" alt="9131 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9131.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - ATTIE ALEXANDER and Charlie Durant reached home before Dolly and - Hillhouse, and as Dolly alighted from the buggy at the front gate and was - going up the flower-bordered walk Hattie came to the side fence and called - out: - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Dolly, come here quick; I've got some 'n' to tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, wait till I get my hat off,” answered Dolly. - </p> - <p> - “No, I can't wait; come on, or you 'll wish you had.” - </p> - <p> - “What is it, goosie?” Dolly smiled, as she tripped across the grass, her - face flushed from her rapid drive. - </p> - <p> - “Doll, darling, I've got you in an <i>awful</i> scrape. I know you 'll - never forgive me, but I couldn't help it. When Charlie left me at the gate - mother come out and asked me all about the picnic, who was there an' who - talked to who, and all about it. Among other things I told her about you - and Alan getting together for such a nice, long talk, and—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don't mind her,” broke in Dolly, as she reached for the skirt of - her gown to rescue it from the dew on the high grass. - </p> - <p> - “Wait, wait; I'm not through by a jugful,” panted Hattie. “Just then your - pa came along an' asked if you'd got home. I told him you hadn't, an' then - he up and asked me if Alan Bishop was out there. I had to say yes, of - course, for you know how strict mother is about telling a fib, and then - what do you think he did? He come right out plain and asked if Alan talked - to you by yourself. I didn't know what on earth to do. I reckon I actually - turned white, and then mother chipped in and said: 'Tell the truth, - daughter; a story never mends matters; besides, Colonel Barclay, you must - be more reasonable; young folks will be young folks, and Alan Bishop would - be my choice if I was picking out a husband for my girl.' And then you - ought to have heard your pa snort; it was as loud as a horse kicking up - his heels in the lot. He wheeled round an' made for the house like he was - shot out of a gun.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon he 'll raise the very Old Harry,” opined Dolly, grimly. “But I - don't care; he's driven me about as far as he can.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't make him any madder,” advised the innocent mischief-maker, - with a doleful expression. “It's all my fault. I—” - </p> - <p> - “No, it wasn't,” declared Dolly. “But he can't run over me with his - unreasonable ideas about Alan Bishop.” - </p> - <p> - With that she turned and went towards the house, her head down. On the - veranda she met her mother, who was waiting for her with a pleasurable - smile. “You've stirred up yore pa awful,” she said, laughing impulsively, - and then trying to veil it with a seriousness that sat awkwardly on her. - “You'd better dodge him right now. Oh, he's hot! He was just saying this - morning that he believed you and Frank were getting on fine, and now he - says Frank is an idiot to take a girl to a picnic to meet his rival. How - did it happen?” - </p> - <p> - “Just as I intended it should, mother,” Dolly said. “I knew he was coming, - and sent Frank off after a watermelon. He didn't have sense enough to see - through my ruse. If I'd treated Alan that way he'd simply have looked - straight through me as if I'd been a window-pane. Mother, I'm not going to - put up with it. I tell you I won't. I know what there is in Alan Bishop - better than father does, and I am not going to stand it.” - </p> - <p> - “You ain't, heigh?” thundered Barclay across the hall, and he stalked out - of the sitting-room, looking over his eye-glasses, a newspaper in his - hand. “Now, my lady, let me say to you that Alan Bishop shall never darken - my door, and if you meet him again anywhere you shall go away and stay.” - </p> - <p> - “Father “—Dolly had never stood so tall in her high-heeled shoes nor - so straight—“Father, you insulted Alan just now before Mrs. - Alexander and Hattie, and I'm not going to have you do it any more. I love - him, and I shall never love any other man, nor marry any other man. I know - he loves me, and I'm going to stick to him.” - </p> - <p> - “Then the quicker you get away from here the better,” said the old man, - beside himself with rage. “And when you go, don't you dare to come back - again.” - </p> - <p> - The Colonel stalked from the room. Dolly glanced at her mother, who had a - pale smile of half-frightened enjoyment on her face. - </p> - <p> - “I think you said 'most too much,” Mrs. Barclay said. “You'd better not - drive him too far.” - </p> - <p> - Dolly went up to her room, and when supper was called, half an hour later, - she declined to come down. However, Mrs. Barclay sent up a tray of - delicacies by Aunt Milly, the old colored woman, which came back - untouched. - </p> - <p> - It was the custom of the family to retire rather early at that season of - the year, and by half-past nine the house was dark and still. Mrs. Barclay - dropped to sleep quickly, but waked about one o' clock, and lay unable to - drift into unconsciousness again for the delightful pastime of thinking - over her daughter's love affair. She began to wonder if Dolly, too, might - not be awake, and the prospect of a midnight chat on that of all topics - made her pulse beat quickly. Slipping noiselessly out of bed, so as not to - wake her husband, who was snoring in his bed across the room, she glided - up-stairs. She had not been there a moment before the Colonel was waked by - a low scream from her, and then he heard her bare feet thumping on the - floor overhead as she crossed the hall into the other rooms. She screamed - out again, and the Colonel sprang up, grasped his revolver, which always - lay on the bureau, and ran into the hall. There he met his wife, half - sliding down the stairs. - </p> - <p> - “Dolly's gone,” she gasped. “Her bed hasn't been touched. Oh, Seth, do you - reckon anything has happened to her?” - </p> - <p> - The old man stared in the dim light of the hall, and then turned towards - the door which opened on the back veranda. He said not a word, but was - breathing hard. The cabin of old Ned and his wife, Aunt Milly, was near - by. - </p> - <p> - “Ned; oh, Ned!” called out the Colonel. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, marster!” - </p> - <p> - “Crawl out o' that bed and come heer!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, marster; I'm a-comin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Seth, do you reckon—do you—?” - </p> - <p> - “Dry up, will you?” thundered Barclay. “Are you comin', Ned?” - </p> - <p> - Uncle Ned's gray head was thrust out at the partly open door. - </p> - <p> - “You want me, marster?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; what do you suppose I called you for if I didn't want you. Now I - don't want any lies from you. You know you can't fool me. I want to know - if you carried a note from this house to anybody since sundown.” - </p> - <p> - “A note must have been sent,” ventured Mrs. Barclay, in an undertone. - “Dolly never would have gone to him. He must have been notified and come - after her.” - </p> - <p> - “Dry up, for God's sake!” yelled the Colonel over his shoulder to the - spectre by his side. “Answer me, you black rascal.” - </p> - <p> - “Marse Seth, young miss, she—” - </p> - <p> - “She sent a note to Alan Bishop, didn't she?” interpolated the Colonel. - </p> - <p> - “Marster, I didn't know it was any harm. I des 'lowed it was some prank o' - young miss'. Oh, Lordy!” - </p> - <p> - “You might know you'd do suppen, you old sap-haid,” broke in Aunt Milly - from the darkness of the cabin. “I kin count on you ever' time.” - </p> - <p> - “Get back in bed,” ordered the Colonel, and he walked calmly into his room - and lay down again. His wife followed him, standing in the middle of the - room. - </p> - <p> - “Aren't you going to do anything?” she said. Her voice was charged with a - blending of tears and a sort of feminine eagerness that is beyond the - comprehension of man. - </p> - <p> - “Do anything? What do you think I ought to do? Raise an alarm, ring the - church-bells, and call out the hook-and-ladder company? Huh! She's made - her bed; let her lie on it.” - </p> - <p> - “You are heartless—you have no feeling,” cried his wife. The very - core of her desire was to get him to talk about the matter. If he was not - going to rouse the neighborhood, and thus furnish some one to talk to, he, - at least, ought to be communicative. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you'd better go to bed,” snarled her husband. - </p> - <p> - “No”—she scratched a match and lighted a candle—“I'm going - up-stairs and see if she left a note. Now, you see, <i>I</i> had to think - of that. The poor girl may have written something.” - </p> - <p> - There did seem to be a vestige of reason in this, and the old man said - nothing against it, throwing himself back on his pillow with a stifled - groan. - </p> - <p> - After about half an hour Mrs. Barclay came back; she stood over him, - holding the candle so that its best rays would fall on his face. - </p> - <p> - “She didn't write one word,” was her announcement. “I reckon she knew we'd - understand or find out from Uncle Ned. And just to think!”—Mrs. - Barclay now sat down on a chair across the back of which lay the Colonel's - trousers, holding the candle well to the right that she might still see - the rigid torture of his face—“just to think, she's only taken the - dress she had on at the picnic. It will be a poor wedding for her, when - she's always said she wanted a lot of bridesmaids and ushers and - decorations. Poor child! Maybe they had to drive into the country to get - somebody to marry them. I know brother Lapsley wouldn't do it without - letting us know. I reckon she 'll send the first thing in the morning for - her trunk, if—” Mrs. Barclay gazed more steadily—“if she don't - come herself.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, she needn't come herself,” grunted the reclining figure as it - flounced under the sheets to turn its face to the wall. - </p> - <p> - “You wouldn't be that hard on our only child, just because she—” - </p> - <p> - “If you don't go to bed,” the words rebounded from the white plastering an - inch from the speaker's lips, “you 'n' me 'll have a row. I've said what - I'd do, and I shall do it!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm going out to speak to Aunt Milly a minute,” said Mrs. Barclay, - and, drawing on a thin graywrapper and sliding her bare feet into a pair - of slippers, she shuffled out to the back porch. - </p> - <p> - “Come here, Aunt Milly,” she called out, and she sat down on the highest - step and waited till the fat old woman, enveloped in a coarse gray - blanket, joined her. - </p> - <p> - “Aunt Milly, did you ever hear the like?” she said. “She 'ain't made off - sho 'nough, have she, Miss Annie?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, she's gone an' done it; her pa drove her just a little too far. I - reckon she railly does love Alan Bishop, or thinks she does.” - </p> - <p> - “I could take a stick an' baste the life out'n Ned,” growled the black - woman, leaning against the veranda post; she knew better than to sit down - in the presence of her mistress, even if her mistress had invited her to - talk. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he didn't know any better,” said Mrs. Barclay. “He always would trot - his legs off for Dolly, and”—Mrs. Barclay's tone was tentative—“it - wouldn't surprise me if Alan Bishop paid him to help to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “No, he didn't help, Miss Annie. Ned's been in bed ever since he come back - fum town des atter supper. He tol' me des now dat de young man was in a - room at de hotel playin' cyards wid some more boys an' he got up an' writ - Miss Dolly er note; but Ned went straight to bed when he got home.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, Alan must have got her to meet him at the front gate, don't you - reckon? He didn't drive up to the house either, for I think I would have - heard the wheels. He must have left his turn-out at the corner.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you a-goin' to set there all night?” thundered the Colonel from his - bed. “How do you expect anybody to sleep with that low mumbling going on, - like a couple of dogs under the house?” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Barclay got up, with a soft, startled giggle. - </p> - <p> - “He can' t sleep because he's bothered,” she said, in a confidential - undertone. “We'd better go in. I don't want to nag him too far; it's going - hard with Dolly as it is. I'm curious to see if he really will refuse to - let her come back. Do you reckon he will, Milly?” - </p> - <p> - “I sw'ar I don't know, Miss Annie,” replied the dark human shape from the - depths of her blanket. “He sho is a caution, an' you kin see he's - tormented. I 'll bet Ned won't have a whole skin in de mornin'.” - </p> - <p> - The Colonel, despite his sullen effort to conceal the fact from his - wide-awake wife, slept very little during the remainder of that night, and - when he rose at the usual hour he went out to see his horse fed. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Barclay was fluttering from the dining-room to the kitchen, gossiping - with the cook, who had run out of anything to say on the subject and could - only grunt, “Yes'um, and no'um,” according to the reply she felt was - expected. Aunt Milly was taking a plate of waffles into the dining-room - when a little negro boy, about five years of age, the son of the cook at - the Alexanders', crawled through a hole in the fence between the two - houses and sauntered towards the kitchen. On the door-step he espied a - black kitten that took his fancy and he caught it and began to stroke it - with his little black hand. - </p> - <p> - “What you want <i>now?</i>” Aunt Milly hovered over him like an angry hen. - “Want ter borrow suppen, I boun' you; yo'-alls folks is de beatenes' - people ter borrow I ever lived alongst.” - </p> - <p> - The boy seemed to have forgotten his errand in his admiration for the - kitten. - </p> - <p> - “What you atter now?” snarled Aunt Milly, “eggs, flour, sugar, salt, - pepper, flat-iron? Huh, we-all ain't keepin' er sto'.” - </p> - <p> - The boy looked up suddenly and drew his ideas together with a jerk. “Miss - Dolly, she say sen 'er Mother Hubbub wrappin' dress, hangin' on de foot er - her bed-post.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” gasped Aunt Milly, and, hearing the exclamation, Mrs. Barclay came - to the door and paused to listen. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Dolly,” repeated the boy, “she say sen 'er 'er wrappin' dress off'n - de foot-post er 'er bed; en, en, she say keep 'er two waffles hot en, en - dry—not sobby—en ter git 'er dat fresh cream fer 'er coffee in - 'er lill pitcher whut she lef' in de ice-box.” - </p> - <p> - “Dolly? Dolly?” cried Mrs. Barclay. “You are surely mistaken, Pete. Where - did you see her?” - </p> - <p> - “Over 't we-all's house,” said the boy, grabbing the kitten which had slid - from his momentarily inattentive fingers. - </p> - <p> - “Over 't yo'-all's house!” cried Milly, almost in a tone of horror, “en, - en is her husban' wid 'er?” - </p> - <p> - The boy grinned contemptuously. - </p> - <p> - “Huh, Miss Dolly ain't no married ooman—you know she ain't, huh! I - seh, married! Look heer”—to the kitten—“don't you scratch me, - boy!” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Barclay bent over him greatly excited. “What was she doing over at - your house, Pete?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothin' w'en I seed 'er 'cep'jest her en Miss Hattie lyin' in de bed - laughin' en car'yin' on.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Lordy!” Mrs. Barclay's eyes were riveted on Aunt Milly's beaming - face, “do you reckon—?” - </p> - <p> - “She's slep 'over dar many times before now, Miss Annie,” said Aunt Milly, - and she burst into a round, ringing laugh, her fat body shaking like a - mass of jelly. “She done it time en ergin—time en ergin.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, ain't that a purty mess?” said Mrs. Barclay, almost in a tone of - disappointment. “I 'll get the wrapper, Pete, and you tell her to put it - on and hurry over here as soon as she possibly can.” - </p> - <p> - A few minutes later Dolly came from the Alexander's and met her mother at - the gate. “Oh, Dolly,” Mrs. Barclay cried, “you've got us in an awful - mess. We missed you about midnight and we thought—your father made - Ned acknowledge that he took a note to Alan Bishop from you, and we - thought you had gone off to get married. Your father's in an awful temper, - swearing you shall never—” - </p> - <p> - Dolly tossed her head angrily. “Well, you needn't say I got you into it; - you did it yourselves and I don't care how much you suffer. I say! When I - go to get married it will not be that way, you can depend on it. Now, I - reckon, it will be all over town that—” - </p> - <p> - “No, it needn't get out of the family,” Mrs. Barclay assured her, in a - guilty tone of apology. “Your pa wouldn't let me raise any alarm. But you - <i>did</i> send a note to Alan Bishop, Dolly.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I knew he was in town, and would be here to-day, and I simply wrote - him that father was angry at our seeing each other again and that I hoped - he would avoid meeting him just now—that was all.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well, well.” Mrs. Barclay hurried through the house and out to - where Barclay stood at the lot fence watching Ned curry his horse. - </p> - <p> - “What do you reckon?” she gasped. “Dolly didn't go off at all; she just - went to spend the night with Hattie Alexander.” - </p> - <p> - His face changed its expression against his will; the blood flowed into - the pallor and a satisfied gleam shot from his half-closed eyes. He turned - from her, looking over the fence at the horse. - </p> - <p> - “You're leavin' a splotch on that right hind leg,” he said. “Are you stone - blind?” - </p> - <p> - “I was gittin' roun' to it, marster,” said the negro, looking his surprise - over such an unexpected reproof. “No; she just wrote Alan that you was - displeased at them getting together yesterday and advised him to dodge you - to-day while he is in town.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he'd better!” said the Colonel, gruffly, as they walked towards the - house. “You tell her,” he enjoined—“you tell her what I said when I - thought she <i>was</i> gone. It will be a lesson to her. She can tell now - how I 'll do if she <i>does</i> go against me in this matter.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you are glad she didn't run off,” replied his wife thoughtfully. - “The Lord only knows what you'd do about writing your letters without her - help. I believe she knows more about your business right now than you do, - and has a longer head. You'd' a' saved a thousand dollars by taking her - advice the other day about that cotton sale.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XVII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9142.jpg" alt="9142 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9142.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - N his way to Rayburn Miller's office that morning Alan decided that he - would not allude to the note he had received the previous evening from - Dolly. He did not like the cynical mood into which such subjects seemed to - draw his friend. He knew exactly what Miller would say, and felt that it - would be too personal to be agreeable. - </p> - <p> - He found the lawyer standing in the door of his little office building - waiting for him. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon my message surprised you,” Miller said, tentatively, as he shook - hands. - </p> - <p> - “It took me off my feet,” smiled Alan. “You see, I never hoped to get you - interested in that scheme, and when I heard you were actually going to - Atlanta about it, I hardly knew what to make of it.” - </p> - <p> - Miller turned into his office, kicked a chair towards Alan and dropped - into his creaking rocker. - </p> - <p> - “It was not due to you that I did get interested,” he said. “Do you know, - I can't think of it without getting hot all over with shame. To tell you - the truth, there is one thing I have always been vain about. I didn't - honestly think there was a man in Georgia that could give me any tips - about investments, but I had to take back water, and for a woman. Think of - that—a woman knocked me off my perch as clean and easy as she could - stick a hair-pin in a ball of hair. I'm not unfair; when anybody teaches - me any tricks, I acknowledge the corn an' take off my hat. It was this - way: I dropped in to see Miss Dolly the other evening. I accidentally - disclosed two things in an offhand sort of way. I told her some of the - views I gave you at the dance in regard to marriage and love and one thing - and another, and then, in complimenting you most highly in other things, I - confess I sort o' poked fun at your railroad idea.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you had,” said Alan, good-naturedly; “but go on.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, she first read me a lecture about bad, empty, shallow men, whose - very souls were damned by their past careers, interfering with the pure - impulses of younger men, and I 'll swear I felt like crawling in a hole - and pulling the hole in after me. Well, I got through that, in a fashion, - because she didn't want me to see her real heart, and that helped me. Then - she took up the railroad scheme. You know I had heard that she advised her - father in all his business matters, but, geewhilikins! I never dreamt she - could give me points, but she did—she simply did. She looked me - straight in the eye and stared at me like a national bank examiner as she - asked me to explain why that particular road could not be built, and why - it would not be a bonanza for the owners of the timber-land. I thought she - was an easy fish at first, and I gave her plenty of line, but she kept - peppering me with unanswerable questions till I lay down on the bank as - weak as a rag. The first bliff she gave me was in wanting to know if there - were not many branch roads that did not own their rolling stock. She said - she knew one in the iron belt in Alabama that didn't own a car or an - engine, and wouldn't have them as a free gift. She said if such a road - were built as you plan these two main lines would simply fall over each - other to send out cars to be loaded for shipment at competitive rates. By - George! it was a corker. I found out the next day that she was right, and - that doing away with the rolling stock, shops, and so forth, would cut - down the cost of your road more than half.” - </p> - <p> - “That's a fact,” exclaimed Alan, “and I had not thought of it.” - </p> - <p> - “She's a stronger woman than I ever imagined,” said Miller. “By George! if - she were not on your string, I'd make a dead set for her. A wife like that - would make a man complete. She's in love with you—or thinks she is—but - she hasn't that will o' the wisp glamour. She's business from her toes to - her fingertips. By George! I believe she makes a business of her love - affair; she seems to think she 'll settle it by a sum in algebra. But to - get back to the railroad, for I've got lots to tell you. What do you - reckon I found that day? You couldn't guess in a thousand years. It was a - preliminary survey of a railroad once planned from Darley right through - your father's purchase to Morganton, North Carolina. It was made just - before the war, by old Colonel Wade, who, in his day, was one of the most - noted surveyors in the State. This end of the line was all I cared about, - and that was almost as level as a floor along the river and down the - valley into the north end of town. It's a bonanza, my boy. Why that big - bottle of timber-land has never been busted is a wonder to me. If as many - Yankees had been nosing about here as there have been in other Southern - sections it would have been snatched up long ago.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm awfully glad to hear you say all this,” said Alan, “for it is the - only way out of our difficulty, and something has to be done.” - </p> - <p> - “It may cost you a few years of the hardest work you ever bucked down to,” - said Miller, “and some sleepless nights, but I really believe you have - fallen on to a better thing than any I ever struck. I could make it whiz. - I've already done something that will astonish you. I happen to know - slightly Tillman Wilson, the president of the Southern Land and Timber - Company. Their offices are in Atlanta. I knew he was my man to tackle, so - when I got to Atlanta yesterday I ran upon him just as if it were - accidental. I invited him to lunch with me at the Capitol City Club—you - know I'm a non-resident member. You see, I knew if I put myself in the - light of a man with something to sell, he'd hurry away from me; but I - didn't. As a pretext, I told him I had some clients up here who wanted to - raise a considerable amount of money and that the security offered was - fine timber-land. You see that caught him; he was on his own ground. I saw - that he was interested, and I boomed the property to the skies. The more I - talked the more he was interested, till it was bubbling out all over him. - He's a New-Englander, who thinks a country lawyer without a Harvard - education belongs to an effete civilization, and I let him think he was - pumping me. I even left off my g's and ignored my r's. I let him think he - had struck the softest thing of his life. Pretty soon he begun to want to - know if you cared to sell, but I skirted that indifferently as if I had no - interest whatever in it. I told him your father had bought the property to - hold for an advance, that he had spent years of his life picking out the - richest timber spots and buying them up. Then he came right out, as I - hoped he would, and asked me the amount you wanted to borrow on the - property. I had to speak quick, and remembering that you had said the old - gentleman had put in about twenty thousand first and last, I put the - amount at twenty-five thousand. I was taking a liberty, but I can easily - get you out of it if you decide not to do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Twenty-five thousand! On that land?” Alan cried. “It would tickle my - father to death to sell it for that.” - </p> - <p> - “I can arrange the papers so that you are not liable for any security - outside of the land, and it would practically amount to a sale if you - wished it, but you don't wish it. I finally told him that I had an idea - that you would sell out for an even hundred thousand.” - </p> - <p> - “A hundred thousand!” repeated Alan, with a cheery laugh. “Yes, we'd let - go at that.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, the figures didn't scarce him a bit, for he finally came right out - and asked me if it was my opinion that in case his company made the loan, - you would agree to give him the refusal of the land at one hundred - thousand. I told him I didn't know, that I thought it possible, but that - just then I had no interest in the matter beyond borrowing a little money - on it. He asked me how long I was going to stay in Atlanta. I told him I - was going to a bank and take the night train back. 'The banks will stick - you for a high rate of interest,' he said, jealously. 'They don't do - business for fun, while, really, our concern happens just now to have some - idle capital on hand. Do you think you could beat five per cent.? I - admitted that it was low enough, but I got up as if I was suddenly - reminded that the banks close early in the afternoon. 'I think we can make - the loan,' he said, 'but I must first see two or three of the directors. - Can't you give me two hours?' I finally gave in and promised to meet him - at the Kimball House at four. I went to a matinée, saw it half over, and - went in at the ladies' entrance of the hotel. I saw him looking about for - me and dodged him.” - </p> - <p> - “Dodged him?” echoed Alan. “Why—” - </p> - <p> - Miller laughed. “You don't suppose I'd let a big fish like that see me - flirting my hook and pole about in open sunlight, do you? I saw by his - manner that he was anxious to meet me, and that was enough; besides, you - can't close a deal like that in a minute, and there are many slips. I went - back to the club and threw myself on a lounge and began to smoke and read - an afternoon paper. Presently he came in a cab. I heard him asking for me - in the hall and buried my head in the paper. He came in on me and I rose - and looked stupid. I can do it when I try—if it <i>is</i> something - God has failed at—and I began to apologize. - </p> - <p> - “He didn't seem to care. 'If it had been a deal of your own,' he said with - a laugh, 'you'd have been more prompt,' and I managed to look guilty. Then - he sat down. - </p> - <p> - “'Our directors are interested,' he said, confidentially. 'The truth is - there is not another concern in America that can handle that property as - cheaply as we can. We happen to have a railroad about that length up in - East Tennessee that has played out, and you see we could move it to where - it would do some good.' - </p> - <p> - “As soon as he told me that I knew he was our meat; besides, I saw trade - in his eye as big as an arc-light. To make a long tale short, he is coming - up here tonight, and if your father is willing to accept the loan, he can - get the money, giving only the land as security—provided we don't - slip up. Here's the only thing I'm afraid of. When Wilson gets here he may - get to making inquiries around and drop on to the report that your father - is disgusted with his investment, and smell a mouse and pull off. What I - want to do is to get at him the first thing after breakfast in the - morning, so you'd better bring your father and mother in early. If we once - get Wilson's twenty-five thousand into it, we can eventually sell out. The - main thing is the loan. Don't you think so?” - </p> - <p> - “I certainly do,” said Alan. “Of course, a good many things might - interfere; we'd have to get a right of way and a charter before the road - could be built, and I reckon they won't buy till they are sure of those - things.” - </p> - <p> - “No it may take a long time and a lot of patience,” said Miller. “But your - father could afford to wait if he can get his money back by means of the - loan. I tell you that's the main thing. If I had offered to sell Wilson - the whole thing at twenty-five thousand he never would have come up here, - but he is sure now that the property is just what he is looking for. Oh, - we are not certain of him by a long jump! It all depends on whether he - will insist on going over there or not. If he does, those moss-backs will - bu'st the thing wide open. If he comes straight to my office in the - morning the deal may be closed, but if he lies around the hotel talking, - somebody will spoil our plans and Wilson will hang off to make his own - terms later—if he makes any at all. It's ticklish, but we may win.” - </p> - <p> - “It <i>is</i> a rather ticklish situation,” admitted Alan, “but even if we - do get the loan on the property, don't you think Wilson may delay matters - and hope to scoop the property in for the debt?” - </p> - <p> - “He might,” Miller smiled, “if he didn't want to move that railroad - somewhere else, and, besides, your father can keep the money in suitable - shape to pay off the note in any emergency and free himself.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know how to thank you, old man,” answered Alan. “If you had been - personally interested in this you could not have done more.” - </p> - <p> - Miller threw himself back in his chair and smiled significantly. “Do I - look like a man with nothing in it?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “But you haven't anything in it,” retorted Alan, wonderingly. - </p> - <p> - “That's all you know about it” Miller laughed. - </p> - <p> - “If the road is built I 'll make by it. This is another story. As soon as - I saw you were right about putting a railroad into the mountains, I began - to look around for some of that timber-land. I didn't have long to wait, - for the only man that holds much of it besides Colonel Barclay—Peter - Mosely, whom Perkins fooled just as he did your father—came in. He - was laying for me, I saw it in his eye. The Lord had delivered him to me, - and I was duly thankful. He was a morsel I liked to look at. He opened up - himself, bless you! and bragged about his fine body of virgin timber. I - looked bored, but let him run on till he was tired; then I said: - </p> - <p> - “'Well, Mosely, what do you intend to do with your white elephant? You - know it's not just the sort Barnum is looking for.' - </p> - <p> - “He kind o' blinked at that, but he said, 'I've half a notion to sell. The - truth is, I've got the finest investment open to me that I ever had. If I - could afford to wait a few years I could coin money out of this property, - but I believe in turning money quick.' - </p> - <p> - “'So do I,' said I, and watched him flirt about in the frying-pan. Then I - said, 'What is the price you hold it at?' - </p> - <p> - “'I thought,' said he, 'that I ought to get as much as I paid.' - </p> - <p> - “'As much as you paid Abe Tompkins and Perkins?' I said, with a grin. 'Do - you think you could possibly sell a piece of land for as much as those - sharks? If you can, you'd better go in the real-estate business. You'd - coin money. Why, they yanked two thousand out of you, didn't they?' - </p> - <p> - “'I don't really think Perkins had anything to do with it,' he said. - 'That's just a report out about old man Bishop's deal. I bought my land on - my own judgment.' - </p> - <p> - “'Well,' I said, 'how will fifteen hundred round wheels strike you?' - </p> - <p> - “'I believe I 'll take you up,' he said. 'I want to make that other - investment.' So we closed and I went at once to have the deed recorded - before he had a chance to change his mind. Now, you see, I'm interested in - the thing, and I'm going to help you put it through. If your folks want - the loan, bring them in in the morning, and if we can manage our Yankee - just right, we 'll get the money.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XVIII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9151.jpg" alt="9151 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9151.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - FTER supper that evening the Bishops sat out on the veranda to get the - cool air before retiring. There was only one light burning in the house, - and that was the little, smoky lamp in the kitchen, where the cook was - washing the dishes. Bishop sat near his wife, his coat off and vest - unbuttoned, his chair tilted back against the weatherboarding. Abner - Daniel, who had been trying ever since supper to cheer them up in regard - to their financial misfortune, sat smoking in his favorite chair near the - banisters, on top of which he now and then placed his stockinged feet. - </p> - <p> - “You needn't talk that away, brother Ab,” sighed Mrs. Bishop. “Yo're jest - doin' it out o' goodness o' heart. We might as well face the truth; we've - got to step down from the position we now hold, an' present way o' livin'. - And thar's Adele. Pore child! She said in 'er last letter that she'd cried - 'er eyes out. She was bent on comin' home, but 'er uncle William won't let - 'er. He said she'd not do any good.” - </p> - <p> - “An' she wouldn't,” put in Bishop, gruffly. “The sight o' you an' Alan - before me all the time is enough to show me what a fool I've been.” - </p> - <p> - “You are both crossin' bridges 'fore you git to 'em,” said Abner. “A lots - o' folks has come out'n scrapes wuss'n what you are in, ten to one. - I'ain't never mentioned it, but my land hain't got no mortgage on it, an' - I could raise a few scads, to he'p keep up yore intrust an' taxes till you - could see yore way ahead.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” snorted his brother-in-law. “Do you reckon I'd let as old a man as - you are, an' no blood kin, stake his little all to help me out of a hole - that is gittin' deeper an' wider all the time—a hole I deliberately - got myse'f into? Well, not much!” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't listen to that nuther,” declared Mrs. Bishop, “but not many - men would offer it.” - </p> - <p> - They heard a horse trotting down the road and all bent their heads to - listen. “It's Alan,” said Abner. “I was thinkin' it was time he was - showin' up.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Bishop rose wearily to order the cook to get his supper ready, and - returned to the veranda just as Alan Was coming from the stable. He sat - down on the steps, lashing the legs of his dusty trousers with his - riding-whip. It was plain that he had something of importance to say and - they all waited in impatient silence. - </p> - <p> - “Father,” he said, “I've had a talk with Rayburn Miller about your land; - he and I have lately been working on a little idea of mine. You know there - are people who will lend money on real-estate. How would it suit you to - borrow twenty-five thousand dollars on that land, giving that alone as - security.” - </p> - <p> - There was a startled silence, and Bishop broke it in a tone of great - irritation. - </p> - <p> - “Do you take me fer a plumb fool?” he asked. “When I want you an' Miller - to dabble in my business I 'll call on you. Twenty-five thousand, I say! - If I could exchange every acre of it fer enough to lift the mortgage on - this farm an' keep a roof over our heads I'd do it gladly. Pshaw!” - </p> - <p> - There was another silence, and then Alan began to explain. He almost - seemed to his father and mother to be some stranger, as he sat there in - the half dark ness, his eyes hidden by the brim of his soft hat, and told - them how he had worried over their trouble till the idea of building a - railroad had come to him. Then Miller had become interested, after - discouraging him, and had gone to Atlanta to see Wilson, and it remained - for the next day to decide what the outcome would be in regard to the big - loan. - </p> - <p> - While he talked Mrs. Bishop sat like a figure cut from stone, and Bishop - leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his big face in his hands. It was - as if a tornado of hope had blown over him, shaking him through and - through. - </p> - <p> - “You been doin' this to he'p me out,” he gasped, “an' I never so much as - axed yore opinion one way or another.” - </p> - <p> - “I'd rather see you make money out of that purchase than anything in the - world,” said his son, with feeling. “People have made fun of you in your - old age, but if we can build the road and you can get your hundred - thousand dollars some of these folks will laugh on the other side of their - faces.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop was so full of excitement and emotion that he dared not trust his - voice to utterance. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, - pretending to be calm, though his alert wife saw that he was quivering in - every limb. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Alan,” she cried, “don't you see how excited your pa is? You ought - not to raise his hopes this way on such an uncertainty. As Mr. Miller - said, there may be some slip and we'd be right back where we was, and feel - wuss than ever.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro on the veranda. - “It ain't possible,” they heard him saying. “I won't git out as easy as - that—I jest cayn't!” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps it would be wrong to expect too much,” said Alan, “but I was - obliged to tell you what we are going in town for to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop wheeled and paused before them. “Ef Wilson puts up the money I'd - have enough to lift the mortgage an' a clean twenty thousand besides to - put in some good investment.” - </p> - <p> - Aunt Maria, the colored cook, came out and timidly announced that Alan's - supper was on the table, but no one heard her. She crossed the veranda and - touched the young man on the shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Supper's raidy, Marse Alan,” she said, “en it's gittin' col' ergin.” - </p> - <p> - He rose and followed her into the dining-room and sat down in his - accustomed place at the long table. When he had eaten he went back to the - group on the veranda. - </p> - <p> - “I think I 'll go up to bed,” he told them. “My ride and running around at - Darley has made me very tired. Father, get all your papers together and - let's take an early start in the morning.” - </p> - <p> - But despite his feeling of weariness, Alan found he could not sleep. The - bright moonlight, streaming in at his window, seemed a disturbing element. - About eleven o'clock he heard some one turning the windlass at the well, - and later the clatter of falling utensils in the kitchen, and the dead - thump of a heavy tread below. He knew then that his father was up, and, - like himself, unable to sleep. Presently Mrs. Bishop slipped into his - room. - </p> - <p> - “Are you awake, son?” She spoke in a whisper that she might not disturb - him if he were asleep. - </p> - <p> - He laughed. “I haven't closed my eyes; it seems to me I have gone over my - conversation with Miller a thousand times.” - </p> - <p> - “I've give up tryin',” she told him, with a gratified little laugh. “I - think I could, though, if your pa would 'a' kept still. He's in the - kitchen now makin' him a cup o' strong coffee. He's been over them papers - ever since you come up-stairs. Alan, I'm actually afeerd he couldn't stand - it if that man didn't put up the money.” - </p> - <p> - “It would go hard with him,” said Alan. “Has Uncle Ab gone to sleep?” - </p> - <p> - “No; he's settin' in the door o' his room chawin' tobacco; he lays the - blame on yore pa. I don't think I ever saw him so irritated before. But - nobody ain't to blame but hisse'f. He's jest excited like the rest of us. - I've seed 'im lie an' snore with a bigger noise goin' on around 'im 'an - yore pa is a-makin'.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XIX - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9156.jpg" alt="9156 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9156.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - S Henry, Aunt Maria's husband, who was the chief farm-hand, was busy - patching fences the next morning, Bishop sent over for Pole Baker to drive - the spring-wagon. Alan sat beside Pole, and Abner and Bishop and Mrs. - Bishop occupied the rear seats. - </p> - <p> - Alan knew he could trust Pole, drunk or sober, and he confided his plans - to the flattered fellow's ears. Pole seemed to weigh all the chances for - and against success in his mind as he sat listening, a most grave and - portentous expression on his massive face. - </p> - <p> - “My opinion is the feller 'll be thar as shore as preachin',” he said. - “But whether you git his wad or not, that's another question. Miller's as - sharp as a briar, an', as he says, if Wilson gits to talkin' about that - land to any o' these hill-Billies they 'll bu'st the trade or die tryin'. - Jest let 'em heer money's about to change hands an' it 'll make 'em so - durn jealous they 'll swear a lie to keep it away from anybody they know. - That's human natur'.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe you are right,” said Alan, pulling a long face; “and I'm afraid - Wilson will want to make some inquiries before he closes.” - </p> - <p> - “Like as not,” opined the driver; “but what I'd do, ef I was a-runnin' it, - would be to git some feller to strike up with 'im accidental-like, an' - liter'ly fill 'im to the neck with good things about the property without - him ever dreamin' he was bein' worked.” - </p> - <p> - The two exchanged glances. Alan had never looked at the man so admiringly. - At that moment he seemed a giant of shrewdness, as well as that of - physical strength. - </p> - <p> - “I believe you are right, Pole,” he said, thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “That's what I am, an', what's more, I'm the one that could do the - fillin', without him ever knowin' I had a funnel in his mouth. If I can't - do it, I 'll fill my hat with saft mud an' put it on.” - </p> - <p> - Alan smiled warmly. “I 'll mention it to Miller,” he said. “Yes, you could - do it, Pole—if any man on earth could.” - </p> - <p> - Driving up to Miller's office they found the door open, and the owner came - out with a warm smile of greeting and aided Mrs. Bishop to alight. “Well,” - he smiled, when they had taken seats in the office. “We have gained the - first step towards victory. Wilson is at the hotel. I saw his name on the - register this morning.” - </p> - <p> - The elder Bishops drew a breath of relief. The old man grounded his heavy - walking-stick suddenly, as if it had slipped through his inert fingers. - </p> - <p> - “I'm trustin' you boys to pull me through,” he said, with a shaky laugh. - “I hain't never treated Alan right, an' I'm heer to confess it. I 'lowed I - was the only one in our layout with any business sense.” - </p> - <p> - “So you are willing to accept the loan?” said Miller. - </p> - <p> - “Willin'? I reckon I am. I never slept one wink last night fer feer some - 'n' 'll interfere with it.” - </p> - <p> - Miller reflected a moment and then said: “I am afraid of only one thing, - and that is this: Not one man in a million will make a trade of this size - without corroborating the statements made by the people he is dealing - with. Wilson is at breakfast by this time, and after he is through he may - decide to nose around a little before coming to me. I'm afraid to go after - him; he would think I was over-anxious. The trouble is that he may run - upon somebody from out in the mountains—there are a lot in town - already—and get to talking. Just one word about your biting off more - than you can chaw, Mr. Bishop, would make 'im balk like a mean mule. He - thinks I'm favoring him now, but let him get the notion that you haven't - been holding that land for at least a hundred thousand an' the thing would - bu'st like a bubble.” - </p> - <p> - Alan mentioned Pole Baker's proposition. Miller thought it over for a - moment, his brow wrinkled, and then he said: “Good!—a good idea, but - you must call Pole in and let me give him a few pointers. By George! he - could keep Wilson away from dangerous people anyway.” - </p> - <p> - Alan went after Pole, and Miller took him into his consultation-room in - the rear, where they remained for about fifteen minutes. When they came - out Pole's face was very grave. “I won't forget a thing,” he said to - Miller. “I understand exactly what you want. When I git through with 'im - he 'll want that land bad enough to pay anything fer it, an' he won't - dream I'm in cahoot with you, nuther. I can manage that. I ain't no fool - ef I do have fits.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you remember my description of him?” asked Miller. - </p> - <p> - “You bet I do—thick-set, about fifty, bald, red-faced, sharp, black - eyes, iron gray hair, an' mighty nigh always with a cigar in his mouth.” - </p> - <p> - “That's right,” laughed Miller, “now do your work, and we won't forget - you. By all means keep him away from meddlesome people.” - </p> - <p> - When Pole had left the office and Miller had resumed his revolving-chair - Mrs. Bishop addressed him, looking straight into his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I don't see,” she said, in a timid, hesitating way, and yet with a note - of firmness dominating her tone—“I don't see why we have to go - through all this trickery to make the trade. Ef the land is good security - fer the money we needn't be afeerd of what the man will find out. Ef it - ain' t good security I don't want his money as fer as I'm concerned.” - </p> - <p> - “I was jest thinkin' that, too,” chimed in her husband, throwing a - troubled glance all round. “I want money to help me out o' my scrape, but - I don't want to trick no man, Yankee or what not, into toatin' my loads. - As Betsy says, it seems to me if the land's wuth the money we needn't make - such a great to-do. I'm afeerd I won't feel exactly right about it.” - </p> - <p> - The young men exchanged alarmed glances. - </p> - <p> - “You don't understand,” said Miller, lamely, but he seemed to be - unprepared for views so heretical to financial dealings, and could not - finish what he had started to say. - </p> - <p> - “Why,” said Alan, testily, “the land is worth all Wilson can make out of - it with the aid of his capital and the railroad he proposes to lay here. - Father, you have spent several years looking up the best timbered - properties, and getting good titles to it, and to a big lumber company a - body of timber like you hold is no small tiling. We don't want to cheat - him, but we do want to keep him from trying to cheat us by getting the - upper hand. Rayburn thinks if he finds out we are hard up he 'll try to - squeeze us to the lowest notch.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” sighed Mrs. Bishop, “I'm shore I never had no idea we'd resort to - gittin' Pole Baker to tole anybody around like a hog after a yeer o' corn. - I 'lowed we was going to make a open-and-shut trade that we could be proud - of, an' stop folk's mouths about Alfred's foolish dealin' s. But,” she - looked at Abner, who stood in the doorway leading to the - consultation-room, “I 'll do whatever brother Ab thinks is right. I never - knowed 'im to take undue advantage of anybody.” - </p> - <p> - They all looked at Abner, who was smiling broadly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I say git his money,” he replied, with a short, impulsive laugh—“git - his money, and then ef you find he's starvin', hand 'im back what you feel - you don't need. I look on a thing like this sorter like I did on - scramblin' fer the upper holt in war-times. I remember I shot straight at - a feller that was climbin' up the enemy's breastworks on his all-fours. I - said to myse'f, ef this ball strikes you right, old chap, 'fore you drap - over the bank, yo're one less agin the Confederacy; ef it don't you kin - pop away at me. I don't think I give 'im anything but a flesh-wound in the - back—beca'se he jest sagged down a little an' crawled on—an' - that's about the wust you could do fer Wilson. I believe he ort to hold - the bag awhile. Alf's hung on to it till his fingers ache an' he's weak at - the knees. I never did feel like thar was any harm in passin' a - counterfeit bill that some other chap passed on me. Ef the government, - with all its high-paid help, cayn't keep crooked shinplasters from slidin' - under our noses, it ortn't to kick agin our lookin' out fer ourse'ves.” - </p> - <p> - “You needn't lose any sleep about the Southern Land and Timber Company, - Mrs. Bishop,” said Miller. “They will take care of themselves—in - fact, we 'll have to keep our eyes peeled to watch them even if we get - this loan. Wilson didn't come up here for his health.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, mother's all right,” said Alan, “and so is father, but they must not - chip in with that sort of talk before Wilson.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh no, you mustn't,” said Miller. “In fact, I think you'd better let me - and Alan do the talking. You see, if you sit perfectly quiet he 'll think - you are reluctant about giving such big security for such a small amount - of money, and he will trade faster.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm perfectly willin' to keep quiet,” agreed the old man, who now - seemed better satisfied. - </p> - <p> - Pole Baker left the office with long, swinging strides. There was an - entrance to the Johnston House through a long corridor opening on the - street, and into this Pole slouched. The hotel office was empty save for - the clerk who stood behind the counter, looking over the letters in the - pigeon-holed key-rack on the wall. There was a big gong overhead which was - rung by pulling a cord. It was used for announcing meals and calling the - porter. A big china bowl on the counter was filled with wooden - tooth-picks, and there was a show-case containing cigars. Pole glanced - about cautiously without being noticed by the clerk, and then withdrew - into the corridor, where he stood for several minutes, listening. - Presently the dining-room door opened and Wilson strolled out and walked - up to the counter. - </p> - <p> - “What sort of cigars have you got?” he said to the clerk. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing better than ten, three for a quarter,” was the respectful reply, - as the clerk recognized the man who had asked for the best room in the - house. - </p> - <p> - Wilson thrust his fingers into his vest-pocket and drew out a cigar. “I - guess I can make what I have last me,” he said, transferring his glance to - Pole Baker, who had shambled across the room and leaned heavily over the - open register. “Want to buy any chickins—fine fryin' size?” he asked - the clerk. - </p> - <p> - “Well, we are in the market,” was the answer. “Where are they?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't fetch 'em in to-day,” said Pole, dryly. “I never do till I know - what they are a-bringin'. You'd better make a bid on a dozen of 'em - anyway. They are the finest ever raised on Upper Holly Creek, jest this - side o' whar old man Bishop's lumber paradise begins.” - </p> - <p> - Pole was looking out of the corner of his eye at the stranger, and saw his - hand, which was in the act of striking a match, suddenly stay itself. - </p> - <p> - “We don't bid on produce till we see it,” said the clerk. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I reckon no harm was done by my axin',” said Pole, who felt the - eyes of the stranger on him. - </p> - <p> - “Do you live near here?” asked Wilson, with a smile half of apology at - addressing a stranger, even of Pole's humble stamp. - </p> - <p> - “No.” Pole laughed and waved his hand towards the mountains in the west, - which were plainly discernible in the clear morning light. “No, I'm a - mountain shanghai. I reckon it's fifteen mile on a bee-line to my shack.” - </p> - <p> - “Didn't you say you lived near old Mr. Bishop's place?” asked Wilson, - moving towards the open door which led to the veranda. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know which place o' his'n you mean,” said Pole when they were - alone outside and Wilson had lighted his cigar. “That old scamp owns the - whole o' creation out our way. Well, I 'll take that back, fer he don't - own any land that hain't loaded down with trees, but he's got territory - enough. Some thinks he's goin' to seceed from the United States an' elect - himself President of his own country.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson laughed, and then he said: “Have you got a few minutes to spare?” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon I have,” said Pole, “ef you've got the mate to that cigar.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson laughed again as he fished the desired article from his pocket and - gave it and a match to Pole. Then he leaned against the heavy railing of - the banisters. “I may as well tell you,” he said, “I'm a dealer in lumber - myself, and I'd like to know what kind of timber you have out there.” - </p> - <p> - Pole pulled at the cigar, thrust it well into the corner of his mouth with - the fire end smoking very near his left eye, and looked thoughtful. “To - tell you the truth, my friend,” he said, “I railly believe you'd be - wastin' time to go over thar.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you think so.” It was a vocal start on the part of Wilson. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir; the truth is, old man Bishop has simply raked into his dern - clutch ever' acre o' fine timber out that away. Now ef you went east, over - t'other side o' the mountains, you mought pick out some good timber; but - as I said, old man Bishop's got it all in a bag out our way. Saw-mill?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I don't run a saw-mill,” said Wilson, with an avaricious sparkle in - his eye. “I sometimes buy timbered lands for a speculation, that's all.” - </p> - <p> - Pole laughed. “I didn't see how you could be a saw-mill man an' smoke - cigars like this an' wear them clothes. I never knowed a saw-mill man to - make any money.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose this Mr. Bishop is buying to sell again,” said Wilson, - tentatively. “People generally have some such idea when they put money - into such property.” Pole looked wise and thoughtful. “I don't know - whether he is or not,” he said. “But my opinion is that he 'll hold on to - it till he's in the ground. He evidently thinks a good time's a-comin'! - Thar was a feller out thar t'other day with money to throw at cats; he's - been tryin' to honeyfuggle the old man into a trade, but I don't think he - made a deal with 'im.” - </p> - <p> - “Where was the man from?” Wilson spoke uneasily. “I don't railly know, but - he ain't a-goin' to give up. He told Neil Fulmore at his store that he was - goin' home to see his company an' write the old man a proposition that ud - fetch 'im ef thar was any trade in 'im.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson pulled out his watch. - </p> - <p> - “Do you happen to know where Mr. Rayburn Miller's law office is?” he - asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; it's right round the corner. I know whar all the <i>white</i> men in - this town do business, an' he's as white as they make 'em, an' as straight - as a shingle.” - </p> - <p> - “He's an acquaintance of mine,” said Wilson. “I thought I'd run in and see - him before I leave.” - </p> - <p> - “It's right round the corner, an' down the fust side street, towards the - court-house. I 'ain't got nothin' to do; I 'll p'int it out.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” said Wilson, and they went out of the house and down the - street together, Pole puffing vigorously at his cigar in the brisk breeze. - </p> - <p> - “Thar you are,” said Pole, pointing to Miller's sign. “Good-day, sir; much - obleeged fer this smoke,” and with his head in the air Pole walked past - the office without looking in. - </p> - <p> - “Good-morning,” exclaimed Miller, as Wilson entered. “You are not an early - riser like we are here in the country.” He introduced Wilson all round, - and then gave him a chair near his desk and facing him rather than the - others. - </p> - <p> - “This is the gentleman who owns the property, I believe,” said Wilson, - suavely, as he indicated Bishop. - </p> - <p> - Miller nodded, and a look of cunning dawned in his clear eye. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I have just been explaining to Mr. and Mrs. Bishop that the mere - signing of a paper such as will be necessary to secure the loan will not - bind them at all in the handling of their property. You know how cautious - older people are nowadays in regard to legal matters. Now, Alan here, - their son, understands the matter thoroughly, and his mind is not at all - disturbed.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson fell into the preliminary trap. “Oh no; it's not a binding thing at - all,” he said. “The payment of the money back to us releases you—that - is, of course,” Wilson recovered himself, “if we make the loan.” - </p> - <p> - Several hearts in the room sank, but Miller's face did not alter in the - slightest. “Oh, of course, if the loan is made,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Wilson put his silk hat on the top of Miller's desk, and flicked the ashes - from his cigar into a cuspidor. Then he looked at Mrs. Bishop suddenly—“Does - the lady object to smoking?” - </p> - <p> - “Not at all,” said the old lady—“not at all.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause as Wilson relighted his cigar and pulled at it in - silence. A step sounded on the sidewalk and Trabue put his head in at the - door. Miller could have sworn at him, but he smiled. “Good-morning, - Squire,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “I see you are busy,” said the intruder, hastily. - </p> - <p> - “Just a little, Squire. I 'll see you in a few minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, all right.” The old lawyer moved on down the sidewalk, his hands in - his pockets. - </p> - <p> - Miller brought up the subject again with easy adroitness. “I mentioned - your proposition to my clients—the proposition that they allow you - the refusal of the land at one hundred thousand, and they have finally - come round to it. As I told them, they could not possibly market a thing - like that as easily and for as good a price as a company regularly in the - business. I may have been wrong in giving such advice, but it was the way - I felt about it.” - </p> - <p> - Without realizing it, Wilson tripped in another hole dug by Miller's - inventive mind. - </p> - <p> - “They couldn't do half as well with it,” the Boston man said. “In fact, no - one could, as I told you, pay as much for the property as we can, - considering the railroad we have to move somewhere, and our gigantic - facilities for handling lumber in America and abroad. Still I think, and - our directors think, a hundred thousand is a big price.” - </p> - <p> - Miller laughed as if amused. “That's five dollars an acre, you know, but - I'm not here to boom Mr. Bishop's timber-land. In fact, all this has grown - out of my going down to Atlanta to borrow twenty-five thousand dollars on - the property. I think I would have saved time if I hadn't run on you down - there, Mr. Wilson.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson frowned and looked at his cigar. - </p> - <p> - “We are willing,” said he, “to make the loan at five per cent, per annum - on two conditions.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, out with them,” laughed Miller. “What are they?” - </p> - <p> - “First,” said Wilson, slowly and methodically, “we want the refusal of the - property at one hundred thousand dollars.” - </p> - <p> - A thrill of triumph passed over the silent group. Alan saw his father's - face fill with sudden hope, and then it seemed to stand in abeyance as if - doubt had already mastered it. Abner Daniel caught his beard in his stiff - fingers and slowly slid them downward. Mrs. Bishop's bonnet hid her face, - but her fingers were twitching excitedly as they toyed with the fringe of - her shawl. - </p> - <p> - Miller's indifference was surprising. “For what length of time do you want - the refusal of the property at that figure?” he asked, almost in a tone of - contempt. - </p> - <p> - Wilson hung fire, his brow wrinkled thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Till it is decided positively,” he got out finally, “whether we can get a - charter and a right of way to the property.” - </p> - <p> - To those who were not following the details as closely as were Alan and - Miller the reply of the latter fell discouragingly, even Abner Daniel - glared in open horror of what he regarded as an unfavorable turn in the - proceedings. - </p> - <p> - “That's entirely too indefinite to suit my clients,” said the lawyer. “Do - you suppose, Mr. Wilson, that they want to hang their property up on a - hook like that? Why, if you didn't attend to pushing your road through—well, - they would simply be in your hands, the Lord only knows how long.” - </p> - <p> - “But we intend to do all we can to shove it through,” said Wilson, with a - flush. - </p> - <p> - “You know that is not a business-like proposition, Mr. Wilson,” said - Miller, with a bland smile. “Why, it amounts to an option without any - limit at all.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don't know,” said Wilson, lamely. “Mr. Bishop will be interested - just as we are in getting a right of way through—in fact, it would - insure us of his help. We can't buy a right of way; we can't afford it. - The citizens through whose property the road runs must be persuaded to - contribute the land for the purpose, and Mr. Bishop, of course, has - influence up here with his neighbors.” - </p> - <p> - “Still he would be very imprudent,” said Miller, “to option his property - without any limit. Now here's what we are willing to do. As long as you - hold Mr. Bishop's note for twenty-five thousand dollars unpaid, you shall - have the refusal of the land at one hundred thousand dollars. Now take my - advice”—Miller was smiling broadly—“let it stand at that.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson reflected for a moment, and then he said: “All right; let that go. - The other condition is this—and it need be only a verbal promise—that - nothing be said about my company's making this loan nor our securing the - refusal of the property.” - </p> - <p> - “That will suit us,” said Miller. “Mr. Bishop' doesn't care to have the - public know his business. Of course, the mortgage will have to be recorded - at the court-house, but that need not attract attention. I don't blame Mr. - Bishop,” went on Miller, in a half-confidential tone. “These people are - the worst gossips you ever saw. If you meet any of them they will tell you - that Mr. Bishop has bu'sted himself wide open by buying so much - timber-land, but this loan will make him as solid as the Bank of England. - The people don't understand his dealings, and they are trying to take it - out on him by blasting his reputation for being one of the solidest men in - his county.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's all, I believe,” said Wilson, and Miller drew a blank sheet - of legal-cap paper to him and began to write. Half an hour later the - papers were signed and Miller carelessly handed Wilson's crisp pink check - on a New York bank to Mr. Bishop. - </p> - <p> - “There you are, Mr. Bishop,” he said, with a smile; “you didn't want any - one else to have a finger in that big pie of yours over there, but you - needed money, and I 'll tell you as a friend that a hundred thousand cash - down will be about as well as you can do with that land. It takes money, - and lots of it, to make money, and Mr. Wilson's company can move the thing - faster than you can.” - </p> - <p> - “That's a fact,” said Wilson, in a tone that betrayed self-gratification. - “Now we must all pull together for the railroad.” He rose and turned to - Miller. “Will you come with me to record the paper?” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly,” said Miller, and they both left together. - </p> - <p> - The Bishop family were left alone, and the strain being lifted, they found - themselves almost wholly exhausted. - </p> - <p> - “Is it all over?” gasped the old woman, standing up and grasping her son's - arm. - </p> - <p> - “We've got his money,” Alan told her, with a glad smile, “and a fair - chance for more.” - </p> - <p> - The pink check was fluttering in old Bishop's hand. Already the old - self-willed look that brooked no interference with his personal affairs - was returning to his wrinkled face. - </p> - <p> - “I 'll go over to Craig's bank an' deposit it,” he said to Alan. “It 'll - take a day or two to collect it, but he'd let me check on it right now fer - any reasonable amount.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe I'd ask him not to mention the deposit,” suggested Alan. - </p> - <p> - “Huh! I reckon I've got sense enough to do that.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you intended to pay off the mortgage on our farm the fust - thing,” ventured Mrs. Bishop. - </p> - <p> - “We can' t do it till the note's due next January,” said Bishop, shortly. - “I agreed to keep the money a yeer, an' Martin Doe 'll make me hold to it. - But what do you reckon I care as long as I've got some 'n' to meet it - with?” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Bishop's face fell. “I'd feel better about it if it was cleer,” she - faltered. “But the Lord knows we ort to feel thankful to come out as we - have. If it hadn't been fer Alan—Mr. Miller said that Alan—” - </p> - <p> - “Ef you all hadn't made sech a eternal row,” broke in Bishop, testily, - “I'd 'a' had more timber-land than this. Colonel Barclay has as fine a - strip as any I got, an' he's bantered me for a trade time an' agin.” - </p> - <p> - Abner Daniel seldom sneered at anybody, no matter what the provocation - was, but it seemed impossible for him to refrain from it now. - </p> - <p> - “You've been lookin' fer the last three months like a man that needed more - land,” he said. “Jest no furder back 'an last night you 'lowed ef you - could git enough fer yore folly to raise the debt off'n yore farm you'd - die happy, an' now yo' re a-frettin' beca'se you didn't buy up the sides - o' the earth an' give nobody else a foothold. Le' me tell you the truth, - even ef it <i>does</i> hurt a little. Ef Alan hadn't thought o' this heer - railroad idea, you'd 'a' been the biggest human pancake that ever lay flat - in its own grease.” - </p> - <p> - “I hain't said nothin' to the contrary,” admitted Bishop, who really took - the reproof well. “Alan knows what I think about it.” - </p> - <p> - Then Bishop and his wife went to Craig's bank, and a moment later Miller - returned, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. - </p> - <p> - “We got through, and he's gone to catch his train,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “It worked as smooth as goose-grease. I wonder what Pole Baker said to - him, or if he saw him. I have an idea he did, from the way Wilson danced - to our music.” - </p> - <p> - “Heer's Pole now,” said Abner, from the door. “Come in heer, you triflin' - loafer, an' give an account o' yorese'f.” - </p> - <p> - “I seed 'im makin' fer the train,” laughed Pole, “an' so I sneaked in to - see what you-uns done. He walked like he owned the town.” - </p> - <p> - “It went through like lightning, without a hitch or a bobble,” Abner told - him. “We was jest a-won-derin' what you shot into 'im.” - </p> - <p> - “I hardly know,” Pole sniggered. “I got to talkin' to 'im an' it looked to - me like I was chippin' off tan-bark with the sharpest tool I ever handled. - Every lick seemed to draw blood, an' he stood an' tuck it without a start - or a shiver. I said to myse'f: 'Pole Baker, yo're nothin' but a rag-tag, - bob-tail mountain Hoosier, an' he's a slick duck from up North, with a - gold watch-chain an' a silk beaver, but he's a lappin' up what you say - like a hungry kitten does a pan o' milk. Go it, old boy, an' ef you win, - you 'll he'p the finest man out o' trouble—I mean Alan Bishop, by - gum—that ever lived.' It seemed to me I was filled with the fire of - heaven. I could 'a' been at it yet—fer I'd jest started—but he - drawed his watch on me, an' made a shoot fer this office, me with 'im, fer - feer some yokel would strike up with 'im. I mighty nigh shoved 'im in at - the door.” - </p> - <p> - “You did noble,” said Miller, while Pole and Alan were silently clasping - hands. “Now I told you we wouldn't forget you. Go down to Wimbley's and - tell him to give you the best suit of clothes he's got, and to charge them - to me 'n' Alan.” - </p> - <p> - Pole drew himself up to his full height, and stared at the lawyer with - flashing eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Damn yore soul,” he said; “don't you say a thing like that to me agin. I - 'll have you know I've got feelin' s as well as you or anybody else. I'd - cut off this right arm an' never wince to do Alan Bishop a favor, but I - 'll be danged ef anybody kin look me over after I've done a <i>little</i> - one an' pay me for it in store-clothes. I don't like that one bit, an' I - ain't afeerd to say so.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't mean any offence, Pole,” apologized Miller, most humbly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you wouldn't 'a' said it to <i>some</i> men,” growled Pole, “I know - that. When I want pay fer a thing like that, I 'll jest go to that corner - o' the street an' look down at that rock-pile, whar Alan found me one day - an' paid me out jest to keep me from bein' the laughin'-stock o' this - town.” - </p> - <p> - Alan put his arm over his shoulder. “Rayburn didn't mean any harm,” he - said, gently. “You are both my friends, and we've had a big victory - to-day; let's not have hard feelings.” - </p> - <p> - Pole hung his head stubbornly and Miller extended his hand. Abner Daniel - was an attentive listener, a half smile on his face. - </p> - <p> - “Say, Pole,” he said, with a little laugh, “you run down to Wimbley's an' - tell 'im not to wrop up that suit. I'm a-owin' him a bill, an' he kin jest - credit the value of it on my account.” - </p> - <p> - Pole laughed heartily and thrust his big hand into Miller's. - </p> - <p> - “Uncle Ab,” he said, “you'd make a dog laugh.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe yo' re right,” said Abner, significantly, and then they all - roared at Pole's expense. - </p> - <p> - The next day Alan received the following letter from Dolly Barclay: - </p> - <p> - “<i>DEAR ALAN,—Rayburn Miller told me in confidence of your - wonderful success yesterday, and I simply cried with joy. I knew—I - felt that you would win, and this is, as he says, a glorious beginning. I - am so proud of you, and I am so full of hope to-day. All our troubles will - come out right some day, and now that I know you love me I can wait. - Rayburn would not have confided so much to me, but he said, while he would - not let me tell father anything about the prospective railroad, he wanted - me to prevent him from selling his tract of land near yours. You know my - father consults me about all his business, and he will not dispose of that - property without my knowing of it. Oh, wouldn't it he a fine joke on him - to have him profit by your good judgment.</i>” - </p> - <p> - Alan was at the little post-office in Filmore's store when he received the - letter, and he folded it and restored it to its envelope with a heart - filled with love and tenderness. As he walked home through the woods, it - seemed to him that everything in nature was ministering to his boundless - happiness. He felt as light as air as he strode along. “God bless her - dear, dear little soul!” he said, fervently. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XX - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9173.jpg" alt="9173 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9173.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - BOUT a week after this transaction Rayburn Miller went to Atlanta on - business for one of his clients, and while there he incidentally called at - the offices of the Southern Land and Timber Company, hoping to meet Wilson - and learn something about his immediate plans in regard to the new - railroad. But he was informed that the president of the company had just - gone to New York, and would not be back for a week. - </p> - <p> - Rayburn was waiting in the rotunda of the Kimball House for his train, - which left at ten o' clock, when he ran across his friend, Captain Ralph - Burton, of the Gate City Guards, a local military company. - </p> - <p> - “Glad to see you,” said the young officer. “Did you run up for the ball?” - </p> - <p> - “What ball is that?” asked Miller. “I am at the first of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, we are giving one here in this house tonight,” answered Burton, who - was a handsome man of thirty-five, tall and erect, and appeared at his - best in his close-fitting evening-suit and light overcoat. “Come up-stairs - and I 'll introduce you to a lot of strangers.” - </p> - <p> - “Can't,” Rayburn told him. “I've got to leave at ten o' clock.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you've got a good hour yet,” insisted the officer. “Come up on the - next floor, where the orchestra is, anyway, and we can sit down and watch - the crowd come in.” - </p> - <p> - Miller complied, and they found seats on the spacious floor overlooking - the thronged office. From where they sat they could look through several - large drawing-rooms into the ballroom beyond. Already a considerable - number of people had assembled, and many couples were walking about, even - quite near to the two young men. - </p> - <p> - “By George!” suddenly exclaimed Miller, as a couple passed them, “who is - that stunning-looking blonde; she walks like a queen.” - </p> - <p> - “Where?” asked Burton, looking in the wrong direction. - </p> - <p> - “Why, there, with Charlie Penrose.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that one,” said Burton, trying to think, “I know as well as I know - anything, but her name has slipped my memory. Why, she's visiting the - Bishops on Peachtree Street—a Miss Bishop, that's it.” - </p> - <p> - “Adele, little Adele? Impossible!” cried Rayburn, “and I've been thinking - of her as a child all these years.” - </p> - <p> - “So you know her?” said Captain Burton. - </p> - <p> - “Her brother is a chum of mine,” explained Miller. “I haven't seen her - since she went to Virginia to school, five years ago. I never would have - recognized her in the world. My Lord! she's simply regal.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her,” said the Captain; “but I've - heard lots about her from the boys who go to Bishop's. They say she's - remarkably clever—recites, you know, and takes off the plantation - negro to perfection. She's a great favorite with Major Middleton, who - doesn't often take to the frying size. She has been a big drawing card out - at Bishop's ever since she came. The boys say the house overflows every - evening. Are you going to speak to her?” - </p> - <p> - “If I get a good chance,” said Rayburn, his eyes on the couple as they - disappeared in the ballroom. “I don't like to go in looking like this, but - she'd want to hear from home.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see,” said Burton. “Well, you'd better try it before the grand - march sweeps everything before it.” - </p> - <p> - As Miller entered the ballroom, Penrose was giving Adele a seat behind a - cluster of palms, near the grand piano, around which the German orchestra - was grouped. He went straight to her. - </p> - <p> - “You won't remember me, Miss Adele,” he said, with a smile, “but I'm going - to risk speaking to you, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - She looked up from the bunch of flowers in her lap, and, in a startled, - eager sort of way, began to study his face. - </p> - <p> - “No, I do not,” she said, flushing a little, and yet smiling agreeably. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I call that a good joke,” Penrose broke in, with a laugh, as he - greeted Miller with a familiar slap on the shoulder. “Why, Rayburn, on my - word, she hasn't talked of anybody else for the last week, and here she—” - </p> - <p> - “You are <i>not</i> Rayburn Miller!” Adele exclaimed, and she stood up to - give him her hand. “Yes, I have been talking of you, and it seems to me I - have a thousand things to say, and oh, so many thanks!” - </p> - <p> - There was something in this impulsive greeting that gave Miller a - delectable thrill all over. - </p> - <p> - “You were such a little thing the last time I saw you,” he said, almost - tenderly. “I declare, you have changed—so, so remarkably.” - </p> - <p> - She nodded to Penrose, who was excusing himself, and then she said to - Miller, “Are you going to dance to-night?” - </p> - <p> - He explained that he was obliged to take the train which left in a few - minutes. - </p> - <p> - He saw her face actually fall with disappointment. The very genuineness of - the expression pleased him inexplicably. “Then I must hurry,” she said. - “Would you mind talking to me a little while?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing could possibly please me so much,” said he. “Suppose we stroll - around?” - </p> - <p> - She took his arm and he led her back to the rotunda overlooking the - office. - </p> - <p> - “So you are Rayburn Miller!” she said, looking at him wonderingly. “Do you - know, I have pictured you in my mind many times since mother wrote me all - about how you rescued us from ruin. Oh, Mr. Miller, I could not in a - thousand years tell you how my heart filled with gratitude to you. My - mother goes into the smallest details in her letters, and she described - your every word and action during that transaction in your office. I could - tell just where her eyes filled and her throat choked up by her quivering - handwriting. I declare, I looked on you as a sort of king with unlimited - power. If I were a man I'd rather use my brain to help suffering people - than to be made President of the United States and be a mere figure-head. - You must not think I am spoiled by all this glitter and parade down here. - The truth is, I heartily despise it. I wanted to be at home so bad when I - got that letter that I cried myself to sleep.” - </p> - <p> - “You must not forget that your brother conceived the plan,” Miller - protested, “and that I only—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes; I know Alan thought of it,” she interrupted, “but without your - experience and firmness it would have remained in his dear old brain till - the Lord knows when. The idea of their being in debt was slowly killing my - father and mother, and you came to their relief just when they were unable - to bear it any longer. I'm so glad you thought of borrowing that money.” - </p> - <p> - Just then a young man, half a head shorter than Adele, came up hurriedly. - “Oh, here you are,” he exclaimed, in a gasp of relief. “I've been looking - for you everywhere. This is mine, you know—the grand march. They are - all ready.” - </p> - <p> - Adele smiled pleasantly. “I hope you 'll excuse me from it, Mr. - Tedcastle,” she said. “I've just met a friend from home; I want to talk - with him, and—” - </p> - <p> - “But, Miss Bishop, I—” - </p> - <p> - “I asked you to please excuse me, Mr. Tedcastle.” Miller saw her face - harden, as if from the sneer of contempt that passed over it. “I hope it - will not be necessary for me to explain my reasons in detail until I have - a little more time at my disposal.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, certainly not, Miss Bishop,” said the young man, red with anger, as - he bowed himself away. - </p> - <p> - “What's society coming to?” Adele asked Miller, with a nervous little - laugh. “Does a lady have to get down on her knees and beg men, little - jumping-jacks, like that one, to excuse her, and pet them into a - good-humor when she has good reason to change her mind about an - engagement? That's a sort of slavery I don't intend to enter.” - </p> - <p> - “You served him right,” said Miller, who had himself resented the young - man's childish impetuosity, and felt like slapping him for his - impertinence. - </p> - <p> - Adele shrugged her fine shoulders. “Let's not waste any more time talking - about him,” she said. “I was going to tell you how happy you made them - all. When I read mother's description of their return home that night—how - she went round looking at each object and touching it, that she might - realize it was hers again; and how father sat up till past midnight - talking incessantly about it; and all the droll things Uncle Abner said, I - cried and laughed by turns. I longed to see you, to tell you how I felt - about what you did, and yet, now that I'm with you, all I say seems - utterly weak and—inadequate.” - </p> - <p> - “It seems wonderfully nice to me,” Miller declared. “I don't deserve - anything, and yet—well, I like to hear you talk.” He laughed. - “Whether I deserve it or not, I could listen to you for a week on a - stretch.” - </p> - <p> - In truth, Rayburn Miller had never in all his varied social career become - so suddenly and startlingly interested in any woman. It all seemed like a - dream, and a most delicious one—the gay assemblage, the intermittent - strains of the music, the touch of the stately creature on his arm, the - perfume of her flowers, her hair, her eyes! He suddenly felt fearful of - the passage of time, the leaving of his train, the approach of some one to - claim her attention. He could not explain the spell she had thrown on him. - Was it because she was his friend's sister, and so astoundingly pretty, - frank, and sensible, or could it be that—? - </p> - <p> - His train of thought was broken by the approach of Miss Ida Bishop, - Adele's cousin, a rather plain girl, who, with her scrawny neck and scant - hair—which rebelled against being made much of—would have - appeared to better advantage in a street costume. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Adele,” she cried, reproachfully, “what <i>do</i> you mean? Do you - know you have mortally offended Mr. Tedcastle? He had the march with you.” - </p> - <p> - “And I asked him as a favor to excuse me from it,” said Adele, simply. “I - had just met Mr. Miller, who is to leave on an early train, and I wanted - to talk to him about home. Have you been introduced? My cousin, Miss - Bishop, Mr. Rayburn Miller.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Bishop bowed indifferently, and looked as if she still saw no - justification in the slight under question. - </p> - <p> - “I'm awfully sorry,” she said, reprovingly. “Mr. Tedcastle has been as - nice to you as he could be, and this is the way you show appreciation for - it. I don't blame him for being mad, do you, Mr. Miller?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm afraid I'd be a prejudiced witness,” he smiled, “benefiting as I am - by the gentleman' s discomfiture; but, really, I can' t think that any - circumstances could justify a man in pressing a lady to fill an engagement - when she chooses not to do so for any reason of hers.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew you'd say that,” said Adele. “If anybody has a right to be - offended it is I, for the way he has acted without waiting for my full - explanation.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that is a high and mighty course that will do better for novels than - real life,” disagreed Miss Ida Bishop. “The young men are badly spoiled - here, and if we want attention we've got to humor them.” - </p> - <p> - “They shall not be spoiled by me,” declared Adele. “Why,” shrugging her - shoulders, contemptuously, “if I had to run after them and bind up their - bruises every time they fell down, I'd not appreciate their attentions. - Besides, Mr. Tedcastle and his whole ilk actually put me to sleep. What do - they talk about? Driving, pet dogs, flowers, candies, theatre-parties, and - silly bosh, generally. Last Sunday Senator Hare dined at uncle's, and - after dinner he and I were having really a wholesome sort of talk, and I - was respecting myself—well, a little like I am now—when in - traped 'Teddy' with his hangers-on. Of course, I had to introduce them to - the Senator, and I felt like a fool, for he knew they were my 'company,' - and it was impossible to keep them quiet. They went on with their baby - talk, just as if Senator Hare were being given an intellectual treat. Of - course, there are <i>some</i> grown-up men in Atlanta, but they are driven - to the clubs by the swarms of little fellows. There comes Major Middleton, - one of the old régime. He may ask me to dance with him. Now watch; if he - does, I 'll answer him just as I did Mr. Tedcastle, and you shall see how - differently he will treat it.” - </p> - <p> - The Major, a handsome man of powerful physique and a great shock of curly, - iron-gray hair, approached Adele, and with a low bow held out his hand. - </p> - <p> - “I'm after the next dance, my dear,” he said. “You are one of the very few - who ever dance with me, and I don't want to go home without it.” - </p> - <p> - Adele smiled. “I'm very sorry, Major,” she said; “but I hope you 'll - excuse me this evening.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that's all right, my dear <i>child</i>,” he said. “No, don't explain. - I know your reasons are all right. Go ahead and enjoy yourself in your own - way.” - </p> - <p> - “I won my bet,” Adele laughed. “Major, I knew so well what you would say - that I bet on it,” and then she explained the situation. - </p> - <p> - “Tedcastle ought to be spanked,” said the Major, in his high-keyed voice. - “A girl who had not rather hear from home than spin around with him ought - not to have a home. I'm going to mine rather early tonight. I came only to - show the boys how to make my famous Kentucky punch.” - </p> - <p> - When the Major and Miss Ida Bishop had gone and left them together, Adele - looked over the railing at the big clock in the office. “We have only a - few minutes longer—if you are to take that train,” she said, - regretfully. - </p> - <p> - “I never had as little interest in trains in my life,” he said. And he - meant it. - </p> - <p> - “Not in the trains on our new road?” she laughed. - </p> - <p> - “They are too far ahead to interfere with my comfort,” he retorted. “This - one is a steam nightmare.” - </p> - <p> - “I presume you really could not miss it?” Her long-lashed eyes were down. - </p> - <p> - He hesitated; the simple thought suggested by her thrilled him as he had - never been thrilled before. - </p> - <p> - “Because,” she added, “it would be so nice to have you come out to-morrow - afternoon to tea, about four.” - </p> - <p> - He drew out his watch and looked at it waveringly. - </p> - <p> - “I could send a night message,” he said, finally. “I really don't want to - go. Miss Adele, I don't want to go at all.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want you to either,” she said, softly. “It seems almost as if we - are quite old friends. Isn't that strange?” - </p> - <p> - He restored his watch to his pocket. “I shall stay,” he said, “and I shall - call to-morrow afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - Some one came for her a few minutes later, and he went down to the office - and out into the street. He wanted to walk, to feel his body in action, - keeping pace with his throbbing, bounding brain. His whole being was - aflame with a fire which had never burned in him before. - </p> - <p> - “Alan' s little sister!” he kept repeating to himself. “Little Adele—she's - wonderful, wonderful! Perhaps she may be <i>the</i> woman. By George! she - <i>is</i>—she <i>is!</i> A creature like that, with that soul full - of appreciation for a man' s best efforts, would lift a fellow to the - highest rung on the ladder of human effort. Alan's little sister! And the - idiot never told me, never intimated that she was—a goddess.” - </p> - <p> - In his room at the hotel that night he slept little, his brain being so - active with his new experience. He saw her the next afternoon alone, over - a dainty tea-service of fragile china, in a Turkish corner in William - Bishop's great, quiet, house, and then proposed driving her the next day - to the Driving Club. He remained a week, seeing her, under some pretext or - other, every day during that time. Sometimes it was to call with her on - friends of hers. Once it was to attend a barbecue given by Captain Burton - at a club-house in the country, and once he gave her and her cousin a - luncheon at the Capitol City Club with a box at the matinée afterwards. He - told himself that he had never lived before, and that, somehow, he was - just beginning. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he mused, as he sat in his train homeward bound. “I can't tell Alan. - I simply couldn't do it, after all the rubbish I have crammed into him. - Then she's his sister. I couldn't talk to him about her—not now, - anyway.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXI - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9183.jpg" alt="9183 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9183.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - M glad you got back.” Rayburn's sister, Mrs. Lampson, said to him at - breakfast the morning following his return on the midnight train. “We are - having a glorious meeting at our church.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, is that so?” said the young man, sipping his coffee. “Who is - conducting it?” - </p> - <p> - “Brother Maynell,” answered Mrs. Lampson, enthusiastically, a tinge of - color in her wan, thin face. “He's a travelling evangelist, who has been - conducting revivals all over the South. It is really remarkable the - interest he has stirred up. We are holding prayer-meetings morning and - afternoon, though only the ladies meet in the afternoon. I conducted the - meeting yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh no; did you, really? Why, sis—” - </p> - <p> - “Don't begin to poke fun at me,” said Mrs. Lamp-son. “I know I didn't do - as well as some of the others, but I did the best I could, because I felt - it was my duty.” - </p> - <p> - “I was not going to make fun,” said Miller, soothingly; “but it seems - mighty strange to think of you standing up before all the rest, and—” - </p> - <p> - “It was not such a very hard thing to do,” said the lady, who was older - than her brother by ten years. She had gray hairs at her temples, and - looked generally as if she needed out-door exercise and some diversion to - draw her out of herself. - </p> - <p> - Rayburn helped himself to the deliciously browned, fried chicken, in its - bed of cream gravy, and a hot puffy biscuit. - </p> - <p> - “And how does Mr. Lapsley, the regular preacher, like this innovation?” he - questioned. “I reckon you all pay the new man a fee for stirring things - up?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; we agreed to give him two hundred dollars, half of which goes to an - orphan asylum he is building. Oh, I don't think brother Lapsley minds - much, but of course it must affect him a little to see the great interest - brother Maynell has roused, and I suppose some are mean enough to think he - could have done the same, if he had tried.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it's clearly a case of a new broom,” smiled Rayburn, buttering his - biscuit. “Old Lap might get up there and groan and whine for a week and - not touch a mourner with a ten-foot pole. The other chap knows his - business, and part of his business is not to stay long enough to wear out - his pet phrases or exhaust his rockets. I'm sorry for Lapsley; he's paid a - regular salary, and is not good for any other sort of work, and this shows - him up unfairly. In the long run, I believe he 'll get as many into the - church as the other man, and they will be more apt to stick. Sister, - that's the trouble with these tin-pan revivals. The biggest converts - backslide. I reckon you are working over old material now.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Lampson frowned and her lip stiffened. - </p> - <p> - “I don't like your tone in speaking of such things,” she said. “Indeed, - Rayburn, I have been deeply mortified in the last week by some remarks - that have been made about you. I didn't intend to mention them, but you - make me do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I knew they wouldn't let me rest,” said Miller; “they never do in - their annual shake-ups.” - </p> - <p> - “Brother, you are looked on by nearly all religious workers in town as a - dangerous young man—I mean dangerous to the boys who are just - growing up, because they all regard you as a sort of standard to shape - their conduct by. They see you going to balls and dances and playing - cards, and they think it is smart and will not be interested in our - meetings. They see that you live and seem to prosper under it, and they - follow in your footsteps. I am afraid you don't realize the awful example - you are setting. Brother May-nell has heard of you and asked me about you - the other day. Some people think you have been in Atlanta all this time to - avoid the meeting.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know it was going on,” said Miller, testily. “I assure you I - never run from a thing like that. The best thing to do is to add fuel to - the fire—it burns out quicker.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you will go out to meeting, won't you?” insisted the sweet-voiced - woman. “You won't have them all thinking you have no respect for the - religion of our father and mother—will you?” - </p> - <p> - Rayburn squirmed under this close fire. - </p> - <p> - “I shall go occasionally when there is <i>preaching</i>,” he said, - reluctantly. “I would be out of place at one of the—the knock-down - and drag-out shouting-bees.” Then, seeing her look of horror at the words - which had unthoughtedly glided from his lips, he strove to make amends. - “Oh, sister, do—<i>do</i> be reasonable, and look at it from my - point of view. I don't believe that's the way to serve God or beautify the - world. I believe in being happy in one's own way, just so that you don't - tread on the rights of other people.” - </p> - <p> - “But,” said Mrs. Lampson, her eyes flashing, “you <i>are</i> treading on - the rights of others. They are trying to save the souls of the rising - generation in the community, and you and your social set use your - influence in the other direction.” - </p> - <p> - “But what about the rights of my social set, if you want to call it by - that name?” Miller retorted, warmly. “We have the right to enjoy ourselves - in our way, just as you have in yours. We don't interfere—we never - ask you to close up shop so we can have a dance or a picnic, but you do. - If we dare give a party while some revivalist is filling his pockets in - town the revivalist jumps on us publicly and holds us up as examples of - headlong plungers into fiery ruin. There is not a bit of justice or human - liberty in that, and you 'll never reach a certain element till you quit - such a course. Last year one of the preachers in this town declared in the - pulpit that a girl could not be pure and dance a round dance. It raised - the very devil in the hearts of the young men, who knew he was a dirty - liar, and they got up as many dances out of spite as they possibly could. - In fact, some of them came near knocking the preacher down on the street. - I am a conservative sort of fellow, but I secretly wished that somebody - would slug that man in the jaw.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm really afraid you are worse than ever,” sighed Mrs. Lampson. “I don't - know what to do with you.” She laughed good-naturedly as she rose and - stood behind his chair, touching his head tenderly. “It really does make - me rather mad,” she confessed, “to hear them making you out such a bad - stripe when I know what a wonderful man you really are for your age. I - really believe some of them are jealous of your success and standing, but - I do want you to be more religious.” When Miller reached his office about - ten o' clock and had opened the door he noticed that Craig's bank on the - corner across the street was still closed. It was an unusual occurrence at - that hour and it riveted Miller's attention. Few people were on the - street, and none of them seemed to have noticed it. The church-bell in the - next block was ringing for the revivalist's prayer-meeting, and Miller saw - the merchants and lawyers hurrying by on their way to worship. Miller - stood in his front door and bowed to them as they passed. Trabue hustled - out of his office, pulling the door to with a jerk. - </p> - <p> - “Prayer-meeting?” he asked, glancing at Miller. - </p> - <p> - “No, not to-day,” answered Miller; “got some writing to do.” - </p> - <p> - “That preacher's a hummer,” said the old lawyer. “I've never seen his - equal. He'd 'a' made a bang-up criminal lawyer. Why, they say old Joe - Murphy's converted—got out of his bed at midnight and went to Tim - Slocum's house to get 'im to pray for 'im. He's denied thar was a God all - his life till now. I say a preacher's worth two hundred to a town if it - can do that sort of work.” - </p> - <p> - “He's certainly worth it to Slocum,” said Miller, with a smile. “If I'd - been denying there was a God as long as he has, I'd pay more than that to - get rid of the habit. Slocum's able, and I think he ought to foot that - preacher's bill.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a tough customer, Miller,” said Trabue, with a knowing laugh. - “You'd better look out—May-nell's got an eye on you. He 'll call out - yore name some o' these days, an' ask us to pray fer you.” - </p> - <p> - “I was just wondering if there's anything wrong with Craig,” said Miller. - “I see his door's not open.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I reckon not,” said the old lawyer. “He's been taking part in the - meeting. He may have overslept.” - </p> - <p> - There was a grocery-store near Miller's office, and the proprietor came - out on the sidewalk and joined the two men. His name was Barnett. He was a - powerful man, who stood six feet five in his boots; he wore no coat, and - his suspenders were soiled and knotted. - </p> - <p> - “I see you-uns is watchin' Craig's door,” he said. “I've had my eye on it - ever since breakfast. I hardly know what to make of it. I went thar to buy - some New York exchange to pay for a bill o' flour, but he wouldn't let me - in. I know he's thar, for I seed 'im go in about an hour ago. I mighty - nigh shook the door off'n the hinges. His clerk, that Western fellow, - Win-ship, has gone off to visit his folks, an' I reckon maybe Craig's got - all the book-keepin' to do.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he oughtn't to keep his doors closed at this time of day,” remarked - Miller. “A man who has other people's money in his charge can' t be too - careful.” - </p> - <p> - “He's got some o' mine,” said the grocer, “and Mary Ann Tarpley, my wife's - sister, put two hundred thar day before yesterday. Oh, I reckon nothin' s - wrong, though I do remember I heerd somebody say Craig bought cotton - futures an' sometimes got skeerd up a little about meetin' his - obligations.” - </p> - <p> - “I have never heard that,” said Rayburn Miller, raising his brows. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I have, an' I've heerd the same o' Winship,” said the grocer, “but - I never let it go no furder. I ain't no hand to circulate ill reports agin - a good member of the church.” - </p> - <p> - Miller bit his lip and an unpleasant thrill passed over him as Trabue - walked on. “Twenty-five thousand,” he thought, “is no small amount. It - would tempt five men out of ten if they were inclined to go wrong, and - were in a tight.” - </p> - <p> - The grocer was looking at him steadily. - </p> - <p> - “You bank thar, don't you?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - Miller nodded: “But I happen to have no money there right now. I made a - deposit at the other bank yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “Suspicious, heigh? Now jest a little, wasn't you?” The grocer now spoke - with undisguised uneasiness. - </p> - <p> - “Not at all,” replied the lawyer. “I was doing some business for the other - bank, and felt that I ought to favor them by my cash deposits.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't think thar's anything the matter, do you?” asked the grocer, - his face still hardening. - </p> - <p> - “I think Craig is acting queerly—very queerly for a banker,” was - Miller's slow reply. “He has always been most particular to open up early - and—” - </p> - <p> - “Hello,” cried out a cheery voice, that of the middle-aged proprietor of - the Darley Flouring Mills, emerging from Barnett's store. “I see you - fellows have your eye on Craig's front. If he was a drinking man we might - suspicion he'd been on a tear last night, wouldn't we?” - </p> - <p> - “It looks damned shaky to me,” retorted the grocer, growing more excited. - “I'm goin' over there an' try that door again. A man 'at has my money - can't attract the attention Craig has an' me say nothin'.” - </p> - <p> - The miller pulled his little turf of gray beard and winked at Rayburn. - </p> - <p> - “You been scarin' Barnett,” he said, with a tentative inflection. “He's - easily rattled. By-the-way, now that I think of it, it does seem to me I - heard some of the Methodists talkin' about reproving Craig an' Winship for - speculatin' in grain and cotton. I know they've been dabblin' in it, for - Craig always got my market reports. He's been dealin' with a bucket-shop - in Atlanta.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm going over there,” said Miller, abruptly, and he hurried across in - the wake of the big grocer. The miller followed him. On the other side of - the street several people were curiously watching the bank door, and when - Barnett went to it and grasped the handle and began to shake it vigorously - they crossed over to him. - </p> - <p> - “What's wrong?” said a dealer in fruits, a short, thick-set man with a - florid face; but Barnett's only reply was another furious shaking of the - door. - </p> - <p> - “Why, man, what's got into you?” protested the fruit-dealer, in a rising - tone of astonishment. “Do you intend to break that door down?” - </p> - <p> - “I will if that damned skunk don't open it an' give me my money,” said - Barnett, who was now red in the face and almost foaming at the mouth. - “He's back in thar, an' he knows it's past openin' time. By gum! I know - more 'n I'm goin' to tell right now.” - </p> - <p> - This was followed by another rattling of the door, and the grocer's - enormous weight, like a battering-ram, was thrown against the heavy walnut - shutter. - </p> - <p> - “Open up, I say—open up in thar!” yelled the grocer, in a voice - hoarse with passion and suspense. - </p> - <p> - A dozen men were now grouped around the doorway. Barnett released the - handle and stood facing them. - </p> - <p> - “Somethin' s rotten in Denmark,” he panted. “Believe me or not, fellows, I - know a thing or two. This bank's in a bad fix.” - </p> - <p> - A thrill of horror shot through Miller. The words had the ring of - conviction. Alan Bishop's money was in bad hands if it was there at all. - Suddenly he saw a white, trembling hand fumbling with the lower part of - the close-drawn window-shade, as if some one were about to raise it; but - the shade remained down, the interior still obscured. It struck Miller as - being a sudden impulse, defeated by fear of violence. There was a pause. - Then the storm broke again. About fifty men had assembled, all wild to - know what was wrong. Miller elbowed his way to the door and stood on the - step, slightly raised above the others, Barnett by his side. “Let me speak - to him,” he said, pacifically. Barnett yielded doggedly, and Rayburn put - his lips to the crack between the two folding-doors. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Craig!” he called out—“Mr. Craig!” - </p> - <p> - There was no reply, but Rayburn heard the rustling of paper on the inside - near the crack against which his ear was pressed, and then the edge of a - sheet of writing-paper was slowly shoved through. Rayburn grasped it, - lifting it above a dozen outstretched hands. “Hold on!” he cried, - authoritatively. “Til read it.” The silence of the grave fell on the crowd - as the young man began to read. - </p> - <p> - “Friends and citizens,” the note ran, “Winship has absconded with every - dollar in the vaults, except about two hundred dollars in my small safe. - He has been gone two days, I thought on a visit to his kinfolks. I have - just discovered the loss. I'm completely ruined, and am now trying to make - out a report of my condition. Have mercy on an old man.” - </p> - <p> - Rayburn's face was as white as that of a corpse. The paper dropped from - his hand and he stepped down into the crowd. He was himself no loser, but - the Bishops had lost their all. How could he break the news to them? - Presently he began to hope faintly that old Bishop might, within the last - week, have drawn out at least part of the money, but that hope was soon - discarded, for he remembered that the old man was waiting to invest the - greater part of the deposit in some Shoal Creek Cotton Mill stock which - had been promised him in a few weeks. No, the hope was groundless. Alan, - his father, Mrs. Bishop, and—Adele—Miller's heart sank down - into the very ooze of despair. All that he had done for Adele's people, - and which had roused her deepest, tenderest gratitude, was swept away. - What would she think now? - </p> - <p> - His train of thought was rudely broken by an oath from Barnett, who, with - the rage of a madman, suddenly threw his shoulder against the door. There - was a crash, a groan of bursting timber and breaking bolts, and the door - flew open. For one instant Miller saw the ghastly face and cowering form - of the old banker behind the wire-grating, and then, with a scream of - terror, Craig ran into a room in the rear, and thence made his escape at a - door opening on the side street. The mob filled the bank, and did not - discover Craig's escape for a minute; then, with a howl of rage, it surged - back into the street. Craig was ahead of them, running towards the church, - where prayer-meeting-was being held, the tails of his long frock-coat - flying behind him, his worn silk hat in his convulsive grasp. - </p> - <p> - “Thar he goes!” yelled Barnett, and he led the mob after him, all running - at the top of their speed without realizing why they were doing so. They - gained on the fleeing banker, and Barnett could almost touch him when they - reached the church. With a cry of fear, like that of a wild animal brought - to bay, Craig sprang up the steps and ran into the church, crying and - groaning for help. - </p> - <p> - A dozen men and women and children were kneeling at the altar to get the - benefit of the prayers of the ministers and the congregation, but they - stood up in alarm, some of them with wet faces. - </p> - <p> - The mob checked itself at the door, but the greater part of it crowded - into the two aisles, a motley human mass, many of them without coats or - hats. The travelling evangelist seemed shocked out of expression; but the - pastor, Mr. Lapsley, who was an old Confederate soldier, and used to - scenes of violence, stood calmly facing them. - </p> - <p> - “What's all this mean?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “I came here for protection,” whined Craig, “to my own church and people. - This mob wants to kill me—tear me limb from limb.” - </p> - <p> - “But what's wrong?” asked the preacher. - </p> - <p> - “Winship,” panted Craig, his white head hanging down as he stood touching - the altar railing—“Win-ship's absconded with all the money in my - vault. I'm ruined. These people want me to give up what I haven't got. Oh, - God knows, I would refund every cent if I had it!” - </p> - <p> - “You shall have our protection,” said the minister, calmly. “They won't - violate the sacredness of the house of God by raising a row. You are safe - here, brother Craig. I'm sure all reasonable people will not blame you for - the fault of another.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe he's got my money,” cried out Barnett, in a coarse, sullen - voice, “and the money of some o' my women folks that's helpless, and he's - got to turn it over. Oh, he's got money some'r's, I 'll bet on that!” - </p> - <p> - “The law is your only recourse, Mr. Barnett,” said the preacher, calmly. - “Even now you are laying yourself liable to serious prosecution for - threatening a man with bodily injury when you can't prove he's wilfully - harmed you.” - </p> - <p> - The words told on the mob, many of them being only small depositors, and - Barnett found himself without open support. He was silent. Rayburn Miller, - who had come up behind the mob and was now in the church, went to Craig's - side. Many thought he was proffering his legal services. - </p> - <p> - “One word, Mr. Craig,” he said, touching the quivering arm of the banker. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you're no loser,” said Craig, turning on him. “There was nothing to - your credit.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that,” whispered Miller, “but as attorney for the Bishops, I have - a right to ask if their money is safe.” The eyes of the banker went to the - ground. - </p> - <p> - “It's gone—every cent of it!” he said. “It was their money that - tempted Winship. He'd never seen such a large pile at once.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't mean—” But Miller felt the utter futility of the question - on his tongue and turned away. Outside he met Jeff Dukes, one of the town - marshals, who had been running, and was very red in the face and out of - breath. - </p> - <p> - “Is that mob in thar?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and quiet now,” said Miller. “Let them alone; the important thing is - to put the police on Winship's track. Come back down-town.” - </p> - <p> - “I 'll have to git the particulars from Craig fust,” said Dukes. “Are you - loser?” - </p> - <p> - “No, but some of my clients are, and I'm ready to stand any expense to - catch the thief.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I 'll see you in a minute, and we 'll heat all the wires out of - town. I 'll see you in a minute.” - </p> - <p> - Farther down the street Miller met Dolly Barclay. She had come straight - from her home, in an opposite direction from the bank, and had evidently - not heard the news. - </p> - <p> - “I'm on my way to prayer-meeting,” she smiled. “I'm getting good to please - the old folks, but—” She noticed his pale face. “What is the matter? - Has anything—” - </p> - <p> - “Craig's bank has failed,” Rayburn told her briefly. “He says Winship has - absconded with all the cash in the vaults.” - </p> - <p> - Dolly stared aghast. “And you—you—” - </p> - <p> - “I had no money there,” broke in Miller. “I was fortunate enough to - escape.” - </p> - <p> - “But Alan—Mr. Bishop?” She was studying his face and pondering his - unwonted excitement. “Had they money there?” - </p> - <p> - Miller did not answer, but she would not be put aside. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me,” she urged—“tell me that.” - </p> - <p> - “If I do, it's in absolute confidence,” he said, with professional - firmness. “No one must know—not a soul—that they were - depositors, for much depends on it. If Wilson knew they were hard up he - might drive them to the wall. They were not only depositors, but they lose - every cent they have—twenty-five thousand dollars in a lump.” - </p> - <p> - He saw her catch her breath, and her lips moved mutely, as if repeating - the words he had just spoken. “Poor Alan!” he heard her say. “This is too, - <i>too</i> much, after all he has gone through.” - </p> - <p> - Miller touched his hat and started on, but she joined him, keeping by his - side like a patient, pleading child. He marvelled over her strength and - wonderful poise. “I am taking you out of your way, Miss Dolly,” he said, - gently, more gently than he had ever spoken to her before. - </p> - <p> - “I only want to know if Alan has heard. Do—do tell me that.” - </p> - <p> - “No, he's at home. I shall ride out as soon as I get the matter in the - hands of the police.” - </p> - <p> - She put out her slender, shapely hand and touched his arm. - </p> - <p> - “Tell him,” she said, in a low, uncertain voice, “that it has broken my - heart. Tell him I love him more than I ever did, and that I shall stick to - him always.” - </p> - <p> - Miller turned and took off his hat, giving her his hand. - </p> - <p> - “And I believe you will do it,” he said. “He's a lucky dog, even if he <i>has</i> - just struck the ceiling. I know him, and your message will soften the - blow. But it's awful, simply awful! I can't now see how they can possibly - get from under it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, tell him,” said Dolly, with a little, soundless sob in her throat—“tell - him what I told you.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0022" id="linkimage-0022"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9196.jpg" alt="9196 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9196.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HAT afternoon the breeze swerved round from the south, bringing vague - threats About three o' clock Alan, his his mother and father were in the - front yard, looking at the house, with a view to making some alterations - that had been talked of for several years past. - </p> - <p> - “I never had my way in anything before,” Mrs. Bishop was running on, in - the pleased voice of a happy child, “and I'm glad you are goin' to let me - this once. I want the new room to jut out on this side from the parlor, - and have a bay-window, and we must cut a wide foldin'-door between the two - rooms. Then the old veranda comes down and the new one must have a double - floor, like Colonel Sprague's on the river, except ours will have round, - white columns instead o' square, if they do cost a trifle more.” - </p> - <p> - “She knows what she wants,” said Bishop, with one of his infrequent - smiles, “and I reckon we'd save a little to let her boss the job, ef she - don't hender the carpenters by too much talk. I don't want 'em to put in a - stick o' lumber that ain't the best.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad she's going to have her way,” said Alan. “She's wanted a better - house for twenty years, and she deserves it.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't believe in sech fine feathers,” said Bishop, argumentatively. - “I'd a leetle ruther wait till we see whether Wilson's a-goin' to put that - road through—then we <i>could</i> afford to put on a dab or two o' - style. I don't know but I'd move down to Atlanta an' live alongside o' - Bill, an' wear a claw-hammer coat an' a dicky cravat fer a change.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you mought run fer the legislatur',” spoke up Abner Daniel, who had - been an amused listener, “an' git up a law to pen up mad dogs at the - dangerous part o' the yeer. Alf, I've always thought you'd be a' ornament - to the giddy whirl down thar. William was ever' bit as green as you are - when he fust struck the town. But he had the advantage o' growin' up an' - sorter ripenin' with the place. It ud be hard on you at yore time o' - life.” - </p> - <p> - At this juncture Alan called their attention to a horseman far down the - road. “It looks like Ray Miller's mare,” he remarked. “This is one of his - busy days; he can' t be coming to fish.” - </p> - <p> - “Railroad news,” suggested Abner. “It's a pity you hain't connected by - telegraph.” - </p> - <p> - They were all now sure that it was Miller, and with no little curiosity - they moved nearer the gate. - </p> - <p> - “By gum! he's been givin' his mare the lash,” said Abner. “She's fairly - kivered with froth.” - </p> - <p> - “Hello, young man,” Alan called out, as Miller dismounted at a - hitching-post just outside the fence and fastened his bridle-rein. “Glad - to see you; come in.” - </p> - <p> - Miller bowed and smiled as he opened the gate and came forward to shake - hands. - </p> - <p> - “We are certainly glad you came, Mr. Miller,” said Mrs. Bishop, with all - her quaint cordiality. “Ever since that day in the office I've wanted a - chance to show you how much we appreciate what you done fer us. Brother Ab - will bear me out when I say we speak of it mighty nigh ever'day.” - </p> - <p> - Miller wore an inexpressible look of embarrassment, which he tried to lose - in the act of shaking hands all round the group, but his platitudes fell - to the ground. Abner, the closest observer among them, already had his - brows drawn together as he pondered Miller's unwonted lack of ease. - </p> - <p> - “Bring any fishing-tackle?” asked Alan. - </p> - <p> - “No, I didn't,” said the lawyer, jerking himself to that subject - awkwardly. “The truth is, I only ran out for a little ride. I've got to - get back.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it <i>is</i> business, as brother Ab said,” put in Mrs. Bishop, - tentatively. - </p> - <p> - Miller lowered his eyes to the ground and then raised them to Alan's face. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it's railroad business,” said Abner, his voice vibrant with - suspense. - </p> - <p> - “And it's not favorable,” said Alan, bravely. “I can see that by your - looks.” - </p> - <p> - Miller glanced at his mare, and lashed the leg of his top-boots with his - riding-whip. “No, I have bad news, but it's not about the railroad. I - could have written, but I thought I'd better come myself.” - </p> - <p> - “Adele!” gasped Mrs. Bishop. “You have heard—” - </p> - <p> - “No, she's well,” said Miller. “It's about the money you put in Craig's - bank.” - </p> - <p> - “What about that?” burst from old Bishop's startled lips. - </p> - <p> - “Craig claims Winship has absconded with all the cash. The bank has - failed.” - </p> - <p> - “Failed!” The word was a moan from Bishop, and for a moment no one spoke. - A negro woman at the wash-place behind the house was using a batting-stick - on some clothing, and the dull blows came to them distinctly. - </p> - <p> - “Is that so, Ray?” asked Alan, calm but pale to the lips. - </p> - <p> - “I'm sorry to say it is.” - </p> - <p> - “Can anything at all be done?” - </p> - <p> - “I've done everything possible already. We have been telegraphing the - Atlanta police all morning about tracing Winship, but they don't seem much - interested. They think he's had too big a start on us. You see, he's been - gone two days and nights. Craig says he thought he was on a visit to - relatives till he discovered the loss last night.” - </p> - <p> - “It simply spells ruin, old man,” said Alan, grimly. “I can see that.” - </p> - <p> - Miller said nothing for a moment—then: - </p> - <p> - “It's just as bad as it could be, my boy,” he said. “I see no reason to - raise false hopes. There is a strong feeling against Craig, and no little - suspicion, owing to the report that he has been speculating heavily, but - he has thrown himself on the protection of his church, and even some of - his fellow-members, who lose considerably, are standing by him.” - </p> - <p> - Here old Bishop, with compressed lips, turned and walked unsteadily into - the house. With head hanging low and eyes flashing strangely, his wife - followed him. At the steps she paused, her sense of hospitality - transcending her despair. “You must stay to early supper, anyway, Mr. - Miller,” she said. “You could ride back in the cool o' the evening.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, but I must hurry right back, Mrs. Bishop,” Miller said. - </p> - <p> - “And Dolly—does she know?” asked Alan, when his mother had - disappeared and Abner had walked to the hitching-post, and stood as if - thoughtfully inspecting Miller's mare. Miller told him of their - conversation that morning, and Alan' s face grew tender and more resigned. - </p> - <p> - “She's a brick!” said Miller. “She's a woman I now believe in thoroughly—she - and one other.” - </p> - <p> - “Then there <i>is</i> another?” asked Alan, almost cheerfully, as an - effect of the good news that had accompanied the bad. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I see things somewhat differently of late,” admitted Miller, in an - evasive, non-committal tone. “Dolly Barclay opened my eyes, and when they - were open I saw—well, the good qualities of some one else. I may - tell you about her some day, but I shall not now. Get your horse and come - to town with me. We must be ready for any emergency.” - </p> - <p> - Abner Daniel came towards them. “I don't want to harm nobody's character,” - he said; “but whar my own kin is concerned, I'm up an' wide awake. I don't - know what you think, but I hain't got a speck o' faith in Craig hisse'f. - He done me a low, sneakin' trick once that I ketched up with. He swore it - was a mistake, but it wasn't. He's a bad egg—you mind what I say; he - won't do.” - </p> - <p> - “It may be as you say, Mr. Daniel,” returned Miller, with a lawyer's - reserve on a point unsubstantiated by evidence, “but even if he has the - money hidden away, how are we to get it from him?” - </p> - <p> - “I'd find a way,” retorted Daniel, hotly, “so I would.” - </p> - <p> - “We 'll do all we can,” said Miller. - </p> - <p> - Daniel strode into the house and Alan went after his horse. Miller stood - at the gate, idly tapping his boot with his whip. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Mrs. Bishop!” he said, his eyes on the house; “how very much she - resembled Adele just now, and she is bearing it just like the little girl - would. I reckon they 'll write her the bad news. I wish I was there to—soften - the blow. It will wring her heart.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXIII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0023" id="linkimage-0023"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9201.jpg" alt="9201 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9201.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HAT evening after supper the family remained, till bedtime, in the big, - bare-looking dining-room, the clean, polished floors of which gleamed in - the light of a little fire in the big chimney. Bishop's chair was tilted - back against the wall in a dark corner, and Mrs. Bishop sat knitting - mechanically. Abner was reading—or trying to read—a weekly - paper at the end of the dining-table, aided by a dimly burning glass-lamp. - Aunt Maria had removed the dishes and, with no little splash and clatter, - was washing them in the adjoining kitchen. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly Abner laid down his paper and began to try to console them for - their loss. Mrs. Bishop listened patiently, but Bishop sat in the very - coma of despair, unconscious of what was going on around him. - </p> - <p> - “Alf,” Abner called out, sharply, “don't you remember what a close-fisted - scamp I used to be about the time you an' Betsy fust hitched together?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I don't,” said the man addressed, almost with a growl at being roused - from what could not have been pleasant reflections. - </p> - <p> - “I remember folks said you was the stingiest one in our family,” struck in - Mrs. Bishop, plaintively. “Law me! I hain't thought of it from that day to - this. It seems powerful funny now to think of you havin' sech a - reputation, but I railly believe you had it once.” - </p> - <p> - “An' I deserved it,” Abner folded his paper, and rapped with it on the - table. “You know, Betsy, our old daddy was as close as they make 'em; he - had a rope tied to every copper he had, an' I growed up thinkin' it was - the only safe course in life. I was too stingy to buy ginger-cake an' - cider at camp-meetin' when I was dyin' fer it. I've walked round an' round - a old nigger woman's stand twenty times with a dry throat an' my fingers - on a slick dime, an' finally made tracks fer the nighest spring. I had my - eyes opened to stinginess bein' ungodly by noticin' its effect on pa. He - was a natural human bein' till a body tetched his pocket, an' then he was - a rantin' devil. I got to thinkin' I'd be like 'im by inheritance ef I - didn't call a halt, an' I begun tryin' in various ways to reform. I - remember I lent money a little freer than I had, which wasn't sayin' much, - fer thar was a time when I wouldn't 'a' sold a man a postage-stamp on a - credit ef he'd 'a' left it stuck to the back o' my neck fer security. - </p> - <p> - “But I 'll tell you how I made my fust great big slide towards - reformation. It tuck my breath away, an' lots o' my money; but I did it - with my eyes open. I was jest a-thinkin' a minute ago that maybe ef I told - you-uns about how little it hurt me to give it up you mought sleep better - to-night over yore own shortage. Alf, are you listenin'?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I heerd what you said,” mumbled Bishop. - </p> - <p> - Abner cleared his throat, struck at a moth with his paper, and continued: - “Betsy, you remember our cousin, Jimmy Bartow? You never knowed 'im well, - beca'se you an' Alf was livin' on Holly Creek about that time, an' he was - down in our neighborhood. He never was wuth shucks, but he twisted his - mustache an' greased his hair an' got 'im a wife as easy as fallin' off a - log. He got to clerkin' fer old Joe Mason in his store at the cross-roads, - and the sight o' so much change passin' through his fingers sort o' turned - his brain. He tuck to drinking an' tryin' to dress his wife fine, an' one - thing or other, that made folks talk. He was our double fust cousin, you - know, an' we tuck a big interest in 'im on that account. After a while old - Joe begun to miss little dribs o' cash now an' then, an' begun to keep tab - on Jimmy, an' 'fore the young scamp knowed it, he was ketched up with as - plain as day. - </p> - <p> - “Old Joe made a calculation that Jimmy had done 'im, fust and last, to the - tune of about five hundred dollars, an' told Jimmy to set down by the - stove an' wait fer the sheriff. - </p> - <p> - “Jimmy knowed he could depend on the family pride, an' he sent fer all the - kin fer miles around. It raised a awful rumpus, fer not one o' our stock - an' generation had ever been jailed, an' the last one of us didn't want it - to happen. I reckon we was afeerd ef it once broke out amongst us it - mought become a epidemic. They galloped in on the'r hosses an' mules, an' - huddled around Mason. They closed his doors, back an' front, an' patted - 'im on the back, an' talked about the'r trade an' influence, an' begged - 'im not to prefer charges; but old Joe stood as solid as a rock. He said a - thief was a thief, ef you spelt it back'ards or for'ards, or ef he was - akin to a king or a corn-fiel' nigger. He said it was, generally, the - bigger the station the bigger the thief. Old Joe jest set at his stove an' - chawed tobacco an' spit. Now an' then he'd stick his hands down in his - pockets an' rip out a oath. Then Jimmy's young wife come with her little - teensy baby, an' set down by Jimmy, skeerd mighty nigh out of 'er life. - Looked like the baby was skeerd too, fer it never cried ur moved. Then the - sheriff driv' up in his buggy an' come in clinkin' a pair o' handcuffs. He - seed what they was all up to an' stood back to see who would win, Jimmy's - kin or old Joe. All at once I tuck notice o' something that made me - madder'n a wet hen. They all knowed I had money laid up, an' they begun to - ax old Mason ef I'd put up the five hundred dollars would he call it off. - I was actu'ly so mad I couldn't speak. Old Joe said he reckoned, seein' - that they was all so turribly set back, that he'd do it ef I was willin'. - The Old Nick got in me then as big as a side of a house, an' I give the - layout about the toughest talk they ever had. It didn't faze 'em much, fer - all they wanted was to git Jimmy free, an' so they tuck another tack. Ef - they'd git up half amongst 'em all, would I throw in t'other half? That, - ef anything, made me madder. I axed 'em what they tuck me fer—did I - look like a durn fool? An' did they think beca'se they was sech fools I - was one? - </p> - <p> - “Old Tommy Todd, Jimmy's own uncle, was thar, but he never had a word to - say. He jest set an' smoked his pipe an' looked about, but he wouldn't - open his mouth when they'd ax him a question. He was knowed to be sech a - skinflint that nobody seemed to count on his help at all, an' he looked - like he was duly thankful fer his reputation to hide behind in sech a - pressure. - </p> - <p> - “Then they lit into me, an' showed me up in a light I'd never appeared in - before. They said I was the only man thar without a family to support, an' - the only one thar with ready cash in the bank, an' that ef I'd let my own - double fust cousin be jailed, I was a disgrace to 'em all. They'd not nod - to me in the big road, an' ud use the'r influence agin my stayin' in the - church an' eventually gittin' into the kingdom o' Heaven. I turned from - man to devil right thar. I got up on the head of a tater-barrel behind the - counter, an' made the blamedest speech that ever rolled from a mouth - inspired by iniquity. I picked 'em out one by one an' tore off their - shirts, an' chawed the buttons. The only one I let escape was old Tommy; - he never give me a chance to hit him. Then I finally come down to the - prisoner at the bar an' I larruped him. Ever' time I'd give a yell, Jimmy - ud duck his head, an' his wife ud huddle closer over the baby like she was - afeerd splinters ud git in its eyes. I made fun of 'em till I jest had to - quit. Then they turned the'r backs on me an' begun to figure on doin' - without my aid. It was mortgage this, an' borrow this, an' sell this hoss - or wagon or mule or cow, an' a turrible wrangle. I seed they was gittin' - down to business an' left 'em. - </p> - <p> - “I noticed old Tommy make his escape, an' go out an' unhitch his hoss, but - he didn't mount. Looked like he 'lowed he was at least entitled to - carryin' the news home, whether he he'ped or not. I went to the spring at - the foot o' the rise an' set down. I didn't feel right. In fact, I felt - meaner than I ever had in all my life, an' couldn't 'a' told why. Somehow - I felt all at once ef they did git Jimmy out o' hock an' presented 'im to - his wife an' baby without me a-chippin' in, I'd never be able to look at - 'em without remorse, an' I did think a lots o' Jimmy's wife an' baby. I - set thar watchin' the store about as sorry as a proud sperit kin feel - after a big rage. Fust I'd hope they'd git up the required amount, an' - then I'd almost hope they wouldn't. Once I actually riz to go offer my - share, but the feer that it ud be refused stopped me. On the whole, I - think I was in the mud about as deep as Jimmy was in the mire, an' I - hadn't tuck nobody's money nuther. All at once I begun to try to see some - way out o' my predicament. They wouldn't let me chip in, but I wondered ef - they'd let me pay it all. I believed they would, an' I was about to hurry - in the store when I was balked by the thought that folks would say I was a - born idiot to be payin' my lazy, triflin' kinfolks out o' the consequences - o' the'r devilment; so I set down agin, an' had another wrastle. I seed - old Tommy standin' by his hoss chawin' his ridin'-switch an' watchin' the - door. All at once he looked mighty contemptible, an' it struck me that I - wasn't actin' one bit better, so I ris an' plunged fer the door. Old Tommy - ketched my arm as I was about to pass 'im an' said, 'What you goin' to do, - Ab?' An' I said, 'Uncle Tommy, I'm a-goin' to pay that boy out ef they 'll - let me.' - </p> - <p> - “'You don't say,' the old fellow grunted, lookin' mighty funny, an' he - slid in the store after me. Somehow I wasn't afeerd o' nothin' with or - without shape. I felt like I was walkin' on air in the brightest, saftest - sunshine I ever felt. They was all huddled over Mason's desk still - a-figurin' an' a-complainin' at the uneven division. Jimmy set thar with - his head ducked an' his young wife was tryin' to fix some'n' about the - baby. She looked like she'd been cryin.'I got up on my tater-barrel an' - knocked on the wall with a axe-handle to attract the'r attention. Then I - begun. I don't know what I said, or how it sounded, but I seed Jimmy raise - his head an' look, an' his wife push back her poke-bonnet an' stare like - I'd been raised from the grave. Along with my request to be allowed to - foot the whole bill, I said I wanted to do it beca'se I believed I could - show Jimmy an' his wife that I was doin' it out o' genuine regard fer 'em - both, an' that I wanted 'em to take a hopeful new start an' not be - depressed. Well, sir, it was like an avalanche. I never in all my life - seed sech a knocked-out gang. Nobody wanted to talk. The sheriff looked - like he was afeerd his handcuffs ud jingle, an' Jimmy bu'st out cryin'. - His wife sobbed till you could 'a' heerd her to the spring. She sprung up - an' fetched me her baby an' begged me to kiss it. With her big glad eyes, - an' the tears in 'em, she looked nigher an angel than any human bein' I - ever looked at. Jimmy went out the back way wipin' his eyes, an' I went to - Mason's desk to write him a check fer the money. He come to my elbow an' - looked troubled. - </p> - <p> - “'I said it was five hundred dollars,' said he, 'but I was sorter averagin' - the loss. I ain't a-goin' to run no risks in a matter like this. I'd feel - better to call it four hundred. You see, Jimmy's been a sort o' standby - with me, an' has fetched me lots o' trade. Make it four hundred and I 'll - keep 'im. I don't believe he 'll ever git wrong agin.' - </p> - <p> - “And Jimmy never did. He stayed thar for five yeer on a stretch, an' was - the best clerk in the county. I was paid a thousandfold. I never met them - two in my life that they didn't look jest like they thought I was all - right, an' that made me feel like I was to some extent. Old Tommy, though, - was the funniest thing about it. He bored me mighty nigh to death. He'd - come to my cabin whar I was livin' at the time an' set by my fire an' - smoke an' never say hardly a word. It looked like some 'n' was on his - mind, an' he couldn't git it off. One night when he'd stayed longer 'n - usual, I pinned 'im down an' axed 'im what was the matter. He got up quick - an' said nothin' aileded 'im, but he stopped at the fence an' called me - out. He was as white as a sheet an' quiverin' all over. Said he: 'I've got - to have this over with, Ab. I may as well tell you an' be done with it. - It's been botherin' the life out o' me, an' I 'll never git rid of it till - it's done. I want to pay you half o' that money you spent on Jimmy. I had - the cash that day, an' it 'ain't done me one bit o' good sence then. I 'll - never sleep well till I go you halvers.' - </p> - <p> - “'I cayn't sell that to you, Uncle Tommy,' I said, laughin'. 'No, siree, - you couldn't chip into that investment ef you doubled yore offer. I've - found out what it is wuth. But,' said I, 'ef you've got two hundred that's - burnin' a hole in yore pocket, ur conscience, an' want to yank it out, go - give it to Jimmy's wife to he'p her educate that baby.' - </p> - <p> - “It struck 'im betwixt the eyes, but he didn't say yes or no. He slid away - in the moonlight, all bent over an' quiet. I never seed 'im agin fer a - month, an' then I called 'im out of a crowd o' fellers at the court-house - an' axed 'im what he'd done. He looked bothered a little, but he gave me a - straight look like he wasn't ready to sneak out o' anything. - </p> - <p> - “'I thought it over,' said he, 'but I railly don't see no reason why I ort - to help Jimmy's child any more 'n a whole passle o' others that have as - much claim on me by blood; but somehow I do feel like goin' cahoot with - you in what's already been done, an' I'm still ready to jine you, ef you - are willin'.' - </p> - <p> - “I didn't take his money, but it set me to thinkin'. When old Tommy died, - ten years after that, they found he had six wool socks filled with gold - an' silver coin under his house, an' nobody ever heerd o' his doin' any - charity work. I wish now that I'd 'a' lifted that cash an' 'a' put it whar - it would do good. If I had he'd 'a' had a taste o' some 'n' that never - glorified his pallet.” - </p> - <p> - When Abner concluded, Mrs. Bishop went to the fire and pushed the chunks - together into a heap in the fireplace. Bishop moved in his chair, but he - said nothing. - </p> - <p> - “I remember heerin' about that, brother Ab,” Mrs. Bishop said, a - reminiscent intonation in her voice. “Some folks wondered powerful over - it. I don't believe money does a body much good jest to hold an' keep. As - the Lord is my judge, I jest wanted that bank deposit fer Alan and Adele. - I wanted it, an' I wanted it bad, but I cayn't believe it was a sin.” - </p> - <p> - Something like a groan escaped Bishop's lips as he lowered the front posts - of his chair to the floor. - </p> - <p> - “What's the use o' talkin' about it?” he said, impatiently. “What's the - use o' anything?” - </p> - <p> - He rose and moved towards the door leading to his room. - </p> - <p> - “Alfred,” Mrs. Bishop called to him, “are you goin' to bed without holdin' - prayer?” - </p> - <p> - “I'm goin' to omit it to-night,” he said. “I don't feel well, one bit. - Besides, I reckon each pusson kin pray in private according to the way - they feel.” - </p> - <p> - Abner stood up, and removing the lamp-chimney he lighted a candle by the - flame. - </p> - <p> - “I tried to put a moral lesson in what I said just now,” he smiled, - mechanically, “but I missed fire. Alf's sufferin' is jest unselfishness - puore an' undefiled; he wants to set his children up in the world. This - green globe is a sight better 'n some folks thinks it is. You kin find a - little speck o' goody in mighty nigh ever' chestnut.” - </p> - <p> - “That's so, brother Ab,” said his sister; “but we are ruined now—ruined, - ruined!” - </p> - <p> - “Ef you will look at it that way,” admitted Abner, reaching for his - candle; “but thar's a place ahead whar thar never was a bank, or a dollar, - or a railroad, an' it ain't fur ahead, nuther. Some folks say it begins - heer in this life.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXIV - </h2> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9000.jpg" alt="9000 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9000.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - S Abner Daniel leaned over the rail-fence in front of Pole Baker's - log-cabin one balmy day, two weeks later, he saw evidences of the - ex-moonshiner's thriftlessness combined with an inordinate love for his - children. A little express-wagon, painted red, such as city children - receive from their well-to-do parents on Christmas, was going to ruin - under a cherry-tree which had been bent to the ground by a rope-swing - fastened to one of its flexible boughs. The body of a mechanical - speaking-doll lay near by, and the remains of a toy air-rifle. After a - protracted spree Pole usually came home laden down with such - peace-offerings to his family and conscience. His wife might go without a - needed gown, and he a coat, but his children never without toys. Seeing - Abner at the fence, Mrs. Baker came to the low door and stood bending her - head to look out. - </p> - <p> - “I heerd at home,” said Abner, “that Pole was over thar axin' fer me. I've - been away to my peach-orchard on the hill.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he's been over thar twice,” said the woman. “He's back of the house - some'r's settin' a trap fer the children to ketch some birds in. I 'll - blow the horn. When I blow twice he knows he's wanted right off.” - </p> - <p> - She took down a cow's-horn from a nail on the wall, and going to the door - on the opposite side of the house she gave two long, ringing blasts, which - set half a dozen dogs near by and some far off to barking mellowly. In a - few minutes Pole appeared around the corner of the cabin. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Uncle Ab,” he said. “Won't you come in?” - </p> - <p> - “No, hain't time,” smiled the old man. “I jest come over to see how much - money you wanted to borrow.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't want any o' yo'rn,” said Pole, leaning over the fence, his - unbuttoned shirt-sleeves allowing his brawny, bare arms to rest on the top - rail. “I wanted to talk to you about Alan an' that bank bu'st-up.” - </p> - <p> - “You've been to town, I heer,” said Abner, deeply interested. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, an' I've been with Alan an' Miller fer the last week tryin' to do - some 'n', but we couldn't. They've been sendin' telegrams by the - basketful, an' Jeff Dukes has trotted his legs off back an' forth, but - nothin' hain't been done.” - </p> - <p> - “You say the' hain't?” Abner's voice quivered and fell. - </p> - <p> - “No; they both kept up the'r sperits purty well fer about ten days beca'se - that dang Atlanta chief of police kept wirin' he was on a scent o' - Winship; but day before yesterday they give in. We was a-settin' in - Miller's office when the last message come from Atlanta. They said they'd - been after the wrong man, an' that they'd give up. You ort to 'a' seed - Alan's face. Miller tried to cheer 'im up, but it wasn't no go. Then who - do you think come? Alan's sweetheart. She axed to see 'im, an' they talked - awhile in the front room; then Miller come back an' said she'd axed to be - introduced to me. Jest think of it! I went in and seed she'd been - a-cryin'. She got up, by jinks! an' ketched my hand an' said she wanted to - thank me beca'se I'd been sech a friend to Alan. Uncle Ab, I felt as mean - as a egg-suckin' dog, beca'se thar was Alan flat o' his back, as the - feller said, an' I hadn't turned a hand to he'p 'im. And thar she was, the - gal he loves an' wants, an' his poverty standin' betwixt 'em. I couldn't - say nothin', an' I reckon I looked more kinds of a damn fool than she ever - seed on two legs.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what did you do?” asked Abner, too much moved by Pole's graphic - picture to speak with his usual lightness. - </p> - <p> - “What did I do? I made my bow an' slid. I made a bee-line fer Murray's bar - an' put two down as fast as they could shovel 'em out. Then I tuck - another, an' quit countin'. I begun to think I owned the shebang, an' - broke several billiard-cues an' throwed the chalk around. Then Dukes come - an' said he'd give me a chance to escape trial fer misconduct, ef I'd - straddle my hoss an' make fer home. I agreed, but thar was one thing I had - to do fust. I had promised Alan not to drink any more, an' so I didn't - want to sneak away to hide it. I went to Miller's house, whar he's - stayin', an' called 'im out. I told 'im I'd jest come fer no other reason - 'an to let 'im see me at my wust. I felt like it was the only manly way, - after I'd broke faith with a friend as true as he is.” - </p> - <p> - “Too bad!” sighed Abner. “I 'll bet it hurt Alan to see you in that fix.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he didn't complain,” said Pole. “But he put his arm around me an' - come as nigh cryin' as I ever seed a strong man. 'It's my fault, Pole,' - ses he. 'I can see that.' Then him an' Miller both tried to git me to go - up-stairs in that fine house an' go to bed an' sleep it off, but I - wouldn't. I come on home an' got mad at Sally fer talkin' to me, an' come - as nigh as peas hittin' 'er in the jaw. But that's over, Uncle Ab. What - I'm in fer now is work. I ain't no fool. I'm on a still hunt, an' I jest - want yore private opinion. I don't want you to commit yorese'f, unless you - want to; but I'd go more on yore jedgment than any man' s in this county. - I want to know ef you think old Craig is a honest man at heart. Now don't - say you don't know, an' keep yore mouth shet; fer what I want to know, an' - <i>all</i> I want to know, is how you feel about that one thing.” - </p> - <p> - Abner hung his head down. His long thumb trembled as its nail went under a - splinter on the rail and pried it off. - </p> - <p> - “I see what you are a-drivin' at,” he said. “You jest want to feel shore - o' yore ground.” Abner began to chew the splinter and spit out the broken - bits. He was silent, under Pole's anxious gaze, for a minute, and then he - laughed dryly. “I reckon me 'n' you has about the same suspicions,” he - said. “That p'int's been worryin' me fer several days, an' I didn't let it - end, thar nuther.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! you didn't?” exclaimed Baker. “You say you didn't, Uncle Ab?” - </p> - <p> - “No; I got so I couldn't lie down at night without the idea poppin' into - my head that maybe Craig had made a tool of Winship fer some minor crime - an' had hustled 'im out o' the country so he could gobble up what was in - the bank an' pose as a injured man in the community.” - </p> - <p> - “Same heer, pine blank!” said Pole, eagerly. “What did you do, Uncle Ab?” - </p> - <p> - “I went to Darley an' attended his church last Sunday,” replied the old - man, a tense expression in his eyes. “I got a seat in the amen-corner, - whar I could see him, an' all through preachin' I watched 'im like a hawk. - He didn't look to me like a man who had bu'sted on wind alone. He had a - fat, oily, pink look, an' when they axed 'im to lead in prayer it looked - to me like he was talkin' more to the people 'an he was to God. I didn't - like his whine, an' what he said didn't seem to come from the cellar. But - I seed that he was makin' converts to his side as fast as a dog kin trot. - The Presbyterians an' Baptists has been accusin' the Methodists o' packin' - more bad eggs 'an they have, an' it looks like Craig's crowd's a-goin' to - swear he's fresh whether he is or not. After meetin' was over I walked - ahead of him an' his fine lady, who has made the mistake o' tryin' to - kiver the whole business up with silk an' feathers, an' waited fer 'em - nigh the'r gate. I told 'im I wanted a word with 'im, an' they axed me in - the parlor. I smelt dinner, but they didn't mention it. I wasn't goin' to - eat thar nohow. Well, I set in an' jest told Craig what had been troublin' - me. I said the loss o' my folk's money was as bad as death, an' that - thar'd been so much talk agin him, an' suspicion, that I had jest come to - headquarters. Ef he had any money laid away, I was thar to tell 'im it - never would do 'im any good, an' ef he didn't, I wanted to beg his pardon - fer my evil thoughts, an' try to git the matter off'n my mind.” - </p> - <p> - “Good God! did you railly tell 'im that, Uncle Ab?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, an' I had a deep-laid reason. I wanted to make 'im mad an' study - 'im. He did git mad. He was as red as a dewberry, an' quivered from head - to foot. Thar's two kinds o' mad—the justified an' the unjustified. - Make a good man rail mad by accusin' 'im, an' he 'll justify hisse'f or - bu'st; but ef you make a bad un mad by accusin' 'im, he 'll delight in - showin' you he's done wrong—ef it hurts you <i>an' he's safe</i>. - Thar's right whar I landed Craig. He had the look, as plain as day, o' - sayin', 'Yes, dang you, I did it, an' you cayn't he'p yorese'f!' His wife - had gone in the back part o' the house, an' after a while I heerd her new - shoes a-creakin' at the door betwixt the two rooms. Now a pair o' shoes - don't walk up to a door squeakin' like mice an' then stop all of a sudden - without reason. I knowed she was a-listenin', an' I determined she should - not heer me say she was purty. I told 'im louder 'an ever that folks was - a-talkin', an' a-talkin', an' that fetched her. She flung open the door - an' faced me as mad as a turtle on its back. She showed her hand, too, an' - I knowed she was in cahoot with 'im. She cussed me black an' blue fer a - uncouth, meddlin' devil, an' what not.” - </p> - <p> - “By gum!” said Pole, his big eyes expanding. “But you didn't gain much by - that, did you?” - </p> - <p> - “Jest satisfied myself that Alan's money—or some of it—wasn't - out o' creation, that's all.” - </p> - <p> - “I have my reasons fer believin' like you do,” said Pole. - </p> - <p> - “You say you have.” - </p> - <p> - Pole glanced furtively over his shoulder at his cabin to see that no one - was within hearing, then said: - </p> - <p> - “You know Winship is old Fred Parson's nephew. Well, old Fred's always - been a stanch friend to me. We moonshined it together two yeer, though he - never knowed my chief hidin'-place. In fact, nobody knows about that spot, - Uncle Ab, even now. Well, I had a talk with him an' axed his opinion about - his nephew. He talks as straight as a shingle, an' he ain't no idiot. He - says it's all bosh about Winship takin' away all that boodle.” - </p> - <p> - “He does, does he?” Abner nodded, as if to himself. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and he don't claim Winship ain't guilty, nuther; he jest holds that - he was too small a dabbler in devilment. He thinks, as I do, that Craig - run 'im off with threats of arrest an' picked that chance to bu'st. He - thinks Winship's in a safe place an' never will be fetched back.” - </p> - <p> - Abner drew himself up straight. - </p> - <p> - “Have you talked to Alan an' Miller on that line?” - </p> - <p> - “Tried to,” grunted Pole, in high disgust, “but Miller says it's no good - to think of accusin' Craig. He says we can' t prove a thing on 'im, unless - we ketch Winship. He says that sort of a steal is the easiest thing on - earth, an' that it's done every day. But that's beca'se he was fetched up - in the law,” Pole finished. “We-uns out heer in the mountains kin fish up - other ways o' fetchin' a scamp to time without standin' 'im up before a - thick-headed jury, or lettin' 'im out on bond till he dies o' old age. - You've got sense enough to know that, Uncle Ab.” - </p> - <p> - The slanting rays of the setting sun struck the old man in the face. There - was a tinkle of cow-bells in the pasture below the cabin. The outlaw in - Pole Baker was a thing Abner Daniel deplored; and yet, to-day it was a - straw bobbing about on the troubled waters of the old man' s soul towards - which, if he did not extend his hand, he looked interestedly. A grim - expression stole into his face, drawing the merry lines down towards his - chin. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Pole Baker grunted in sheer derision. “I've done fool things whar thar - wasn't a thing to be made by 'em. By gum! I'd do ten dozen fer jest a bare - chance o' shakin' that wad o' cash in Alan Bishop's face, an' so would - you, dern yore hide—so would you, Uncle Ab Daniel!” - </p> - <p> - Abner blinked at the red sun. - </p> - <p> - “The boy's been bad treated,” he said, evasively; “bad, bad, bad! It's - squeezed life an' hope out o' him.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you are a church-member, an' so <i>fur</i> in good-standin',” said - Pole, “an' I ain't agoin' to pull you into no devilment; but ef I see any - way—I say <i>ef</i> I see any way, I 'll come an' tell you the - news.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy,” said Abner, and turned to go. He paused - a few paces away and said, “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy, Pole.” He - motioned towards the cabin. “You've got them in thar to look after.” - </p> - <p> - Pole let him walk on a few paces, then he climbed over the fence and - caught him up. He drew the piece of quartz containing the tiny nugget of - gold from his pocket, which he had shown Abner and Dole on a former - occasion. “You see that, Uncle Ab,” he said. “That dirty rock is like - friendship in general, but that little yaller lump is like my friendship - fer Alan Bishop. It's the puore thing, solid an' heavy, an' won't lose - color. You don't know when that boy done his first favor to me. It was - away back when we was boys together. A feller at Treadwell's mill one day, - behind my back, called me a bad name—a name no man will take or can. - He used my mother's name, God bless her! as puore an' holy a woman as ever - lived, to git back at me. He hadn't no sooner spoke it than Alan was at - his throat like a wild-cat. The skunk was bigger 'n him, but Alan beat 'im - till he was black all over. I never heerd about it till about two weeks - after it happened an' the feller had moved out West. Alan wouldn't let - nobody tell me. I axed 'im why he hadn't let me know. 'Beca'se,' ses he, - 'you'd 'a' killed 'im an' 'a' got into trouble, an' he wasn't wuth it. - 'That's what he said, Uncle Ab.” Pole's big-jawed face was full of - struggling emotion, his voice was husky, his eyes were filling. “That's - why it's a-killin' me to see 'im robbed of all he's got—his pride, - his ambition, an' the good woman that loves 'im. Huh! ef I jest <i>knowed</i> - that pie-faced hypocrite had his money he wouldn't have it long.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy, Pole.” Abner looked into the fellow's - face, drew a long, trembling breath, and finished, “I wouldn't—but I - 'll be dumed ef I know what I'd do!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXV - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0024" id="linkimage-0024"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9218.jpg" alt="9218 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9218.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE following morning Pole rose before daylight and rode to Darley. As he - reached the place, the first rays of the sun were touching the - slate-covered spire of the largest church in town. - </p> - <p> - He went to a public wagon-yard and hitched his horse to one of the long - racks. A mountain family he knew slightly had camped in the yard, sleeping - in their canvas-covered wagon, and were making coffee over a little fire. - Pole wanted a cup of the beverage, but he passed on into a grocery-store - across the street and bought a dime's worth of cheese and hard-tack - crackers. This was his breakfast. He washed it down with a dipper of water - from the street well, and sat around the store chatting with the clerk, - who was sprinkling the floor, and sweeping and dusting the long room. The - clerk was a red-headed young man with a short, bristling mustache, and a - suit of clothes that was too large for him. - </p> - <p> - “Don't Mr. Craig stay around Fincher's warehouse a good deal?” Pole asked, - as the clerk rested for a moment on his broom near him. - </p> - <p> - “Mighty nigh all day long,” was the reply; “him an' Fincher's some kin, I - think.” - </p> - <p> - “On his wife's side,” said Pole. “I want to see Mr. Craig. I wonder ef he - 'll be down thar this mornin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Purty apt,” said the clerk. “Fincher's his best friend sence his - bu'st-up, an' they are mighty thick. I reckon he gits the cold-shoulder at - a lots o' places.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say!” - </p> - <p> - “An' of course he wants somewhar to go besides home. In passing I've seed - 'im a-figurin' several times at Fincher's desk. They say he's got some - notion o' workin' fer Fincher as his bookkeeper.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he 'll have to make a livin' some way,” said Pole. - </p> - <p> - The clerk laughed significantly. - </p> - <p> - “Ef it ain't already made,” said he, with a smile. Pole stood up. “I don't - think that's right,” he said, coldly. “Me nur you, nur nobody, hain't got - no right to hint at what we don't know nothin' about. Mr. Craig may 'a' - lost ever' cent he had.” - </p> - <p> - “In a pig's valise!” sneered the red-headed man. “I'd bet my hat he's got - money—an' plenty of it, huh!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I don't know nothin' about it,” said Pole, still coldly. “An' - what's more, Dunn, I ain't a-goin' about smirchin' any helpless man's - character, nuther. Ef I knowed he had made by the bu'st I'd talk - different, but I don't know it!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see which side you are on, Baker,” laughed the clerk. “Folks are - about equally divided. Half is fer 'im an' half agin. But mark my words, - Craig will slide out o' this town some day, an' be heerd of after a while - a-gittin' started agin some'r's else. That racket has been worked to death - all over the country.” - </p> - <p> - Pole carried the discussion no further. Half an hour passed. Customers - were coming in from the wagon-yard and examining the wares on the counters - and making slow purchases. The proprietor came in and let the clerk go to - breakfast. Pole stood in the doorway, looking up the street in the - direction of Craig's residence. Presently he saw the ex-banker coming from - the post-office, reading his mail. Pole stepped back into the store and - let him go by; then he went to the door again and saw Craig go into - Fincher's warehouse at the end of the next block of straggling, wooden - buildings. Pole sauntered down the sidewalk in that direction, passing the - front door of the warehouse without looking in. The door at the side of - the house had a long platform before it, and on it Fincher, the - proprietor, was weighing bales of hay which were being unloaded from - several wagons by the countrymen who were disposing of it. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Mr. Fincher,” Pole greeted him, familiarly. “Want any help - unloadin'?” - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Baker,” said Fincher, looking up from the blank-book in which he - was recording the weights. “No, I reckon they can handle it all right.” - Fincher was a short, fat man, very bald, and with a round, laughing face. - He had known Pole a long time and considered him a most amusing character. - “How do you come on, Pole?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, about as common. I jest thought them fellers looked sorter - light-weight.” - </p> - <p> - The men on the wagon laughed as they thumped a bale of hay on to the - platform. “You'd better dry up,” one of them said. “We 'll git the mayor - to put you to work agin.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he 'll have to be quicker about it than he was the last time,” said - Pole, dryly. - </p> - <p> - Some one laughed lustily from behind a tall stack of wheat in bags in the - warehouse. It was Lawyer Trabue. He came round and picked up Fincher's - daily paper, as he did every morning, and sat down and began to read it. - </p> - <p> - “Now you are talkin',” he said. “Thar was more rest in that job, Pole, - than any you ever undertook. They tell me you didn't crack a rock.” - </p> - <p> - Fincher laughed as he closed his book and struck Baker with it playfully. - “Pole was too tired to do that job,” he said. “He was born that way.” - </p> - <p> - “Say, Mr. Trabue,” retaliated Pole, “did you ever heer how I got the best - o' Mr. Fincher in a chicken trade?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think I ever did, Pole,” laughed the lawyer, expectantly. “How - was it?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come off, don't go over that again,” said Fincher, flushing. - </p> - <p> - “It was this away,” said Pole, with a broad, wholesome grin. “My cousin, - Bart Wilks, was runnin' the restaurant under the car-shed about two yeer - ago. He was a new hand at the business, an' one day he had a awful rush. - He got a telegram that a trainload o' passengers had missed connection at - Chattanooga an' would have to eat with him. He was powerful rattled, - runnin' round like a dog after its tail. He knowed he'd have to have a lot - o' fryin' chickens, an' he couldn't leave the restaurant, so he axed me ef - I'd take the money an' go out in town an' buy 'em fer 'im. I consented, - an' struck Mr. Fincher, who was sellin' sech truck then. He 'lowed, you - know, that I jest wanted one, or two at the outside, fer my own use, so - when I seed a fine coop out in front an' axed the price of 'em he kinder - drawed on his beerd till his mouth fell open, an' studied how he could - make the most out o' me. After a while he said: 'Well, Pole, I 'll make - 'em ten cents apiece ef I pick 'em, an' fifteen ef you pick 'em.' I sorter - skeerd the chickens around an' seed thar was two or three tiny ones hidin' - under the big ones, an' I seed what he was up to, but I was ready fer 'im. - 'All right,' ses I, 'you pick 'em.' Thar was two or three loafers standin' - round an' they all laughed at me when Mr. Fincher got down over the coop - an' finally ketched one about the size of a robin an' hauled it out. 'Keep - on a-pickin',' ses I, an' he made a grab fer one a little bigger an' - handed it up to me. Then he stuck his hands down in his pockets, doin' his - best to keep from laughin'. The gang yelled then, but I wasn't done. 'Keep - on a-pickin',' ses I. An' he got down agin. An', sir, I got that coop at - about four cents apiece less 'n he'd paid fer 'em. He tried to back, but - the gang wouldn't let 'im. It was the cheapest lot o' chickens I ever - seed. I turned the little ones out to fatten, an' made Wilks pay me the - market-price all round fer the bunch.” - </p> - <p> - “I 'll be bound you made some 'n' out of it,” said Trabue. “Fincher, did - you ever heer how that scamp tuck in every merchant on this street about - two yeer ago?” - </p> - <p> - “Never heerd anything except his owin' 'em all,” said Fincher, with a - laugh. - </p> - <p> - “I could put 'im in the penitentiary fer it,” affirmed the lawyer. “You - know about that time thar was a powerful rivalry goin' on among the - storekeepers. They was movin' heaven an' earth to sell the'r big stocks. - Well, one of the spryest in the lot, Joe Gaylord, noticed that Pole was - powerful popular with mountain-folks, an' he made 'im a proposition, - bindin' 'im down to secrecy. He proposed to give Pole ten per cent, - commission on all the goods he'd he'p sell by bringin' customers in the - store. Pole hesitated, beca'se, he said, they might find it out, an' Joe - finally agreed that all Pole would have to do was to fetch 'em in, give - the wink, an' him an' his clerks would do the rest. It worked mighty slick - fer a while, but Pole noticed that very often the folks he'd fetch in - wouldn't be pleased with the goods an' prices an' ud go trade some'r's - else. Then what do you think the scamp did? He went to every store in town - an' made a secret contract to git ten per cent, on all sales, an' he had - the softest snap you ever heerd of. He'd simply hang onto a gang from the - country, whether he knowed 'em or not, an' foller 'em around till they - bought; then he'd walk up an' rake in his part.” - </p> - <p> - “I got left once,” said Pole, laughing with the others. “One gang that I - stuck to all day went over to Melton an' bought.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, the merchants caught on after a while an' stopped him,” said - Trabue; “but he made good money while he was at it. They'd 'a' sent 'im up - fer it, ef it hadn't been sech a good joke on 'em.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know about that,” replied Pole, thoughtfully. “I was doin' all I - agreed, an' ef they could afford to pay ten per cent, to anybody, they - mought as well 'a' paid it to me. I drawed trade to the whole town. The - cigars an' whiskey I give away amounted to a lots. I've set up many a - night tellin' them moss-backs tales to make 'em laugh.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, ef you ever git into any trouble let me know,” said Trabue, as he - rose to go. “I 'll defend you at half price; you'd be a sight o' help to a - lawyer. I 'll be hanged if I ever seed a better case 'an you made out in - the mayor's court, an' you hadn't a thing to back it up with, nuther.” - </p> - <p> - The hay was unloaded and the wagons driven away. Fincher stood eying Pole - with admiration. “It's a fact,” he said. “You could 'a' made some 'n' out - o' yorese'f, if you'd 'a' been educated, an' had a showin'.” Pole jerked - his thumb over his shoulder at Craig, who was standing in the front door, - looking out into the street. “Everybody don't git a fair showin' in this - world, Mr. Fincher,” he said. “That man Craig hain't been treated right.” - </p> - <p> - The jovial expression died out of the merchant's face, and he leaned - against the door-jamb. - </p> - <p> - “You are right thar,” he said—“dead right. He's been mighty unlucky - and bad treated.” - </p> - <p> - Pole grasped the brim of his massive hat, and drew it from his shaggy - head. “It makes me so all-fired mad sometimes, Mr. Fincher, to heer folks - a-runnin' that man down, that I want to fight. I ain't no religious man - myse'f, but I respect one, an' I've always put him down in my book as a - good man.” - </p> - <p> - “So 've I,” said the merchant, and he looked towards the subject of their - conversation and called out: “Craig, oh, Craig, come back heer a minute.” - </p> - <p> - Pole put on his hat and stared at the ground. He made a gesture as if of - protest, but refrained from speaking. - </p> - <p> - “What's wanted?” Craig came down to them. He was smoking a cigar and wore - a comfortable look, as if he had been fighting a hard but successful fight - and now heard only random shots from a fleeing enemy. - </p> - <p> - “You ain't a candidate fer office,” laughed Fincher, “but nearly all men - like to know they've got friends. This chap heer's been standin' up fer - you. He says it makes him mad to hear folks talk agin you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's Baker!” exclaimed the ex-banker, shaking hands with Pole and - beaming on him. “Well, I don't know a man I'd rather have for a friend,” - he said, smoothly. - </p> - <p> - Pole tossed his head, and looked straight into the speaker's eye. “I'm fer - human justice, Mr. Craig,” he said. “An' I don't think folks has treated - you right. What man is thar that don't now an' then make mistakes, sir? - You've always had means, an' I never was anything but a pore mountain-boy, - but I've always looked on you as a good man, a law-abidin' man, an' I - don't like to heer folks try to blame you fer what another man done. When - you had plenty, I never come nigh you, beca'se I knowed you belonged to - one life an' me another, but now you are flat o' yore back, sir, I'm yore - friend.” - </p> - <p> - Craig's face beamed; he pulled his beard; his eyes danced. - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad there are men in the world like you, Baker,” he said. “I say I'm - glad, and I mean it.” - </p> - <p> - Fincher had begun to look over the figures in his book, and walked to the - front. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my friendship ain't wuth nothin',” said Pole. “I know that. I never - was in the shape to he'p nobody, but I know when a man' s treated right or - wrong.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, if you ever need assistance, and I can help you, don't fail to call - on me,” Craig spoke with a tone of sincerity. - </p> - <p> - Pole took a deep breath and lowered his voice, glancing cautiously into - the house, as if fearful of being overheard. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I <i>do</i> need advice, Mr. Craig,” he said. “Not money, nor - nothin' expensive, but I've laid awake night after night wishing 'at I - could run on some man of experience that I could ax fer advice, an' that I - could trust. Mr. Craig, I 'll be blamed ef I don't feel like tellin' you - some 'n' that never has passed my lips.” - </p> - <p> - Craig stared in interested astonishment. “Well, you can trust me, Baker,” - he said; “and if I can advise you, why, I 'll do it with pleasure.” - </p> - <p> - There was a cotton compress near by, with its vast sheds and platforms, - and Pole looked at it steadily. He thrust his hand into his pants pocket - and kept it there for a full minute. Then he shook his head, drew out his - hand, and said: “I reckon I won't bother you to-day, Mr. Craig. Some day I - 'll come in town an' tell you, but—” Pole looked at the sun. “I - reckon I'd better be goin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Hold on,” Craig caught Pole's arm. The exbanker was a natural man. - Despite his recent troubles, he had his share of curiosity, and Pole's - manner and words had roused it to unwonted activity. “Hold on,” he said. - “What's your hurry? I've got time to spare if you have.” - </p> - <p> - Pole hung his head for a moment in silence, then he looked the old man in - the face. “Mr. Craig,” he began, in even a lower voice, “do you reckon - thar's any gold in them mountains?” Pole nodded to the blue wave in the - east. - </p> - <p> - Craig was standing near a bale of cotton and he sat down on it, first - parting the tails of his long, black coat. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know; there might be,” he said, deeply interested, and yet trying - to appear indifferent. “There is plenty of it in the same range further - down about Dalonega.” - </p> - <p> - Pole had his hand in the right pocket of his rough jean trousers. - </p> - <p> - “Is thar anybody in this town that could tell a piece o' gold ef they seed - it?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, a good many, I reckon,” said Craig, a steely beam of excitement in - his unsteady eye. “I can, myself. I spent two years in the gold-mines of - California when I was a young man.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say! I never knowed that.” Pole had really heard of that fact, - but his face was straight. He had managed to throw into it a most - wonderful blending of fear and over-cautiousness. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes; I've had a good deal of experience in such things.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say!” Pole was looking towards the compress again. - </p> - <p> - Craig laughed out suddenly, and put his hand on Pole's shoulder with a - friendly, downward stroke. - </p> - <p> - “You can trust me, Baker,” he said, persuasively, “and it may be that I - could be of assistance to you.” - </p> - <p> - There was something like an actual tremor of agitation in Pole's rough - hand as he drew his little nugget from its resting-place at the bottom of - his pocket. With a deep, indrawn breath, he handed it to Craig. “Is that - thar little lump gold or not?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - Craig started visibly as his eyes fell on the piece of gold. But he took - it indifferently, and examined it closely. - </p> - <p> - “Where did you run across that?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “I want to know ef it's the puore thing,” answered Pole. - </p> - <p> - Craig made another examination, obviously to decide on the method he would - apply to a situation that claimed all his interest. - </p> - <p> - “I think it is,” he said; “in fact, I know it is.” - </p> - <p> - Pole took it eagerly, thrust it back into his pocket, and said: - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Craig, I know whar thar's a vein o' that stuff twenty yards thick, - runnin' clean through a mountain.” - </p> - <p> - “You do!” Craig actually paled under his suppressed excitement. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir; an' I kin buy it, lock, stock, and barrel, fer five hundred - dollars—the feller that owns it ud jump at it like a duck on a - June-bug. That's my secret, Mr. Craig. I hain't one dollar to my name, but - from this day on I'm goin' to work hard an' save my money till I own that - property. I'm a-goin' down to Atlanta next week, whar people don't know - me, an' have a lump of it bigger 'n this examined, an' ef it's gold I 'll - own the land sooner or later.” - </p> - <p> - Craig glanced to the rear. - </p> - <p> - “Come back here,” he said. Opening a door at the end of the warehouse, he - led Pole into a more retired spot, where they would be free from possible - interruption. Then, in a most persuasive voice, he continued: “Baker, you - need a man of experience with you in this. Besides, if there is as much of—of - that stuff as you say there is, you wouldn't be able to use all you could - make out of it. Now, it might take you a long time to get up the money to - buy the land, and there is no telling what might happen in the mean time. - I'm in a close place, but I could raise five hundred dollars, or even a - thousand. My friends still stick to me, you know. The truth is, Baker, I'd - like the best in the world to be able to make money to pay back what some - of my friends have lost through me.” - </p> - <p> - Pole hung his head. He seemed to be speaking half to himself and on the - verge of a smile when he replied: “I'd like to see you pay back some of - 'em too, Mr. Craig.” - </p> - <p> - Craig laid his hand gently on Pole's shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “How about lettin' me see the place, Baker?” he said. - </p> - <p> - Pole hesitated, and then he met the ex-banker's look with the expression - of a man who has resigned himself to a generous impulse. - </p> - <p> - “Well, some day when you are a-passin' my way, stop in, an' I 'll—” - </p> - <p> - “How far is it?” broke in Craig, pulling his beard with unsteady fingers. - </p> - <p> - “A good fifteen miles from heer,” said Pole. - </p> - <p> - Craig smiled. “Nothin' but an easy ride,” he declared. “I've got a horse - doin' nothing in the stable. What's to hinder us from going to-day—this - morning—as soon as I can go by for my horse?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't keer,” said Pole, resignedly. “But could you manage to go without - anybody knowin' whar you was bound fer?” - </p> - <p> - “Easy enough,” Craig laughed. He was really pleased with Pole's extreme - cautiousness. - </p> - <p> - “Then you mought meet me out thar some'r's.” - </p> - <p> - “A good idea—a good idea, Baker.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know whar the Ducktown road crosses Holly Creek, at the foot o' - Old Pine Mountain?” - </p> - <p> - “As well as I know where my house is.” - </p> - <p> - Pole looked at the sun, shading his eyes with his hand. - </p> - <p> - “Could you be thar by eleven o'clock?” - </p> - <p> - “Easy enough, Baker.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I 'll meet you—I'm a-goin' to trust you, Mr. Craig, an' when - you see the vein, ef you think thar's enough money in it fer two—but - we can see about that later.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, Baker. I 'll be there. But say,” as Pole was moving away, “you - are a drinking man, and get a little off sometimes. You haven't said - anything about this where anybody—” - </p> - <p> - Pole laughed reassuringly. “I never have been drunk enough to do that, Mr. - Craig, an', what's more, I never will be.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXVI - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0025" id="linkimage-0025"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9230.jpg" alt="9230 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9230.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - BOUT noon that day, as Pole Baker sat on a fallen tree near the road-side - in the loneliest spot of that rugged country, his horse grazing behind - him, he saw Craig coming up the gradual incline from the creek. Pole stood - up and caught the bridle-rein of his horse and muttered: - </p> - <p> - “Now, Pole Baker, durn yore hide, you've got brains—at least, some - folks say you have—an' so has he. Ef you don't git the best of that - scalawag yo' re done fer. You've put purty big things through; now put - this un through or shet up.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, heer you are,” merrily cried out the ex-banker, as he came up. He - was smiling expectantly. “Your secret's safe with me. I hain't met a soul - that I know sence I left town.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm glad you didn't, Mr. Craig,” Pole said. “I don't want anybody - a-meddlin' with my business.” He pointed up the rather steep and rocky - road that led gradually up the mountain. “We've got two or three mile - furder to go. Have you had any dinner?” - </p> - <p> - “I put a cold biscuit and a slice of ham in my pocket,” said Craig. “It - 'll do me till supper.” - </p> - <p> - Pole mounted and led the way up the unfrequented road. - </p> - <p> - “I may as well tell you, Mr. Craig, that I used to be a moonshiner in - these mountains, an'—” - </p> - <p> - “Lord, I knew that, Baker. Who doesn't, I'd like to know?” - </p> - <p> - Pole's big-booted legs swung back and forth like pendulums from the flanks - of his horse. - </p> - <p> - “I was a-goin' to tell you that I had a hide-out, whar I kept stuff - stored, that wasn't knowed by one livin' man.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you must have had a slick place from all I've heerd,” said Craig, - still in his vast good-humor with himself and everybody else. - </p> - <p> - “The best natur' ever built,” said Pole; “an' what's more, it was in thar - that I found the gold. I reckon it ud 'a' been diskivered long ago, ef it - had 'a' been above ground.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it's in—a sort of cave?” ventured Craig. - </p> - <p> - “That's jest it; but I've got the mouth of it closed up so it ud fool even - a bloodhound.” - </p> - <p> - Half an hour later Pole drew rein in a most isolated spot, near a great - yawning canon from which came a roaring sound of rushing water and - clashing winds. The sky overhead was blue and cloudless; the air at that - altitude was crisp and rarefied, and held the odor of spruce pine. With a - laugh Pole dismounted. “What ef I was to tell you, Mr. Craig, that you was - in ten yards o' my old den right now.” - </p> - <p> - Craig looked about in surprise. “I'd think you was makin' fun o' me—tenderfootin', - as we used to say out West.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm givin' it to you straight,” said Pole, pointing with his - riding-switch. “Do you see that pile o' rocks?” - </p> - <p> - Craig nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Right under them two flat ones is the mouth o' my den,” said Pole. “Now - let's hitch to that hemlock, an' I 'll show you the whole thing.” - </p> - <p> - When they had fastened their horses to swinging limbs in a dense thicket - of laurel and rhododendron bushes, they went to the pile of rocks. - </p> - <p> - “I toted mighty nigh all of 'em from higher up,” Pole explained. “Some o' - the biggest I rolled down from that cliff above.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't see how you are going to get into your hole in the ground,” said - Craig, with a laugh of pleasant anticipation. - </p> - <p> - Pole picked up a big, smooth stick of hickory, shaped like a crowbar, and - thrust the end of it under the largest rock. “Huh! I 'll show you in a - jiffy.” - </p> - <p> - It was an enormous stone weighing over three hundred pounds; but with his - strong lever and knotted muscles the ex-moonshiner managed to slide it - slowly to the right, disclosing a black hole about two feet square in the - ragged stone. From this protruded into the light the ends of a crude - ladder leading down about twenty-five feet to the bottom of the cave. - </p> - <p> - “Ugh!” Craig shuddered, as he peered into the dank blackness. “You don't - mean that we are to go down there?” - </p> - <p> - It was a crisis. Craig seemed to be swayed between two impulses—a - desire to penetrate farther and an almost controlling premonition of - coming danger. Pole met the situation with his usual originality and - continued subtlety of procedure. With his big feet dangling in the hole he - threw himself back and gave vent to a hearty, prolonged laugh that went - ringing and echoing about among the cliffs and chasms. - </p> - <p> - “I 'lowed this ud make yore flesh crawl,” he said. “Looks like the openin' - to the bad place, don't it?” - </p> - <p> - “It certainly does,” said Craig, somewhat reassured by Pole's levity. - </p> - <p> - “Why, it <i>ain' t</i> more 'n forty feet square,” said Pole. “Wait till I - run down an' make a light. I've got some fat pine torches down at the foot - o' the ladder.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I believe I <i>will</i> let you go first,” said Craig, with an - uneasy little laugh. - </p> - <p> - Pole went down the ladder, recklessly thumping his heels on the rungs. He - was lost to sight from above, but in a moment Craig heard him strike a - match, and saw the red, growing flame of a sputtering torch from which - twisted a rope of smoke. When it was well ablaze, Pole called up the - ladder: “Come on, now, an' watch whar you put yore feet. This end o' the - ladder is solid as the rock o' Gibralty.” - </p> - <p> - The square of daylight above was cut off, and in a moment the ex-banker - stood beside his guide. - </p> - <p> - “Now come down this way,” said Pole, and with the torch held high he led - the way into a part of the chamber where the rock overhead sloped, down - lower. Here lay some old whiskey-barrels, two or three lager-beer kegs, - and the iron hoops of several barrels that had been burned. There were - several one-gallon jugs with corn-cob stoppers. Pole swept his hand over - them with a laugh. “If you was a drinkin' man, I could treat you to a - thimbleful or two left in them jugs,” he said, almost apologetically. - </p> - <p> - “But I don't drink, Baker,” Craig said. His premonition of danger seemed - to have returned to him, and to be driven in by the dank coolness of the - cavern, the evidence of past outlawry around him. - </p> - <p> - Pole heaped his pieces of pine against a rock, and added to them the - chunks of some barrel-staves, which set up a lively popping sound like a - tiny fusillade of artillery. - </p> - <p> - “You see that rock behind you, Mr. Craig?” asked Pole. “Well, set down on - it. Before we go any furder, me'n you've got to have a understanding.” - </p> - <p> - The old man stared hesitatingly for an instant, and then, after carefully - feeling of the stone, he complied. - </p> - <p> - “I thought we already—but, of course,” he said, haltingly, “I'm - ready to agree to anything that 'll make you feel safe.” - </p> - <p> - “I kinder 'lowed you would,'' and to Craig's overwhelming astonishment - Pole drew a revolver from his hip-pocket and looked at it, twirling the - cylinder with a deft thumb. - </p> - <p> - “You mean, Baker—'' But Craig's words remained unborn in his - bewildered brain. The rigor of death itself seemed to have beset his - tongue. A cold sweat broke out on him. - </p> - <p> - “I mean that I've tuck the trouble to fetch you heer fer a purpose, Mr. - Craig, an' thar ain't any use in beatin' about the bush to git at it.” - </p> - <p> - Craig made another effort at utterance, but failed. Pole could hear his - rapid breathing and see the terrified gleaming of his wide-open eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You've had a lots o' dealin' s, Mr. Craig,” said Pole. “You've made yore - mistakes an' had yore good luck, but you never did a bigger fool thing 'an - you did when you listened to my tale about that lump o' gold.” - </p> - <p> - “You've trapped me!” burst from Craig's quivering lips. - </p> - <p> - “That's about the size of it.” - </p> - <p> - “But—why?” The words formed the beginning and the end of a gasp. - </p> - <p> - Pole towered over him, the revolver in his tense hand. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Craig, thar is one man in this world that I'd die fer twenty times - over. I love 'im more than a brother. That man you've robbed of every - dollar an' hope on earth. I've fetched you heer to die a lingerin' death, - ef—ef, I say, <i>ef</i>—you don't refund his money. That man - is Alan Bishop, an' the amount is twenty-five thousand dollars to a cent.” - </p> - <p> - “But I haven't any money,” moaned the crouching figure; “not a dollar that - I kin lay my hands on.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you are in a damn bad fix,” said Pole. “Unless I git that amount o' - money from you you 'll never smell a breath o' fresh air or see natural - daylight.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean to kill a helpless man?” The words were like a prayer. - </p> - <p> - “I'd bottle you up heer to die,” said Pole Baker, firmly. “You've met me - in this lonely spot, an' no man could lay yore end to me. In fact, all - that know you would swear you'd run off from the folks you've defrauded. - You see nothin' but that money o' Alan Bishop's kin possibly save you. You - know that well enough, an' thar ain't a bit o' use palaverin' about it. - I've fetched a pen an' ink an' paper, an' you've got to write me an order - fer the money. If I have to go as fur off as Atlanta, I 'll take the fust - train an' go after it. If I git the money, you git out, ef I don't you - won't see me agin, nur nobody else till you face yore Maker.” - </p> - <p> - Craig bent over his knees and groaned. - </p> - <p> - “You think I <i>have</i> money,” he said, straightening up. “Oh, my God!” - </p> - <p> - “I <i>know</i> it,” said Pole. “I don't think anything about it—I <i>know</i> - it.” - </p> - <p> - He took out the pen and ink from his pants pocket and unfolded a sheet of - paper. “Git to work,” he said. “You needn't try to turn me, you damned old - hog!” - </p> - <p> - Craig raised a pair of wide-open, helpless eyes to the rigid face above - him. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my God!” he said, again. - </p> - <p> - “You let God alone an' git down to business,” said Pole, taking a fresh - hold on the handle of his weapon. “I'm not goin' to waste time with you. - Either you git me Alan Bishop's money or you 'll die. Hurry up!” - </p> - <p> - “Will you keep faith with me—if—if—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, durn you, why wouldn't I?” A gleam of triumph flashed in the - outlaw's eyes. Up to this moment he had been groping in experimental - darkness. He now saw his way clearly and his voice rang with dawning - triumph. - </p> - <p> - The ex-banker had taken the pen and Pole spread out the sheet of paper on - his knee. - </p> - <p> - “What assurance have I?” stammered Craig, his face like a death-mask - against the rock behind him. “You see, after you got the money, you might - think it safer to leave me here, thinking that I would prosecute you. I - wouldn't, as God is my judge, but you might be afraid—” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not afraid o' nothin',” said Pole. “Old man, you couldn't handle me - without puttin' yorese'f in jail fer the rest o' yore life. That order's - a-goin' to be proof that you have money when you've swore publicly that - you didn't. No; when I'm paid back Alan Bishop's money I 'll let you go. I - don't want to kill a man fer jest tryin' to steal an' not makin' the - riffle.” - </p> - <p> - The logic struck home. The warmth of hope diffused itself over the gaunt - form. “Then I 'll write a note to my wife,” he said. - </p> - <p> - Pole reached for one of the torches and held it near the paper. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm glad I won't have to go furder'n Darley,” he said. “It 'll be - better fer both of us. By ridin' peert I can let you out before sundown. - You may git a late supper at Darley, but it's a sight better'n gittin' - none heer an' no bed to speak of.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm putting my life in your hands, Baker,” said Craig, and with an - unsteady hand he began to write. - </p> - <p> - “Hold on thar,” said Pole. “You 'll know the best way to write to her, but - when the money's mentioned I want you to say the twenty-five thousand - dollars deposited in the bank by the Bishops. You see I'm not goin' to - tote no order fer money I hain't no right to. An' I 'll tell you another - thing, old man, you needn't throw out no hint to her to have me arrested. - As God is my final judge, ef I'm tuck up fer this, they 'll never make me - tell whar you are. I'd wait until you'd pegged out, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not setting any trap for you, Baker,” whined Craig. “You've got the - longest head of any man I ever knew. You've got me in your power, and all - I can ask of you is my life. I've got Bishop's money hidden in my house. I - am willing to restore it, if you will release me. I can write my wife a - note that will cause her to give it to you. Isn't that fair?” - </p> - <p> - “That's all I want,” said Pole; “an' I 'll say this to you, I 'll agree to - use my influence with Alan Bishop not to handle you by law; but the best - thing fer you an' yore family to do is to shake the dirt of Darley off'n - yore feet an' seek fresh pastures. These 'round heer ain't as green, in - one way, as some I've seed.” - </p> - <p> - Craig wrote the note and handed it up to Baker. Pole read it slowly, and - then said: “You mought 'a' axed 'er to excuse bad writin' an' spellin', - an' hopin' these few lines will find you enjoyin' the same blessin' s; but - ef it gits the boodle that's all I want. Now you keep yore shirt on, an' - don't git skeerd o' the darkness. It will be as black as pitch, an' you - kin heer yore eyelids creak after I shet the front door, but I 'll be back—ef - I find yore old lady hain't run off with a handsomer man an' tuck the swag - with 'er. I'm glad you cautioned 'er agin axin' me questions.” - </p> - <p> - Pole backed to the foot of the ladder, followed by Craig. - </p> - <p> - “Don't leave me here, Baker,” he said, imploringly. “Don't, for God's - sake! I swear I 'll go with you and get you the money.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't do that, Mr. Craig; but I 'll be back as shore as fate, ef I get - that cash,” promised Pole. “It all depends on that. I 'll keep my word, if - you do yore'n.” - </p> - <p> - “I am going to trust you,” said the old man, with the pleading intonation - of a cowed and frightened child. - </p> - <p> - After he had gotten out, Pole thrust his head into the opening again. “It - 'll be like you to come up heer an' try to move this rock,” he called out, - “but you mought as well not try it, fer I'm goin' to add about a dump-cart - load o' rocks to it to keep the wolves from diggin' you out.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXVII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0026" id="linkimage-0026"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9239.jpg" alt="9239 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9239.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - AYBURN MILLER and Alan spent that day on the river trying to catch fish, - but with no luck at all, returning empty-handed to the farm-house for a - late dinner. They passed the afternoon at target-shooting on the lawn with - rifles and revolvers, ending the day by a reckless ride on their horses - across the fields, over fences and ditches, after the manner of - fox-hunting, a sport not often indulged in in that part of the country. - </p> - <p> - In the evening as they sat in the big sitting-room, smoking after-supper - cigars, accompanied by Abner Daniel, with his long, cane-stemmed pipe, - Mrs. Bishop came into the room, in her quiet way, smoothing her apron with - her delicate hands. - </p> - <p> - “Pole Baker's rid up an' hitched at the front gate,” she said. “Did you - send 'im to town fer anything, Alan?” - </p> - <p> - “No, mother,” replied her son. “I reckon he's come to get more meat. Is - father out there?” - </p> - <p> - “I think he's some'r's about the stable,” said Mrs. Bishop. - </p> - <p> - Miller laughed. “I guess Pole isn't the best pay in the world, is he?” - </p> - <p> - “Father never weighs or keeps account of anything he gets,” said Alan. - “They both make a guess at it, when cotton is sold. Father calls it - 'lumping' the thing, and usually Pole gets the lump. But he's all right, - and I wish we could do more for him. Father was really thinking about - helping him in some substantial way when the crash came—” - </p> - <p> - “Thar!” broke in Daniel, with a gurgling laugh, “I've won my bet. I bet to - myse'f jest now that ten minutes wouldn't pass 'fore Craig an' his - bu'st-up would be mentioned.” - </p> - <p> - “We have been at it, off and on, all day,” said Miller, with a low laugh. - “The truth is, it makes me madder than anything I ever encountered.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know why?” asked Abner, seriously, just as Pole Baker came through - the dining-room and leaned against the door-jamb facing them. “It's - beca'se”—nodding a greeting to Pole along with the others—“it's - beca'se you know in reason that he's got that money.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I wouldn't say <i>that</i>,” protested Miller, in the tone of a man - of broad experience in worldly affairs. “I wouldn't say that.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I would, an' do,” said Abner, in the full tone of decision. “I <i>know</i> - he's got it!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yo' re wrong thar, Uncle Ab,” said Pole, striding forward and - sinking into a chair. “You've got as good jedgment as any man I ever run - across. I thought like you do once. I'd 'a' tuck my oath that he had it - about two hours by sun this evenin', but I kin swear he hain't a cent of - it now.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean that, Pole?” Abner stared across the wide hearth at him - fixedly. - </p> - <p> - “He hain't got it, Uncle Ab.” Pole was beginning to smile mysteriously. - “He <i>did</i> have it, but he hain't got it now. I got it from 'im, blast - his ugly pictur'!” - </p> - <p> - “<i>You</i> got it?” gasped Daniel. “<i>You?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I made up my mind he had it, an' it deviled me so much that I - determined to have it by hook or crook, ef it killed me, or put me in hock - the rest o' my life.” Pole rose and took a packet wrapped in brown paper - from under his rough coat and laid it on the table near Alan. “God bless - you, old boy,” he said, “thar's yore money! It's all thar. I counted it. - It's in fifties an' hundreds.” - </p> - <p> - Breathlessly, and with expanded eyes, Alan broke the string about the - packet and opened it. - </p> - <p> - “Great God!” he muttered. - </p> - <p> - Miller sprang up and looked at the stack of bills, but said nothing. - Abner, leaning forward, uttered a little, low laugh. - </p> - <p> - “You—you didn't kill 'im, did you, Pole, old boy—you didn't, - did you?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Didn't harm a hair of his head,” said Pole. “All I wanted was Alan' s - money, an' thar it is!” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” grunted Daniel, “I'm glad you spared his life. And I thank God you - got the money.” - </p> - <p> - Miller was now hurriedly running over the bills. - </p> - <p> - “You say you counted it, Baker?” he said, pale with pleased excitement. - </p> - <p> - “Three times; fust when it was turned over to me, an' twice on the way out - heer from town.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Bishop had not spoken until now, standing in the shadows of the - others as if bewildered by what seemed a mocking impossibility. - </p> - <p> - “Is it our money—is it our'n?” she finally found voice to say. “Oh, - is it, Pole?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, 'm,” replied Pole. “It's yo'rn.” He produced a crumpled piece of - paper and handed it to Miller. “Heer's Craig's order on his wife fer it, - an' in it he acknowledges it's the cash deposited by Mr. Bishop. He won't - give me no trouble. I've got 'im fixed. He 'll leave Darley in the - mornin'. He's afeerd this 'll git out an' he 'll be lynched.” - </p> - <p> - Alan was profoundly moved. He transferred his gaze from the money to - Pole's face, and leaned towards him. - </p> - <p> - “You did it out of friendship for me,” he said, his voice shaking. - </p> - <p> - “That's what I did it fer, Alan, an' I wish I could do it over agin. When - I laid hold o' that wad an' knowed it was the thing you wanted more'n - anything else, I felt like flyin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell us all about it, Baker,” said Miller, wrapping up the stack of - bills. - </p> - <p> - “All right,” said Pole, but Mrs. Bishop interrupted him. - </p> - <p> - “Wait fer Alfred,” she said, her voice rising and cracking in delight. - “Wait; I 'll run find 'im.” - </p> - <p> - She went out through the dining-room towards the stables, calling her - husband at every step. “Alfred, oh, Alfred!” - </p> - <p> - “Heer!” she heard him call out from one of the stables. - </p> - <p> - She leaned over the fence opposite the closed door, behind which she had - heard his voice. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Alfred!” she called, “come out, quick! I've got news fer you—big, - big news!” - </p> - <p> - She heard him grumbling as he emptied some ears of corn into the trough of - the stall containing Alan' s favorite horse, and then with a growl he - emerged into the starlight. - </p> - <p> - “That fool nigger only give Alan's hoss six ears o' corn,” he fumed. “I - know, beca'se I counted the cobs; the hoss had licked the trough clean, - an' gnawed the ends o' the cobs. The idea o' starvin' my stock right - before my—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Alfred, what <i>do</i> you think has happened?” his wife broke in. - “We've got the bank money back! Pole Baker managed somehow to get it. He's - goin' to tell about it now. Come on in!” - </p> - <p> - Bishop closed the door behind him; he fumbled with the chain and padlock - for an instant, then he moved towards her, his lip hanging, his eyes - protruding. - </p> - <p> - “I 'll believe my part o' that when—” - </p> - <p> - “But,” she cried, opening the gate for him to pass through, “the money's - thar in the house on the table; it's been counted. I say it's thar! Don't - you believe it?” - </p> - <p> - The old man moved through the gate mechanically. He paused to fasten it - with the iron ring over the two posts. But after that he seemed to lose - the power of locomotion. He stood facing her, his features working. - </p> - <p> - “I 'll believe my part o' that cat-an'-bull story when I see—” - </p> - <p> - “Well, come in the house, then,” she cried. “You kin lay yore hands on it - an' count it. It's a awful big pile, an' nothin' less than fifty-dollar - bills.” - </p> - <p> - Grasping his arm, she half dragged, half led him into the house. Entering - the sitting-room, he strode to the table and, without a word, picked up - the package and opened it. He made an effort to count the money, but his - fingers seemed to have lost their cunning, and he gave it up. - </p> - <p> - “It's all there,” Miller assured him, “and it's your money. You needn't - bother about that.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop sat down in his place in the chimney corner, the packet on his - knees, while Pole Baker, modestly, and not without touches of humor, - recounted his experiences. - </p> - <p> - “The toughest job I had was managin' the woman,” Pole laughed. “You kin - always count on a woman to be contrary. I believe ef you was tryin' to git - some women out of a burnin' house they'd want to have the'r way about it. - She read the order an' got white about the gills an' screamed, low, so - nobody wouldn't heer 'er, an' then wanted to ax questions. That's the - female of it. She knowed in reason that Craig was dead fixed an' couldn't - git out until she complied with the instructions, but she wanted to know - all about it. I reckon she thought he wouldn't give full particulars—an' - he won't, nuther. She wouldn't budge to git the money, an' time was - a-passin'. I finally had a thought that fetched 'er. I told 'er Craig was - confined in a place along with a barrel o' gunpowder; that a slow fuse was - burnin' towards 'im, an' that he'd go sky-high at about sundown ef I - didn't git thar an' kick out the fire. Then I told 'er she'd be arrested - fer holdin' the money, an' that got 'er in a trot. She fetched it out - purty quick, a-cryin' an' abusin' me by turns. As soon as the money left - 'er hands though, she begun to beg me to ride fast. I wanted to come heer - fust; but I felt sorter sorry fer Craig, an' went an' let 'im out. He was - the gladdest man to see me you ever looked at. He thought I was goin' to - leave 'im thar. He looked like he wanted to hug me. He says Winship wasn't - much to blame. They both got in deep water speculatin', an' Craig was - tempted to cabbage on the twenty-five thousand dollars.” - </p> - <p> - When Pole had concluded, the group sat in silence for a long time. It - looked as if Bishop wanted to openly thank Pole for what he had done, but - he had never done such a thing in the presence of others, and he could not - pull himself to it. He sat crouched up in his tilted chair as if burning - up with the joy of his release. - </p> - <p> - The silence was broken by Abner Daniel, as he filled his pipe anew and - stood over the fireplace. - </p> - <p> - “They say money's a cuss an' the root of all evil,” he said, dryly. “But - in this case it's give Pole Baker thar a chance to show what's in 'im. I'd - 'a' give the last cent I have to 'a' done what he did to-day. I grant you - he used deception, but it was the fust-water sort that that Bible king - resorted to when he made out he was goin' to divide that baby by cuttin' - it in halves. He fetched out the good an' squelched the bad.” Abner - glanced at Pole, and gave one of his impulsive inward laughs. “My boy, - when I reach t'other shore I expect to see whole strings o' sech - law-breakers as you a-playin' leap-frog on the golden sands. You don't - sing an' pray a whole lot, nur keep yore religion in sight, but when - thar's work to be done you shuck off yore shirt an' do it like a wild-cat - a-scratchin'.” - </p> - <p> - No one spoke after this outburst for several minutes, though the glances - cast in his direction showed the embarrassed ex-moonshiner that one and - all had sanctioned Abner Daniel's opinion. - </p> - <p> - Bishop leaned forward and looked at the clock, and seeing that it was - nine, he put the money in a bureau-drawer and turned the key. Then he took - down the big family Bible from its shelf and sat down near the lamp. They - all knew what the action portended. - </p> - <p> - “That's another thing,” smiled Abner Daniel, while his brother-in-law was - searching for his place in the big Book. “Money may be a bad thing, a cuss - an' a evil, an' what not, but Alf 'ain't felt like holdin' prayer sence - the bad news come; an' now that he's got the scads once more the fust - thing is an appeal to the Throne. Yes, it may be a bad thing, but - sometimes it sets folks to singin' an' shoutin'. Ef I was a-runnin' of the - universe, I believe I'd do a lots o' distributin' in low places. I'd - scrape off a good many tops an' level up more. Accordin' to some, the - Lord's busy watchin' birds fall to the ground. I reckon our hard times is - due to them pesky English sparrows that's overrun ever'thing.” - </p> - <p> - “You'd better dry up, Uncle Ab,” said Pole Baker. “That's the kind o' talk - that made brother Dole jump on you.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh! That's a fact,” said Daniel; “but this is in the family.” - </p> - <p> - Then Bishop began to read in his even, declamatory voice, and all the - others looked steadily at the fire in the chimney, their faces lighted up - by the flickering flames. - </p> - <p> - When they had risen from their knees after prayer, Pole looked at Abner - with eyes from which shot beams of amusement. He seemed to enjoy nothing - so much as hearing Abner's religious opinions. - </p> - <p> - “You say this thing has set Mr. Bishop to prayin', Uncle Ab?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “That's what,” smiled Abner, who had never admired Baker so much before. - “Ef I stay heer, an' they ever git that railroad through, I'm goin' to - have me a pair o' knee-pads made.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXVIII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0027" id="linkimage-0027"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9247.jpg" alt="9247 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9247.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - BOUT a week after the events recorded in the preceding chapter, old man - Bishop, just at dusk one evening, rode up to Pole Baker's humble domicile. - </p> - <p> - Pole was in the front yard making a fire of sticks, twigs, and chips. - </p> - <p> - “What's that fer?” the old man questioned, as he dismounted and hitched - his horse to the worm fence. - </p> - <p> - “To drive off mosquitoes,” said Pole, wiping his eyes, which were red from - the effects of the smoke. “I 'll never pass another night like the last un - ef I kin he'p it. I 'lowed my hide was thick, but they bored fer oil all - over me from dark till sun-up. I never 've tried smoke, but Hank Watts - says it's ahead o' pennyr'yal.” - </p> - <p> - “Shucks!” grunted the planter, “you ain't workin' it right. A few rags - burnin' in a pan nigh yore bed may drive 'em out, but a smoke out heer in - the yard 'll jest drive 'em in.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” said Pole, in high disgust. “Do you expect me to sleep sech hot - weather as this is with a fire nigh my bed? The durn things may eat me - raw, but I 'll be blamed ef I barbecue myse'f to please 'em.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Baker appeared in the cabin-door, holding two of the youngest - children by their hands. “He won't take my advice, Mr. Bishop,” she said. - “I jest rub a little lamp-oil on my face an' hands an' they don't tetch - me.” Pole grunted and looked with laughing eyes at the old man. - </p> - <p> - “She axed me t'other night why I'd quit kissin' 'er,” he said. “An' I told - 'er I didn't keer any more fer kerosene than the mosquitoes did.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Baker laughed pleasantly, as she brought out a chair for Bishop and - invited him to sit down. He complied, twirling his riding-switch in his - hand. From his position, almost on a level with the floor, he could see - the interior of one of the rooms. It was almost bare of furniture. Two - opposite corners were occupied by crude bedsteads; in the centre of the - room was a cradle made from a soap-box on rockers sawn from rough poplar - boards. It had the appearance of having been in use through several - generations. Near it stood a spinning-wheel and a three-legged stool. The - sharp steel spindle gleamed in the firelight from the big log and mud - chimney. - </p> - <p> - “What's the news from town, Mr. Bishop?” Pole asked, awkwardly, for it - struck him that Bishop had called to talk with him about some business and - was reluctant to introduce it. - </p> - <p> - “Nothin' that interests any of us, I reckon, Pole,” said the old man, - “except I made that investment in Shoal Cotton Factory stock.” - </p> - <p> - “That's good,” said Pole, in the tone of anybody but a man who had never - invested a dollar in anything. “It's all hunkey, an' my opinion is that it - 'll never be wuth less.” - </p> - <p> - “I did heer, too,” added Bishop, “that it was reported that Craig had set - up a little grocery store out in Texas, nigh the Indian Territory. Some - thinks that Winship 'll turn up thar an' jine 'im, but a body never knows - what to believe these days.” - </p> - <p> - “That shore is a fact,” opined Pole. “Sally, that corn-bread's a-burnin'; - ef you'd use less lamp-oil you'd smell better.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Baker darted to the fireplace, raked the live coals from beneath the - cast-iron oven, and jerked off the lid in a cloud of steam and smoke. She - turned over the pone with the aid of a case-knife, and then came back to - the door. - </p> - <p> - “Fer the last month I've had my eye on the Bascome farm,” Bishop was - saying. “Thar's a hundred acres even, some good bottom land and upland, - an' in the neighborhood o' thirty acres o' good wood. Then thar's a - five-room house, well made an' tight, an' a barn, cow-house, an' stable.” - </p> - <p> - “Lord! I know the place like a book,” said Pole; “an' it's a dandy - investment, Mr. Bishop. They say he offered it fer fifteen hundred. It's - wuth two thousand. You won't drap any money by buyin' that property, Mr. - Bishop. I'd hate to contract to build jest the house an' well an' - out-houses fer a thousand.” - </p> - <p> - “I bought it,” Bishop told him. “He let me have it fer a good deal less 'n - fifteen hundred, cash down.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you made a dandy trade, Mr. Bishop. Ah, that's what ready money - will do. When you got the cash things seem to come at bottom figures.” - </p> - <p> - Old Bishop drew a folded paper from his pocket and slapped it on his knee. - “Yes, I closed the deal this evenin', an' I was jest a-thinkin' that as - you hain't rented fer next yeer—I mean—” Bishop was ordinarily - direct of speech, but somehow his words became tangled, and he delivered - himself awkwardly on this occasion. “You see, Alan thinks that you 'n - Sally ort to live in a better house than jest this heer log-cabin, an'—” - </p> - <p> - The wan face of the tired woman was aglow with expectation. She sank down - on the doorstep, and sat still and mute, her hands clasping each other in - her lap. She had always disliked that cabin and its sordid surroundings, - and there was something in Bishop's talk that made her think he was about - to propose renting the new farm, house and all, to her husband. Her mouth - fell open; she scarcely allowed herself to breathe. Then, as Bishop - paused, her husband's voice struck dumb dismay to her heart. It was as if - she were falling from glowing hope back to tasted despair. - </p> - <p> - “Thar's more land in that farm an' I could do jestice to, Mr. Bishop; but - ef thar's a good cabin on it an' you see fit to cut off enough fer me'n - one hoss I'd jest as soon tend that as this heer. I want to do what you - an' Alan think is best all'round.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Pole, Pole!” The woman was crying it to herself, her face lowered to - her hands that the two men might not see the agony written in her eyes. A - house like that to live in, with all those rooms and fireplaces, and - windows with panes of glass in them! She fancied she saw her children - playing on the tight, smooth floors and on the honeysuckled porch. For one - minute these things had been hers, to be snatched away by the callous - indifference of her husband, who, alas! had never cared a straw for - appearances. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I wasn't thinking about <i>rentin''</i> it to you,” said Bishop, and - the woman's dream was over. She raised her head, awake again. “You see,” - went on Bishop, still struggling for proper expression, “Alan thinks—well, - he thinks you are sech a born fool about not acceptin' help from them that - feels nigh to you, an' I may as well say grateful, exceedingly grateful, - fer what you've done, things that no other livin' man could 'a' done. Alan - thinks you ort to have the farm fer yore own property, an' so the deeds - has been made out to—” - </p> - <p> - Pole drew himself up to his full height. His big face was flushed, half - with anger, half with a strong emotion of a tenderer kind. He stood - towering over the old man like a giant swayed by the warring winds of good - and evil, “I won't heer a word more of that, Mr. Bishop,” he said, with a - quivering lip; “not a word more. By golly! I mean what I say. I don't want - to heer another word of it. This heer place is good enough fer me an' my - family. It's done eight yeer, an' it kin do another eight.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Pole, Pole, <i>Pole!</i>” The woman's cry was now audible. It came - straight from her pent-up, starving soul and went right to Bishop's heart. - </p> - <p> - “You want the place, don't you, Sally?” he said, calling her by her given - name for the first time, as if he had just discovered their kinship. He - could not have used a tenderer tone to child of his own. - </p> - <p> - “Mind, mind what you say, Sally!” ordered Pole, from the depths of his - fighting emotions. “Mind what you say!” - </p> - <p> - The woman looked at Bishop. Her glance was on fire. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I want it—I <i>want</i> it!” she cried. “I ain't goin' to lie. - I want it more right now than I do the kingdom of heaven. I want it ef we - have a right to it. Oh, I don't know.” She dropped her head in her lap and - began to sob. - </p> - <p> - Bishop stood up. He moved towards her in a jerky fashion and laid his hand - on the pitifully tight knot of hair at the back of her head. - </p> - <p> - “Well, it's yores,” he said. “Alan thought Pole would raise a kick agin - it, an' me'n him had it made out in yore name, so he couldn't tetch it. - It's yores, Sally Ann Baker. That's the way it reads.” - </p> - <p> - The woman's sobs increased, but they were sobs of unbridled joy. With her - apron to her eyes she rose and hurried into the house. - </p> - <p> - The eyes of the two men met. Bishop spoke first: - </p> - <p> - “You've got to give in, Pole,” he said. “You'd not be a man to stand - betwixt yore wife an' a thing she wants as bad as she does that place, - an', by all that's good an' holy, you sha 'n' t.” - </p> - <p> - “What's the use o' me tryin' to git even with Alan,” Pole exclaimed, “ef - he's eternally a-goin' to git up some 'n'? I've been tickled to death ever - since I cornered old Craig till now, but you an' him has sp'iled it all by - this heer trick. It ain't fair to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it's done,” smiled the old man, as he went to his horse; “an' ef - you don't live thar with Sally, I 'll make 'er git a divorce.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop had reached a little pig-pen in a fence-corner farther along, on - his way home, when Mrs. Baker suddenly emerged from a patch of high corn - in front of him. - </p> - <p> - “Is he a-goin' to take it, Mr. Bishop?” she asked, panting from her - hurried walk through the corn that hid her from the view of the cabin. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” Bishop told her; “I'm a-goin' to send two wagons over in the - morning to move yore things. I wish it was ten times as good a place as it - is, but it will insure you an' the children a living an' a comfortable - home.” - </p> - <p> - After the manner of many of her kind, the woman uttered no words of - thanks, but simply turned back into the corn, and, occupied with her own - vision of prosperity and choking with gratitude, she hurried back to the - cabin. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXIX - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0028" id="linkimage-0028"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9253.jpg" alt="9253 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9253.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE summer ended, the autumn passed, 'and Christmas approached. Nothing of - much importance had taken place among the characters of this little - history. The Southern Land and Timber Company, and Wilson in particular, - had disappointed Miller and Alan by their reticence in regard to the - progress of the railroad scheme. At every meeting with Wilson they found - him either really or pretendedly indifferent about the matter. His - concern, he told them, was busy in other quarters, and that he really did - not know what they would finally do about it. - </p> - <p> - “He can' t pull the wool over my eyes,” Miller told his friend, after one - of these interviews. “He simply thinks he can freeze you out by holding - off till you have to raise money.” - </p> - <p> - “He may have inquired into my father's financial condition,” suggested - Alan, with a long face. - </p> - <p> - “Most likely,” replied the lawyer. - </p> - <p> - “And discovered exactly where we stand.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps, but we must not believe that till we know it. I'm going to try - to checkmate him. I don't know how, but I 'll think of something. He feels - that he has the upper hand now, but I 'll interest him some of these - days.” - </p> - <p> - Alan's love affair had also been dragging. He had had numerous assurances - of Dolly's constancy, but since learning how her father had acted the - night he supposed she had eloped with Alan, her eyes had been opened to - the seriousness of offending Colonel Barclay. She now knew that her - marriage against his will would cause her immediate disinheritance, and - she was too sensible a girl to want to go to Alan without a dollar and - with the doors of her home closed against her. Besides, she believed in - Alan' s future. She, somehow, had more faith in the railroad than any - other interested person. She knew, too, that she was now more closely - watched than formerly. She had, with firm finality, refused Frank - Hillhouse's offer of marriage, and that had not helped her case in the - eyes of her exasperated parent. Her mother occupied neutral ground; she - had a vague liking for Alan Bishop, and, if the whole truth must be told, - was heartily enjoying the situation. She was enjoying it so subtly and so - heartily, in her own bloodless way, that she was at times almost afraid of - its ending suddenly. - </p> - <p> - On Christmas Eve Adele was expected home from Atlanta, and Alan had come - in town to meet her. As it happened, an accident delayed her train so that - it would not reach Darley till ten o' clock at night instead of six in the - evening, so there was nothing for her brother to do but arrange for their - staying that night at the Johnston House. Somewhat to Alan' s surprise, - who had never discovered the close friendship and constant correspondence - existing between Miller and his sister, the former announced that he was - going to spend the night at the hotel and drive out to the farm with them - the next morning. Of course, it was agreeable, Alan reflected, but it was - a strange thing for Miller to propose. - </p> - <p> - From the long veranda of the hotel after supper that evening the two - friends witnessed the crude display of holiday fireworks in the street - below. Half a dozen big bonfires made of dry-goods boxes, kerosene and tar - barrels, and refuse of all kinds were blazing along the main street. - Directly opposite the hotel the only confectionery and toy store in the - place was crowded to overflowing by eager customers, and in front of it - the purchasers of fireworks were letting them off for the benefit of the - bystanders. Fire-crackers were exploded by the package, and every now and - then a clerk in some store would come to the front door and fire off a gun - or a revolver. - </p> - <p> - All this noise and illumination was at its height when Adele's train drew - up in the car-shed. The bonfires near at hand made it as light as day, and - she had no trouble recognizing the two friends. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, what an awful racket!” she exclaimed, as she released herself from - Alan' s embrace and gave her hand to Miller. - </p> - <p> - “It's in your honor,” Miller laughed, as, to Alan' s vast astonishment, he - held on to her hand longer than seemed right. “We ought to have had the - brass band out.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm so glad to get home,” said Adele, laying her hand on Miller's - extended arm. Then she released it to give Alan her trunk-checks. “Get - them, brother,” she said. “Mr. Miller will take care of me. I suppose you - are not going to drive home to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Not if you are tired,” said Miller, in a tone Alan had never heard his - friend use to any woman, nor had he ever seen such an expression on - Miller's face as lay there while the lawyer's eyes were feasting - themselves on the girl's beauty. - </p> - <p> - Alan hurried away after the trunks and a porter. He was almost blind with - a rage that was new to him. Was Miller deliberately beginning a flirtation - with Adele at a moment's notice? And had she been so spoiled by the “fast - set” of Atlanta during her stay there that she would allow it—even - if Miller was a friend of the family? He found a negro porter near the - heap of luggage that had been hurled from the baggage-car, and ordered his - sister's trunks taken to the hotel. Then he followed the couple moodily up - to the hotel parlor. He was destined to undergo another shock, for, on - entering that room, he surprised Miller and Adele on a sofa behind the big - square piano with their heads suspiciously near together, and so deeply - were they engaged in conversation that, although he drew up a chair near - them, they paid no heed to him further than to recognize his appearance - with a lifting of their eyes. They were talking of social affairs in - Atlanta and people whose names were unfamiliar to Alan. He rose and stood - before the fireplace, but they did not notice his change of position. - Truly it was maddening. He told himself that Adele's pretty face and far - too easy manner had attracted Miller's attention temporarily, and the - fellow was daring to enter one of his flirtations right before his eyes. - Alan would give him a piece of his mind at the first opportunity, even if - he was under obligations to him. Indeed, Miller had greatly disappointed - him, and so had Adele. He had always thought she, like Dolly Barclay, was - different from other girls; but no, she was like them all. Miller's - attention had simply turned her head. Well, as soon as he had a chance he - would tell her a few things about Miller and his views of women. That - would put her on her guard, but it would not draw out the poisoned sting - left by Miller's presumption, or indelicacy, or whatever it was. Alan rose - and stood at the fire unnoticed for several minutes, and then he showed - that he was at least a good chaperon, for he reached out and drew on the - old-fashioned bell-pull in the chimney-corner. The porter appeared, and - Alan asked: “Is my sister's room ready?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it's good and warm now, suh,” said the negro. “I started the fire an - hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - Miller and Adele had paused to listen. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you are going to hurry me off to bed,” the girl said, with an audible - sigh. - </p> - <p> - “You must be tired after that ride,” said Alan, coldly. - </p> - <p> - “That's a fact, you must be,” echoed Miller. “Well, if you have to go, you - can finish telling me in the morning. You know I'm going to spend the - night here, where I have a regular room, and I 'll see you at breakfast.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm so glad,” said Adele. “Yes, I can finish telling you in the - morning.” Then she seemed to notice her brother's long face, and she - laughed out teasingly: “I 'll bet he and Dolly are no nearer together than - ever.” - </p> - <p> - “You are right,” Miller joined in her mood; “the Colonel still has his - dogs ready for Alan, but they 'll make it up some day, I hope. Dolly is <i>next</i> - to the smartest girl I know.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you <i>are</i> a flatterer,” laughed Adele, and she gave Miller her - hand. “Don't forget to be up for early breakfast. We must start soon in - the morning. I'm dying to see the home folks.” - </p> - <p> - Alan was glad that Miller had a room of his own, for he was not in a mood - to converse with him; and when Adele had retired he refused Miller's - proffered cigar and went to his own room. - </p> - <p> - Miller grunted as Alan turned away. “He's had bad news of some sort,” he - thought, “and it's about Dolly Barclay. I wonder, after all, if she would - stick to a poor man. I begin to think some women would. Adele is of that - stripe—yes, she is, and isn't she stunning-looking? She's a gem of - the first water, straight as a die, full of pluck and—she's all - right—all right!” - </p> - <p> - He went out on the veranda to smoke and enjoy repeating these things over - to himself. The bonfires in the street were dying down to red embers, - around which stood a few stragglers; but there was a blaze of new light - over the young man' s head. Along his horizon had dawned a glorious reason - for his existence; a reason that discounted every reason he had ever - entertained. “Adele, Adele,” he said to himself, and then his cigar went - out. Perhaps, his thoughts ran on in their mad race with happiness—perhaps, - with her fair head on her pillow, she was thinking of him as he was of - her. - </p> - <p> - Around the corner came a crowd of young men singing negro songs. They - passed under the veranda, and Miller recognized Frank Hillhouse's voice. - “That you, Frank?” Miller called out, leaning over the railing. - </p> - <p> - “Yes—that you, Ray?” Hillhouse stepped out into view. “Come on; we - are going to turn the town over. Every sign comes down, according to - custom, you know. Old Thad Moore is drunk in the calaboose. They put him - in late this evening. We are going to mask and let him out. It's a dandy - racket; we are going to make him think we are White Caps, and then set him - down in the bosom of his family. Come on.” - </p> - <p> - “I can't to-night,” declined Miller, with a laugh. “I'm dead tired.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, if you hear all the church bells ringing, you needn't think it's - fire, and jump out of your skin. We ain't going to sleep to-night, and we - don't intend to let anybody else do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, go it while you are young,” Miller retorted, with a laugh, and - Hillhouse joined his companions in mischief and they passed on singing - merrily. - </p> - <p> - Miller threw his cigar away and went to his room. He was ecstatically - happy. The mere thought that Adele Bishop was under the same roof with - him, and on the morrow was going to people who liked him, and leaned on - his advice and experience, gave him a sweet content that thrilled him from - head to foot. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I ought to tell Alan,” he mused, “but he 'll find it out soon - enough; and, hang it all, I can' t tell him how I feel about his own - sister, after all the rot I've stuffed into him.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXX - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0029" id="linkimage-0029"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9260.jpg" alt="9260 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9260.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE next morning, as soon as he was up, Alan went to his sister's room. He - found her dressed and ready for him. She was seated before a cheerful - grate-fire, looking over a magazine she had brought to pass the time on - the train. - </p> - <p> - “Come in,” she said, pleasantly enough, he reflected, now that Miller was - not present to absorb her attention. “I expected you to get up a little - earlier. Those guns down at the bar-room just about daybreak waked me, and - I couldn't go to sleep again. There is no use denying it, Al, we have a - barbarous way of amusing ourselves up here in North Georgia.” - </p> - <p> - He went in and stood with his back to the fire, still unable to rid his - brow of the frown it had worn the night before. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I reckon you've got too citified for us,” he said, “along with other - accomplishments that fast set down there has taught you.” - </p> - <p> - Adele laid her book open on her lap. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Alan,” she said, quite gravely. “What's the matter with you?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing, that I know of,” he said, without meeting her direct gaze. - </p> - <p> - “Well, there is,” she said, as the outcome of her slow inspection of his - clouded features. - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders and gave her his eyes steadily. - </p> - <p> - “I don't like the way you and Miller are carrying on.” He hurled the words - at her sullenly. “You see, I know him through and through.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's all right,” she replied, not flinching from his indignant - stare; “but what's that got to do with my conduct and his?” - </p> - <p> - “You allow him to be too familiar with you,” Alan retorted. “He's not the - kind of a man for you to—to act that way with. He has flirted with a - dozen women and thrown them over; he doesn't believe in the honest love of - a man for a woman, or the love of a woman for a man.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, I am at the first of this!” Adele, instead of being put down by his - stormy words, was smiling inwardly. Her lips were rigid, but Alan saw the - light of keen amusement in her eyes. “Is he <i>really</i> so dangerous? - That makes him doubly interesting. Most girls love to handle masculine - gunpowder. Do you know, if I was Dolly Barclay, for instance, an affair - with you would not be much fun, because I'd be so sure of you. The dead - level of your past would alarm me.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank Heaven, all women are not alike!” was the bolt he hurled at her. - “If you knew as much about Ray Miller as I do, you'd act in a more - dignified way on a first acquaintance with him.” - </p> - <p> - “On a first—oh, I see what you mean!” Adele put her handkerchief to - her face and treated herself to a merry laugh that exasperated him beyond - endurance. Then she stood up, smoothing her smile away. “Let's go to - breakfast. I'm as hungry as a bear. I told Rayburn—I mean your - dangerous friend, Mr. Miller—that we'd meet him in the dining-room. - He says he's crazy for a cup of coffee with whipped cream in it. I ordered - it just now.” - </p> - <p> - “The dev—” Alan bit the word in two and strode from the room, she - following. The first person they saw in the big dining-room was Miller, - standing at the stove in the centre of the room warming himself. He - scarcely looked at Alan in his eagerness to have a chair placed for Adele - at a little table reserved for three in a corner of the room, which was - presided over by a slick-looking mulatto waiter, whose father had belonged - to Miller's family. - </p> - <p> - “I've been up an hour,” he said to her. “I took a stroll down the street - to see what damage the gang did last night. Every sign is down or hung - where it doesn't belong. To tease the owner, an old negro drayman, whom - everybody jokes with, they took his wagon to pieces and put it together - again on the roof of Harmon's drug-store. How they got it there is a - puzzle that will go down in local history like the building of the - Pyramids.” - </p> - <p> - “Whiskey did it,” laughed Adele; “that will be the final explanation.” - </p> - <p> - “I think you are right,” agreed Miller. - </p> - <p> - Alan bolted his food in grum silence, unnoticed by the others. Adele's - very grace at the table, as she prepared Miller's coffee, and her apt - repartee added to his discomfiture. He excused himself from the table - before they had finished, mumbling something about seeing if the horses - were ready, and went into the office. The last blow to his temper was - dealt by Adele as she came from the dining-room. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Miller wants to drive me out in his buggy to show me his horses,” she - said, half smiling. “You won't mind, will you? You see, he 'll want his - team out there to get back in, and—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don't mind,” he told her. “I see you are bent on making a goose of - yourself. After what I've told you about Miller, if you still—” - </p> - <p> - But she closed his mouth with her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Leave him to me, brother,” she said, as she turned away. “I'm old enough - to take care of myself, and—and—well, I know men better than - you do.” - </p> - <p> - When Alan reached home he found that Miller and Adele had been there half - an hour. His mother met him at the door with a mysterious smile on her - sweet old face, as she nodded at the closed door of the parlor. - </p> - <p> - “Don't go in there now,” she whispered. “Adele and Mr. Miller have been - there ever since they come. I railly believe they are in love with each - other. I never saw young folks act more like it. When I met 'em it looked - jest like he wanted to kiss me, he was so happy. Now wouldn't it be fine - if they was to get married? He's the nicest man in the State, and the best - catch.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, mother,” said Alan, “you don't understand. Rayburn Miller is—” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Adele will know how to manage him,” broke in the old lady, too full - of her view of the romance to harken to his; “she ain't no fool, son. She - 'll twist him around her finger if she wants to. She's pretty, an' - stylish, an' as sharp as a brier. Ah, he's jest seen it all and wants her; - you can't fool me! I know how people act when they are in love. I've seen - hundreds, and I never saw a worse case on both sides than this is.” - </p> - <p> - Going around to the stables to see that his horses were properly attended - to, Alan met his uncle leaning over the rail-fence looking admiringly at a - young colt that was prancing around the lot. - </p> - <p> - “Christmas gift,” said the old man, suddenly. “I ketched you that time - shore pop.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you got ahead of me,” Alan admitted. - </p> - <p> - The old man came nearer to him, nodding his head towards the house. “Heerd - the news?” he asked, with a broad grin of delight. - </p> - <p> - “What news is that?” Alan asked, dubiously. “Young Miss,” a name given - Adele by the negroes, and sometimes used jestingly by the family—“Young - Miss has knocked the props clean from under Miller.” Alan frowned and hung - his head for a moment; then he said: - </p> - <p> - “Uncle Ab, do you remember what I told you about Miller's opinion of love - and women in general?” - </p> - <p> - The old man saw his drift and burst into a full, round laugh. - </p> - <p> - “I know you told me what he said about love an' women in general, but I - don't know as you said what he thought about women in <i>particular</i>. - This heer's a particular case. I tell you she's fixed 'im. Yore little sis - has done the most complete job out o' tough material I ever inspected. - He's a gone coon; he 'll never make another brag; he's tied hand an' - foot.” - </p> - <p> - Alan looked straight into his uncle's eyes. A light was breaking on him. - “Uncle Ab,” he said, “do you think he is—really in love with her?” - </p> - <p> - “Ef he ain't, an' don't ax yore pa an' ma fer 'er before a month's gone, I - 'll deed you my farm. Now, look heer. A feller knows his own sister less'n - he does anybody else; that's beca'se you never have thought of Adele - follerin' in the trail of womankind. You'd hate fer a brother o' that town - gal to be raisin' sand about you, wouldn't you? Well, you go right on an' - let them two kill the'r own rats.” - </p> - <p> - Alan and his uncle were returning to the house when Pole Baker dismounted - at the front gate and came into the yard. - </p> - <p> - Since becoming a landed proprietor his appearance had altered for the - better most materially. He wore a neat, well-fitting suit of clothes and a - new hat, but of the same broad dimensions as the old. Its brim was pinned - up on the right side by a little brass ornament. - </p> - <p> - “I seed Mr. Miller drive past my house awhile ago with Miss Adele,” he - said, “an' I come right over. I want to see all of you together.” - </p> - <p> - Just then Miller came out of the parlor and descended the steps to join - them. - </p> - <p> - “Christmas gift, Mr. Miller!” cried Pole. “I ketched you that time.” - </p> - <p> - “And if I paid up, you'd cuss me out,” retorted the lawyer, with a laugh. - “I haven't forgotten the row you raised about that suit of clothes. Well, - what's the news? How's your family?” - </p> - <p> - “About as common, Mr. Miller,” said Pole. “My wife's gittin' younger an' - younger ever'day. Sence she moved in 'er new house, an' got to - whitewashin' fences an' makin' flower-beds, an' one thing another, she - looks like a new person. I'd 'a' bought 'er a house long ago ef I'd 'a' - knowed she wanted it that bad. Oh, we put on the lugs now! We wipe with - napkins after eatin', an' my littlest un sets in a high-chair an' says - 'Please pass the gravy,' like he'd been off to school. Sally says she's - a-goin' to send 'em, an' I don't keer ef she does; they 'll stand head, ef - they go; the'r noggin' s look like squashes, but they're full o' seeds, - an' don't you ferget it.” - </p> - <p> - “That they are!” intoned Abner Daniel. - </p> - <p> - “I've drapped onto a little news,” said Pole. “You know what a old - moonshiner cayn't pick up in these mountains from old pards ain't wuth - lookin' fer.” - </p> - <p> - “Railroad?” asked Miller, interestedly. - </p> - <p> - “That's fer you-uns to make out,” said Baker. “Now, I ain't a-goin' to - give away my authority, but I rid twenty miles yesterday to substantiate - what I heerd, an' know it's nothin' but the truth. You all know old Bobby - Milburn's been buyin' timber-land up about yore property, don't you?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't know how much,” answered Miller, “but I knew he had secured - some.” - </p> - <p> - “Fust and last in the neighborhood o' six thousand acres,” affirmed Pole, - “an' he's still on the war-path. What fust attracted my notice was findin' - out that old Bobby hain't a dollar to his name. That made me suspicious, - an' I went to work to investigate.” - </p> - <p> - “Good boy!” said Uncle Abner, in an admiring undertone. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I found out he was usin' Wilson's money, an' secretly buyin' fer - him; an' what's more, he seems to have unlimited authority, an' a big bank - account to draw from.” - </p> - <p> - There was a startled pause. It was broken by Miller, whose eyes were - gleaming excitedly. - </p> - <p> - “It's blame good news,” he said, eying Alan. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think so?” said Alan, who was still under his cloud of displeasure - with his friend. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; it simply means that Wilson intends to build that road. He's been - quiet, and pretending indifference, for two reasons. First, to bring us to - closer terms, and next to secure more land. Alan, my boy, the plot - thickens! I'm getting that fellow right where I want him. Pole, you have - brought us a dandy Christmas gift, but I 'll be blamed if you get a thing - for it. I don't intend to get shot.” - </p> - <p> - Then they all went to find Bishop to tell him the news. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXXI - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0030" id="linkimage-0030"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9267.jpg" alt="9267 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9267.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - T was a cold, dry day about the middle of January. They were killing hogs - at the farm. Seven or eight negroes, men and women, had gathered from all - about in the neighborhood to assist in the work and get the parts of the - meat usually given away in payment for such services. - </p> - <p> - Two hogsheads for hot water were half buried in the ground. A big iron pot - with a fire beneath it was heating water and a long fire of logs heaped - over with big stones was near by. When hot, the stones were to be put into - the cooling water to raise the temperature, it being easier to do this - than to replace the water in the pot. The hogs to be killed were grunting - and squealing in a big pen near the barn. - </p> - <p> - Abner Daniel and old man Bishop were superintending these preparations - when Alan came from the house to say that Rayburn Miller had just ridden - out to see them on business. “I think it's the railroad,” Alan informed - his father, who always displayed signs of almost childish excitement when - the subject came up. They found Miller in the parlor being entertained by - Adele, who immediately left the room on their arrival. They all sat down - before the cheerful fire. Miller showed certain signs of embarrassment at - first, but gradually threw them off and got down to the matter in hand - quite with his office manner. - </p> - <p> - “I've got a proposition to make to you, Mr. Bishop,” he opened up, with a - slight flush on his face. “I've been making some inquiries about Wilson, - and I am more and more convinced that he intends to freeze us out—or - you rather—by holding off till you are obliged to sell your property - for a much lower figure than you now ask him for it.” - </p> - <p> - “You think so,” grunted Bishop, pulling a long face. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; but what I now want to do is to show him, indirectly, that we are - independent of him.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” ejaculated Bishop, even more dejectedly—“huh! I say!” - </p> - <p> - Alan was looking at Miller eagerly, as if trying to divine the point he - was about to make. “I must confess,” he smiled, “that I can' t well see - how we can show independence right now.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I think I see a way,” said Miller, the flush stealing over his face - again. “You see, there is no doubt that Wilson is on his high horse simply - because he thinks he could call on you for that twenty-five thousand - dollars and put you to some trouble raising it without—without, I - say, throwing your land on the market. I can' t blame him,” Miller went - on, smiling, “for it's only what any business man would do, who is out for - profit, but we must not knuckle to him.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh, huh!” Bishop grunted, in deeper despondency. - </p> - <p> - “How do you propose to get around the knuckling process?” asked Alan, who - had caught the depression influencing his parent. - </p> - <p> - “I'd simply take up that note,” said the lawyer. “You know, under the - contract, we are privileged to pay it to-morrow if we wish. It would - simply paralyze him. He's so confident that you can' t take it up that he - has not even written to ask if you want to renew it or not. Yes; he's - confident that he 'll rake in that security—so confident that he has - been, as you know, secretly buying land near yours.” - </p> - <p> - Old Bishop's eyes were wide open. In the somewhat darkened room the - firelight reflected in them showed like illuminated blood-spots. He said - nothing, but breathed heavily. - </p> - <p> - “But,” exclaimed Alan, “Ray, you know we—father has invested that - money, and the truth is, that he and mother have already had so much worry - over the business that they would rather let the land go at what was - raised on it than to—to run any more risks.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop groaned out his approval of this elucidation of his condition and - sat silently nodding his head. The very thought of further risks stunned - and chilled him. - </p> - <p> - Miller's embarrassment now descended on him in full force. - </p> - <p> - “I was not thinking of having your father disturb his investments,” he - said. “The truth is, I have met with a little financial disappointment in - a certain direction. For the last three months I have been raking and - scraping among the dry bones of my investments to get up exactly - twenty-five thousand dollars to secure a leading interest in a cotton mill - at Darley, of which I was to be president. I managed to get the money - together and only yesterday I learned that the Northern capital that was - to guarantee the thing was only in the corner of a fellow's eye up in - Boston—a man that had not a dollar on earth. Well, there you are! - I've my twenty-five thousand dollars, and no place to put it. I thought, - if you had just as soon owe me the money as Wilson, that you'd really be - doing me a favor to let me take up the note. You see, it would actually - floor him. He means business, and this would show him that we are not - asking any favors of him. In fact, I have an idea it would scare him out - of his skin. He'd think we had another opportunity of selling. I'm dying - to do this, and I hope you 'll let me work it. Really, I think you ought - to consent. I'd never drive you to the wall and—well—<i>he</i> - might.” - </p> - <p> - All eyes were on the speaker. Bishop had the dazed expression of a - bewildered man trying to believe in sudden good luck. Abner Daniel lowered - his head and shook with low, subdued laughter. - </p> - <p> - “You are a jim-dandy, young man,” he said to Miller. “That's all there is - about it. You take the rag off the bush. Oh, my Lord! They say in Alt's - meeting-house that it's a sin to play poker with no stakes, but Alf's in a - game with half the earth put up agin another feller's wad as big as a bale - o' hay. Play down, Alf. Play down. You've got a full hand an' plenty to - draw from.” - </p> - <p> - “We couldn't let you do this, Ray,” expostulated Alan. - </p> - <p> - “But I assure you it is merely a matter of business with me,” declared the - lawyer. “You know I'm interested myself, and I believe we shall come out - all right. I'm simply itching to do it.” - </p> - <p> - Bishop's face was ablaze. The assurance that a wise young business man - would consider a purchase of his of sufficient value to put a large amount - of money on pleased him, banished his fears, thrilled him. - </p> - <p> - “If you feel that way,” he said, smiling at the corners of his mouth, “go - ahead. I don't know but what you are plumb right. It will show Wilson that - we ain't beholden to him, an' will set 'im to work ef anything will.” - </p> - <p> - So it was finally settled, and no one seemed so well pleased with the - arrangement as Miller himself. Adele entered the room with the air of one - half fearful of intruding, and her three relatives quietly withdrew, - leaving her to entertain the guest. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what's the matter with your brother,” Miller remarked, as his - eyes followed Alan from the room. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, brother?” laughed Adele. “No one tries to keep up with his whims and - fancies.” - </p> - <p> - “But, really,” said Miller, in a serious tone, “he has mystified me - lately. I wonder if he has had bad news from Dolly. I've tried to get into - a confidential chat with him several times of late, but he seems to get - around it. Really, it seems to me, at times, that he treats me rather - coldly.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, if you waste time noticing Al you 'll become a beggar,” and Adele - gave another amused laugh. “Take my advice and let him alone.” - </p> - <p> - “I almost believe you know what ails him,” said Miller, eying her closely. - </p> - <p> - “I know what he <i>thinks</i> ails him,” the girl responded. - </p> - <p> - “And won't you tell me what—what he thinks ails him?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I couldn't do that,” answered our young lady, with a knowing smile. - “If you are ever any wiser on the subject you will have to get your wisdom - from him.” - </p> - <p> - She turned to the piano and began to arrange some scattered pieces of - music, and he remained on the hearth, his back to the fire, his brow - wrinkled in pleased perplexity. - </p> - <p> - “I 'll have to get my wisdom from him,” repeated Miller, pronouncing each - word with separate distinctness, as if one of them might prove the key to - the mystery. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I should think two wise men could settle a little thing like that. - If not, you may call in the third—you know there were three of you, - according to the Bible.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, so there were,” smiled Miller; “but it's hard to tell when we three - shall meet again. The last time I saw the other two they were having their - sandals half-soled for a tramp across the desert. I came this way to build - a railroad, and I believe I'm going to do it. That's linking ancient and - modern times together with a coupling-pin, isn't it?” - </p> - <p> - She came from the piano and stood by him, looking down into the fire. - “Ah,” she said, seriously, “if you could <i>only</i> do it!” - </p> - <p> - “Would you like it very much?” - </p> - <p> - “Very, very much; it means the world to us—to Alan, to father and - mother, and—yes, to me. I hunger for independence.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it shall be done,” he said, fervently. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXXII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0031" id="linkimage-0031"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9273.jpg" alt="9273 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9273.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - S the elevator in the big building was taking Rayburn Miller up to the - offices of the Southern Land and Timber Company, many reflections passed - hurriedly through his mind. - </p> - <p> - “You are going to get the usual cold shoulder from Wilson,” he mused; “but - he 'll put it up against something about as warm as he's touched in many a - day. If you don't make him squirm, it will be only because you don't want - to.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson was busy at his desk looking over bills of lading, receipts, and - other papers, and now and then giving instructions to a typewriter in the - corner of the room. - </p> - <p> - “Ahl how are you, Miller?” he said, indifferently, giving the caller his - hand without rising. “Down to see the city again, eh?” - </p> - <p> - Rayburn leaned on the top of the desk, and knocked the ashes from his - cigar with the tip of his little finger. - </p> - <p> - “Partly that and partly business,” he returned, carelessly. - </p> - <p> - “Two birds, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “That's about it. I concluded you were not coming up our way soon, and so - I decided to drop in on you.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, glad you did.” Wilson glanced at the papers on his desk and frowned. - “Wish I had more time at my disposal. I'd run up to the club with you and - show you my Kentucky thoroughbreds, but I realty am rushed, to-day - particularly.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I haven't a bit of time to spare myself! I take the afternoon train - home. The truth is, I came to see you for my clients, the Bishops.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, I see.” Wilson's face clouded over by some mechanical arrangement - known only to himself. “Well, I can' t realty report any progress in that - matter,” he said. “All the company think Bishop's figures are away out of - reason, and the truth is, right now, we are over head and ears in - operations in other quarters, and—well, you see how it is?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I think I do.” Miller smoked a moment. “In fact, I told my clients - last month that the matter was not absorbing your attention, and so they - gave up counting on you.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson so far forgot his pose that he looked up in a startled sort of way - and began to study Miller's smoke-wrapped profile. - </p> - <p> - “You say they are not—have not been counting on my company to—to - buy their land?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, no,” said Miller, in accents well resembling those of slow and - genuine surprise. “Why, you have not shown the slightest interest in the - matter since the day you made the loan, and naturally they ceased to think - you wanted the land. The only reason I called was that the note is payable - to-day, and—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, by Jove! that was careless of me. The interest is due. I knew it - would be all right, and I had no idea you would bother to run down for - that. Why, my boy, we could have drawn for it, you know.” - </p> - <p> - Miller smiled inwardly, as he looked calmly and fixedly through his smoke - into the unsuspecting visage upturned to him. - </p> - <p> - “But the note itself is payable to-day,” he said, closely on the alert for - a facial collapse; “and, while you or I might take up a paper for - twenty-five thousand dollars through a bank, old-fashioned people like Mr. - and Mrs. Bishop would feel safer to have it done by an agent. That's why I - came.” - </p> - <p> - Miller, in silent satisfaction, saw the face of his antagonist fall to - pieces like an artificial flower suddenly shattered. - </p> - <p> - “Pay the note?” gasped Wilson. “Why—” - </p> - <p> - Miller puffed at his cigar and gazed at his victim as if slightly - surprised over the assumption that his clients had not, all along, - intended to avail themselves of that condition in their contract. - </p> - <p> - “You mean that the Bishops are ready to—” Wilson began again on - another breath—“to pay us the twenty-five thousand dollars?” - </p> - <p> - “And the interest for six months,” quietly added Miller, reaching for a - match on the desk. “I reckon you've got the note here. I don't want to - miss my train.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson was a good business man, but his Puritanical training in New - England had not fitted him for wily diplomacy; besides, he had not - expected to meet a diplomat that day, and did not, even now, realize that - he was in the hands of one. He still believed that Miller was only a - half-educated country lawyer who had barely enough brains and experience - to succeed as a legal servant for mountain clients. Hence, he now made - little effort to conceal his embarrassment into which the sudden turn of - affairs had plunged him. In awkward silence he squirmed in his big chair. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, they can take up their note to-day if they wish,” he said, - with alarmed frankness. “I was not counting on it, though.” He rose to his - feet. Miller's watchful eye detected a certain trembling of his lower lip. - He thrust his hands into his pockets nervously; and in a tone of open - irritation he said to the young man at the typewriter: “Brown, I wish - you'd let up on that infernal clicking; sometimes I can stand it, and then - again I can' t. You can do those letters in the next room.” - </p> - <p> - When the young man had gone out, carrying his machine, Wilson turned to - Miller. “As I understand it, you, personally, have no interest in the - Bishop property?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, not a dollar!” smiled the lawyer. “I'm only acting for them.” - </p> - <p> - “Then”—Wilson drove his hands into his pockets again—“perhaps - you wouldn't mind telling me if the Bishops are on trade with other - parties. Are they?” - </p> - <p> - Miller smiled and shook his head. “As their lawyer, Mr. Wilson, I simply - couldn't answer that question.” - </p> - <p> - The blow was well directed and it struck a vulnerable spot. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon,” Wilson stammered. “I did not mean to suggest that you - would betray confidence.” He reflected a moment, and then he said, in a - flurried tone, “They have not actually sold out, have they?” - </p> - <p> - Miller was silent for a moment, then he answered: “I don't see any reason - why I may not answer that question I don't think my clients would object - to my saying that they have not yet accepted any offer.” - </p> - <p> - A look of relief suffused itself over Wilson's broad face. - </p> - <p> - “Then they are still open to accept their offer to me?” - </p> - <p> - Miller laughed as if highly amused at the complication of the matter. - </p> - <p> - “They are bound, you remember, only so long as you hold their note.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I tell you what to do,” proposed Wilson. “Go back and tell them not - to bother about payment, for a few days, anyway, and that we will soon - tell them positively whether we will pay their price or not. That's fair, - isn't it?” - </p> - <p> - “It might seem so to a man personally interested in the deal,” admitted - Miller, as the introduction to another of his blows from the shoulder; - “but as lawyer for my clients I can only obey orders, like the boy who - stood on the burning deck.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson's face fell. The remote clicking of the typewriter seemed to grate - upon his high-wrought nerves, and he went and slammed the partly opened - door, muttering something like an oath. On that slight journey, however, - he caught an idea. - </p> - <p> - “Suppose you wire them my proposition and wait here for a reply,” he - suggested. - </p> - <p> - Miller frowned. “That would do no good,” he said. “I'm sorry I can' t - explain fully, but the truth is this: I happen to know that they wish, for - reasons of their own, to take up the note you hold, and that nothing else - will suit them.” - </p> - <p> - At this juncture Wilson lost his grip on all self-possession, and - degenerated into the sullen anger of sharp and unexpected disappointment. - </p> - <p> - “I don't feel that we are being fairly treated,” he said. “We most - naturally assumed that your clients wanted to—to extend our option - on the property for at least another six months. We assumed that from the - fact that we had no notification from them that they would be ready to pay - the note to-day. That's where we feel injured, Mr. Miller.” - </p> - <p> - Rayburn threw his cigar into a cuspidor; his attitude of being a - non-interested agent was simply a stroke of genius. Behind this plea he - crouched, showing himself only to fire shots that played havoc with - whatever they struck. - </p> - <p> - “I believe my clients <i>did</i> feel, I may say, honor bound to you to - sell for the price they offered; but—now I may be mistaken—but - I'm sure they were under the impression, as I was, too, that you only - wanted the property provided you could build a railroad from Dar-ley to - it, and—” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that's true,” broke in Wilson. “That's quite true.” - </p> - <p> - “And,” finished Miller, still behind his inevitable fortification, “they - tell me that you have certainly shown indifference to the project ever - since the note was given. In fact, they asked me pointedly if I thought - you meant business, and I was forced, conscientiously, to tell them that I - thought you seemed to have other fish to fry.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson glared at the lawyer as if he wanted to kick him for a stupid idiot - who could not do two things at once—work for the interests of his - clients and not wreck his plans also. It had been a long time since he had - found himself in such a hot frying-pan. - </p> - <p> - “So you think the thing is off,” he said, desperately, probably recalling - several purchases of land he had made in the section he had expected to - develop. “You think it's off?” - </p> - <p> - “I hardly know what to say,” said Miller. “The old gentleman, Mr. Bishop, - is a slow-going old-timer, but his son is rather up to date, full of - energy and ambition. I think he's made up his mind to sell that property.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson went to his desk, hovered over it like a dark, human cloud, and - then reluctantly turned to the big iron safe against the wall, obviously - to get the note. His disappointment was too great for concealment. With - his fat, pink hand on the silver-plated combination-bolt he turned to - Miller again. - </p> - <p> - “Would you mind sitting down till I telephone one or two of the - directors?” - </p> - <p> - “Not at all,” said Miller, “if you 'll get me a cigar and the <i>Constitution</i>. - The Atlanta baseball team played Mobile yesterday, and I was wondering—” - </p> - <p> - “I don't keep track of such things,” said Wilson, coming back to his desk, - with an impatient frown, to ring his call-bell for the office-boy. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, I believe football is your national sport,” said Miller, with a - dry smile. “Well, it's only a difference between arms and legs—whole - bones and casualties.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson ordered the cigar and paper when the boy appeared, and, leaving the - lawyer suddenly, he went into the room containing the telephone, closing - the door after him. - </p> - <p> - In a few minutes he reappeared, standing before Miller, who was chewing a - cold cigar and attentively reading. He looked up at Wilson abstractedly. - </p> - <p> - “Bully for Atlanta!” he said. “The boys made ten runs before the Mobiles - had scored—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come down to business!” said the New-Eng-lander, with a ready-made - smile. “Honestly, I don't believe you drowsy Southerners ever will get - over your habit of sleeping during business hours. It seems to be bred in - the bone.” - </p> - <p> - Miller laughed misleadingly. “Try to down us at a horse-race and we 'll - beat you in the middle of the night. Hang it all, man, you don't know - human nature, that's all! How can you expect me, on my measly fees, to - dance a breakdown over business I am transacting for other people?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, that may account for it,” admitted Wilson, who seemed bent on being - more agreeable in the light of some fresh hopes he had absorbed from the - telephone-wires. “See here, I've got a rock-bottom proposal to make to - your people. Now listen, and drop that damned paper for a minute. By Jove! - if I had to send a man from your State to attend to legal business I'd - pick one not full of mental morphine.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you wouldn't?” Miller laid down the paper and assumed a posture - indicative of attention roused from deep sleep. “Fire away. I'm - listening.” - </p> - <p> - “I already had authority to act for the company, but I thought it best to - telephone some of the directors.” Wilson sat down in his chair and leaned - towards the lawyer. “Here's what we will do. The whole truth is, we are - willing to plank down the required one hundred thousand for that property, - provided we can lay our road there without incurring the expense of - purchasing the right of way. Now if the citizens along the proposed line - want their country developed bad enough to donate the right of way through - their lands, we can trade.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause. Then Miller broke it by striking a match on the sole of - his boot. He looked crosseyed at the flame as he applied it to his cigar. - “Don't you think your people could stand whatever value is appraised by - law in case of refusals along the line?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Wilson. “The price for the land is too steep for that. Your - clients have our ultimatum. What do you say? We can advertise a meeting of - citizens at Springtown, which is about the centre of the territory - involved, and if all agree to give the right of way it will be a trade. We - can have the meeting set for to-day two weeks. How does that strike you?” - </p> - <p> - “I'd have to wire my clients.” - </p> - <p> - “When can you get an answer?” - </p> - <p> - Miller looked at his watch. “By five o' clock this afternoon. The message - would have to go into the country.” - </p> - <p> - “Then send it off at once.” - </p> - <p> - A few minutes after five o' clock Miller sauntered into the office. Wilson - sat at his desk and looked up eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” he asked, almost under his breath. - </p> - <p> - The lawyer leaned on the top of the desk. “They are willing to grant you - the two weeks' time, provided you sign an agreement for your firm that you - will purchase their property at the price named at the expiration of that - time.” - </p> - <p> - “With the provision,” interpolated Wilson, “that a right of way is - donated.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, with that provision,” Miller nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Then sit down here and write out your paper.” - </p> - <p> - Miller complied as nonchalantly as if he were drawing up a bill of sale - for a worn-out horse. - </p> - <p> - “There you are,” he said, pushing the paper to Wilson when he had - finished. - </p> - <p> - Wilson read it critically. “It certainly is binding,” he said. “You people - may sleep during business hours, but you have your eyes open when you draw - up papers. However, I don't care; I want the Bishops to feel secure. They - must get to work to secure the right of way. It will be no easy job, I 'll - let you know. I've struck shrewd, obstinate people in my life, but those - up there beat the world. Noah couldn't have driven them in the ark, even - after the Flood set in.” - </p> - <p> - “You know something about them, then?” said Miller, laughing to himself - over the implied confession. - </p> - <p> - Wilson flushed, and then admitted that he had been up that way several - times looking the situation over. - </p> - <p> - “How about the charter?” asked Miller, indifferently. - </p> - <p> - “That's fixed. I have already seen to that.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it all depends on the right of way,” remarked the lawyer as he drew - a check from his pocket and handed it to Wilson. “Now get me that note,” - he said. - </p> - <p> - Wilson brought it from the safe. - </p> - <p> - “Turning this over cuts my option down to two weeks,” he said. “But we 'll - know at the meeting what can be done.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we 'll know then what they can do with <i>you</i>,” said Miller, - significantly, as he put the cancelled note in his pocket and rose to go. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXXIII - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0032" id="linkimage-0032"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9283.jpg" alt="9283 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9283.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HEN Miller's train reached Darley and he alighted in the car-shed, he was - met by a blinding snow-storm. He could see the dim lantern of the hotel - porter as he came towards him through the slanting feathery sheet and the - yet dimmer lights of the hotel. - </p> - <p> - “Heer! Marse Miller!” shouted the darky; “look out fer dat plank er you - 'll fall in er ditch. Marse Alan Bishop is at de hotel, an' he say tell - you ter stop dar—dat you couldn't git home in dis sto'm no how.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he's in town,” said Miller. “Well, I was thinking of spending the - night at the hotel, anyway.” - </p> - <p> - In the office of the hotel, almost the only occupant of the room besides - the clerk, sat Abner Daniel, at the red-hot coal stove. - </p> - <p> - “Why,” exclaimed Miller, in surprise, “I didn't know you were in town.” - </p> - <p> - “The fact is, we're all heer,” smiled the old man, standing up and - stretching himself. He looked as if he had been napping. “We fetched the - women in to do some tradin', an' this storm blowed up. We could 'a' made - it home all right,” he laughed out impulsively, “but the last one of 'em - wanted a excuse to stay over. They are et up with curiosity to know how - yore trip come out. They are all up in Betsy an' Alf's room. Go up?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I reckon I'd better relieve their minds.” - </p> - <p> - Abner offered to pilot him to the room in question, and when it was - reached the old man opened the door without knocking. “Heer's the man - you've been hankerin' to see all day,” he announced, jovially. “I fetched - 'im straight up.” - </p> - <p> - They all rose from their seats around the big grate-fire and shook hands - with the lawyer. - </p> - <p> - “He looks like he has news of some kind,” said Adele, who was studying his - face attentively. “Now, sir, sit down and tell us are we to be rich or - poor, bankrupt or robber.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't put the most likely word last,” said Abner, dryly. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” began Miller, as he sat down in the semicircle. “As it now stands, - we've got a chance to gain our point. I have a signed agreement—and - a good one—that your price will be paid if we can get the citizens - through whose property the road passes to donate a right of way. That's - the only thing that now stands between you and a cash sale.” - </p> - <p> - “They 'll do it, I think,” declared Alan, elatedly. - </p> - <p> - “I dunno about that,” said Abner. “It's owin' to whose land is to be - donated. Thar's some skunks over in them mountains that wouldn't let the - gates o' heaven swing over the'r property except to let themselves - through.” - </p> - <p> - No one laughed at this remark save Abner himself. Mrs. Bishop was staring - straight into the fire. Her husband leaned forward and twirled his stiff - fingers slowly in front of him. - </p> - <p> - “Huh! So it depends on <i>that</i>,” he said. “Well, it <i>does</i> look - like mighty nigh anybody ud ruther see a railroad run out thar than not, - but I'm no judge.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it is to be tested two weeks from now,” Miller said. And then he - went into a detailed and amusing account of how he had brought Wilson to - terms. - </p> - <p> - “Well, that beats the Dutch!” laughed Abner. “I'd ruther 'a' been thar 'an - to a circus. You worked 'im to a queen's taste—as fine as split - silk. You 'n' Pole Baker'd make a good team—you to look after the - bon-tons an' him to rake in the scum o' mankind. I don't know but Pole - could dress up an' look after both ends, once in a while, ef you wanted to - take a rest.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm always sorry when I heer of it bein' necessary to resort to - trickery,” ventured Mrs. Bishop, in her mild way. “It don't look exactly - right to me.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't like it, nuther,” said Bishop. “Ef the land's wuth the money, an'—” - </p> - <p> - “The trouble with Alf,” broke in Abner, “is that with all his Bible - readin' he never seems to git any practical benefit out'n it. Now, when - I'm in doubt about whether a thing's right or wrong, I generally find some - Scriptural sanction fer the side I want to win. Some'rs in the Bible thar - was a big, rich king that sent a pore feller off to git 'im kilt in battle - so he could add his woman to his collection. Now, no harm ever come to the - king that I know of, an', fer my part, I don't think what you did to yank - Wilson into line was nigh as bad, beca'se you was work-in' fer friends. - Then Wilson was loaded fer bear his-se'f. War's over, I reckon, but when - Wilson's sort comes down heer expectin' to ride rough-shod over us agin, I - feel like givin' a war-whoop an' rammin' home a Minié ball.” - </p> - <p> - “I sha 'n't worry about the morality of the thing,” said Miller. “Wilson - was dead set on crushing you to powder. I saw that. Besides, if he takes - the property and builds the road, he 'll make a lot of money out of it.” - </p> - <p> - After this the conversation languished, and, thinking that the old people - might wish to retire, Miller bade them good-night and went to his own - room. - </p> - <p> - A snow of sufficient thickness for sleighing in that locality was a rare - occurrence, and the next morning an odd scene presented itself in front of - the hotel. The young men of the near-by stores had hastily improvised - sleds by taking the wheels from buggies and fastening the axles to rough - wooden runners, and were making engagements to take the young ladies of - the town sleighing. - </p> - <p> - “Have you ever ridden in a sleigh?” Miller asked Adele, as they stood at a - window in the parlor witnessing these preparations. - </p> - <p> - “Never in my life,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you shall,” he said. “I 'll set a carpenter at work on my buggy, - and be after you in an hour. Get your wraps. My pair of horses will make - one of those sleds fairly spin.” - </p> - <p> - About eleven o' clock that morning Alan saw them returning from their - ride, and, much to his surprise, he noted that Dolly Barclay was with - them. As they drew up at the entrance of the hotel, Alan doffed his hat - and stepped forward to assist the ladies out of the sled. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Dolly won't stop,” said Miller. “Get in and drive her around. She's - hardly had a taste of it; we only picked her up as we passed her house.” - </p> - <p> - Alan's heart bounded and then it sank. Miller was smiling at him - knowingly. “Go ahead,” he said, pushing him gently towards the sled. “It's - all right.” - </p> - <p> - Hardly knowing if he were acting wisely, Alan took the reins and sat down - by Dolly. - </p> - <p> - Adele stepped up behind to say good-bye to Dolly, and they kissed each - other. It was barely audible, and yet it reached the ears of the restive - horses and they bounded away like the wind. - </p> - <p> - “A peculiar way to start horses,” Alan laughed. - </p> - <p> - “A pleasant way,” she said. “Your sister is a dear, dear girl.” - </p> - <p> - Then he told her his fears in regard to what her father would think of his - driving with her. - </p> - <p> - “He's out of town to-day,” she answered, with a frank upward glance, “and - mother wouldn't care.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I'm going to enjoy it fully,” he said. “I've been dying to see you, - Dolly.” - </p> - <p> - “And do you suppose I haven't wanted to see you? When Mr. Miller proposed - this just now it fairly took my breath away. I was afraid you might happen - not to be around the hotel. Oh, there is so much I want to say—and - so little time.” - </p> - <p> - “When I'm with you I can' t talk,” he said. “It seems, in some way, to - take up time like the ticking of a clock. I simply want to close my eyes, - and—be with you, Dolly—<i>YOU</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, but we must be practical, and think of the future. Mr. Miller - tells me there is a chance for your big scheme to succeed. Oh, if it only - would!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, a pretty good chance,” he told her; “but even then your father—” - </p> - <p> - “He'd not hold out against you then,” said Dolly, just for an impulsive - moment clasping his arm as they shot through a snow-drift and turned a - corner of the street leading into the country. - </p> - <p> - “Then it must succeed,” he said, looking at her tenderly. “It <i>must</i>, - Dolly.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall pray for it—that and nothing else.” - </p> - <p> - Feeling the slack reins on their backs, the horses slowed up till they - were plodding along lazily. Suddenly the sled began to drag on the clay - road where the wind had bared it of snow, and the horses stopped of their - own accord, looking back at their increased burden inquiringly. Alan made - no effort to start them on again. It was a sequestered spot, well hidden - from the rest of the road by an old hedge of Osage orange bushes. - </p> - <p> - “We must not stop, <i>dear</i>,” Dolly said, laying her hand again on his - arm. “You know driving is—is different from this. As long as we are - moving in any direction, I have no scruples, but to stop here in the road—no, - it won't do.” - </p> - <p> - “I was just wondering if we can start them,” he said, a mischievous look - in his laughing eye. - </p> - <p> - “Start them?” She extended her hand for the reins, but he held them out of - her reach. “Why, what do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, you saw the way they were started at the hotel,” he answered, in - quite a serious tone. “Ray has trained them-that way. They won't budge an - inch unless—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you silly boy!” Dolly was flushing charmingly. - </p> - <p> - “It's true,” he said. “I'm sorry if you object, for it's absolutely the - only available way.” - </p> - <p> - She raised her full, trusting eyes to his. - </p> - <p> - “You make me want to kiss you, Alan, but—” - </p> - <p> - He did not let her finish. Putting his arm around her, he drew her close - to him and kissed her on the lips. “Now, darling,” he said, “you are - mine.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am yours, Alan.” - </p> - <p> - As they were nearing her house he told her that Wilson had agents out - secretly buying land, and that she must not allow her father to dispose of - his timbered interests until it was decided whether the railroad would be - built. - </p> - <p> - She promised to keep an eye on the Colonel's transactions and do all she - could to prevent him from taking a false step. “You may not know it,” she - said, “but I'm his chief adviser. He 'll be apt to mention any offer he - gets to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, don't tell him about the railroad unless you have to,” he said, in - parting with her at the gate. “But it would be glorious to have him profit - by our scheme, and I think he will.” - </p> - <p> - “We are going to hope for success, anyway, aren't we?” she said, leaning - over the gate. “I have believed in you so much that I feel almost sure you - are to be rewarded.” - </p> - <p> - “Miller thinks the chances are good,” he told her, “but father is afraid - those men over there will do their best to ruin the whole thing.” - </p> - <p> - Dolly waved her handkerchief to some one at a window of the house. “It's - mother,” she said. “She's shaking her finger at me.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon she's mad at me,” said Alan, disconsolately. - </p> - <p> - “Not much,” Dolly laughed. “She's simply crazy to come out and gossip with - us. She would, too, if she wasn't afraid of father. Oh, young man, you 'll - have a mother-in-law that will reverse the order of things! Instead of her - keeping you straight, you 'll have to help us manage her. Father says - she's 'as wild as a buck.'” - </p> - <p> - They both laughed from the fulness of their happiness. A buggy on runners - dashed by. It contained a pair of lovers, who shouted and waved their - hands. The sun was shining broadly. The snow would not last long. The - crudest sled of all passed in the wake of the other. It was simply a plank - about twelve inches wide and ten feet long to which a gaunt, limping horse - was hitched. On the plank stood a triumphant lad balancing himself with - the skill of a bareback rider. His face was flushed; he had never been so - full of joy and ozone. From the other direction came a gigantic concern - looking like a snow-plough or a metropolitan street-sweeper. It was a - sliding road-wagon to which Frank Hillhouse had hitched four sturdy mules. - The wagon was full of girls. Frank sat on the front seat cracking a whip - and smoking. A little negro boy sat astride of the leading mule, digging - his rag-clothed heels into the animal's side. Frank bowed as he passed, - but his face was rigid. - </p> - <p> - “He didn't intend to ask me,” said Dolly. “He hardly speaks to me since—” - </p> - <p> - “Since what?” Alan questioned. - </p> - <p> - “Since I asked him not to come to see me so often. I had to do it. He was - making a fool of himself. It had to stop.” - </p> - <p> - “You refused him?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; but you must go now.” Dolly was laughing again. “Mother will be out - here in a minute; she can't curb her curiosity any longer. She'd make you - take her riding, and I wouldn't have you do it for the world. Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, you must hope for the best, Alan.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm going to. Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXXIV - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0033" id="linkimage-0033"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9292.jpg" alt="9292 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9292.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - OLLY had the opportunity to warn her father in regard to his financial - interests sooner than she expected. The very next morning, as she sat - reading at a window in the sitting-room, she overheard the Colonel - speaking to her mother about an offer he had just had for his mountain - property. - </p> - <p> - “I believe it's a good chance for me to get rid of it,” he was saying, as - he stood at the mantel-piece dipping his pipe into his blue tobacco-jar. - </p> - <p> - “I never did see any sense in paying taxes on land you have never seen,” - said Mrs. Barclay, at her sewing-machine. “Surely you can put the money - where it will bring in something.” - </p> - <p> - “Milburn wants it because there is about a hundred acres that could be - cleared for cultivation. I'm of the opinion that it won't make as good - soil as he thinks, but I'm not going to tell him that.” - </p> - <p> - “Would you be getting as much as it cost you?” asked Mrs. Barclay, - smoothing down a white hem with her thumb-nail. - </p> - <p> - “About five hundred more,” her husband chuckled. “People said when I - bought it that I was as big a fool as old Bishop, but you see I've already - struck a purchaser at a profit.” - </p> - <p> - Then Dolly spoke up from behind her newspaper: “I wouldn't sell it, papa,” - she said, coloring under the task before her. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you wouldn't?” sniffed her father. “And why?” - </p> - <p> - “Because it's going to be worth a good deal more money,” she affirmed, - coloring deeper and yet looking her parent fairly in the eyes. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Barclay broke into a rippling titter as she bent over her work. “Alan - Bishop put that in her head,” she said. “They think, the Bishops do, that - they've got a gold-mine over there.” - </p> - <p> - “You must not sell it, papa,” Dolly went on, ignoring her mother's thrust. - “I can't tell you why I don't want you to, but you must not—you 'll - be sorry if you do.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't know how I'm to keep on paying your bills for flimflam frippery - if I don't sell something,” retorted the old man, almost and yet not quite - angry. Indirectly he was pleased at her valuation of his property, for he - had discovered that her judgment was good. - </p> - <p> - “And she won't let Frank Hillhouse help,” put in Mrs. Barclay, teasingly. - “Poor fellow! I'm afraid he 'll never get over it. He's taken to running - around with school-girls—that's always a bad sign.” - </p> - <p> - “A girl ought to be made to listen to reason,” fumed Barclay, goaded on to - this attack by his wife, who well knew his sore spots, and liked to rasp - them. - </p> - <p> - “A girl will listen to the right sort of reason,” retorted Dolly, who was - valiantly struggling against an outburst. “Mamma knows how I feel.” - </p> - <p> - “I know that you are bent on marrying a man without a dollar to his name,” - said her father. “You want to get into that visionary gang that will spend - all I leave you in their wild-cat investments, but I tell you I will cut - you out of my property if you do. Now, remember that. I mean it.” - </p> - <p> - Dolly crushed the newspaper in her lap and rose. “There is no good in - quarrelling over this again,” she said, coldly. “Some day you will - understand the injustice you are doing Alan Bishop. I could make you see - it now, but I have no right to explain.” And with that she left the room. - </p> - <p> - Half an hour later, from the window of her room up-stairs, she saw old - Bobby Milburn open the front gate. Under his slouch hat and big gray shawl - he thumped up the gravelled walk and began to scrape his feet on the - steps. There was a door-bell, with a handle like that of a coffee-mill, to - be turned round, but old Bobby, like many of his kind, either did not know - of its existence, or, knowing, dreaded the use of innovations that - sometimes made even stoics like himself feel ridiculous. His method of - announcing himself was by far more sensible, as it did not even require - the removal of his hands from his pockets; and, at the same time, helped - divest his boots of mud. He stamped on the floor of the veranda loudly and - paused to listen for the approach of some one to admit him. Then, as no - one appeared, he clattered along the veranda to the window of the - sitting-room and peered in. Colonel Barclay saw him and opened the door, - inviting the old fellow into the sitting-room. Old Bobby laid his hat on - the floor beside his chair as he sat down, but he did not unpin his shawl. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I've come round to know what's yore lowest notch, Colonel,” he - said, gruffly, as he brushed his long, stringy hair back from his ears and - side whiskers. “You see, it's jest this way. I kin git a patch o' land - from Lank Buford that will do me, in a pinch, but I like yore'n a leetle - grain better, beca'se it's nigher my line by a quarter or so; but, as I - say, I kin make out with Buford's piece; an' ef we cayn't agree, I 'll - have to ride over whar he is workin' in Springtown.” - </p> - <p> - At this juncture Dolly came into the room. She shook hands with the - visitor, who remained seated and mumbled out some sort of gruff greeting, - and went to her chair near the window, taking up her paper again. Her - eyes, however, were on her father's face. - </p> - <p> - “I hardly know what to say,” answered Barclay, deliberately. “Your price - the other day didn't strike me just right, and so I really haven't been - thinking about it.” - </p> - <p> - There was concession enough, Dolly thought, in Milburn's eye, if not in - his voice, when he spoke. “Well,” he said, carelessly, “bein' as me'n you - are old friends, an' thar always was a sort o' neighborly feelin' betwixt - us, I 'll agree, if we trade, to hire a lawyer an' a scribe to draw up the - papers an' have 'em duly recorded. You know that's always done by the - party sellin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that's a <i>little</i> thing,” said the Colonel; but his watchful - daughter saw that the mere smallness of Milburn's raise in his offer had - had a depressing effect on her father's rather doubtful valuation of the - property in question. The truth was that Wilson had employed the shrewdest - trader in all that part of the country, and one who worked all the more - effectively for his plainness of dress and rough manner. “That's a little - thing,” went on the Colonel, “but here's what I 'll do—” - </p> - <p> - “Father,” broke in Dolly, “don't make a proposition to Mr. Milburn. Please - don't.” - </p> - <p> - Milburn turned to her, his big brows contracting in surprise, but he - controlled himself. “Heigho!” he laughed, “so you've turned trader, too, - Miss Dolly? Now, I jest wish my gals had that much enterprise; they git - beat ef they buy a spool o' thread.” - </p> - <p> - The Colonel frowned and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly with a real tone of - reproof. “Don't interfere in your father's business,” she said. “He can - attend to it.” - </p> - <p> - The Colonel was not above making capital of the interruption, and he - smiled down on the shaggy visitor. - </p> - <p> - “She's been deviling the life out of me not to part with that land. They - say women have the intuition to look ahead better than men. I don't know - but I ought to listen to her, but she ain't running me, and as I was about - to say—” - </p> - <p> - “Wait just one minute, papa!” insisted Dolly, with a grim look of - determination on her face. “Just let me speak to you a moment in the - parlor, and then you can come back to Mr. Milburn.” - </p> - <p> - The face of the Colonel darkened under impatience, but he was afraid - failure to grant his daughter's request would look like over-anxiety to - close with Mil-burn, and so he followed her into the parlor across the - hallway. - </p> - <p> - “Now, what on earth is the matter with you?” he demanded, sternly. “I have - never seen you conduct yourself like this before.” - </p> - <p> - She faced him, touching his arms with her two hands. - </p> - <p> - “Father, don't be angry with me,” she said, “but when you know what I do, - you will be glad I stopped you just now. Mr. Milburn is not buying that - land for his own use.” - </p> - <p> - “He isn't?” exclaimed the Colonel. - </p> - <p> - “No; he's secretly employed by a concern worth over two million dollars—the - Southern Land and Timber Company of Atlanta.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” the word came out as suddenly as if some one had struck him on the - breast. - </p> - <p> - “No,” answered the girl, now pale and agitated. “To save Mr. Bishop from - loss, Alan and Rayburn Miller have worked up a scheme to build a railroad - from Darley to the Bishop property. All arrangements have been made. There - can be no hitch in it unless the citizens refuse to grant a right of way. - In a week from now a meeting is to be advertised. Of course, it is not a - certainty, but you can see that the chance is good, and you ought not to - sacrifice your land.” - </p> - <p> - “Good Heavens!” ejaculated Barclay, his eyes distended, “is this a fact?” - </p> - <p> - “I am telling you what I have really no right to reveal,” said Dolly, “but - I promised Alan not to let you sell if I could help it.” - </p> - <p> - The Colonel was staggered by the revelation; his face was working under - strong excitement. “I thought that old rascal”—he meant Milburn—“was - powerfully anxious to trade. Huh! Looky' here, daughter, this news is - almost too good to be true. Why, another railroad would make my town-lots - bound up like fury, and as for this mountain-land—whew! It may be as - you say. Ray Miller certainly is a wheel-horse.” - </p> - <p> - “It was not his idea,” said Dolly, loyally. “In fact, he tried his best to - discourage Alan at first—till he saw what could be done. Since then - he's been secretly working at it night and day.” - </p> - <p> - “Whew!” whistled the Colonel. “I don't care a cent <i>whose</i> idea it - is; if it goes through it's a good one, and, now that I think of it, the - necessary capital is all that is needed to make a big spec' over there.” - </p> - <p> - “So you won't sell to Mr. Milburn, then?” asked Dolly, humbly grateful for - her father's change of mood. - </p> - <p> - “Sell to that old dough-faced scamp?” snorted Barclay. “Well, he 'll think - I won't in a minute! Do you reckon I don't want to have some sort o' - finger in the pie? Whether the road's built or not, I want my chance.” - </p> - <p> - “But remember I am giving away state secrets,” said Dolly. “He must not - know that you have heard about the road.” - </p> - <p> - “I 'll not give that away,” the old man promised, with a smile, and he - turned to the door as if eager to face Milburn. “Huh! That old scamp - coming here to do me one! The idea!” - </p> - <p> - The two men, as they faced each other a moment later, presented an - interesting study of human forces held well in check. The Colonel leaned - on the mantel-piece and looked down at the toe of his boot, with which he - pushed a chunk of wood beneath the logs. - </p> - <p> - “You never can tell about a woman' s whims, Mil-burn,” he said. “Dolly's - set her heart on holding onto that land, and I reckon I'm too easily - wriggled about by my women folks. I reckon we'd better call it off.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, all right—all right!” said Milburn, with a start and a sharp - contraction of his brows. “I'm that away some myse'f. My gals git me into - devilish scrapes sometimes, an' I'm always sayin' they got to stop it. A - man loses too much by lettin' 'em dabble in his business. But I was jest - goin' to say that I mought raise my bid fifty cents on the acre ruther - than trapse away over to Springtown to see Buford.” - </p> - <p> - There was silence through which several kinds of thoughts percolated. The - raise really amounted to so much that it materially increased Barclay's - growing conviction that the railroad was next to a certainty. “Huh!” he - grunted, his eyes ablaze with the amusement of a winner. “I wouldn't - listen to less than a dollar more on the acre.” And as the gaze of Milburn - went down reflectively the Colonel winked slyly, even triumphantly, at his - smiling daughter and said: “Dolly thinks it will make good land for a - peach-orchard. Lots of money is being made that way.” - </p> - <p> - “Bosh!” grunted Milburn. “It don't lie right fer peaches. You kin git jest - as much property nigh the railroad as you want fer peaches. You are a hard - man to trade with, but I reckon I 'll have to take yore offer of—” - </p> - <p> - “Hold on, hold on!” laughed the Colonel, his hand upraised. “I didn't say - I'd <i>take</i> that price. I just said I wouldn't listen to less than a - dollar raise. I've listened to many a thing I didn't jump at, like a frog - in muddy water, not knowing what he's going to butt against.” - </p> - <p> - Under his big shawl Milburn rose like a tent blown upward by wind. He was - getting angry as he saw his commission money taking wing and flitting out - of sight. He had evidently counted on making an easy victim of Barclay. - For a moment he stood twisting his heavy, home-knit gloves in his horny - hands. - </p> - <p> - “Now if it's a fair question,” he said, as the last resort of a man ready - and willing to trade at any reasonable cost, “what <i>will</i> you take, - cash down, on your honor between us—me to accept or decline?” - </p> - <p> - The Colonel's pleasure was of the bubbling, overflowing kind. Every move - made by Milburn was adding fuel to his hopes of the proposed railroad, and - to his determination to be nobody's victim. - </p> - <p> - “Look here,” he said, “that land has been rising at such a rate since you - came in that I'm actually afraid to let it go. By dinner-time it may make - me rich. Dolly, I believe, on my word, Milburn has discovered gold over - there. Haven't you, Milburn? Now, honor bright.” - </p> - <p> - “It will be a long time before you find gold or anything else on that - land,” Milburn retorted, as he reached for his hat and heavily strode from - the room. - </p> - <p> - “Well! I do declare,” and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly and her father. - “What on earth does this mean?” The Colonel laughed out, then slapped his - hand over his mouth, as he peered from the window to see if Milburn was - out of hearing. “It's just this way—” - </p> - <p> - “Mind, father!” cautioned Dolly. “Do you want it to be all over town by - dinner-time?” - </p> - <p> - “Dolly!” cried Mrs. Barclay, “the idea of such a thing!” - </p> - <p> - Dolly smiled and patted her mother on the cheek. - </p> - <p> - “Don't tell her, papa,” she said, with decision. - </p> - <p> - “The truth is,” said the Colonel, “Dolly really wants to plant peaches. I - don't think there's much in it, but she will have her way.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I call that <i>mean</i> of you,” retorted Mrs. Barclay, dark with - vexation. “Well, miss, I 'll bet you didn't tell your father who you went - sleigh-riding with.” - </p> - <p> - The old man frowned suddenly. “Not with Alan Bishop,” he said, “after my - positive orders?” - </p> - <p> - “He came to tell me about the—the”—Dolly glanced at her mother - suddenly—“about the peaches, papa.” - </p> - <p> - “Well”—the Colonel was waxing angry—“I won't have it—that's - all. I won't have you—” - </p> - <p> - “Wait, papa,” entreated the girl, sweetly, “wait till we see about the—peaches!” - And, with a little teasing laugh, she left the room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - XXXV - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0034" id="linkimage-0034"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;"> - <img src="images/9300.jpg" alt="9300 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9300.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE mass-meeting at Springtown was a most important event. It was held in - the court-house in the centre of the few straggling houses which made up - the hamlet. The entire Bishop family, including the servants, attended. - Pole Baker brought his wife and all the children in a new spring-wagon. - Darley society was represented, as the Springtown <i>Gazette</i> - afterwards put it, by the fairest of the fair, Miss Dolly Barclay, - accompanied by her mother and father. - </p> - <p> - The court-house yard was alive with groups of men eagerly talking over the - situation. Every individual whose land was to be touched by the proposed - road was on hand to protect his rights. Pole Baker was ubiquitous, trying - to ascertain the drift of matters. He was, however, rather unsuccessful. - He discovered that many of the groups ceased to talk when he entered them. - “Some 'n' s up,” he told Alan and Miller in the big, bare-looking - court-room. “I don't know what it is, but I smell a rat, an' it ain't no - little one, nuther.” - </p> - <p> - “Opposition,” said Miller, gloomily. “I saw that as soon as I came. If - they really were in favor of the road they'd be here talking it over with - us.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm afraid that's it,” said Alan. “Joe Bartell is the most interested, - and he seems to be a sort of ringleader. I don't like the way he looks. I - saw him sneer at Wilson when he drove up just now. I wish Wilson hadn't - put on so much style—kid gloves, plug hat, and a negro driver.” - </p> - <p> - “No, that won't go down with this crowd,” agreed Miller. “It might in the - slums of Boston, but not with these lords of the mountains. As for - Bartell, I think I know what ails him. He's going to run for the - legislature and thinks he can make votes by opposing us—convincing - his constituency that we represent moneyed oppression. Well, he may down - us, but it's tough on human progress.” - </p> - <p> - Alan caught Dolly's eye and bowed. She was seated near her father and - mother, well towards the judge's stand. She seemed to have been observing - the faces of the two friends, and to be affected by their serious - expressions. Adele sat at the long wood stove, several yards from her - parents, who appeared quite as if they were in church waiting for service - to begin. Abner Daniel leaned in the doorway opening into one of the - jury-rooms. Wilson had given him a fine cigar, which he seemed to be - enjoying hugely. - </p> - <p> - At the hour appointed for the meeting, to open, a young man who held the - office of bailiff in the county, and seemed proud of his stentorian voice, - opened one of the windows and shouted: - </p> - <p> - “Come in to court! Come in to court!” and the motley loiterers below began - to clatter up the broad stairs and fall into the seats. Joe Bartell, a - short, thick-set man in the neighborhood of fifty, with a florid face and - a shock of reddish hair, led about twenty men up the aisle to the - jury-benches at the right of the stand. They were the land-owners whose - consent to grant the right of way was asked. Stern opposition was clearly - written on the leader's brow and more or less distinctly reflected on the - varying faces of his followers. - </p> - <p> - “Ef we needed it, it ud be a different matter,” Miller overheard him say - in a sudden lull, as the big room settled down into sudden quiet, “but we - kin do without it. We've got along so fur an' we kin furder. All of us has - got good teams.” - </p> - <p> - Wilson, in his crisp, brusque way, made the opening speech. He told his - hearers just what his company proposed to do and in much the same - cold-blooded way as he would have dictated a letter to his stenographer, - correctly punctuating the text by pauses, and yet, in his own way, - endeavoring to be eloquent. He and his capital were going to dispel - darkness where it had reigned since the dawn of civilization; people - living there now would not recognize the spot ten years from the day the - first whistle of a locomotive shrilled through those rocky gorges and - rebounded from those lofty peaks—silent fingers pointing to God and - speaking of a past dead and gone. All that was needed, he finished, was - the consent of the property-owners appealed to; who, he felt confident, - would not stand in their own light. They looked like intelligent men, and - he believed they did not deceive appearances. - </p> - <p> - He had hardly taken his seat when Joe Bartell stood up. Alan and Miller - exchanged ominous glances. They had at once recognized the - inappropriateness of Wilson's speech, and did not like the white, - twitching sneer on Bartell's smooth-shaven face. It was as if Bartell had - been for a long time seeking just such an opportunity to make himself felt - in the community, and there was no doubt that Wilson's almost dictatorial - speech had made a fine opening for him. - </p> - <p> - “Fellow-citizens, an' ladies an' gentlemen,” he began, “we are glad to - welcome amongst us a sort of a second savior in our Sodom an' Gomorry of - cracker-dom. What the gentleman with the plug hat an' spike-toe shoes - ain't a-goin' to do fer us the Lord couldn't. He looks nice an' talks - nice, an', to use his words, I don't believe he deceives appearances. I - 'll bet one thing, an' that is 'at he won't deceive us. Accordin' to him - we need 'im every hour, as the Sunday-school song puts it. Yes, he's - a-goin' to he'p us powerful an' right off. An', fellow-citizens, I'm heer - to propose a vote o' thanks. He's from away up in Boston, whar, they tell - me, a nigger sets an' eats at the same table with the whites. When his - sort come this away durin' the war, with all the'r up-to-date impliments - of slaughter, they laid waste to ever'thing they struck, shot us like - rabbits in holes, an' then went back an' said they'd had a good hunt. But - they've been livin' high up thar sence the war an' the'r timber is - a-playin' out, an' they want some more now, an' they <i>want it bad</i>. - So they send the'r representatives out to find it an' lay hold of it. How - does he happen to come heer? As well as I kin make out, old Alf Bishop, a - good man an' a Southern soldier—a man that I hain't got nothin' - agin, except maybe he holds his head too high, made up his mind awhile - back that lumber would be in demand some day, an' he set to work buyin' - all the timber-land he could lay his hands on. Then, when he had more'n he - could tote, an' was about to go under, he give this gentleman a' option on - it. Well, so fur so good; but, gentlemen, what have <i>we</i> got to do - with this trade? Nothin' as I kin see. But we are expected to yell an' - holler, an' deed 'em a free right of way through our property so they kin - ship the timber straight through to the North an' turn it into cold Yankee - coin. We don't count in this shuffle, gentlemen. We git our pay fer our - land in bein' glad an' heerin' car-bells an' steam-whistles in the middle - o' the night when we want to sleep. The engynes will kill our hogs, - cattle, an' hosses, an' now an' then break the neck o' some chap that - wasn't hit in the war, but we mustn't forget to be glad an' bend the knee - o' gratitude. Of course, we all know the law kin compel us to give the - right of way, but it provides fer just and sufficient payment fer the - property used; an', gentlemen, I'm agin donations. I'm agin' em tooth an' - toe-nail.” - </p> - <p> - There was thunderous and ominous applause when Bartell sat down. Wilson - sat flushed and embarrassed, twirling his gloves in his hands. He had - expected anything but this personal fusillade. He stared at Miller in - surprise over that gentleman's easy, half-amused smile as he stood up. - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen,” he began, “and ladies,” he added, with a bow to the right and - left. “As many of you know, I pretend to practise law a little, and I want - to say now that I'm glad Mr. Bartell ain't in the profession. A lawyer - with his keen wit and eloquence could convict an innocent mother before a - jury of her own children. [Laughter.] And that's the point, gentlemen; we - are innocent of the charges against us. I am speaking now of my clients, - the Bishops. They are deeply interested in the development of this - section. The elder Bishop does hold his head high, and in this case he - held it high enough to smell coming prosperity in the air. He believed it - would come, and that is why he bought timber-lands extensively. As for the - accused gentleman from the Hub of the Universe, I must say that I have - known of him for several years and have never heard a word against his - character. He is not a farmer, but a business man, and it would be unfair - to judge him by any other standard. He is not only a business man, but a - big one. He handles big things. This railroad is going to be a big thing - for you and your children. Yes, Wilson is all right. He didn't fight in - the late unpleasantness. He tells the women he was too young; but I - believe he hadn't the heart to fight a cause as just as ours. His only - offence is in the matter of wearing sharp-toed shoes. There is no law - against 'em in Atlanta, and he's simply gotten careless. He is ignorant of - our ideas of proper dress, as befitting a meek and lowly spirit, which, in - spite of appearances, I happen to know Wilson possesses. However, I have - heard him say that these mountains produce the best corn liquor that ever - went down grade in his system. He's right. It's good. Pole Baker says it's - good, and he ought to know. [Laughter, in which Pole joined - good-naturedly.] That reminds me of a story,” Miller went on. “They tell - this of Baker. They say that a lot of fellows were talking of the - different ways they would prefer to meet death if it had to come. One said - drowning, another shooting, another poisoning, and so on; but Pole - reserved his opinion to the last. When the crowd urged him to say what - manner of death he would select, if he had to die and had his choice, he - said: 'Well, boys, ef I had to go, I'd like to be melted up into puore - corn whiskey an' poured through my throat tell thar wasn't a drap left of - me.'[Laughter and prolonged applause.] And Wilson said further, gentlemen - and ladies, that he believed the men and women of this secluded section - were, in their own way, living nearer to God than the inhabitants of the - crowded cities. Wilson is not bad, even if he has a hang-dog look. A - speech like Bartell's just now would give a hang-dog look to a - paling-fence. Wilson is here to build a railroad for your good and - prosperity, and he can' t build one where there is nothing to haul out. If - he buys up timber for his company, it is the only way to get them to back - him in the enterprise. Now, gentlemen of the opposition, if there are any - here to-day, don't let the thought of Wilson's possible profit rob you of - this golden opportunity. I live at Darley, but, as many of you know, this - is my father's native county, and I want to see it bloom in progress and - blossom like the rose of prosperity. I want to see the vast mineral wealth - buried in these mountains dug out for the benefit of mankind wherever - God's sunlight falls.” - </p> - <p> - Miller sat down amid much applause, a faint part of which came even from - the ranks of Bartell's faction. After this a pause ensued in which no one - seemed willing to speak. Colonel Barclay rose and came to Miller. - </p> - <p> - “That was a good talk,” he whispered. “You understand how to touch 'em up. - You set them to laughin'; that's the thing. I wonder if it would do any - good for me to try my hand.” - </p> - <p> - “Do they know you have any timber-land over here?” asked Miller. - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes, I guess they do,” replied the Colonel. - </p> - <p> - “Then I don't believe I'd chip in,” advised Miller. “Bartell would throw - it up to you.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you are right,” said Barclay, “but for the Lord's sake do - something. It never will do to let this thing fall through.” - </p> - <p> - “I've done all I can,” said Miller, dejectedly. “Bartell's got the whole - gang hoodooed—the blasted blockhead! Wouldn't he make a fine - representative in the legislature?” - </p> - <p> - The Colonel went back to his seat, and Wilson came to Miller, just as Alan - approached. - </p> - <p> - “It's going to fall flatter than a pancake,” said Wilson. “My company - simply cannot afford to buy the right of way. Can' t you choke that - illiterate fellow over there or—or buy him off?” - </p> - <p> - “He ain't that sort,” said Miller, disconsolately. - </p> - <p> - Alan glanced at his father and mother. On their wrinkled faces lay ample - evidences of dejection. The old man seemed scarcely to breathe. Up to - Bartell's speech he had seemed buoyantly hopeful, but his horizon had - changed; he looked as if he were wondering why he had treated himself to - such a bright view of a thing which had no foundation at all. - </p> - <p> - At this juncture Abner Daniel rose from his seat near the stove and slowly - walked forward till he stood facing the audience. Immediately quiet - reigned, for he was a man who was invariably listened to. - </p> - <p> - “Gentlemen an' ladies,” he began, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth - with his long hand. “This ain't no put-in o' mine, gracious knows! I - hain't got nothin', an' I don't expect to lose or gain by what is done in - this matter, but I want to do what I kin fer what I think is right an' - proper. Fer my part, I don't think we kin do without a railroad much - longer. Folks is a-pokin' fun at us, I tell you. It's God's truth. T'other - day I was over at Darley a-walkin' along the railroad nigh the - turnin'-table, whar they flirt engynes round like children on a - flyin'-jinny, when all at once a big strappin' feller with a red flag in - his hand run up an' knocked me off'n the track kerwhallop in a ditch. It - was just in time to keep me from bein' run over by a switch-engyne. He was - as mad as Tucker. 'Looky' heer,' ses he, 'did you think that thing was - playin' tag with you an' ud tap you on the shoulder an' run an' hide - behind a tree? Say, ain't you from Short Pine Destrict, this side o' the - mountains?' I told 'im he'd guessed right, an' he said, 'I'lowed so, fer - thar ain't no other spot on the whirlin' globe that produces folks as - green as gourds.' Well, gentlemen, that floored me; it was bad enough to - be jerked about like a rag doll, but it was tough to heer my section - jeered at. 'What makes you say that?' I axed 'im, as I stood thar tryin' - to git a passle o' wet glass out o' my hip-pocket without cuttin' my - fingers. [Laughter, led by Pole Baker, who sensed the meaning of the - reference.] 'Beca'se,' ses he, 'you moss-backs over thar don't know the - war's over; a nigger from over thar come in town t'other day an' heerd fer - the fust time that he was free. Two men over thar swapped wives without - knowin' thar was a law agin it. Half o' you-uns never laid eyes on a - railroad, an' wouldn't have one as a free gift.' I turned off an' left 'im - an' went up on the main street. Up thar a barber ketched me by the arm an' - said, ses he: 'Come in an' le' me cut that hair. You are from Short Pine, - ain't you?' I axed him why he thought so, an' he said, ses he, 'beca'se - you got a Short Pine hair-cut.'' What's that?' ses I. An' he laughed at a - feller cocked up in a cheer an' said: 'It's a cut that is made by the - women out yore way. They jest turn a saucer upside down on the men's heads - an' trim around the edges. I could tell one a mile; they make a man look - like a bob-tailed mule.'[Laughter, loud and prolonged.] Yes, as I said, - they are a-pokin' all manner o' fun at us, an' it's chiefly beca'se we - hain't got no railroad. The maddest I ever got on this line was down at - Filmore's store one day. A little, slick chap come along sellin' maps of - the United States of America. They was purty things on black sticks, an' I - wanted one fer the wall o' my room. I was about to buy one, but I thought - I'd fust make shore that our county was on it, so I axed the peddler to - p'int it out to me. Well, after some s'arch, he put his knife-blade on - what he called this county, but lo an' behold! it was mighty nigh kivered - with round dots about the size of fly-specks. 'What's the matter with - it?' I axed 'im. 'Oh, you mean them dots,' ses he, an' he turned to a lot - o' reference words in the corner of the map. 'Them,' ses he, 'them's put - thar to indicate the amount o' ignorance in a locality. You 'll find 'em - in all places away from the railroads; a body kin say what they please - agin railroads, but they fetch schools, an' books, an' enlightenment. - You've got a good many specks' ses he, kinder comfortin' like, 'but some - o' these days a railroad will shoot out this away, an' them brainy men - amongst you will git the chance God intends to give 'em,' Gentlemen, I - didn't buy no map. I wouldn't 'a' had the thing on my wall with them - specks a-starin' me in the face. It wouldn't 'a' done any good to scrape - 'em off, fer the'r traces would 'a' been left. No, friends, citizens, an' - well-wishers, thar ain't but one scraper that will ever rake our specks - off, an' that's the cow-catcher of a steam-engyne. I say let 'er come. - Some objection has been raised on the score o' killin' cattle. That - reminds me of a story they tell on old Burt Preston, who has a farm on the - main line beyant Darley. He was always a-gittin' his stock killed so fast, - an' a-puttin' in heavy claims fer damages, until folks begun to say he - made his livin' by buyin' scrub cattle an' sellin' mashed beef to the - corporation. One day the road sent out a detective to watch 'im, an' he - seed Burt drive a spindlin' yeerlin' out o' the thicket on the track jest - in time to get it knocked off by a through freight. The detective went - back an' reported, an' they waited to see what Preston ud do. By the next - mail they got a claim in which Preston said the yeerlin' weighed eight - hundred pound an' was a fine four-gallon milch-cow. They threatened to - jail 'im, an' Preston agreed to withdraw his claim. But he got - down-hearted an' traded his place fer a farm on t'other railroad, an' the - last I heerd o' him he was at his old trade agin. I reckon that's about - the way we 'll be damaged by gettin' our stock killed. That's all I got to - say, gentlemen. Let's git this road an' scrape our fly-specks off.” - </p> - <p> - The big house shook with the applause that greeted this speech. Even the - opposition seemed to be wavering. Only Bartell kept a rigid countenance. - He rose and in a low voice invited his group to repair with him to one of - the jury-rooms. They got up and followed him out. As he was about to close - the door after them he nodded to Miller. “We 'll take a vote on it an' let - you know,” he said, coldly. - </p> - <p> - “He's going to talk to them,” said Miller, aloud to Wilson. “Mr. Daniel's - speech almost shook them out of their boots, and he saw he was losing - ground. It looks squally.” - </p> - <p> - “You are right,” said Wilson, gloomily. “Our chances are very slim.” - </p> - <p> - Miller caught Adele's eye and went to her. - </p> - <p> - “I'm bound to say the outlook is not so favorable,” he said. “If we could - have put it to a vote just after your uncle spoke we would have clinched - them, but Bartell thinks his election depends on beating us today, and - being the chief land-owner he has influence.” - </p> - <p> - “It will break my heart,” said the girl, tremulously. “Poor father and - mother! They look as if they were on trial for their lives. Oh, I had so - much hope as we drove over here this morning, but now—” - </p> - <p> - “I can' t bear to see you take it that way,” said Miller, tenderly. “I did - not intend to speak to you so soon about another matter, but I can' t put - it off. You have become very, very dear to me, little girl. In fact, I - never dreamed there was such a thing as genuine, unselfish love till I - knew you. It seems to me that you were actually created for me. I want you - to be my wife. Somehow I feel that you care for me, at least a little, and - I believe when you realize how much I love you, and how devoted I shall - be, you will love me as I do you.” - </p> - <p> - To his surprise she averted her face and said nothing, though he remarked - that she had paled a little and compressed her lips. He waited a moment, - then said, anxiously: - </p> - <p> - “Haven't you something to say, Adele? Perhaps I have misread you all along - and really have no right to hope. Oh, that would be hard to bear!” - </p> - <p> - “It is not that,” she said, her breast heaving suddenly. “It is not that.” - </p> - <p> - “Not that?” he repeated, his wondering eyes fixed on hers. - </p> - <p> - Then she turned to him. - </p> - <p> - “Alan has told me of some of your talks to him about love, and—” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he has!” Miller laughed out uneasily. “But surely you wouldn't hold - anything against me that I said before I met you in Atlanta and fell heels - over head in love with you. Besides, I was simply stretching my - imagination to save him from making a serious mistake. But I know what it - is to care for a girl now, and I have wanted to tell him so, but simply - could not face him with my confession—when—when his own sister - was in question.” - </p> - <p> - “I have tried to believe,” Adele hesitated, “that you had changed in your - ideas of love since—since we learned to know each other, and I - confess I succeeded to some extent, but there was one thing that simply - sticks and refuses to be eradicated. It sticks more right now than ever. I - mean this morning, since—” - </p> - <p> - “Now you <i>do</i> surprise me,” declared Miller. “Please explain. Don't - you see I'm simply dying with impatience?” - </p> - <p> - “You pressed the point in one of those talks with brother,” said Adele, - quite firmly, “that it was impossible for two people of unequal fortune to - be happy together, and—” - </p> - <p> - “Now you wouldn't surely hurl that rubbish at me,” broke in Miller. “I - never would have dreamed of saying such a thing if I had not thought Alan - was about to butt his head against a stone wall in the hostility of - Colonel Barclay. If he had been fairly well off and she had been without - money I'd have said sail in and take her, but I knew what a mercenary old - man Barclay is, and I thought I could save the boy from a good many - heartaches.” - </p> - <p> - “That—even as you now put it—would be hard for a girl in my - position to forget,” Adele told him. “For if this enterprise fails to-day, - I shall—just think of it!—I shall not only be penniless, but - my father will owe you a large amount of money that he never will be able - to pay. Oh, I could not bear to go to you under such circumstances! I have - always wanted my independence, and this grates on my very soul.” - </p> - <p> - Their eyes met in a long, steady stare. “Oh, you must—you really - must not see it that way,” floundered the young man. “You will make me - very miserable. I can' t live without you, Adele. Besides, I shall not - lose by the loan I made to your father. The land will bring the money back - sooner or later, and what will it matter? You will be my wife and your - parents will be my parents. Already I love them as my own. Oh, darling, - don't turn me down this way! Really I can' t help the turn matters have - taken, and if you care for me you ought not to wreck our happiness for a - silly whim like this.” - </p> - <p> - She sat unmoved for a moment, avoiding the fervid glow of his - passion-filled eyes. - </p> - <p> - “If this thing fails I shall be very unhappy,” she finally said. “Its - success would not make me rich, but it would remove a debt that has nearly - killed me. I have never mentioned it, but it has been like a sword hanging - over my happiness.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it shall not fail,” he told her. “It shall not fail! If those - blockheads vote against it, I 'll buy the right of way, if it takes the - last cent I've got.” - </p> - <p> - This forced a smile to Adele's lips. “Then we'd be as deep in the mud as - we now are in the mire,” she said. Just then Pole Baker came to Miller. - </p> - <p> - “I don't want to make no break,” he said, “but I've got a idea I'd like to - work on them hill-Billies in the jury-room if you hain't no objections. I - hain't got time to tell you about it, but as you are a-runnin' the shebang - I thought I'd ax permission.” - </p> - <p> - “Go and do what you think best, Pole,” said Miller, recklessly. “We can - trust to your head, and anything is better than nothing just now. I really - think it's gone by the board.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, thanky',” said Pole, as he shuffled away. He marched straight - to the jury-room, and, without rapping, opened the door and went in, - closing the door after him. He found the men all discussing the matter and - was delighted to find that the strength of the opposition now rested - chiefly in Bartell and a few men who seemed afraid to pull away from him. - Pole slid up to Bartell and said, as he drew him to one side: “Say, Mr. - Bartell, what on earth have you got agin Alan Bishop?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, nothin', Pole, as I know of,” said Bartell, rather sheepishly. - “Nothin' as I know of.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it looks to me like you got a mighty pore way o' showin' good-will. - Why, he's the best friend you got, Mr. Bartell, an' totes more votes in - his vest-pocket fer you than any man in this county.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh! You don't say!” grunted Bartell, in slow surprise. “Well, he never - told <i>me</i> about it.” - </p> - <p> - “Beca'se you hain't announced yorese'f yet,” said Pole, with a steady eye - and a set face. “Why, he said t'other day to several of us at the - log-rollin'—you remember you rid by on yore bay, leadin' a milch-cow - by a rope. Well, after you passed Alan Bishop said: 'Boys, thar goes the - only man in this county that has convictions an' the courage to stand by - 'em. They say he's goin' to run fer the legislature an' ef he does, I 'll - do all I kin to elect 'im. He 'll make the best representative that we - ever had. He's got brains, <i>he</i> has.'” - </p> - <p> - “You don't say!” Bartell's face beamed, his eye kindled and flashed. - </p> - <p> - “That's jest what!” - </p> - <p> - “I hadn't the least idea he was fer me,” said Bartell, drawing a deep - breath. “In fact, I 'lowed he would be agin anybody but a town man.” - </p> - <p> - “Alan never talks much,” said Pole, in a tone of conviction; “he <i>acts</i> - when the time comes fer it. But, la me, Mr. Bartell, this is agoin' to - break him all to pieces. He's in love with old Barclay's gal, an' she is - with him. Ef he puts this road through to-day he 'll git his daddy out o' - debt an' Barclay will withdraw his opposition. I don't know how you feel, - but I'd hate like smoke to bu'st a man all to flinders that thought as - much o' me as Alan does o' you.” - </p> - <p> - “I never knowed he was fer me,” was Bartell's next tottering step in the - right direction. - </p> - <p> - “Well, vote fer the right o' way, an' you kin ride to an' from Atlanta - durin' session all rail. Me'n Alan will pull fer you like a yoke o' steers—me - with the moonshiners, an' my mountain clan, that ain't dead yet, an' him - with his gang. What you say? Put up or shet up.” - </p> - <p> - “I 'll do what I kin,” said Bartell, a new light on his face, as he turned - to the others. “Gentlemen,” he began, “listen to me a minute. I see a good - many of you was affected by Ab Daniel's speech an' sort o' want the road, - anyway, so if—” - </p> - <p> - “I don't exactly like them specks,” broke in a fat, middle-aged man at a - window. “By gum! I believe old Ab had us down about right. Ef we kin git - sort o' opened up along with the rest o' creation, I say le's git in the - game. Huh!”—the man finished, with a laughing shrug—“I don't - like them fly-specks one bit.” - </p> - <p> - “Me nuther,” said a man beside him. - </p> - <p> - “Nur me!” came from some one else. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm willin' ef the rest are,” announced Bar-tell. “All in favor - hold up yore hands.” - </p> - <p> - Pole Baker grinned broadly as he counted them. “All up—the last - one,” he said, then he sprang for the door and stood before the expectant - audience. - </p> - <p> - “Toot! toot!” he cried, imitating the whistle of a locomotive. “All - aboard! The road's a settled thing. They say they don't want no specks, - an' they ain't agoin' to have 'em. Hooray!” - </p> - <p> - The audience was electrified by the announcement. For an instant there was - a pause of incredulous astonishment, and then the floor resounded from the - clatter of feet and glad shouts filled the air. - </p> - <p> - Alan, his face ablaze with startled triumph, came towards Adele and - Miller. “Pole worked the rabbit-foot on them back there,” he said. “I - don't know what he did, but he did something.” - </p> - <p> - “He told me he had a card left,” laughed Miller. “I 'll bet he had it up - his sleeve. There he is now. Oh, Pole, come here!” - </p> - <p> - The man thus addressed slouched down the aisle to them, his big, brown - eyes flashing merrily under his heavy brows, his sun-browned face dark - with the flush of triumph. - </p> - <p> - “Out with it, you rascal,” said Alan. “What did you say to them? Whatever - it was it knocked their props clean from under them.” - </p> - <p> - “Ef you don't back me in it, I'm a gone dog,” said Pole to Alan. “All I - want you to do is to vote for Bartell, ef you kin possibly swallow the - dose.” - </p> - <p> - A light broke on the two men. “I 'll do it if you say so, Pole,” said - Alan. “Not only that, but I 'll work for him if you wish it.” - </p> - <p> - Pole looked down and pulled at his heavy mustache. “Well,” he smiled, “I - reckon he won't harm us any more in the legislatur' than the road 'll do - us good, so you'd better support 'im. I seed the bars down a minute ago, - an' I didn't have no time to consult you. I'd 'a' told a bigger lie 'an - that to clinch this thing.” Abner Daniel joined them, smiling broadly, his - eyes twinkling joyously. - </p> - <p> - “We've won, Uncle Ab,” exclaimed Alan; “what do you think of that?” - </p> - <p> - The old jester stroked his face and swung his long body back and forth in - the wind of his content. “I've always argued,” said he, “that what is to - be <i>will</i> be, an' it <i>will</i> be a sight sooner 'n most of us - count on, ef we 'll jest keep our sperits up.” - </p> - <p> - The others moved on, leaving Adele and Miller together. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, just look at mamma and papa,” she said, in the round, full voice - indicative of deep emotion. “They are so glad they are about to cry.” - </p> - <p> - “What a dear, dear girl you are,” said Miller, softly. “There is nothing - to separate us now, is there?” - </p> - <p> - For a moment they met in a full look into each other's eyes. Adele's voice - shook when she replied: “I believe I'm the happiest, proudest girl in all - the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you love me?” - </p> - <p> - “I believe I've loved you from the very minute I met you in Atlanta last - summer.” - </p> - <p> - Alan saw Dolly looking at him and waving her handkerchief, her face warm - and flushed. He was tempted to go to her, but she still sat by her father - and mother, and that fact checked him. Mrs. Barclay caught his eye, and, - rising suddenly, came through the crowd to him. She extended her gloved - hand. - </p> - <p> - “You and Dolly must stop your foolishness,” she said. “I've been thinking - of a plan to help you two out. If I were you I wouldn't say a word to her - now, but next Sunday night come and take her to church just like you used - to. I 'll attend to Colonel Barclay. He is just tickled to death over this - thing and he won't make any fuss. He is as stubborn as a mule, though, and - when he has to give in, it's better not to let him think you are gloating - over him. He won't bother you any more; I 'll see to that.” - </p> - <p> - Alan thanked her. He was so full of happiness that he was afraid to trust - his voice to utterance. As Mrs. Barclay was going back to her husband and - daughter, Pole Baker passed. Alan grasped him by the hand. - </p> - <p> - “Say, Pole,” he said, his voice full and quavering, “I want to tell you - that I think more of you than I do of any man alive.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Alan,” said Pole, awkwardly, yet with an eye that did not waver, “I - kin shore return the compliment. Ef it hadn't been fer you an' yore advice - I'd 'a' been in hell long ago, an' as it is, I feel more like livin' a - straight, honest life than I ever did. You never axed me but one thing - that I didn't grant, an' that was to give up whiskey. I don't know whether - I ever will be able to do it or not, but, by the great God above, I'm - agoin' to keep on tryin', fer I know you want it jest fer my good. I don't - want a dram to-day, fer a wonder, an' maybe in time I 'll git over my - thirst.” - </p> - <p> - As Alan was about to get into his buggy with his uncle, the Colonel and - his wife and daughter passed. With a sheepish look on his face the old man - bowed to the two men, but Dolly stopped before Alan and held out her hand. - </p> - <p> - “You were going away without even speaking to me,” she said, a catch in - her voice. “Think of it—to-day of all days to be treated like that!” - </p> - <p> - “But your mother told me—” - </p> - <p> - “Didn't I tell you she couldn't be relied on?” broke in Dolly, with a - smile. “I have more influence with papa than she has. I know what she told - you. I made her confess it just now. Are you going to town to-day?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he informed her; “we shall complete the arrangements there.” - </p> - <p> - “Then come right down to see me as soon as you possibly can,” Dolly said. - “I'm dying to see you—to talk with you. Oh, Alan, I'm so—<i>so</i> - happy!” - </p> - <p> - “So am I,” he told her, as he pressed her hand tenderly. “Then I shall see - you again to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, to-day, sure,” she said, and she moved on. - </p> - <p> - “She's all right,” said Abner Daniel, as Alan climbed in the buggy beside - him. “She's all wool an' a yard wide.” - </p> - <p> - “I reckon you are satisfied with the way it come out, Uncle Ab,” said his - nephew, flushing over the compliment to Dolly. - </p> - <p> - “Jest want one thing more,” said the old man, “an' I can't make out - whether it's a sin or not. I want to face Perkins an' Abe Tompkins. I'd - give my right arm to meet 'em an' watch the'r faces when they heer about - the railroad, an' the price yore pa's land fetched.” - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Abner Daniel, by Will N. 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- <head>
- <title>
- Abner Daniel, by Will N. Harben
- </title>
- <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
- <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
-
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-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Abner Daniel, by Will N. Harben
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Abner Daniel
- A Novel
-
-Author: Will N. Harben
-
-Release Date: November 19, 2015 [EBook #50494]
-Last Updated: March 12, 2018
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ABNER DANIEL ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- ABNER DANIEL
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Will N. Harben
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Author Of “Westerfelt”
- </h4>
- <h3>
- New York and London
- </h3>
- <h3>
- Harper And Brothers
- </h3>
- <h4>
- 1902
- </h4>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0001.jpg"><i><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </i></a>
- </h5>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%">
- <img src="images/0003.jpg" alt="0003 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0003.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <h3>
- TO
- </h3>
- <h3>
- MY SISTER
- </h3>
- <h3>
- MRS. RAY KNIGHT
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>ABNER DANIEL</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXVIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXXI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXV </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- ABNER DANIEL
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- I
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9007.jpg" alt="9007 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE young man stood in the field road giving directions to a robust negro
- who was ploughing the corn, which, in parallel rows, stretched on to the
- main road a quarter of a mile distant. The negro placed the point of his
- ploughshare a few inches from the first stalk of corn, wound the line
- around his wrist, and clucked to his horse. With a jangling jerk of the
- trace-chains the animal lunged ahead: the polished ploughshare cut into
- the mellow soil and sped onward, curling the gray earth like shavings, and
- uprooting and burying the tenacious crab-grass and succulent purslane.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining brightly, but the atmosphere
- had dropped a dim veil over the near-by mountain. Even the two-storied
- farm-house, with its veranda and white columns, to which the field road
- led up a gradual slope, showed only its outlines. However, Alan Bishop, as
- he steadied his gaze upon the house, saw the figure of an elderly woman
- come out of the gate and with a quick step hurry down to him. It was his
- mother; she was tall and angular, and had high cheek-bones and small blue
- eyes. She had rather thin gray hair, which was wound into a knot behind
- her head, and over it she wore only a small red breakfast shawl which she
- held in place by one of her long hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alan,” she said, panting from her brisk walk, “I want you to come to the
- house right off. Mr. Trabue has come to see yore pa again an' I can't do a
- thing with 'im.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what does he want with him?” asked the young man. His glance was on
- the ploughman and his horse. They had turned the far end of the corn-row
- and were coming back, only the nodding head of the animal being visible
- beyond a little rise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's come to draw up the papers fer another land trade yore pa's makin'.
- He's the lawyer fer the Tompkins estate. Yore pa tried to buy the land a
- yeer ago, but it wasn't in shape to dispose of. Oh, Alan, don't you see
- he's goin' to ruin us with his fool notions? Folks all about are
- a-laughin' at him fer buyin' so much useless mountain-land. I'm powerful
- afeered his mind is wrong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, mother, what could I do?” Alan Bishop asked impatiently. “You know
- he won't listen to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon you can' t stop 'im,” sighed the woman, “but I wish you'd come
- on to the house. I knowed he was up to some 'n'. Ever'day fer the last
- week he's been ridin' up the valley an' rollin' and tumblin' at night an'
- chawin' ten times as much tobacco as he ort. Oh, he's goin' to ruin us!
- Brother Abner says he is buyin' beca'se he thinks it's goin' to advance in
- value, but sech property hain't advanced a speck sence I kin remember, an'
- is bein' sold ever' yeer fer tax money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it's very foolish of him,” said the young man as the two turned
- towards the house. “Father keeps talking about the fine timber on such
- property, but it is entirely too far from a railroad ever to be worth
- anything. I asked Rayburn Miller about it and he told me to do all I could
- to stop father from investing, and you know he's as sharp a speculator as
- ever lived; but it's his money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a paling fence around the house, and the enclosure was alive
- with chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks, and peafowls. In the sunshine on the
- veranda two pointers lay sleeping, but at the sound of the opening gate
- they rose, stretched themselves lazily, and gaped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are in the parlor,” said Mrs. Bishop, as she whisked off her
- breakfast shawl. “Go right in, I 'll come in a minute. I want to see how
- Linda is makin' out with the churnin'. La! I feel like it's a waste o'
- time to do a lick o' work with him in thar actin' like a child. Ef we both
- go in together it 'll look like we've concocked somethin', but we must
- stop 'im ef we kin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan went into the parlor on the left of the wide, uncarpeted hall. The
- room had white plastered walls, but the ceiling was of boards planed by
- hand and painted sky blue. In one corner stood a very old piano with
- pointed, octagonal legs and a stool with hair-cloth covering. The
- fireplace was wide and high, and had a screen made of a decorated
- window-shade tightly pasted on a wooden frame. Old man Bishop sat near a
- window, and through his steel-framed nose-glasses was carefully reading a
- long document written on legal-cap paper. He paid no attention to the
- entrance of his son, but the lawyer, a short, fat man of sixty-five with
- thick black hair that fell below his coat-collar, rose and extended his
- hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How's Alan?” he asked, pleasantly. “I saw you down in the field as I come
- along, but I couldn't catch your eye. You see I'm out after some o' your
- dad's cash. He's buying hisse'f rich. My Lord! if it ever <i>does</i> turn
- his way he 'll scoop in enough money to set you and your sister up for
- life. Folks tell me he owns mighty near every stick of timber-land in the
- Cohutta Valley, and what he has he got at the bottom figure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it ever turns his way,” said Alan; “but do you see any prospect of
- it's ever doing so, Mr. Trabue?” The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. “I
- never bet on another man's trick, my boy, and I never throw cold water on
- the plans of a speculator. I used to when I was about your age, but I saw
- so many of 'em get rich by paying no attention to me that I quit right
- off. A man ought to be allowed to use his own judgment.” Old Bishop was
- evidently not hearing a word of this conversation, being wholly absorbed
- in studying the details of the deed before him. “I reckon it's all right,”
- he finally said. “You say the Tompkins children are all of age?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Effie was the youngest,” answered Trabue, “and she stepped over the
- line last Tuesday. There's her signature in black and white. The deed's
- all right. I don't draw up any other sort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan went to his father and leaned over him. “Father,” he said, softly,
- and yet with firmness, “I wish you'd not act hastily in this deal. You
- ought to consider mother's wishes, and she is nearly distracted over it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop was angry. His massive, clean-shaven face was red. “I'd like to
- know what I'd consult her fer,” he said. “In a matter o' this kind a
- woman's about as responsible as a suckin' baby.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Trabue laughed heartily. “Well, I reckon it's a good thing your wife
- didn't hear that or she'd show you whether she was responsible or not. I
- couldn't have got the first word of that off my tongue before my wife
- would 'a' knocked me clean through that wall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alfred Bishop seemed not to care for levity during business hours, for he
- greeted this remark only with a frown. He scanned the paper again and
- said: “Well, ef thar's any flaw in this I reckon you 'll make it right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes, I 'll make any mistake of mine good,” returned Trabue. “The
- paper's all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see,” said Alan to the lawyer, “mother and I think father has already
- more of this sort of property than he can carry, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish you and yore mother'd let my business alone,” broke in Bishop,
- firing up again. “Trabue heer knows I've been worryin' 'im fer the last
- two months to get the property in salable shape. Do you reckon after he
- gets it that away I want to listen to yore two tongues a-waggin' in open
- opposition to it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Trabue rubbed his hands together. “It really don't make a bit of
- difference to me, Alan, one way or the other,” he said, pacifically. “I'm
- only acting as attorney for the Tompkins estate, and get my fee whether
- there's a transfer or not. That's where I stand in the matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it's not whar I stand in it, Mr. Trabue,” said a firm voice in the
- doorway. It was Mrs. Bishop, her blue eyes flashing, her face pale and
- rigid. “I think I've got a right—and a big one—to have a
- say-so in this kind of a trade. A woman 'at 's stayed by a man's side fer
- thirty odd yeer an' raked an' scraped to he'p save a little handful o'
- property fer her two children has got a right to raise a rumpus when her
- husband goes crooked like Alfred has an' starts in to bankrupt 'em all
- jest fer a blind notion o' his'n.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, thar you are!” said Bishop, lifting his eyes from the paper and
- glaring at her over his glasses. “I knowed I'd have to have a
- knock-down-an'-drag-out fight with you 'fore I signed my name, so sail in
- an' git it over. Trabue's got to ride back to town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But whar in the name o' common-sense is the money to come from?” the
- woman hurled at her husband, as she rested one of her bony hands on the
- edge of the table and glared at him. “As I understand it, thar's about
- five thousand acres in this piece alone, an' yo're a-payin' a dollar a
- acre. Whar's it a-comin' from, I'd like to know? Whar's it to come from?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop sniffed and ran a steady hand over his short, gray hair. “You see
- how little she knows o' my business,” he said to the lawyer. “Heer she's
- raisin' the devil an' Tom Walker about the trade an' she don't so much as
- know whar the money's to come from.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How <i>was</i> I to know?” retorted the woman, “when you've been tellin'
- me fer the last six months that thar wasn't enough in the bank to give the
- house a coat o' fresh paint an' patch the barn roof.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You knowed I had five thousand dollars wuth o' stock in the Shoal River
- Cotton Mills, didn't you?” asked Bishop, defiantly, and yet with the
- manner of a man throwing a missile which he hoped would fall lightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I knowed that, but—” The woman's eyes were two small fires
- burning hungrily for information beyond their reach.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it happens that Shoal stock is jest the same on the market as ready
- money, up a little to-day an' down to-morrow, but never varyin' more'n a
- fraction of a cent on the dollar, an' so the Tompkins heirs say they'd
- jest as lieve have it, an' as I'm itchin' to relieve them of the'r land,
- it didn't take us long to come together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- If he had struck the woman squarely in the face, she could not have shown
- more surprise. She became white to the lips, and with a low cry turned to
- her son. “Oh, Alan, don't—don't let 'im do it, it's all we have left
- that we can depend on! It will ruin us!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, father, surely,” protested Alan, as he put his arm around his
- mother, “surely you can't mean to let go your mill investment which is
- paying fifteen per cent, to put the money into lands that may never
- advance in value and always be a dead weight on your hands! Think of the
- loss of interest and the taxes to be kept up. Father, you must listen to—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Listen to nothin',” thundered Bishop, half rising from his chair. “Nobody
- axed you two to put in. It's my business an' I'm a-goin' to attend to it.
- I believe I'm doin' the right thing, an' that settles it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The right thing,” moaned the old woman, as she sank into a chair and
- covered her face with her hands. “Mr. Trabue,” she went on, fiercely,
- “when that factory stock leaves our hands we won't have a single thing to
- our names that will bring in a cent of income. You kin see how bad it is
- on a woman who has worked as hard to do fer her children as I have. Mr.
- Bishop always said Adele, who is visitin' her uncle's family in Atlanta,
- should have that stock for a weddin'-gift, ef she ever married, an' Alan
- was to have the lower half of this farm. Now what would we have to give
- the girl—nothin' but thousands o' acres o' hills, mountains an'
- gulches full o' bear, wild-cats, and catamounts—land that it ud
- break any young couple to hold on to—much less put to any use. Oh, I
- feel perfectly sick over it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a heavy, dragging step in the hall, and a long, lank man of
- sixty or sixty-five years of age paused in the doorway. He had no beard
- except a tuft of gray hair on his chin, and his teeth, being few and far
- between, gave to his cheeks a hollow appearance. He was Abner Daniel, Mrs.
- Bishop's bachelor brother, who lived in the family.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello!” he exclaimed, shifting a big quid of tobacco from one cheek to
- the other; “plottin' agin the whites? Ef you are, I 'll decamp, as the
- feller said when the bull yeerlin' butted 'im in the small o' the back.
- How are you, Mr. Trabue? Have they run you out o' town fer some o' yore
- legal rascality?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon your sister thinks it's rascality that's brought me out to-day,”
- laughed the lawyer. “We are on a little land deal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, I 'll move on,” said Abner Daniel. “I jest wanted to tell Alan
- that Rigg's hogs got into his young corn in the bottom jest now an' rooted
- up about as many acres as Pole Baker's ploughed all day. Ef they'd
- a-rooted in straight rows an' not gone too nigh the stalks they mought 'a'
- done the crap more good than harm, but the'r aim or intention, one or
- t'other, was bad. Folks is that away; mighty few of 'em root—when
- they root at all—fer anybody but the'rse'ves. Well, I 'll git along
- to my room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't go, brother Ab,” pleaded his sister. “I want you to he'p me stand
- up fer my rights. Alfred is about to swap our cotton-mill stock fer some
- more wild mountain-land.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In spite of his natural tendency to turn everything into a jest—even
- the serious things of life—the sallow face of the tall man
- lengthened. He stared into the faces around him for a moment, then a slow
- twinkle dawned in his eye.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've never been knowed to take sides in any connubial tustle yet,” he
- said to Trabue, in a dry tone. “Alf may not know what he's about right
- now, but he's Solomon hisse'f compared to a feller that will undertake to
- settle a dispute betwixt a man an' his wife—more especially the
- wife. Geewhilikins! I never shall forget the time old Jane Hardeway come
- heer to spend a week an' Alf thar an' Betsy split over buyin' a hat-rack
- fer the hall. Betsy had seed one over at Mason's, at the camp-ground, an'
- determined she'd have one. Maybe you noticed that fancy contraption in the
- hall as you come in. Well, Alf seed a nigger unloadin' it from a wagon at
- the door one mornin', an' when Betsy, in feer an' tremblin', told 'im what
- it was fer he mighty nigh had a fit. He said his folks never had been
- above hangin' the'r coats an' hats on good stout nails an' pegs, an' as
- fer them umbrella-pans to ketch the drip, he said they was fancy
- spit-boxes, an' wanted to know ef she expected a body to do the'r chawin'
- an' smokin' in that windy hall. He said it jest should not stand thar with
- all them prongs an' arms to attack unwary folks in the dark, an' he toted
- it out to the buggy-shed. That got Betsy's dander up an' she put it back
- agin the wall an' said it ud stay thar ef she had to stand behind it an'
- hold it in place. Alf wasn't done yet; he 'lowed ef they was to have sech
- a purty trick as that on the hill it had to stay in the best room in the
- house, so he put it heer in the parlor by the piano. But Betsy took it
- back two or three times an' he larnt that he was a-doin' a sight o' work
- fer nothin', an' finally quit totin' it about. But that ain't what I
- started in to tell. As I was a-sayin', old Jane Hardeway thought she'd
- sorter put a word in the dispute to pay fer her board an' keep, an' she
- told Betsy that it was all owin' to the way the Bishops was raised that
- Alf couldn't stand to have things nice about 'im. She said all the Bishops
- she'd ever knowed had a natural stoop that they got by livin' in cabins
- with low roofs. She wasn't spreadin' 'er butter as thick as she thought
- she was—ur maybe it was the sort she was spreadin '—fer Betsy
- blazed up like the woods afire in a high wind. It didn't take old Jane
- long to diskiver that thar was several breeds o' Bishops out o' jail, an'
- she spent most o' the rest o' her visit braggin' on some she'd read about.
- She said the name sounded like the start of 'em had been religious an'
- substanch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Brother Abner,” whined Mrs. Bishop, “I wisht you'd hush all that
- foolishness an' help me 'n the children out o' this awful fix. Alfred
- always would listen to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” and the old man smiled, and winked at the lawyer, “I 'll give you
- both all the advice I kin. Now, the Shoal River stock is a good thing
- right now; but ef the mill was to ketch on fire an' burn down thar'd be a
- loss. Then as fer timber-land, it ain't easy to sell, but it mought take a
- start before another flood. I say it mought, an' then agin it moughtn't.
- The mill mought burn, an' then agin it moughtn't. Now, ef you-uns kin be
- helped by this advice you are welcome to it free o' charge. Not changin'
- the subject, did you-uns know Mrs. Richardson's heffer's got a calf? I
- reckon she won't borrow so much milk after hers gits good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Trabue smiled broadly as the gaunt man withdrew; but his amusement was
- short-lived, for Mrs. Bishop began to cry, and she soon rose in despair
- and left the room. Alan stood for a moment looking at the unmoved face of
- his father, who had found something in the last clause of the document
- which needed explanation; then he, too, went out.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- II
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9017.jpg" alt="9017 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9017.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- LAN found his uncle on the back porch washing his face and hands in a
- basin on the water-shelf. The young man leaned against one of the wooden
- posts which supported the low roof of the porch and waited for him to
- conclude the puffing, sputtering operation, which he finally did by
- enveloping his head in a long towel hanging from a wooden roller on the
- weather-boarding.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” he laughed, “yore uncle Ab didn't better matters in thar overly
- much. But what could a feller do? Yore pa's as bull-headed as a young
- steer, an' he's already played smash anyway. Yore ma's wastin' breath; but
- a woman seems to have plenty of it to spare. A woman' s tongue's like a
- windmill—it takes breath to keep it a-goin', an' a dead calm ud kill
- her business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's no laughing matter, Uncle Ab,” said Alan, despondently. “Something
- must have gone wrong with father's judgment. He never has acted this way
- before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man dropped the towel and thrust his long, almost jointless
- fingers into his vest pocket for a horn comb which folded up like a
- jack-knife. “I was jest a-wonderin',” as he began to rake his shaggy hair
- straight down to his eyes—“I was jest a-wonderin' ef he could 'a'
- bent his skull in a little that time his mule th'owed 'im agin the
- sweet-gum. They say that often changes a body powerful. Folks do think
- he's off his cazip on the land question, an' now that he's traded his best
- nest-egg fer another swipe o' the earth's surface, I reckon they 'll talk
- harder. But yore pa ain't no fool; no plumb idiot could 'a' managed yore
- ma as well as he has. You see I know what he's accomplished, fer I've been
- with 'em ever since they was yoked together. When they was married she was
- as wild as a buck, an' certainly made our daddy walk a chalk-line; but
- Alfred has tapered 'er down beautiful. She didn't want this thing done one
- bit, an' yet it is settled by this time”—the old man looked through
- the hall to the front gate—“yes, Trabue's unhitchin'; he's got them
- stock certificates in his pocket, an' yore pa has the deeds in his
- note-case. When this gits out, moss-backs from heer clean to Gilmer 'll be
- trapsin' in to dispose o' land at so much a front foot.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what under high heaven will he do with it all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold on to it,” grinned Abner, “that is, ef he kin rake an' scrape enough
- together to pay the taxes. Why, last yeer his taxes mighty nigh floored
- 'im, an' the expenses on this county he's jest annexed will push 'im like
- rips; fer now, you know, he 'll have to do without the income on his
- factory stock; but he thinks he's got the right sow by the yeer. Before
- long he may yell out to us to come he'p 'im turn 'er loose, but he's
- waltzin' with 'er now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this juncture Mrs. Bishop came out of the dining-room wiping her eyes
- on her apron.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother,” said Alan, tenderly, “try not to worry over this any more than
- you can help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your pa's gettin' old an' childish,” whimpered Mrs. Bishop. “He's heerd
- somebody say timber-land up in the mountains will some day advance, an' he
- forgets that he's too old to get the benefit of it. He's goin' to bankrupt
- us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ef I do,” the man accused thundered from the hall, as he strode out, “it
- 'll be my money that's lost—money that I made by hard work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood before them, glaring over his eye-glasses at his wife. “I've had
- enough of yore tongue, my lady; ef I'd not had so much to think about in
- thar jest now I'd 'a' shut you up sooner. Dry up now—not another
- word! I'm doin' the best I kin accordin' to my lights to provide fer my
- children, an' I won't be interfered with.”
- </p>
- <p>
- No one spoke for a moment. However, Mrs. Bishop finally retorted, as her
- brother knew she would, in her own time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't call buyin' thousands o' acres o' unsalable land providin' fer
- anything, except the pore-house,” she fumed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's beca'se you don't happen to know as much about the business as I
- do,” said Bishop, with a satisfied chuckle, which, to the observant
- Daniel, sounded very much like exultation. “When you all know what I know
- you 'll be laughin' on t'other sides o' yore mouths.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He started down the steps into the yard as if going to the row of
- bee-hives along the fence, but paused and came back. He had evidently
- changed his mind. “I reckon,” he said, “I 'll jest <i>have</i> to let you
- all know about this or I won't have a speck o' peace from now on. I didn't
- tell you at fust beca'se nobody kin keep a secret as well as the man it
- belongs to, an' I was afeerd it ud leak out an' damage my interests; but
- this last five thousand acres jest about sweeps all the best timber in the
- whole Cohutta section, an' I mought as well let up. I reckon you all know
- that ef—I say <i>ef</i>—my land was nigh a railroad it ud be
- low at five times what I paid fer it, don't you? Well, then! The long an'
- short of it is that I happen to be on the inside an' know that a railroad
- is goin' to be run from Blue Lick Junction to Darley. It 'll be started
- inside of the next yeer an' 'll run smack dab through my property. Thar
- now, you know more'n you thought you did, don't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little group stared into his glowing face incredulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A railroad is to be built, father?” exclaimed Alan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's what I said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Bishop's eyes flashed with sudden hope, and then, as if remembering
- her husband's limitations, her face fell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alfred,” she asked, sceptically, “how does it happen that you know about
- the railroad before other folks does?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do I? That's it now—how do I?” and the old man laughed freely.
- “I've had my fun out o' this thing, listenin' to what every crank said
- about me bein' cracked, an' so on; but I was jest a-lyin' low waitin' fer
- my time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I 'll be switched!” ejaculated Abner Daniel, half seriously, half
- sarcastically. “Geewhilikins! a railroad! I've always said one would pay
- like rips an' open up a dern good, God-fersaken country. I'm glad you are
- a-goin' to start one, Alfred.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan's face was filled with an expression of blended doubt and pity for
- his father's credulity. “Father,” he said, gently, “are you sure you got
- your information straight?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got it from headquarters.” The old man raised himself on his toes and
- knocked his heels together, a habit he had not indulged in for many a
- year. “It was told to me confidentially by a man who knows all about the
- whole thing, a man who is in the employ o' the company that's goin' to
- build it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh!” the exclamation was Abner Daniel's, “do you mean that Atlanta
- lawyer, Perkins?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop stared, his mouth lost some of its pleased firmness, and he ceased
- the motion of his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What made you mention his name?” he asked, curiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I dunno; somehow I jest thought o' him. He looks to me like he mought
- be buildin' a railroad ur two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that's the man I mean,” said Bishop, more uneasily.
- </p>
- <p>
- Somehow the others were all looking at Abner Daniel, who grunted suddenly
- and almost angrily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't trust that skunk no furder'n I could fling a bull by the
- tail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say you wouldn't?” Bishop tried to smile, but the effort was a facial
- failure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't trust 'im nuther, brother Ab,” chimed in Mrs. Bishop. “As soon
- as I laid eyes on 'im I knowed he wouldn't do. He's too mealy-mouthed an'
- fawnin'. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth; he bragged on ever'thing we
- had while he was heer. Now, Alfred, what we must git at is, what was his
- object in tellin' you that tale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Object?” thundered her husband, losing his temper in the face of the
- awful possibility that her words hinted at. “Are you all a pack an' passle
- o' fools? If you must dive an' probe, then I 'll tell you he owns a slice
- o' timber-land above Holley Creek, j'inin' some o' mine, an' so he let me
- into the secret out o' puore good will. Oh, you all cayn't skeer me; I
- ain't one o' the skeerin' kind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But, notwithstanding this outburst, it was plain that doubt had actually
- taken root in the ordinarily cautious mind of the crude speculator. His
- face lengthened, the light of triumph went out of his eyes, leaving the
- shifting expression of a man taking desperate chances.
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner Daniel laughed out harshly all at once and then was silent. “What's
- the matter?” asked his sister, in despair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was jest a-wonderin',” replied her brother.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are?” said Bishop, angrily. “It seems to me you don't do much else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Folks 'at wonders a lot ain't so apt to believe ever'thing they heer,”
- retorted Abner. “I was just a-wonderin' why that little, spindle-shanked
- Peter Mosely has been holdin' his head so high the last week or so. I 'll
- bet I could make a durn good guess now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What under the sun's Peter Mosely got to do with my business?” burst from
- Bishop's impatient lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's got a sorter roundabout connection with it, I reckon,” smiled Abner,
- grimly. “I happen to know that Abe Tompkins sold 'im two thousand acres o'
- timber-land on Huckleberry Ridge jest atter yore Atlanta man spent the day
- lookin' round in these parts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop was no fool, and he grasped Abner's meaning even before it was
- quite clear to the others.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Looky heer,” he said, sharply, “what do you take me fur?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'ain't tuck you fer nothin',” said Abner, with a grin. “Leastwise,
- I'ain't tuck you fer five thousand dollars' wuth o' cotton-mill stock. To
- make a long story short, the Atlanta jack-leg lawyer is akin to the
- Tompkins family some way. I don't know exactly what kin, but Joe
- Tompkins's wife stayed at Perkins's house when she was down thar havin' er
- spine straightened. I'd bet a new hat to a ginger-cake that Perkins never
- owned a spoonful o' land up heer, an' that he's jest he'pin' the Tompkins
- folks on the sly to unload some o' the'r land, so they kin move West, whar
- they've always wanted to go. Peter Mosely is a man on the watch-out fer
- rail soft snaps, an' when Perkins whispered the big secret in his yeer,
- like he did to you, he started out on a still hunt fer timbered land on
- the line of the proposed trunk line due west vy-ah Lickskillet to Darley,
- with stop-over privileges at Buzzard Roost, an' fifteen minutes fer hash
- at Dog Trot Springs. Then, somehow or other, by hook or crook—mostly
- crook—Abe Tompkins wasn't dodgin' anybody about that time; Peter
- Mosely could 'a' run agin 'im with his eyes shut on a dark night. I was at
- Neil Fulmore's store when the two met, an' ef a trade was ever made
- quicker betwixt two folks it was done by telegraph an' the paper was
- signed by lightnin'. Abe said he had the land an' wouldn't part with it at
- any price ef he hadn't been bad in need o' money, fer he believed it was
- chuck-full o' iron ore, soapstone, black marble, an' water-power, to say
- nothin' o' timber, but he'd been troubled so much about cash, he said,
- that he'd made up his mind to let 'er slide an' the devil take the
- contents. I never seed two parties to a deal better satisfied. They both
- left the store with a strut. Mosely's strut was the biggest, fer he wasn't
- afeerd o' nothin'. Tompkins looked like he was afeerd Mosely ud call 'im
- back an' want to rue.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean to say—” But old Bishop seemed unable to put his growing
- fear into words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don't know nothin' fer certain,” said Abner Daniel,
- sympathetically; “but ef I was you I'd go down to Atlanta an' see Perkins.
- You kin tell by the way he acts whether thar's anything in his railroad
- story or not; but, by gum, you ort to know whar you stand. You've loaded
- yorese'f from hind to fore quarters, an' ef you don't plant yore feet on
- some'n you 'll go down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop clutched this proposition as a drowning man would a straw. “Well, I
- will go see 'im,” he said. “I 'll go jest to satisfy you. As fer as I'm
- concerned, I know he wasn't tellin' me no lie; but I reckon you all never
- 'll rest till you are satisfied.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He descended the steps and crossed the yard to the barn. They saw him lean
- over the rail fence for a moment as if in troubled thought, and then he
- seemed to shake himself, as if to rid himself of an unpleasant mental
- burden, and passed through the little sagging gate into the stable to feed
- his horses. It was now noon. The sun was shining broadly on the fields,
- and ploughmen were riding their horses home in their clanking harnesses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor father,” said Alan to his uncle, as his mother retired slowly into
- the house. “He seems troubled, and it may mean our ruin—absolute
- ruin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It ain't no triflin' matter,” admitted Daniel. “Thar's no tellin' how
- many thousand acres he may have bought; he's keepin' somethin' to hisse'f.
- I remember jest when that durn skunk of a lawyer put that flea in his
- yeer. They was at Hanson's mill, an' talked confidential together mighty
- nigh all mornin'. But let's not cross a bridge tell we git to it. Let's
- talk about some'n else. I hain't never had a chance to tell you, but I
- seed that gal in town yesterday, an' talked to 'er.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you, Uncle Ab?” the face of the young man brightened. His tone was
- eager and expectant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I'd hitched in the wagon-yard an' run into Hazen's drug-store to git
- a box o' axle-grease, an' was comin' out with the durn stuff under my arm
- when I run upon 'er a-settin' in a buggy waitin' to git a clerk to fetch
- 'er out a glass o' sody-water. She recognized me, an' fer no other earthly
- reason than that I'm yore uncle she spoke to me as pleasin' as a basket o'
- chips. What was I to do? I never was in such a plight in my life. I'd been
- unloadin' side-meat at Bartow's warehouse, an' was kivered from head to
- foot with salt and grease. I didn't have on no coat, an' the seat o' my
- pants was non est—I don't think thar was any est about 'em, to tell
- the truth; but I knowed it wouldn't be the part of a gentleman to let 'er
- set thar stretchin' 'er neck out o' socket to call a clerk when I was
- handy, so I wheeled about, hopin' an' prayin' ef she did look at me she'd
- take a fancy to the back o' my head, an' went in the store an' told 'em to
- git a hustle on the'r-se'ves. When I come out, she hauled me up to ax some
- questions about when camp-meetin' was goin' to set in this yeer, and when
- Adele was comin' home. I let my box o' axle-grease drap, an' it rolled
- like a wagon-wheel off duty, an' me after it, bendin'—<i>bendin</i>'
- of all positions—heer an' yan in the most ridiculous way. I tell you
- I'd never play croquet ur leapfrog in them pants. All the way home I
- thought how I'd disgraced you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you are all right, Uncle Ab,” laughed Alan. “She's told me several
- times that she likes you very much. She says you are genuine—genuine
- through and through, and she's right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd ruther have her say it than any other gal I know,” said Abner. “She's
- purty as red shoes, an', ef I'm any judge, she's genuwine too. I've got
- another idee about 'er, but I ain't a-givin' it away jest now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that she—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” and the old man smiled mischievously, “I didn't mean nothin' o' the
- sort. I wonder how on earth you could 'a' got sech a notion in yore head.
- I'm goin' to see how that black scamp has left my cotton land. I 'll bet
- he hain't scratched it any deeper'n a old hen would 'a' done lookin' fer
- worms.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- III
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9026.jpg" alt="9026 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9026.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE next morning at breakfast Alfred Bishop announced his intention of
- going to Atlanta to talk to Perkins, and incidentally to call on his
- brother William, who was a successful wholesale merchant in that city.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe I would,” said Mrs. Bishop. “Maybe William will tell you what
- to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd see Perkins fust,” advised Abner Daniel. “Ef I felt shore Perkins had
- buncoed me I'd steer cleer o' William. I'd hate to heer 'im let out on
- that subject. He's made his pile by keepin' a sharp lookout.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hain't had no reason to think I have been lied to,” said Bishop,
- doggedly, as he poured his coffee into his saucer and shook it about to
- cool. “A body could hear his death-knell rung every minute ef he'd jest
- listen to old women an'—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Old bachelors,” interpolated Abner. “I reckon they <i>are</i> alike. The
- longer a man lives without a woman the more he gits like one. I reckon
- that's beca'se the man 'at lives with one don't see nothin' wuth copyin'
- in 'er, an' vice-a-versy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Bishop had never been an appreciative listener to her brother's
- philosophy. She ignored what he had just said and its accompanying smile,
- which was always Abner's subtle apology for such observations.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you goin' to tell Adele about the railroad?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon I won't tell 'er to git up a' excursion over it, ”fore the
- cross-ties is laid,” retorted Bishop, sharply, and Abner Daniel laughed—that
- sort of response being in his own vein.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was goin' to say,” pursued the softly treading wife, “that I wouldn't
- mention it to 'er, ef—ef—Mr. Perkins ain't to be relied on,
- beca'se she worries enough already about our pore way o' livin' compared
- to her uncle's folks. Ef she knowed how I spent last night she'd want to
- come back. But I ain't a-goin' to let brother Ab skeer me yet. It is jest
- too awful to think about. What on earth would we do? What would we, I
- say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- That afternoon Bishop was driven to Darley by a negro boy who was to bring
- the buggy back home. He first repaired to a barber-shop, where he was
- shaved, had his hair cut, and his shoes blacked; then he went to the
- station half an hour before time and impatiently walked up and down the
- platform till the train arrived.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was six o'clock when he reached Atlanta and made his way through the
- jostling crowd in the big passenger depot out into the streets. He had his
- choice of going at once to the residence of his brother, on Peachtree
- Street, the most fashionable avenue of the city, or looking up Perkins in
- his office. He decided to unburden his mind by at once calling on the
- lawyer, whose office was in a tall building quite near at hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the hour at which Perkins usually left for home, but the old
- planter found him in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it's you, Mr. Bishop,” he said, suavely, as he rose from his desk in
- the dingy, disordered little room with its single window. He pushed a
- chair forward. “Sit down; didn't know you were in town. At your brother's,
- I reckon. How are the crops up the road? Too much rain last month, I'm
- afraid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop sank wearily into the chair. He had tired himself out thinking over
- what he would say to the man before him and with the awful contemplation
- of what the man might say to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are doin' as well as can be expected,” he made answer; but he didn't
- approve of even that platitude, for he was plain and outspoken, and hadn't
- come all that distance for a mere exchange of courtesies. Still, he lacked
- the faculty to approach easily the subject which had grown so heavy within
- the last twenty-four hours, and of which he now almost stood in terror.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that's good,” returned Perkins. He took up a pen as he resumed his
- seat, and began to touch it idly to the broad nail of his thumb. He was a
- swarthy man of fifty-five or sixty, rather tall and slender, with a bald
- head that sloped back sharply from heavy, jutting brows, under which a
- pair of keen, black eyes shone and shifted. “Come down to see your
- daughter,” he said. “Good thing for her that you have a brother in town.
- By-the-way, he's a fine type of a man. He's making headway, too; his trade
- is stretching out in all directions—funny how different you two are!
- He seems to take to a swallow-tail coat and good cigars like a duck to
- water, while you want the open sky above you, sweet-smelling fields
- around, an' fishing, hunting, sowing, reaping, and chickens—fat,
- juicy ones, like your wife fried when I was there. And her apple-butter!
- Ice-cream can' t hold a candle to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'lowed I'd see William 'fore I went back,” said Bishop, rather
- irrelevantly, and, for the lack of something else to do, he took out his
- eye-glasses and perched them on his sharp nose, only, on discovering the
- inutility of the act, to restore them clumsily to his pocket. He was
- trying to persuade himself, in the silence that followed, that, if the
- lawyer had known of his trade with the Tompkins heirs, he would naturally
- have alluded to it. Then, seeing that Perkins was staring at him rather
- fixedly, he said—it was a verbal plunge: “I bought some more
- timber-land yesterday!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you did? That's good.” Perkins's eyes fluttered once or twice before
- his gaze steadied itself on the face of the man before him. “Well, as I
- told you, Mr. Bishop, that sort of a thing is a good investment. I reckon
- it's already climbing up a little, ain't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not much yet.” It struck Bishop that he had given the lawyer a splendid
- opportunity to speak of the chief cause for an advance in value, and his
- heart felt heavier as he finished. “But I took quite a slice the last time—five
- thousand acres at the old figure, you know—a dollar a acre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't say! That <i>was</i> a slice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop drew himself up in his chair and inhaled a deep breath. It was as
- if he took into himself in that way the courage to make his next remark.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got it from the Tompkins estate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't say. I didn't know they had that much on hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a certain skill displayed in the lawyer's choice of questions
- and observations that somehow held him aloof from the unlettered man, and
- there was, too, something in his easy, bland manner that defied the open
- charge of underhand dealing, and yet Bishop had not paid out his railroad
- fare for nothing. He was not going back to his home-circle no wiser than
- when he left it. His next remark surprised himself; it was bluntness
- hardened by despair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sence I bought the land I've accidentally heerd that you are some kin o'
- that family.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perkins started slightly and raised his brows.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes; on my wife's side, away off, some way or other. I believe the
- original Tompkins that settled there from Virginia was my wife's
- grandfather. I never was much of a hand to go into such matters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The wily lawyer had erected as strong a verbal fence as was possible on
- such short notice, and for a moment it looked as if Bishop's frankness
- would not attempt to surmount it; but it did, in a fashion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I heerd that, Perkins, it was natural fer me to wonder why you, you
- see—why you didn't tell <i>them</i> about the railroad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The sallow features of the lawyer seemed to stiffen. He drew himself up
- coldly and a wicked expression flashed in his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take my advice, old man,” he snarled, as he threw down his pen and stared
- doggedly into Bishop's face, “stick to your farming and don't waste your
- time asking a professional lawyer questions which have no bearing on your
- business whatever. Now, really, do I have to explain to you my personal
- reasons for not favoring the Tompkins people with a—I may say—any
- piece of information?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop was now as white as death; his worst suspicions were confirmed; he
- was a ruined man; there was no further doubt about that. Suddenly he felt
- unable to bridle the contemptuous fury that raged within him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I know <i>why</i> you didn't tell 'em,” was what he hurled at the
- lawyer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think you do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it was beca'se you knowed no road was goin' to be built. You told
- Pete Mosely the same tale you did me, an' Abe Tompkins unloaded on 'im.
- That's a way you have o' doin' business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perkins stood up. He took his silk hat from the top of his desk and put it
- on. “Oh yes, old man,” he sneered, “I'm a terribly dishonest fellow; but
- I've got company in this world. Now, really, the only thing that has
- worried me has been your unchristian act in buying all that land from the
- Tompkins heirs at such a low figure when the railroad will advance its
- value so greatly. Mr. Bishop, I thought you were a good Methodist.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you kin laugh an' jeer all you like,” cried Bishop, “but I can handle
- you fer this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not as well versed in the law as you are in fertilizers, Mr.
- Bishop,” sneered the lawyer. “In order to make a case against me, you'd
- have to publicly betray a matter I told to you in confidence, and then
- what would you gain? I doubt if the court would force me to explain a
- private matter like this where the interests of my clients are concerned.
- And if the court did, I could simply show the letters I have regarding the
- possible construction of a railroad in your section. If you remember
- rightly, I did not say the thing was an absolute certainty. On top of all
- this, you'd be obliged to prove collusion between me and the Tompkins
- heirs over a sale made by their attorney, Mr. Trabue. There is one thing
- certain, Mr. Bishop, and that is that you have forfeited your right to any
- further confidence in this matter. If the road is built you 'll find out
- about it with the rest of your people. You think you acted wisely in
- attacking me this way, but you have simply cut off your nose to spite your
- face. Now I have a long car-ride before me, and it's growing late.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop stood up. He was quivering as with palsy. His voice shook and rang
- like that of a madman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a scoundrel, Perkins,” he said—“a dirty black snake in the
- grass. I want to tell you that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I hope you won't make any charge for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it's free.” Bishop turned to the door. There was a droop upon his
- whole body. He dragged his feet as he moved out into the unlighted
- corridor, where he paused irresolutely. So great was his agony that he
- almost obeyed an impulse to go back and fall at the feet of Perkins and
- implore his aid to rescue him and his family from impending ruin. The
- lawyer was moving about the room, closing his desk and drawing down the
- window-shade. Up from the street came the clanging of locomotive bells
- under the car-shed, the whir of street-cars, the clatter of cabs on the
- cobble-stones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's no use,” sighed Bishop, as he made his way down-stairs. “I'm ruined—Alan
- an' Adele hain't a cent to their names, an' that devil—” Bishop
- paused on the first landing like an animal at bay. He heard the steady
- step of Perkins on the floor above, and for a moment his fingers tingled
- with the thought of waiting there in the darkness and choking the life out
- of the subtle scoundrel who had taken advantage of his credulity.
- </p>
- <p>
- But with a groan that was half a prayer he went on down the steps and out
- into the lighted streets. At the first corner he saw a car which would
- take him to his brother's, and he hastened to catch it.
- </p>
- <p>
- William Bishop's house was a modern brick structure, standing on a
- well-clipped lawn which held a gothic summer-house and two or three marble
- statues. It was in the best portion of the avenue. Reaching it, the
- planter left the car and approached the iron gate which opened on to the
- granite steps leading up the terrace. It was now quite dark and many
- pedestrians were hurrying homeward along the sidewalks. Obeying a sudden
- impulse, the old man irresolutely passed by the gate and walked farther up
- the street. He wanted to gain time, to think whether it would be best for
- him in his present state of mind to meet those fashionable relatives—above
- all, his matter-of-fact, progressive brother.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Somehow I don't feel one bit like it,” he mused. “I couldn't tell
- William. He'd think I wanted to borrow money an' ud git skeerd right off.
- He always was afeerd I'd mismanage. An' then I'd hate to sp'ile Adele's
- visit, an' she could tell thar was some'n wrong by me bein' heer in sech a
- flurry. I reckon I <i>do</i> show it. How could a body he'p it? Oh, my
- Lord, have mercy! It's all gone, all—all me'n Betsy has saved.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned at the corner of his brother's property and slowly retraced his
- halting steps to the gate, but he did not pause, continuing his way back
- towards the station. A glance at the house showed that all the lower rooms
- were lighted, as well as the big prismatic lamp that hung over the front
- door. Bishop saw forms in light summer clothing on the wide veranda. “I
- 'll bet that tallest one is Sis,” he said, pathetically. “I jest wish I
- could see 'er a little while. Maybe it ud stop this awful hurtin' a little
- jest to look at 'er an' heer 'er laugh like she always did at home. She'd
- be brave; she wouldn't cry an' take on; but it would hurt 'er away down in
- 'er heart, especially when she's mixin' with sech high-flyers an'
- money-spenders. Lord, what 'll I do fer cash to send 'er next month? I'm
- the land-porest man in my county.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he went along he passed several fashionable hotels, from which
- orchestral music came. Through the plate-glass windows he saw men and
- women, amid palms and flowers, dining in evening dress and sparkling
- jewels.
- </p>
- <p>
- Reaching the station, he inquired about a train to Darley, and was told
- that one left at midnight. He decided to take it, and in the mean time he
- would have nothing to occupy him. He was not hungry; the travel and worry
- had killed his appetite; but he went into a little café across the street
- from the depot and ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee. He drank the
- coffee at a gulp, but the food seemed to stick in his throat. After this
- he went into the waiting-room, which was thronged with tired women holding
- babies in their arms, and roughly clad emigrants with packs and oil-cloth
- bags. He sat in one of the iron-armed seats without moving till he heard
- his train announced, and then he went into the smoking-car and sat down in
- a corner.
- </p>
- <p>
- He reached Darley at half-past three in the morning and went to the only
- hotel in the place. The sleepy night-clerk rose from his lounge behind the
- counter in the office and assigned him to a room to which a colored boy,
- vigorously rubbing his eyes, conducted him. Left alone in his room, he sat
- down on the edge of his bed and started to undress, but with a sigh he
- stopped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the use o' me lyin' down almost at daybreak?” he asked himself. “I
- mought as well be on the way home. I cayn't sleep nohow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Blowing out his lamp, he went down-stairs and roused the clerk again.
- “Will I have to pay fer that bed ef I don't use it?” he questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, no, Mr. Bishop,” said the clerk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I believe I 'll start out home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is your team in town?” asked the clerk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The team I'm a-goin' to use is. I'm goin' to foot it. I've done the like
- before this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it's a purty tough stretch,” smiled the clerk. “But the roads are
- good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- IV
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9035.jpg" alt="9035 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9035.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- T was a little after sunrise; the family had just left the breakfast-table
- when Bishop walked in; his shoes and trousers were damp with dew and
- covered with the dust of the road. His wife saw him entering the gate and
- called out to him from the hall:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I declare! Didn't you go to Atlanta?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He came slowly up the steps, dragging his feet after him. He had the
- appearance of a man beaten by every storm that could fall upon a human
- being.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I went,” he said, doggedly. He passed her and went into the
- sitting-room, where his brother-inlaw stood at the fireplace lighting his
- pipe with a live coal of fire on the tip of a stick. Abner Daniel looked
- at him critically, his brows raised a little as he puffed, but he said
- nothing. Mrs. Bishop came in behind her husband, sweeping him from head to
- foot with her searching eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't mean to tell me you walked out heer this mornin',” she cried.
- “Lord have mercy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know as I've prepared any set speech on the subject,” said her
- husband, testily; “but I walked. I could 'a' gone to a livery an' ordered
- out a team, but I believe thar's more'n one way o' wearin' sackcloth an'
- ashes, an' the sooner I begin the better I 'll feel.” Abner Daniel winked;
- the scriptural allusion appealed to his fancy, and he smiled impulsively.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That thar is,” he said. “Thar's a whole way an' a half way. Some folks
- jest wear it next to the skin whar it don't show, with broadcloth ur silk
- on the outside. They think ef it scratches a little that 'll satisfy the
- Lord an' hoodwink other folks. But I believe He meant it to be whole hog
- or none.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Bishop was deaf to this philosophy. “I don't see,” she said, in her
- own field of reflection—“I don't see, I say, how you got to Atlanta;
- attended to business; seed Adele; an' got back heer at sunrise. Why,
- Alfred—”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Bishop interrupted her. “Have you all had prayers yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you know we hain't,” said his wife, wondering over his strange
- manner. “I reckon it can pass jest this once, bein' as you are tired an'
- hain't had nothin' to eat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it can't pass, nuther; I don't want to touch a mouthful; tell the
- rest of 'em to come in, an' you fetch me the Book.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well!” Mrs. Bishop went out and told the negro woman and her daughter to
- stop washing the dishes and go in to prayer. Then she hurried out to the
- back porch, where Alan was oiling his gun.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something's happened to yore pa,” she said. “He acts queer, an' says sech
- strange things. He walked all the way from Darley this morning, an' now
- wants to have prayers 'fore he touches a bite o' breakfast. I reckon we
- are ruined.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm afraid that's it,” opined her son, as he put down his gun and
- followed her into the sitting-room. Here the two negroes stood against the
- wall. Abner Daniel was smoking and Bishop held the big family Bible on his
- quivering knees.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ef you mean to keep it up,” Abner was saying, argumentatively, “all right
- an' good; but I don't believe in sudden spurts o' worship. My hosses is
- hitched up ready to haul a load o' bark to the tannery, an' it may throw
- me a little late at dinner; but ef you are a-goin' to make a daily
- business of it I'm with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm a-goin' to be regular from now on,” said Bishop, slowly turning the
- leaves of the tome. “I forgot whar I read last.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You didn't finish about Samson tyin' all them foxes' tails together,”
- said Abner Daniel, as he knocked the hot ashes from his pipe into the palm
- of his hand and tossed them into the chimney. “That sorter interested me.
- I wondered how that was a-goin' to end. I'd hate to have a passle o' foxes
- with torches to the'r tails turned loose in my wheat jest 'fore cuttin'
- time. It must 'a' been a sight. I wondered how that was a-goin' to end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You 'll wonder how <i>yo're</i> a-goin' to end if you don't be more
- respectful,” said his sister.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like the foxes, I reckon,” grinned Abner, “with a eternal torch tied to
- me. Well, ef I am treated that away, I 'll go into the business o'
- destruction an' set fire to everything I run across.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ain' t you goin' to tell us what you did in Atlanta 'fore you have
- prayer?” asked Mrs. Bishop, almost resentfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I hain't!” Bishop snapped. “I 'll tell you soon enough. I reckon I
- won't read this mornin'; let's pray.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They all knelt reverently, and yet with some curiosity, for Bishop often
- suited his prayers to important occasions, and it struck them that he
- might now allude to the subject bound up within him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lord, God Almighty,” he began, his lower lip hanging and quivering, as
- were his hands clasped in the seat of his chair, “Thou knowest the
- struggle Thy creatures are makin' on the face of Thy green globe to live
- up to the best of the'r lights an' standards. As I bend before Thee this
- mornin' I realize how small a bein' I am in Thy sight, an' that I ort to
- bow in humble submission to Thy will, an' I do. For many yeers this family
- has enjoyed Thy bounteous blessings. We've had good health, an' the
- influence of a Bible-readin', God-fearin' community, an' our childern has
- been educated in a way that raised 'em head an' shoulders above many o'
- the'r associates an' even blood kin. I don't know exactly whar an' how
- I've sinned; but I know I have displeased Thee, fer Thy scourge has fallen
- hard an' heavy on my ambitions. I wanted to see my boy heer, a good,
- obedient son, an' my daughter thar in Atlanta, able to hold the'r heads up
- among the folks they mix with, an' so I reached out. Maybe it was
- forbidden fruit helt out by a snake in the devil's service. I don't know—Thou
- knowest. Anyways, I steered my course out o' the calm waters o' content
- an' peace o' soul into the whirlpool rapids o' avarice an' greed. I'lowed
- I was in a safe haven an' didn't dream o' the storm-clouds hangin' over me
- till they bust in fury on my head. Now, Lord, my Father, give them hearts
- of patience an' forgiveness fer the blunders of Thy servant. What I done,
- I done in the bull-headed way that I've always done things; but I meant
- good an' not harm. These things we ask in the name o' Jesus Christ, our
- blessed Lord an' Master. Amen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- During the latter part of the prayer Mrs. Bishop had been staring at her
- husband through her parted fingers, her face pale and agitated, and as she
- rose her eyes were glued to his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, Alfred,” she said, “what are you goin' to tell us about the
- railroad? Is it as bad as brother Ab thought it would be?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop hesitated. It seemed as if he had even then to tear himself from
- the clutch of his natural stubbornness. He looked into all the anxious,
- waiting faces before he spoke, and then he gave in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ab made a good guess. Ef I'd 'a' had his sense, or Alan' s, I'd 'a' made
- a better trader. It's like Ab said it was, only a sight wuss—a
- powerful sight wuss!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wuss?” gasped his wife, In fresh alarm. “How could it be wuss? Why,
- brother Ab said—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never have told you the extent o' my draim's,” went on Bishop in the
- current of confession. “I never even told Perkins yesterday. Fust an' last
- I've managed to rake in fully twenty thousand acres o' mountain-land. I
- was goin' on what I'lowed was a dead-shore thing. I secured all I could
- lay my hands on, an' I did it in secret. I was afeerd even to tell you
- about what Perkins said, thinkin' it mought leak out an' sp'ile my
- chances.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, father,” said Alan, “you didn't have enough money to buy all that
- land.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got it up”—Bishop's face was doggedly pale, almost defiant of his
- overwhelming disaster—“I mortgaged this farm to get money to buy
- Maybry and Morton's four thousand acres.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The farm you was going to deed to Alan?” gasped his wife. “You didn't
- include that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not in <i>that</i> deal,” groaned Bishop. “I swapped that to Phil Parsons
- fer his poplar an' cypress belt.” The words seemed to cut raspingly into
- the silence of the big room. Abner Daniel was the only one who seemed
- unmoved by the confession. He filled his pipe from the bowl on the
- mantel-piece and pressed the tobacco down with his forefinger; then he
- kicked the ashes in the chimney till he uncovered a small five coal. He
- eyed it for a moment, then dipped it up in the shovel, rolled it into his
- pipe, and began to smoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I ain't a-goin' to git no yeerly pass over the new road,” he said, his
- object being to draw his brother-in-law back to Perkins's action in the
- matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perkins was a-lyin' to me,” answered Bishop. “He hain't admitted it yet;
- but he was a-lyin'. His object was to he'p the Tompkins sell out fer a
- decent price, but he can' t be handled; he's got me on the hip.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Abner. “I'd ruther keep on swappin' gold dollars fer
- mountain-land an' lettin' it go fer taxes 'an to try to beat a lawyer at
- his own game. A court-house is like the devil's abode, easy to git into,
- no outlet, an' nothin' but scorch while you are thar.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush, fer the name o' goodness!” cried Mrs. Bishop, looking at her
- husband. “Don't you see he's dyin' from it? Are you all a-goin' to kill
- 'im? What does a few acres o' land ur debts amount to beside killin' a man
- 'at's been tryin' to help us all? Alfred, it ain't so mighty awful. You
- know it ain't! What did me 'n' you have when we started out but a
- log-house boarded up on the outside? an' now we've got our childern
- educated an' all of us in good health. I railly believe it's a sin agin
- God's mercy fer us to moan an' fret under a thing like this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's the talk,” exclaimed Abner Daniel, enthusiastically. “Now you are
- gittin' down to brass tacks. I've always contended—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God's sake, don't talk that way!” said Bishop to his wife. “You don't
- mean a word of it. You are jest a-sayin' it to try to keep me from seein'
- what a fool I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn't worry about me, father,” said Alan, firmly. “I am able to
- look out for myself an' for you and mother. It's done, and the best thing
- to do is to look at it in a sensible way. Besides, a man with twenty
- thousand acres of mountain-land paid for is not broken, by a long jump.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I'm gone,” said Bishop, a wavering look of gratitude in his eye as
- he turned to his son. “I figured on it all last night. I can't pay the
- heavy interest an' come out. I was playin' for big stakes an' got left.
- Thar's nothin' to do but give up. Me buyin' so much land has made it rise
- a little, but when I begin to try to sell I won't be able to give it
- away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thar's some'n in that,” opined Abner Daniel, as he turned to leave the
- room. “I reckon I mought as well go haul that tan-bark. I reckon you won't
- move out 'fore dinner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan followed him out to the wagon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's pretty tough, Uncle Ab,” he said. “I hadn't the slightest idea it
- was so bad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wasn't so shore,” said Daniel. “But I was jest a-thinkin' in thar.
- You've got a powerful good friend in Rayburn Miller. He's the sharpest
- speculator in North Georgia; ef I was you, I'd see him an' lay the whole
- thing before him. He 'll be able to give you good advice, an' I'd take it.
- A feller that's made as much money as he has at his age won't give a
- friend bad advice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought of him,” said Alan; “but I am a little afraid he will think we
- want to borrow money, and he never lets out a cent without the best
- security.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you needn't be afeerd on that score,” laughed the old man, as he
- reached up on the high wagon-seat for his whip. “I once heerd 'im say that
- business an' friendship wouldn't mix any better'n oil an' water.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- V
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9042.jpg" alt="9042 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9042.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE following Saturday Alan went to Darley, as he frequently did, to spend
- Sunday. On such visits he usually stayed at the Johnston House, a great,
- old-fashioned brick building that had survived the Civil War and remained
- untouched by the shot and shell that hurtled over it during that dismal
- period when most of the population had “refugeed farther south.” It had
- four stories, and was too big for the town, which could boast of only two
- thousand inhabitants, one-third of whom were black. However, the smallness
- of the town was in the hotel's favor, for in a place where no one would
- have patronized a second-class hotel, opposition would have died a natural
- death. The genial proprietor and his family were of the best blood, and
- the Johnston House was a sort of social club-house, where the church
- people held their affairs and the less serious element gave dances. To be
- admitted to the hotel without having to pay for one's dinner was the
- hallmark of social approval. It was near the ancient-looking brick
- car-shed under which the trains of two main lines ran, and a long freight
- warehouse of the same date and architecture. Around the hotel were
- clustered the chief financial enterprises of the town—its stores,
- post-office, banks, and a hall for theatrical purposes. Darley was the
- seat of its county, and another relic of the days before the war was its
- court house. The principal sidewalks were paved with brick, which in
- places were damp and green, and sometimes raised above their common level
- by the undergrowing roots of the sycamore-trees that edged the streets.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the office of the hotel, just after registering his name, Alan met his
- friend Rayburn Miller, for whose business ability, it may be remembered,
- Abner Daniel had such high regard. He was a fine-looking man of
- thirty-three, tall and of athletic build; he had dark eyes and hair, and a
- ruddy, out-door complexion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello,” he said, cordially. “I thought you might get in to-day, so I came
- round to see. Sorry you've taken a room. I wanted you to sleep with me
- to-night. Sister's gone, and no one is there but the cook. Hello, I must
- be careful. I'm drumming for business right under Sanford's nose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll make you stay with me to make up for it,” said Alan, as the clerk
- behind the counter laughed good-naturedly over the allusion to himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blamed if I don't think about it,” said Miller. “Come round to the
- office. I want to talk to you. I reckon you've got every plough going such
- weather as this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Took my horse out of the field to drive over,” said Alan, as they went
- out and turned down to a side street where there was a row of law offices,
- all two-roomed buildings, single-storied, built of brick, and bearing
- battered tin signs. One of these buildings was Miller's, which, like all
- its fellows, had its door wide open, thus inviting all the lawyers in the
- “row” and all students of law to enter and borrow books or use the
- ever-open desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- Rayburn Miller was a man among ten thousand in his class. Just after being
- graduated at the State University he was admitted to the bar and took up
- the practice of law. He could undoubtedly have made his way at this alone,
- had not other and more absorbing talents developed within him. Having had
- a few thousand dollars left him at his father's death, he began to utilize
- this capital in “note shaving,” and other methods of turning over money
- for a handsome profit furnished by the unsettled conditions, the time, and
- locality. He soon became an adept in many lines of speculation, and as he
- was remarkably shrewd and cautious, it is not to be wondered at that he
- soon accumulated quite a fortune.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take a seat,” he said to Alan, as they went into the office, and he threw
- himself into the revolving-chair at his littered desk. “I want to talk to
- you. I suppose you are in for some fun. The boys are getting up a dance at
- the hotel and they want your dollar to help pay the band. It's a good one
- this time. They've ordered it from Chattanooga. It will be down on the
- seven-thirty-five. Got a match?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan had not, and Miller turned his head to the open door. An old negro
- happened to be passing, with an axe on his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heigh, there, Uncle Ned!” Miller called out.
- </p>
- <p>
- The negro had passed, but he heard his name called and he came back and
- looked in at the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Want me, Marse Rayburn?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you old scamp; get me a match or I 'll shoot the top of your head
- off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, suh; all right, Marse Rayburn!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You ought to know him,” said Miller, with a smile, as the negro hurried
- into the adjoining office. “His wife cooks for Colonel Barclay; he might
- tell you if Miss Dolly's going to-night, but I know she is. Frank
- Hillhouse checked her name off the list, and I heard him say she'd
- accepted. By-the-way, that fellow will do to watch. I think he and the
- Colonel are pretty thick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you never let up on that?” Alan asked with a flush.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know that I shall,” laughed Rayburn. “It seems so funny to see
- you in love, or, rather, to see you think you are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have never said I was,” said Alan, sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you show it so blamed plain,” said Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heer 'tis, Marse Rayburn. Marse Trabue said you could have a whole box ef
- you'd put up wid sulphur ones.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller took the matches from the outstretched hand and tossed a cigar to
- Alan. “Say, Uncle Ned,” he asked, “do you know that gentleman?” indicating
- Alan with a nod of his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- A quizzical look dawned in the old negro's eyes, and then he gave a
- resounding guffaw and shook all over.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon I know his hoss, Marse Rayburn,” he tittered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's a good one on you, Alan,” laughed Miller. “He knows your 'hoss.'I
- 'll have to spring that on you when I see you two together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As the negro left the office Mr. Trabue leaned in the doorway, holding his
- battered silk hat in his hand and mopping his perspiring face.
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded to Alan, and said to Miller: “Do you want to write?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not any more for you, thanks,” said Miller. “I have the back-ache now
- from those depositions I made out for you yesterday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don't mean that,” the old lawyer assured him, “but I had to borrow
- yore ink just now, and seein' you at yore desk I thought you might need
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, if I do,” jested Miller, “I can buy another bottle at the book-store.
- They pay me a commission on the ink I furnish the row. They let me have it
- cheap by the case. What stumps me is that you looked in to see if I needed
- it. You are breaking the rule, Mr. Trabue. They generally make me hunt for
- my office furniture when I need it. They've borrowed everything I have
- except my iron safe. Their ignorance of the combination, its weight, and
- their confirmed laziness is all that saved it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When the old lawyer had gone the two friends sat and smoked in silence for
- several minutes. Alan was studying Miller's face. Something told him that
- the news of his father's disaster had reached him, and that Miller was
- going to speak of it. He was not mistaken, for the lawyer soon broached
- the subject.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've been intending to ride out to see you almost every day this week,”
- he said, “but business has always prevented my leaving town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you have heard—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Alan, I'm sorry, but it's all over the country. A man's bad luck
- spreads as fast as good war news. I heard it the next day after your
- father returned from Atlanta, and saw the whole thing in a flash. The
- truth is, Perkins had the cheek to try his scheme on me. I'm the first
- target of every scoundrel who has something to sell, and I've learned many
- of their tricks. I didn't listen to all he had to say, but got rid of him
- as soon as I could. You must not blame the old man. As I see it now, it
- was a most plausible scheme, and the shame of it is that no one can be
- handled for it. I don't think the Tompkins heirs knew anything of
- Perkins's plans at all, except that he was to get a commission, perhaps,
- if the property was sold. Trabue is innocent, too—a cat's-paw. As
- for Perkins, he has kept his skirts clear of prosecution. Your father will
- have to grin and bear it. He really didn't pay a fabulous price for the
- land, and if he were in a condition to hold on to it for, say, twenty-five
- years, he might not lose money; but who can do that sort of thing? I have
- acres and acres of mountain-land offered me at a much lower figure, but
- what little money I've made has been made by turning my capital rapidly.
- Have you seen Dolly since it happened?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not for two weeks,” replied Alan. “I went to church with her Sunday
- before last, and have not seen her since. I was wondering if she had heard
- about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes; she's heard it from the Colonel. It may surprise you, but the
- thing has rubbed him the wrong way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, I don't understand,” exclaimed Alan. “Has he—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The old man has had about two thousand acres of land over near your
- father's purchases, and it seems that he was closely watching all your
- father's deals, and, in spite of his judgment to the contrary, Mr.
- Bishop's confidence in that sort of real-estate has made him put a higher
- valuation on his holdings over there. So you see, now that your father's
- mistake is common talk, he is forced to realize a big slump, and he wants
- to blame some one for it. I don't know but that your father or some one
- else made him an offer for his land which he refused. So you see it is
- only natural for him to be disgruntled.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see,” said Alan. “I reckon you heard that from Miss Dolly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller smoked slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes”—after a pause—“I dropped in there night before last and
- she told me about it. She's not one of your surface creatures. She talks
- sensibly on all sorts of subjects. Of course, she's not going to show her
- heart to me, but she couldn't hide the fact that your trouble was worrying
- her a good deal. I think she'd like to see you at the ball to-night. Frank
- Hillhouse will give you a dance or two. He's going to be hard to beat.
- He's the most attentive fellow I ever run across. He's got a new buggy—a
- regular hug-me-tight—and a high-stepping Kentucky mare for the
- summer campaign. He 'll have some money at his father's death, and all the
- old women say he's the best catch in town because he doesn't drink, has a
- Sunday-school class, and will have money. We are all going to wear
- evening-suits to-night. There are some girls from Rome visiting Hattie
- Alexander, and we don't want them to smell hay in our hair. You know how
- the boys are; unless all of us wear spike-tails no one will, so we took a
- vote on it and we 'll be on a big dike. There 'll be a devilish lot of
- misfits. Those who haven't suits are borrowing in all directions. Frank
- Buford will rig out in Colonel Day's antebellum toggery. Did you bring
- yours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It happens to be at Parker's shop, being pressed,” said Alan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've had three in the last six years,” laughed Miller. “You know how much
- larger Todd Selman is than I am; he bursted one of mine from collar to
- waist last summer at the Springs, and sweated so much that you could dust
- salt out of it for a month afterwards. I can't refuse 'em, God bless 'em!
- Jeff Higgins married in my best Prince Albert last week and spilled boiled
- custard on it; but he's got a good wife and a fair job on a railroad in
- Tennessee now. I'd have given him the coat, but he'd never have accepted
- it, and been mad the rest of his life at my offer. Parker said somebody
- had tried to scrape the custard off with a sharp knife, and that he had a
- lot of trouble cleaning it. I wore the coat yesterday and felt like I was
- going to be married. Todd must have left some of his shivers in it I
- reckon that's as near as I 'll ever come to the hitching-post.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just then a tall, thin man entered. He wore a rather threadbare
- frock-coat, unevenly bound with braid, and had a sallow, sunken, and
- rather long face. It was Samuel Craig, one of the two private bankers of
- the town. He was about sixty years of age and had a pronounced stoop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello!” he said, pleasantly; “you young bloods are a-goin' to play smash
- with the gals' hearts to-night, I reckon. I say go it while you are young.
- Rayburn, I want to get one of them iron-clad mortgage-blanks. I've got a
- feller that is disposed to wiggle, an' I want to tie 'im up. The inventor
- of that form is a blessing to mankind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Help yourself,” smiled Miller. “I was just telling Mr. Trabue that I was
- running a stationery store, and if I was out of anything in the line I'd
- order it for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The banker laughed good-humoredly as he selected several of the blanks
- from the drawer Rayburn had opened in the desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you won't complain as much of hard times as Jake Pitner does,” he
- chuckled. “I passed his store the other day, where he was standin' over
- some old magazines that he'd marked down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'How's trade?' I asked 'im. 'It's gone clean to hell,' he said, and I
- noticed he'd been drinking. 'I 'll give you a sample of my customers,' he
- went on. 'A feller from the mountains come in jest now an' asked the price
- of these magazines. I told him the regular price was twenty-five cents
- apiece, but I'd marked 'em down to five. He looked at 'em for about half a
- hour an' then said he wasn't goin' out o' town till sundown an' believed
- he'd take one if I'd read it to him.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig laughed heartily as he finished the story, and Alan and Miller
- joined in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to remember that yarn when you get to over-checkin' on me,”
- said Craig, jestingly. “I was just noticing this morning that you have
- drawn more than your deposit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Over-checked?” said Miller. “You 'll think I have when all my checks get
- in. I mailed a dozen to-day. They 'll slide in on you in about a week and
- you 'll telegraph <i>Bradstreet's</i> to know how I stand. This is a <i>fine</i>
- banker,” Miller went on to Alan. “He twits me about over-checking
- occasionally. Let me tell you something. Last year I happened to have ten
- thousand dollars on my hands waiting for a cotton factory to begin
- operations down in Alabama, and as I had no idea when the money would be
- called for I placed it with his nibs here 'on call.'Things got in a tangle
- at the mill and they kept waiting, and our friend here concluded I had
- given it to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you had forgotten you had it,” said Craig, with another of his
- loud, infectious laughs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anyway,” went on Miller, “I got a sudden order for the amount and ran in
- on him on my way from the post-office. I made out my check and stuck it
- under his nose. Great Scott! you ought to have seen him wilt. I don't
- believe he had half of it in the house, but he had ten million excuses. He
- kept me waiting two days and hustled around to beat the band. He thought I
- was going to close him up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was a close shave,” admitted Craig. “Never mind about the
- over-checking, my boy; keep it up, if it will help you. You are doing
- altogether too much business with the other bank to suit me, anyway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- VI
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9051.jpg" alt="9051 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9051.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE young people assembled slowly at the dance that evening. Towards dark
- it had begun raining, and according to custom two livery-stable carriages,
- called “hacks,” were engaged to convey all the couples to and from the
- hotel. There was no disputing over who should have the first use of the
- vehicles, for the young ladies who had the reputation of getting ready
- early on such occasions were gone after first, and those who liked to take
- their time in making preparations were left till later.
- </p>
- <p>
- Everything in life is relative, and to young people who often went to even
- less pretentious entertainments this affair was rather impressive in its
- elegance. Lamps shone everywhere, and bunches of candles blazed and
- sputtered in nooks hung about with evergreens. The girls were becomingly
- attired in light evening-gowns, and many of them were good-looking,
- refined, and graceful. All were soft-spoken and easy in their manners, and
- either wore or carried flowers. The evening-suits of the young men were
- well in evidence, and more noticeable to the wearers themselves than they
- would have been to a spectator used to conventional style of dress. They
- could be seen in all stages of inadaptability to figures too large or too
- small, and even after the dance began there were several swaps, and a due
- amount of congratulation on the improvement from the appreciative fair
- sex. The young lady accompanying each young man had pinned a small bouquet
- on his lapel, so that it would have been impossible to tell whether a man
- had a natural taste for flowers or was the willing victim to a taste
- higher than his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- Rayburn Miller and Alan sat smoking and talking in the room of the latter
- till about half-past nine o' clock, and then they went down. As a general
- rule, young men were expected to escort ladies to dances, when the young
- men went at all; but Alan was often excused from so doing on account of
- living in the country, and Miller had broken down every precedent in that
- respect and never invited a girl to go with him. He atoned for this
- shortcoming by contributing most liberally to every entertainment given by
- the young people, even when he was out of town. He used to say he liked to
- graze and nibble at such things and feel free to go to bed or business at
- will.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the two friends entered the big parlor, Alan espied the girl about whom
- he had been thinking all day. She was seated in one of the deep,
- lace-curtained windows behind the piano. Frank Hillhouse was just
- presenting to her a faultlessly attired travelling salesman. At this
- juncture one of the floor-managers with a white rosette on his lapel
- called Miller away to ask his advice about some details, and Alan turned
- out of the parlor into the wide corridor which ran through the house. He
- did this in obedience to another unwritten law governing Darley's social
- intercourse—that it would be impolite for a resident gentleman to
- intrude himself upon a stranger who had just been introduced to a lady. So
- he went down to the ground floor and strolled into the office. It was full
- of tobacco smoke and a throng of men, some of whom were from the country
- and others from the town, drawn to the hotel by the festivities. From the
- office a door opened into a bar and billiard room, whence came the
- clicking of ivory balls and the grounding of cues. Another door led into
- the large dining-room, which had been cleared of its tables that it might
- be used for dancing. There was a sawing of fiddles, the twanging of
- guitars, the jingle of tambourines, and the groaning of a bass-viol. The
- musicians, black and yellow, occupied chairs on one of the tables, which
- had been placed against the wall, and one of the floor-managers was
- engaged in whittling paraffine-candles over the floor and rubbing it in
- with his feet. Seeing what he was doing, some of the young men, desirous
- of trying their new patent-leather pumps, came in and began to waltz
- singly and in couples.
- </p>
- <p>
- When everything was in readiness the floor-managers piloted the dancers
- down-stairs. From the office Alan saw them filing into the big room and
- taking seats in the chairs arranged against the walls on all sides. He saw
- Frank Hillhouse and Dolly Barclay sit down near the band; the salesman had
- disappeared. Alan threw his cigar away and went straight to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, here you are,” laughed Frank Hillhouse, as Alan shook hands with her.
- “I told Miss Dolly coming on that the west wind would blow you this way,
- and when I saw Ray Miller just now I knew you'd struck the town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It wasn't exactly the wind,” replied Alan. “I'm afraid you will forget me
- if I stay on the farm all the time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We certainly are glad to have you,” smiled Miss Barclay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew she'd say that—I knew it—I knew it,” said Hillhouse.
- “A girl can always think of nicer things to say to a feller than his rival
- can. Old Squire Trabue was teasing me the other day about how hard you was
- to beat, Bishop, but I told him the bigger the war the more victory for
- somebody; and, as the feller said, I tote fair and am above board.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan greeted this with an all but visible shudder. There was much in his
- dignified bearing and good appearance to commend him to the preference of
- any thinking woman, especially when contrasted to Hill-house, who was only
- a little taller than Dolly, and was showing himself even at a greater
- disadvantage in his unrefined allusions to his and Alan' s attentions to
- her. Indeed, Alan was sorry for the spectacle the fellow was making of
- himself, and tried to pass it over.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I usually come in on Saturdays,” he explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's true,” said Dolly, with one of her rare smiles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes”—Hillhouse took another header into forbidden waters—“he's
- about joined your church, they tell me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan treated this with an indulgent smile. He did not dislike Hillhouse,
- but he did not admire him, and he had never quite liked his constant
- attentions to Miss Barclay. But it was an acknowledged fact among the
- society girls of Darley that if a girl refused to go out with any young
- man in good standing it was not long before she was left at home oftener
- than was pleasant. Dolly was easily the best-looking girl in the room;
- not, perhaps, the most daintily pretty, but she possessed a beauty which
- strength of character and intellect alone could give to a face already
- well featured. Even her physical beauty alone was of that texture which
- gives the beholder an agreeable sense of solidity. She was well formed,
- above medium height, had a beautiful neck and shoulders, dark-gray eyes,
- and abundant golden-brown hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I see your card?” asked Alan. “I came early to secure at least one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this Frank Hillhouse burst out laughing and she smiled up at Alan.
- “He's been teasing me all evening about the predicament I'm in,” she
- explained. “The truth is, I'm not going to dance at all. The presiding
- elder happened in town to-day, on his way through, and is at our house.
- You know how bitter he is against church-members dancing. At first mamma
- said I shouldn't come a step; but Mr. Hillhouse and I succeeded in getting
- up a compromise. I can only look on. But my friends are having pity on me
- and filling my card for what they call stationary dances.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan laughed as he took the card, which was already almost filled, and
- wrote his name in one of the blank spaces. Some one called Hillhouse away,
- and then an awkward silence fell upon them. For the first time Alan
- noticed a worried expression on her face, now that it was in repose, but
- it lighted up again when she spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have no button-hole bouquet,” she said, noticing his bare lapel.
- “That's what you get for not bringing a girl. Let me make you one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish you would,” he said, thoughtfully, for as she began to search
- among her flowers for some rosebuds and leaves he noted again the
- expression of countenance that had already puzzled him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Since you are so popular,” he went on, his eyes on her deft fingers, “I'd
- better try to make another engagement. I'd as well confess that I came in
- town solely to ask you to let me take you to church tomorrow evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw her start; she raised her eyes to his almost imploringly, and then
- she looked down. He saw her breast heave suddenly as with tightened lips
- she leaned forward to pin the flowers on his coat. The jewels in her rings
- flashed under his eyes; there was a delicate perfume in the air about her
- glorious head. He had never seen her look so beautiful before. He wondered
- at her silence at just such a moment. The tightness of her lips gave way
- and they fell to trembling when she started to speak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hardly know what to say,” she began. “I—I—you know I said
- the presiding elder was at our house, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I understand,” broke in Alan; “that's all right. Of course, use your
- own—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I must be plain with you,” she broke in, raising a pair of helpless,
- tortured eyes to his; “you will not think I had anything to do with it. In
- fact, my heart is almost broken. I'm very, very unhappy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was still totally at sea as to the cause of her strange distress.
- “Perhaps you'd rather not tell me at all,” he said, sympathetically; his
- tone never had been so tender. “You need not, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it's a thing I could not keep from you long, anyway,” she said,
- tremulously. “In fact, it is due you—an explanation, I mean. Oh,
- Alan, papa has taken up the idea that we—that we like each other too
- much, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- The life and soul seemed to leave Alan' s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I understand,” he heard himself saying; “he does not want me to visit you
- any more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made no reply; he saw her catch a deep breath, and her eyes went down
- to her flowers. The music struck up. The mulatto leader stood waving his
- fiddle and calling for “the grand march” in loud, melodious tones. There
- was a scrambling for partners; the young men gave their left arms to the
- ladies and merrily dragged them to their places.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you do not blame me—that you don't think that I—” but
- the clatter and clamor ingulfed her words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not at all,” he told her; “but it's awful—simply awful I I know
- you are a true friend, and that's some sort of comfort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I always shall be,” she gulped. “You must try not to feel hurt. You
- know my father is a very peculiar man, and has an awful will, and nobody
- was ever so obstinate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Alan' s sense of the great injustice of the thing rose up within him
- and his blood began to boil. “Perhaps I ought to take my name off your
- card,” he said, drawing himself up slightly; “if he were to hear that I
- talked to you to-night he might make it unpleasant for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you do I shall never—<i>never forgive you</i>,” she answered, in
- a voice that shook. There was, too, a glistening in her eyes, as if tears
- were springing. “Wouldn't that show that you harbored ill-will against me,
- when I am so helpless and troubled?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it would; and I shall come back,” he made answer. He rose, for
- Hillhouse, calling loudly over his shoulder to some one, was thrusting his
- bowed arm down towards her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon,” he said to Dolly. “I didn't know they had called the
- march. We've got some ice-cream hid out up-stairs, and some of us are
- going for it. Won't you take some, Bishop?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, thank you,” said Alan, and they left him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- VI
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9058.jpg" alt="9058 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9058.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- LAN made his way along the wall, out of the track of the promenaders, into
- the office, anxious to escape being spoken to by any one. But here several
- jovial men from the mountains who knew him intimately gathered around him
- and began to make laughing remarks about his dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You look fer the world like a dirt-dauber.” This comparison to a kind of
- black wasp came from Pole Baker, a tall, heavily built farmer with an
- enormous head, thick eyebrows, and long, shaggy hair. He lived on Bishop's
- farm, and had been brought up with Alan. “I 'll be derned ef you ain't
- nimble on yore feet, though. I've seed you cut the pigeon-wing over on
- Mossy Creek with them big, strappin' gals 'fore you had yore sights as
- high as these town folks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's that thar vest that gits me,” said another. “I reckon it's cut low
- so you won't drap saft victuals on it; but I guess you don't do much
- eatin' with that collar on. It don't look like yore Adam's-apple could
- stir a peg under it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a good-natured reply and a laugh he did not feel, Alan hurried out of
- the office and up to his room, where he had left his lamp burning. Rayburn
- Miller's hat and light overcoat were on the bed. Alan sat down in one of
- the stiff-backed, split-bottom chairs and stared straight in front of him.
- Never in his life had he suffered as he was now suffering. He could see no
- hope ahead; the girl he loved was lost to him. Her father had heard of the
- foolhardiness of old man Bishop, and, like many another well-meaning
- parent, had determined to save his daughter from the folly of marrying a
- penniless man, who had doubtless inherited his father's lack of judgment
- and caution.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a rap on the closed door, and immediately afterwards Rayburn
- Miller turned the knob and came in. His kindly glance swept the face of
- his friend, and he said, with forced lightness:
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was doing the cake-walk with that fat Howard girl from Rome when I saw
- you leave the room. She can' t hide the fact that she is from a city of
- ten thousand population. She kept calling my attention to what our girls
- had on and sniggering. She's been to school in Boston and looked across
- the ocean from there. You know I don't think we lead the world, but it
- makes me fighting mad to have our town sneered at. When she was making so
- much fun of the girls' dresses, I came in an inch of asking her if she was
- a dressmaker. By God, I did! You remember,” Miller went on lightly, as if
- he had divined Alan' s misery and was trying to cheer him up—“you
- remember how Percy Lee, Hamilton's shoe-clerk, hit back at that Savannah
- girl. She was stopping in this house for a month one summer, and he called
- on her and took her driving several times; but one day she let herself
- out. 'Everything is so different up here, Mr. Lee,' she giggled. 'Down
- home, girls in good society never receive young men in your business.'It
- was a lick between the eyes; but old North Georgia was ready for it.
- 'Oh,' said Percy, whose mother's blood is as blue as indigo, 'the Darley
- girls draw the line, too; I only get to go with hotel girls.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan looked up and smiled, but his face seemed frozen. Miller sat down,
- and an awkward silence fell for several minutes. It was broken by the
- lawyer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want to bore you, old man,” he said, “but I just had to follow
- you. I saw from your looks as you left the ballroom that something was
- wrong, and I am afraid I know what it is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think you do?” asked Alan, flashing a glance of surprise upward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. You see, Colonel Barclay is a rough, outspoken man, and he made a
- remark the other day which reached me. I wasn't sure it was true, so I
- didn't mention it; but I reckon my informant knew what he was talking
- about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan nodded despondently. “I asked her to go to church with me to-morrow
- night. She was awfully embarrassed, and finally told me of her father's
- objections.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I know what fired the old devil up,” said Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it was that mistake of your father's. As I told you, the Colonel is
- as mad as a wet hen about the whole thing. He's got a rope tied to every
- nickel he's got, and he intends to leave Dolly a good deal of money. He
- thinks Frank Hillhouse is just the thing; he shows that as plain as day.
- He noticed how frequently you came to see Dolly and scented danger ahead,
- and simply put his foot down on it, just as fathers have been doing ever
- since the Flood. My dear boy, you've got a bitter pill to take, but you've
- got to swallow it like a man. You've reached a point where two roads fork.
- It is for you to decide which one you 'll take.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan made no reply. Rayburn Miller lighted a cigar and began to smoke
- steadily. There was a sound of boisterous laughter in a room across the
- corridor. It had been set aside as the dressing-room for the male
- revellers, and some of them were there, ordering drinks up from the bar.
- Now and then from below came muffled strains of music and the monotonous
- shuffling of feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's none of my business,” Miller burst out, suddenly; “but I'm friend
- enough of yours to feel this thing like the devil. However, I don't know
- what to say. I only wish I knew how far you've gone into it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan smiled mechanically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you can' t look at me and see how far I've gone you are blind,” he
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't mean that,” replied Miller. “I was wondering how far you had
- committed yourself—oh, damn it!—made love, and all that sort
- of thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've never spoken to her on the subject,” Alan informed him, gloomily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good, good! Splendid!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan stared in surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't understand,” he said. “She knows—that is, I think she knows
- how I feel, and I have hoped that—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never mind about that,” interrupted Miller, laconically. “There is a
- chance for both of you if you 'll turn square around like sensible human
- beings and look the facts in the face.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That it will be stupid, childish idiocy for either or both of you to let
- this thing spoil your lives.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't understand you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you will before I'm through with you, and I 'll do you up brown.
- There are simply two courses open to you, my boy. One is to treat Colonel
- Barclay's wishes with dignified respect, and bow and retire just as any
- European gentleman would do when told that his pile was too small to be
- considered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the other?” asked Alan, sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The other is to follow in the footsteps of nearly every sentimental fool
- that ever was born, and go around looking like a last year's bird's-nest,
- looking good for nothing, and being good for nothing; or, worse yet,
- persuading the girl to elope, and thus angering her father so that he will
- cut her out of what's coming to her and what is her right, my boy. She may
- be willing to live on a bread-and-water diet for a while, but she 'll lose
- flesh and temper in the long run. If you don't make as much money for her
- as you cause her to lose she 'll tell you of it some day, or at least let
- you see it, an' that's as long as it's wide. You are now giving yourself a
- treatment in self-hypnotism, telling yourself that life has not and cannot
- produce a thing for you beyond that particular pink frock and yellow head.
- I know how you feel. I've been there six different times, beginning with a
- terrible long first attack and dwindling down, as I became inoculated with
- experience, till now the complaint amounts to hardly more than a momentary
- throe when I see a fresh one in a train for an hour's ride. I can do you a
- lot of good if you 'll listen to me. I 'll give you the benefit of my
- experience.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What good would your devilish experience do me?” said Alan, impatiently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would fit any man's case if he'd only believe it. I've made a study of
- love. I've observed hundreds of typical cases, and watched marriage from
- inception through protracted illness or boredom down to dumb resignation
- or sudden death. I don't mean that no lovers of the ideal, sentimental
- brand are ever happy after marriage, but I do believe that open-eyed
- courtship will beat the blind sort all hollow, and that, in nine cases out
- of ten, if people were mated by law according to the judgment of a
- sensible, open-eyed jury, they would be happier than they now are. Nothing
- ever spoken is truer than the commandment, 'Thou shalt have no other God
- but me.'Let a man put anything above the principle of living right and he
- will be miserable. The man who holds gold as the chief thing in life will
- starve to death in its cold glitter, while a pauper in rags will have a
- laugh that rings with the music of immortal joy. In the same way the man
- who declares that only one woman is suited to him is making a god of her—raising
- her to a seat that won't support her dead, material weight. I frankly
- believe that the glamour of love is simply a sort of insanity that has
- never been correctly named and treated because so many people have been
- the victims of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know,” Alan burst in, almost angrily, “when you talk that way I
- think you are off. I know what's the matter with you; you have simply
- frittered away your heart, your ability to love and appreciate a good
- woman. Thank Heaven! your experience has not been mine. I don't see how
- you could ever be happy with a woman. I couldn't look a pure wife in the
- face and remember all the flirtations you've indulged in—that is, if
- they were mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There you go,” laughed Miller; “make it personal, that's the only way the
- average lover argues. I am speaking in general terms. Let me finish. Take
- two examples: first, the chap crazily in love, who faces life with the red
- rag of his infatuation—his girl. No parental objection, everything
- smooth, and a car-load of silverware—a clock for every room in the
- house. They start out on their honeymoon, doing the chief cities at the
- biggest hotels and the theatres in the three-dollar seats. They soon tire
- of themselves and lay it to the trip. Every day they rake away a handful
- of glamour from each other, till, when they reach home, they have come to
- the conclusion that they are only human, and not the highest order at
- that. For a while they have a siege of discontent, wondering where it's
- all gone. Finally, the man is forced to go about his work, and the woman
- gets to making things to go on the backs of chairs and trying to spread
- her trousseau over the next year, and they begin to court resignation. Now
- if they had not had the glamour attack they would have got down to
- business sooner, that's all, and they would have set a better example to
- other plungers. Now for the second illustration. Poverty on one side,
- boodle on the other; more glamour than in other case, because of the gulf
- between. They get married—they have to; they've inherited the stupid
- idea that the Lord is at the bottom of it and that the glamour is His
- smile. Like the other couple, their eyes are finally opened to the facts,
- and they begin to secretly wonder what it's all about; the one with the
- spondoolix wonders harder than the one who has none. If the man has the
- money, he will feel good at first over doing so much for his affinity; but
- if he has an eye for earthly values—and good business men have—there
- will be times when he will envy Jones, whose wife had as many rocks as
- Jones. Love and capital go together like rain and sunshine; they are
- productive of something. Then if the woman has the money and the man
- hasn't, there's tragedy—a slow cutting of throats. She is
- irresistibly drawn with the rest of the world into the thought that she
- has tied herself and her money to an automaton, for such men are
- invariably lifeless. They seem to lose the faculty of earning money—in
- any other way. And as for a proper title for the penniless young idiot
- that publicly advertises himself as worth enough, in himself, for a girl
- to sacrifice her money to live with him—well, the unabridged does
- not furnish it. Jack Ass in bill-board letters would come nearer to it
- than anything that occurs to me now. I'm not afraid to say it, for I know
- you'd never cause any girl to give up her fortune without knowing, at
- least, whether you could replace it or not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan rose and paced the room. “That,” he said, as he stood between the
- lace curtains at the window, against which the rain beat steadily—“that
- is why I feel so blue. I don't believe Colonel Barclay would ever forgive
- her, and I'd die before I'd make her lose a thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right,” returned Miller, relighting his cigar at the lamp, “and
- he'd cut her off without a cent. I know him. But what is troubling me is
- that you may not be benefited by my logic. Don't allow this to go any
- further. Let her alone from to-night on and you 'll find in a few months
- that you are resigned to it, just like the average widower who wants to
- get married six months after his loss. And when she is married and has a
- baby, she 'll meet you on the street and not care a rap whether her hat's
- on right or not. She 'll tell her husband all about it, and allude to you
- as her first, second, or third fancy, as the case may be. I have faith in
- your future, but you've got a long, rocky row to hoe, and a thing like
- this could spoil your usefulness and misdirect your talents. If I could
- see how you could profit by waiting I'd let your flame burn unmolested;
- but circumstances are agin us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd already seen my duty,” said Alan, in a low tone, as he came away from
- the window. “I have an engagement with her later, and the subject shall be
- avoided.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good man!” Miller's cigar was so short that he stuck the blade of his
- penknife through it that he might enjoy it to the end without burning his
- fingers. “That's the talk! Now I must mosey on down-stairs and dance with
- that Miss Fewclothes from Rome—the one with the auburn tresses, that
- says 'delighted' whenever she is spoken to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan went back to the window. The rain was still beating on it. For a long
- time he stood looking out into the blackness. The bad luck which had come
- to his father had been a blow to him; but its later offspring had the
- grim, cold countenance of death itself. He had never realized till now
- that Dolly Barclay was so much a part of his very life. For a moment he
- almost gave way to a sob that rose and struggled within him. He sat down
- again and clasped his hands before him in dumb self-pity. He told himself
- that Rayburn Miller was right, that only weak men would act contrary to
- such advice. No, it was over—all, all over.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- VIII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9067.jpg" alt="9067 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9067.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- FTER the dance Frank Hillhouse took Dolly home in one of the drenched and
- bespattered hacks. The Barclay residence was one of the best-made and
- largest in town. It was an old-style Southern frame-house, painted white,
- and had white-columned verandas on two sides. It was in the edge of the
- town, and had an extensive lawn in front and almost a little farm behind.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly's mother had never forgotten that she was once a girl herself, and
- she took the most active interest in everything pertaining to Dolly's
- social life. On occasions like the one just described she found it
- impossible to sleep till her daughter returned, and then she slipped
- up-stairs, and made the girl tell all about it while she was disrobing.
- To-night she was more alert and wide-awake than usual. She opened the
- front door for Dolly and almost stepped on the girl's heels as she
- followed her up-stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it nice?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, very,” Dolly replied. Reaching her room, she turned up the
- low-burning lamp, and, standing before a mirror, began to take some
- flowers out of her hair. Mrs. Barclay sat down on the edge of the
- high-posted mahogany bed and raised one of her bare feet and held it in
- her hand. She was a thin woman with iron-gray hair, and about fifty years
- of age. She looked as if she were cold; but, for reasons of her own, she
- was not willing for Dolly to remark it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who was there?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, everybody.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that so? I thought a good many would stay away because it was a bad
- night; but I reckon they are as anxious to go as we used to be. Then you
- all did have the hacks?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, they had the hacks.” There was a pause, during which one pair of
- eyes was fixed rather vacantly on the image in the mirror; the other pair,
- full of impatient inquiry, rested alternately on the image and its maker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't believe you had a good time,” broke the silence, in a rising,
- tentative tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I did, mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what's the matter with you?” Mrs. Barclay's voice rang with
- impatience. “I never saw you act like you do to-night, never in my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't know anything was wrong with me, mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You act queer; I declare you do,” asserted Mrs. Barclay. “You generally
- have a lot to say. Have you and Frank had a falling out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly gave her shoulders a sudden shrug of contempt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, we got along as well as we ever did.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought maybe he was a little mad because you wouldn't dance to-night;
- but surely he's got enough sense to see that you oughtn't to insult
- brother Dill-beck that way when he's visiting our house and everybody
- knows what he thinks about dancing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, he thought I did right about it,” said Dolly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what in the name of common-sense is the matter with you, Dolly? You
- can' t pull the wool over my eyes, and you needn't try it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly faced about suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon you 'll sit there all night unless I tell you all about it,” she
- said, sharply. “Mother, Alan Bishop was there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't say!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and asked me to let him take me to church to-morrow evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he did?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and as I didn't want father to insult him, I—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You told him what your pa said?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I just told him father didn't want me to receive him any more. Heaven
- knows, that was enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that was the best thing for you to do.” Mrs. Barclay took a deep
- breath, as if she were inhaling a delicious perfume. “It's much better
- than to have him plunge in here some day and have your father break out
- like he does in his rough way. What did Alan say?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He said very little; but he looked it. You ought to have seen him. Frank
- came up just about that time and invited me to have some ice-cream, and I
- had to leave him. He was as white as a sheet. He had made an engagement
- with me to sit out a dance, and he didn't come in the room again till that
- dance was called, and then he didn't even mention it. He acted so
- peculiarly, I could see it was nearly killing him, but he wouldn't let me
- bring up the subject again. I came near doing it; but he always steered
- round it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's a sensible young man,” declared Mrs. Barclay. “Any one can see that
- by looking at him. He's not responsible for his father's foolhardy
- venture, but it certainly leaves him in a bad fix as a marrying man. He's
- had bad luck, and he must put up with the consequences. There are plenty
- of girls who have no money or prospects who would be glad to have him, but—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother,” broke in Dolly, as if she had been listening to her own troubled
- thoughts rather than her mother's words; “he didn't act as if he wanted to
- see me alone. The other couples who had engagements to talk during that
- dance were sitting in windows and out-of-the-way corners, but he kept me
- right where I was, and was as carefully polite as if we had just been
- introduced. I was sorry for him and mad at the same time. I could have
- pulled his ears.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's sensible, very sensible,” said Mrs. Barclay, in a tone of warm
- admiration. “A man like that ought to get along, and I reckon he will do
- well some day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, mother,” said Dolly, her rich, round voice rising like a wave and
- breaking in her throat, “he may never think about me any more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that really would be best, dear, under the circumstances.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Best?” Dolly blurted out. “How can you say that, when—when—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dolly, you are not really foolish about him, are you?” Mrs. Barclay's
- face dropped into deeper seriousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly looked away and was silent for a moment; then she faltered: “I don't
- know, mother, I—I'm afraid if I keep on feeling like I do now I 'll
- never get over it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, but you 'll not keep on feeling like you do now,” consoled the older
- woman. “Of course, right now, just after seeing how hard he took it, you
- will kind o' sympathize with him and want to help him; but that will all
- pass away. I remember when I was about your age I had a falling out with
- Will Despree—a young man my father didn't like because his
- grandfather had been an overseer. And, do you know, I thought I would
- actually kill myself. I refused to eat a bite and threatened to run away
- with Will. To this day I really don't know what I would have done if your
- grandfather hadn't scared him away with a shot-gun. Will kept writing
- notes to me. I was afraid to answer them, but my father got hold of one
- and went after him on a fast horse. Will's family heard what was up and
- they kept him out in the swamp for a few days, and then they sent him to
- Texas. The whole Despree family took it up and talked scand'lous about
- us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you soon got over it, mother?” asked Dolly, almost in a tone of
- dismay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Mrs. Barclay, reflectively, “Will acted the fool so terribly;
- he wasn't out in Texas three months before he sent back a marked paper
- with an article in it about his engagement to the daughter of a rich man
- who, we found out afterwards, used to keep a livery-stable; then I reckon
- hardly any girl would keep caring for a boy when his folks was telling
- such lies about her family.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly was staring studiously at the speaker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother,” she asked, “don't you believe in real love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Barclay laughed as if highly amused. “I believe in a different sort
- to the puppy love I had for that boy. Then after that there was another
- young man that I thought more of, if anything, than I did of Will; but he
- was as poor as Job's turkey, and my folks was all crazy for me 'n' your
- pa, who I'd never seen, to get married. I held out against the idea, just
- like you are doing with Frank, I reckon; but when your pa come with his
- shiny broadcloth coat and spotted silk vest—no, it was satin, I
- think, with red spots on it—and every girl in town was crazy to
- catch him, and there was no end of reports about the niggers he owned and
- his high connections—well, as I say, it wasn't a week before I was
- afraid he'd see Joe Tinsley and hear about me 'n' him. My father was in
- for the match from the very jump, and so was your pa's folks. He put up at
- our house with his nigger servant and didn't want to go about town much. I
- reckon I was pleased to have him pick me out, and so we soon fixed it up.
- Lordy, he only had to mention Joe Tinsley to me after we got married to
- make me do anything he wanted. To this day he throws him up to me, for Joe
- never did amount to anything. He tried to borrow money from your pa after
- you was born. The neighbors had to feed his children.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you loved father, didn't you?” Dolly breathed, in some relief over
- what she thought was coming.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I can' t say I did,” said Mrs. Barclay. “We had a terrible time
- getting used to one another's ways. You see, he'd waited a good while, and
- was some older than I was. After a while, though, we settled down, and now
- I'm awful glad I let my father manage for me. You see, what your pa had
- and what my father settled on me made us comfortable, and if a couple is
- that it's a sight more than the pore ones are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly stood before her mother, close enough to touch her. Her face wore an
- indescribable expression of dissatisfaction with what she had heard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother, tell me one thing,” she said. “Did you ever let either of those
- boys—the two that you didn't marry, I mean—kiss you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Barclay stared up at her daughter for an instant and then her face
- broke into a broad smile of genuine amusement. She lowered her head to her
- knee and laughed out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dolly Barclay, you are <i>such</i> a fool!” she said, and then she
- laughed again almost immoderately, her face in her lap.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know what <i>that</i> means,” said Dolly, in high disgust. “Mother, I
- don't think you can do me any good. You'd better go to bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Barclay rose promptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I'd better, too,” she said. “It makes your pa awful mad for me to
- sit up this way. I don't want to hear him rail out like he always does
- when he catches me at it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After her mother had gone, Dolly sat down on her bed. “She never was in
- love,” she told herself. “Never, never, never! And it is a pity. She never
- could have talked that way if she had really loved anybody as much as—”
- But Dolly did not finish what lay on her tongue. However, when she had
- drawn the covers up over her the cold tears rose in her eyes and rolled
- down on her pillow as she thought of Alan Bishop's brave and dignified
- suffering.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor fellow!” she said. “Poor, dear Alan!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- IX
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9074.jpg" alt="9074 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9074.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HERE is a certain class of individuals that will gather around a man in
- misfortune, and it differs very little, if it differs at all, from the
- class that warms itself in the glow of a man' s prosperity. It is made up
- of human failures, in the first instance, congratulating themselves on not
- being alone in bad luck; in the second, desirous of seeing how a fortunate
- man would look and act and guessing at his feelings. From the appearance
- of Bishop's home for the first fortnight after his return from Atlanta,
- you would have thought that some one was seriously ill in the house or
- that some general favorite had returned to the family after a long
- absence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Horses were hitched to the fence from the front gate all the way round to
- the side entrance. The mountain people seemed to have left their various
- occupations to subtly enjoy the spectacle of a common man like themselves
- who had reached too far after forbidden fruit and lay maimed and torn
- before them. It was a sort of feast at which the baser part of their
- spiritual natures was fed, and, starved as they were, it tasted good. Many
- of them had never aspired to bettering their lot even with small ventures
- such as buying Jersey cows at double the value of common cattle when it
- was reported that the former gave four times as much milk and ate less,
- and to these cautious individuals Bishop's visible writhing was sweet
- confirmation of their own judgment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Their disapproval of the old man's effort to hurry Providence could not
- have been better shown than in the failure of them all to comment on the
- rascally conduct of the Atlanta lawyer; they even chuckled over that part
- of the incident. To their minds Perkins was a sort of far-off
- personification of a necessary evil—who, like the devil himself, was
- evidently created to show mortals their limitations. They were not going
- to say what the lawyer had a right to do or should avoid doing, for they
- didn't pretend to know; but they did know what their old neighbor ought to
- have done, and if they didn't tell him so to his face they would let him
- see it by their actions. Yes, Bishop was a different thing altogether. He
- belonged to them and theirs. He led in their meetings, prayed in public,
- and had till now headed the list in all charitable movements.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Reverend Charles B. Dole, a tall, spare man of sixty, who preached the
- first, second, third, and fourth Sundays of each month in four different
- meetinghouses within a day's ride of Bishop's, came around as the guest of
- the farm-house as often as his circuit would permit. He was called the
- “fightin' preacher,” because he had had several fearless hand-to-hand
- encounters with certain moonshiners whose conduct he had ventured to call
- ungodly, because unlawful.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the second Saturday after Bishop's mishap, as Dole was to preach the
- next day at Rock Crest meetinghouse, he rode up as usual and turned his
- horse into the stable and fed him with his own hands. Then he joined Abner
- Daniel on the veranda. Abner had seen him ride up and purposely buried his
- head in his newspaper to keep from offering to take the horse, for Abner
- did not like the preacher “any to hurt,” as he would have put it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole did not care much for Abner either. They had engaged in several
- doctrinal discussions in which the preacher had waxed furious over some of
- Daniel's views, which he described as decidedly unorthodox. Daniel had
- kept his temper beautifully and had the appearance of being amused through
- it all, and this Dole found harder to forgive than anything Abner had
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You all have had some trouble, I heer, sence I saw you last,” said the
- preacher as he sat down and began to wipe his perspiring brow with a big
- handkerchief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I reckon it mought be called that,” Abner replied, as he carefully
- folded his newspaper and put it into his coat-pocket. “None of us was
- expectin' of it an' it sorter bu'sted our calculations. Alf had laid out
- to put new high-back benches in Rock Crest, an' new lamps an' one thing
- another, an' it seems to me”—Abner wiped his too facile mouth—“like
- I heerd 'im say one day that you wasn't paid enough fer yore thunder, an'
- that he'd stir around an' see what could be done.” Abner's eyes twinkled.
- “But lawsy me! I reckon ef he kin possibly raise the scads to pay the tax
- on his investment next yeer he 'll do all the Lord expects.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh, I reckon!” grunted Dole, irritated as usual by Abner's double
- meaning. “I take it that the Lord hain't got much to do with human
- speculations one way or other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ef I just had that scamp that roped 'im in before me a minute I'd fix
- 'im,” said Abner. “Do you know what denomination Perkins belongs to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I don't,” Dole blurted out, “an' what's more, I don't care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I acknowledge it sorter interests me,” went on our philosopher, in
- an inscrutable tone, “beca'se, brother Dole, you kin often trace a man' s
- good ur bad doin' s to his belief in Bible matters. Maybe you don't
- remember Jabe Lynan that stold Thad Wilson's stump-suckin' hoss an' was
- ketched an' put up. I was at the court-house in Darley when he received
- his sentence. His wife sent me to 'im to carry his pipe an' one thing or
- other—a pair o' socks an' other necessary tricks—a little can
- o' lye-soap, fer one thing. She hadn't the time to go, as she said she had
- a patch o' young corn to hoe out. I found 'im as happy as ef he was goin'
- off on a excursion. He laughed an' 'lowed it ud be some time 'fore he got
- back, an' I wondered what could 'a' made him so contented, so I made some
- inquiries on that line. I found that he was a firm believer in
- predestination, an' that what was to be was foreordained. He said that he
- firmly believed he was predestinated to go to the coal-mines fer
- hoss-stealin', an' that life was too short to be kickin' agin the Lord's
- way o' runnin' matters; besides, he said, he'd heerd that they issued a
- plug o'.tobacco a week to chawin' prisoners, an' he could prove that he
- was one o' that sort ef they'd look how he'd ground his jaw-teeth down to
- the gums.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh!” grunted Dole again, his sharp, gray eyes on Abner's face, as if he
- half believed that some of his own theories were being sneered at. It was
- true that he, being a Methodist, had not advocated a belief in
- predestination, but Abner Daniel had on more than one occasion shown a
- decided tendency to bunch all stringent religious opinions together and
- cast them down as out of date. When in doubt in a conversation with Abner,
- the preacher assumed a coldness on the outside that was often not
- consistent with the fires within him. “I don't see what all that's got to
- do with brother Bishop's mistake,” he said, frigidly, as he leaned back in
- his chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It sets me to wonderin' what denomination Perkins belongs to, that's
- all,” said Abner, with another smile. “I know in reason he's a big Ike in
- some church in Atlanta, fer I never knowed a lawyer that wasn't foremost
- in that way o' doin' good. I 'll bet a hoe-cake he belongs to some
- highfalutin crowd o' worshippers that kneel down on saft cushions an'
- believe in scoopin' in all they kin in the Lord's name, an' that charity
- begins at home. I think that myse'f, brother Dole, fer thar never was a
- plant as hard to git rooted as charity is, an' a body ought to have it
- whar they kin watch it close. It 'll die a heap o' times ef you jest look
- at it, an' it mighty nigh always has bad soil ur a drougth to contend
- with.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just then Pole Baker, who has already been introduced to the reader, rode
- up to the fence and hitched his horse. He nodded to the two men on the
- veranda, and went round to the smoke-house to get a piece of bacon Bishop
- had promised to sell him on credit.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh!” Dole grunted, and he crossed his long legs and swung his foot up
- and down nervously. He had the look of a man who was wondering why such
- insufferable bores as Abner should so often accompany a free dinner. He
- had never felt drawn to the man, and it irritated him to think that just
- when his mental faculties needed rest, Abner always managed to introduce
- the very topics which made it necessary for him to keep his wits about
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take that feller thar,” Abner went on, referring to Baker. “He's about
- the hardest customer in this county, an' yet he's bein' managed right now.
- He's got a wife an' seven children an' is a holy terror when he gits
- drunk. He used to be the biggest dare-devil moonshiner in all these
- mountains; but Alan kept befriendin' 'im fust one way an' another tell he
- up one day an' axed Alan what he could do fer 'im. Alan ain't none o' yore
- shoutin' kind o' Christians. He shakes a nimble toe at a shindig when he
- wants to, an' knows the ace from a ten-spot; but he gits thar with every
- claw in the air when some 'n' has to be done. So, when Pole axed 'im that,
- Alan jest said, as quiet as ef he was axin' 'im fer a match to light a
- cigar, 'Quit yore moonshinin', Pole.' That was all he said. Pole looked
- 'im straight in the eye fer a minute, an' then said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “'The hell you say! By God, Alan Bishop, you don't mean that!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yes, I do, Pole,' said Alan, 'quit! Quit smack off!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'You ax that as a favor?' said Pole.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yes, as a favor,' said Alan, 'an' you are a-goin' to do it, too.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then Pole begun to contend with 'im. 'You are a-axin' that beca'se you
- think I 'll be ketched up with,' he said; 'but I tell you the' ain't no
- man on the face o' the earth that could find my still now. You could stand
- in two feet of the door to it all day an' not find it if you looked fer it
- with a spy-glass. I kin make bug-juice all the rest o' my life an' sell it
- without bein' ketched.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I want you to give it up,' said Alan, an' Pole did. It was like pullin'
- an eye-tooth, but Pole yanked it out. Alan is workin' on 'im now to git
- 'im to quit liquor, but that ain't so easy. He could walk a crack with a
- gallon sloshin' about in 'im. Now, as I started to say, Alan 'ain't got no
- cut-and-dried denomination, an' don't have to walk any particular kind o'
- foot-log to do his work, but it's a-goin' on jest the same. Now I don't
- mean no reflection on yore way o' hitchin' wings on folks, but I believe
- you could preach yore sermons—sech as they are—in Pole Baker's
- yeers till Gabriel blowed his lungs out, an' Pole ud still be moonshinin'.
- An' sometimes I think that sech fellers as Alan Bishop ort to be paid fer
- what they do in betterin' the world. I don't see why you fellers ort
- always to be allowed to rake in the jack-pot unless you'd accomplish
- more'n outsiders, that jest turn the'r hands to the job at odd times.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole drew himself up straight and glared at the offender.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think that is a rather personal remark, brother Daniel,” he said,
- coldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, maybe it is,” returned Abner; “but I didn't mean fer it to be. I've
- heerd you praise up certain preachers fer the good they was a-doin', an' I
- saw no harm in mentionin' Alan's method. I reckon it's jest a case o' the
- shoe bein' on another foot. I was goin' to tell you how this misfortune o'
- Alf's had affected Pole; he's been like a crazy man ever since it
- happened. It's been all Alan could do to keep 'im from goin' to Atlanta
- and chokin' the life out o' Perkins. Pole got so mad when he wouldn't let
- 'im go that he went off cussin' 'im fer all he was worth. I wonder what
- sort of a denomination a man ud fit into that 'll cuss his best friends
- black an' blue beca'se they won't let 'im fight fer 'em. Yes, he 'll
- fight, an' ef he ever does jine the ranks above he 'll do the work o' ten
- men when thar's blood to spill. I seed 'im in a row once durin' election
- when he was leggin' fer a friend o' his'n; he stood right at the polls an'
- wanted to slug every man that voted agin 'im. He knocked three men's teeth
- down the'r throats an' bunged up two more so that they looked like they
- had on false-faces.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here the preacher permitted himself to laugh. Being a fighting man
- himself, his heart warmed towards a man who seemed to be born to that sort
- of thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He looks like he could do a sight of it,” was his comment.
- </p>
- <p>
- At this juncture the subject of the conversation came round the house,
- carrying a big piece of bacon wrapped in a tow grain-bag.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say thar, Pole,” Abner called out to the long, lank fellow. “We are
- a-goin' to have preachin' at Rock Crest to-morrow; you'd better have a
- shirt washed an' hung out to dry. They are a-beatin' the bushes fer yore
- sort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole Baker paused and brushed back his long, thick hair from his heavy
- eyebrows.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've been a-waitin' to see ef meetin' ever'd do you any good, Uncle Ab,”
- he laughed. “They tell me the more you go the wuss you git to be. Neil
- Filmore said t'other day ef you didn't quit shootin' off yore mouth they'd
- give you a trial in meetin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner laughed good-naturedly as he spat over the edge of the veranda floor
- to the ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's been talked, I know, Pole,” he said, “but they don't mean it. They
- all know how to take my fun. But you come on to meetin'; it will do you
- good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, maybe I will,” promised Pole, and he came to the steps, and,
- putting his bacon down, he bent towards them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's a powerful hard matter to know exactly what's right an' what's
- wrong, in some things,” he said. “Now looky heer.” Thrusting his hand down
- into the pocket of his trousers he drew out a piece of quartz-rock with a
- lump of yellow gold about the size of a pea half embedded in it. “That
- thar's puore gold. I got it this away: A feller that used to be my right
- bower in my still business left me when I swore off an' went over to
- Dalonega to work in them mines. T'other day he was back on a visit, an' he
- give me this chunk an' said he'd found it. Now I know in reason that he
- nabbed it while he was at work, but I don't think I'd have a right to
- report it to the minin' company, an' so I'm jest obleeged to receive
- stolen goods. It ain't wuth more'n a dollar, they tell me, an' I 'll hang
- on to it, I reckon, ruther'n have a laborin' man discharged from a job.
- I'm tryin' my level best to live up to the line now, an' I don't know how
- to manage sech a thing as that. I've come to the conclusion that no harm
- will be done nohow, beca'se miners ain't too well paid anyway, an' ef I
- jest keep it an' don't git no good out of it, I won't be in it any more'n
- ef I'd never got hold o' the blamed thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the law, brother Baker,” said Dole, solemnly; “without the law we'd
- be an awful lot o' people, an' every man ort to uphold it. Render the
- things that are Caesar's unto Caesar.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole's face was blank for a moment, and Abner came to his rescue with a
- broad smile and sudden laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon you don't remember him, Pole,” he said. “He's dead. He was a
- nigger that used to belong to old man Throgmartin in the cove. He used to
- be sech an awful thief during slavery days that it got to be a common
- sayin' that everything lyin' round mought as well be his'n, fer he'd take
- it sooner ur later, anyways.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've heerd o' that nigger,” said Pole, much to the preacher's disgust,
- which grew as Pole continued: “Well, they say a feller that knows the law
- is broke an' don't report it is as guilty as the man who does the
- breakin'. Now, Mr. Dole, you know how I come by this nugget, an' ef you
- want to do your full duty you 'll ride over to Dalonega an' report it to
- the right parties. I can't afford the trip.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner laughed out at this, and then forced a serious look on his face.
- “That's what you railly ort to do, brother Dole,” he said. “Them Cæsars
- over thar ud appreciate it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Mrs. Bishop came out to shake hands with the preacher, and invited
- him to go to his room to wash his face and hands. As the tall man followed
- his hostess away, Abner winked slyly at Pole and laughed under his long,
- scrawny hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Uncle Ab, you ort to be killed,” smiled Pole. “You've been settin' heer
- the last half-hour pokin' fun at that feller, an' you know it. Well, I'm
- goin' on home. Sally's a-goin' to fry some o' this truck fer me, an' I'm
- as hungry as a bear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A few minutes after he had gone, Dole came out of his room and sat down in
- his chair again. “That seems to be a sorter bright young man,” he
- remarked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As bright as a new dollar,” returned Abner, in a tone of warm admiration.
- “Did you notice that big, wedge-shaped head o' his'n? It's plumb full o'
- brains. One day a feller come down to Filmore's store. He made a business
- o' feelin' o' heads an' writin' out charts at twenty-five cents apiece. He
- didn't waste much time on the rest o' the scabs he examined; but when he
- got to Pole's noggin he talked fer a good hour. I never heerd the like. He
- said ef his talents had been properly directed Pole ud 'a' made a big
- public man. He said he hadn't run across sech a head in a month o'
- Sundays. He was right, you bet, an' every one o' the seven brats Pole's
- got is jest as peert as he is. They are a-growin' up in idleness an' rags,
- too. I wisht I could meet some o' them dum big Yankees that are a-sendin'
- the'r money down heer an' buildin' fine schools to educate niggers an'
- neglectin' the'r own race beca'se it fit agin 'em. You cayn't hardly beat
- larnin' into a nigger's head, an' it ud be only common-sense to spend
- money whar it ud do the most good. I 'ain't got nothin' agin a nigger
- bein' larnt to read an' write, but I cayn't stomach the'r bein' forced
- ahead o' deservin' white folks sooner 'n the Lord counted on. Them kind o'
- Yankees is the same sort that makes pets o' dogs, an' pampers 'em up when
- pore white children is in need of food an' affection.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pole looks like he had natural capacity,” said Dole. He was fond of
- conversing with Abner on any topic except that of religious matters.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'd make a bang-up detective,” laughed Abner. “One day I was at
- Filmore's store. Neil sometimes, when he's rushed, gits Pole to clerk fer
- 'im, beca'se he's quick at figures. It happened that Pole had the store to
- 'imse'f one day when Neil had gone off to cut down a bee-tree with a
- passle o' neighbors, an' a triflin' feller come in an' begun to nose
- about. An' when Pole's back was turned to weigh up some cotton in the seed
- he stole a pocket-book out o' the show-case. I reckon Pole didn't like his
- looks much nohow, fer as soon as the skunk had gone he begun to look about
- to see ef he'd tuck anything. All at once he missed the pocket-book, an'
- told Neil that night that he was mighty nigh shore the feller lifted it,
- but he couldn't railly swear to it. About a week after that he seed the
- same feller comin' down the road headed fer the store on his gray mule. Me
- 'n' Neil was both thar an' Pole hustled us in the back room, an' told us
- to stay thar. He said he was a-goin' to find out ef the feller stold the
- book. Neil was afeerd of a row an' tried to prevent 'im, but he jest
- shoved us back an' shet the door on us. Neil got 'im a crack in the
- partition an' I found me a knothole.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The feller hitched an' come in an' said howdy-do, an' started to take a
- cheer nigh the door, but Pole stopped 'im.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Come heer to the show-case,' ses he; 'I want to show you some 'n'.'The
- feller went, an' I seed Pole yank out the box 'at had the rest o' the
- pocket-books in it. 'Look y'heer,' Pole said, in a loud, steady voice—you
- could 'a' heerd 'im clean to the creek—'look y'heer. The regular
- price o' these books is fifty cents; that's what we sell 'em fer; but
- you've got to run yore hand down in yore pocket an' give me a dollar fer
- one quicker'n you ever made a trade in yore life.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'What in the hell do you mean?' the feller said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I mean exactly what I said, an' you are a-losin' time.' said Pole,
- talkin' louder an' louder. 'The price is fifty cents; but you got to gi'me
- a dollar fer one. Haul 'er out, my friend; haul 'er out! It 'll be the
- cheapest thing you ever bought in yore life.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “The feller was as white as a sheet. He gulped two or three times 'fore he
- spoke, then he said: 'I know what you think; you think I took one t'other
- day when I was lookin' in the show-case; but you are mistaken.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I never said a word about you takin' one,' Pole yelled at 'im, 'but
- you'd better yank out that dollar an' buy one; you need it.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “The feller did it. I heerd the money clink as he laid it on the glass an'
- I knowed he was convicted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'They are only wuth fifty cents,' he said, kinder faint-like.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yo're a liar,' Pole yelled at 'im, 'fer you've jest paid a dollar fer
- one on yore own accord. Now I 'll jest give you two minutes to straddle
- that mule. Ef you don't I 'll take you to the sheriff myself, you damned
- thief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I've always done my tradin' heer,' said the feller, thinkin' that ud
- sorter pacify Pole, but he said: 'Yes, an' yore stealin', too, I reckon,
- you black-livered jailbird. Git out, git out!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Me 'n' Neil come in when the feller'd gone, but Pole was actually too mad
- to speak. 'He got off too durned light,' he said, after a while. 'I could
- 'a' sold 'im a big bill o' goods at a hundred per cent, profit, fer he had
- plenty o' money. Now he's ridin' off laughin' at me.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- X
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9086.jpg" alt="9086 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9086.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- EIL FILMORE'S store was about half a mile from Bishop's house, at the
- crossing of the Darley road and another leading into East Tennessee. Alan
- had gone down there one day to engage white labor to work in his growing
- cotton, negroes being scarce, owing to the tendency of that race to flock
- into the towns. With the aid of Pole Baker, who was clerking that day for
- Filmore, he soon employed the men he wanted and started to walk back home.
- On the way he was overtaken by his uncle, who was returning from Darley in
- his wagon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold on thar,” the old man called out; “ef you are a-goin' home I 'll
- rest yore legs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan smiled as he climbed up into the seat by the old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall certainly appreciate it,” he said. “I'm tired out to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I sorter thought you looked flabbergasted,” returned Abner, as he swung
- his whip over the backs of his sleek horses. “Well, I reckon I could
- afford to give you a ride. I hauled that cuss Dole three miles goin'
- t'other way. He had the cheek to yell at me from Habbersham's gin-house
- an' axed me ef I'd haul 'im. Then he kept me waitin' till he'd helt prayer
- an' read to the family.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't seem to like him,” said Alan. “I've noticed that for some
- time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon I don't to any great extent,” said Abner, clucking to his tired
- horses; “but it ain't raily to my credit. A feller's wrong som 'er's,
- Alan, that allows hisse'f to hate anything the Lord ever made. I've
- struggled agin that proposition fer twenty-five yeer. All this talk about
- the devil makin' the bad an' the Lord the good is talk through a hat. Bad
- things was made 'fore the devil ever jumped from his high estate ur he'd
- never preferred a fork to a harp. I've tuck notice, too, that the wust
- things I ever seed was sometimes at the root o' the best. Manure is a bad
- thing, but a cake of it will produce a daisy bigger 'n any in the field.
- Dole makes me gag sometimes; but as narrer as he is twixt the eyes, he may
- do some good. I reckon that hell-fire sermon he give us last August made
- some of the crowd sweat out a little o' the'r meanness. I'd 'a' been more
- merciful on sech a hot day, though. He mought 'a' reserved that harangue
- fer some cold day in December when the stove-flues wouldn't work. Ef I'd
- 'a' been a-goin' tell about future torment that hot day I'd 'a' said that
- every lost soul was made to set on a cake o' ice in a windy spot through
- all eternity, an' I'd 'a' started out by singin' 'On Greenland's Icy
- Mountain.' But that ain't what I axed you to git in my wagon fer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You didn't intend to try to convert me, then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I didn't, fer you are jest my sort of a Christian—better'n me,
- a sight, fer you don't shoot off yore bazoo on one side or t'other, an'
- that's the habit I'm tryin' to quit. Ef I could hold in when Dole gits to
- spoutin' I'd be a better man. I think I 'll do better now. I've got a
- tenpenny nail in my pocket an' whenever he starts in I'm goin' to bite it
- an' keep my holt on it till he stops. Yes, you are jest my sort of a
- Christian. You believe in breathin' fresh air into yore windpipe, thankin'
- God with a clear eye an' a good muscle, an' takin' what He gives you an'
- axin' 'Im to pass more ef it's handy. You know the Lord has sent you a
- invite to His table, an' you believe in eatin' an' drinkin' an' makin'
- merry, jest like you'd have a body do that was stoppin' over night with
- you. Yes, I wanted to say some 'n' else to you. As I got to the widder
- Snowden's house, a mile this side o' Darley, she came out an' axed me ef
- I'd object to deliverin' a couple o' smoke-cured hams to a feller in town
- that had ordered 'em. Of course that's what a' old bach' like me 's heer
- fer, so I let 'er fling 'em in the back end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The speaker paused and smiled knowingly, and Alan noticed that he slowed
- his horses up by drawing firmly on the reins as if he feared that their
- arrival at the farm-house might interrupt what he had to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Alan, “you delivered the hams?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.” Abner was looking straight ahead of him. “They was fer Colonel Seth
- Barclay. I driv' up to the side gate, after I'd helloed in front till I
- was hoarse, an' who do you reckon come trippin' out o' the dinin'-room?
- </p>
- <p>
- It was <i>her</i>. Ef you hain't never ketched 'er off'n her guard round
- the house, you've missed a treat. Durned ef I don't like 'er better
- without a hat on than with all the fluffy flamdoodle that gals put on when
- they go out. She was as neat as a new pin, an' seemed powerful glad to see
- me. That made me bless the widder Snowden fer sendin' me thar. She said
- the cook was off som 'er's, an' that old nigger Ned, the stable-man, was
- in the garden-patch behind the house, so she was thar by 'erse'f. She
- actually looked like she wanted to tote in the hams 'erse'f ruther'n
- bother me; but you bet my old bones hopped off'n this seat quicker'n you
- could say Jack Robinson with yore mouth open. I was afeerd my team
- wouldn't stand, fer fellers was a-scootin' by on bicycles; but I tuck the
- hams to the back porch an' put 'em on a shelf out'n re'ch o' the dogs.
- Then I went back to my wagon. She follered me to the fence, an' I noticed
- that some 'n' was wrong with 'er. She looked so funny, an' droopy about
- the mouth, an' kept a-talkin' like she was afeerd I'd fly off. She axed
- all about Adele an' how she was a-makin' out down in Atlanta, an' said
- she'd heerd that Sis was mighty popular with the young men, an' from that
- she axed about my craps an' the meetin' goin' on at Big Bethel. Finally
- she got right white about the mouth, an' said, kinder shaky, that she was
- afeerd you was mad about some 'n' her pa'd said about you, an' I never
- seed a woman as nigh cryin' as she was without doin' of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told 'er I was at the fust of it; but I'd noticed how worried you've
- looked heer of late, an' so I told 'er I'd been afeerd some 'n' had come
- betwixt you two. Then she put her head down on the top rail o' the fence
- an' helt it thar fer a good minute. After a while she looked up an' told
- me all about it an' ended by axin' me ef I thought she was to blame in the
- matter. I told 'er no; but her old skunk of a daddy had acted sech a fool
- that I couldn't hold in. I reckon I told 'er jest about what I thought o'
- him an' the more I raked up agin 'im the better she seemed pleased. I
- tried to pin' er down to what she'd be willin' to do in a pinch ef her pa
- continued to hold out agin you, but she was too sharp to commit 'erse'f.
- It jest looked like she wanted to make up with you an' didn't want no row
- nuther.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The horses stopped to drink at a clear stream of water which ran across
- the road on a bed of brown pebbles. The bridles were too tight to allow
- them to lower their heads, so Alan went out on the heavy tongue between
- the pair and unfastened the reins. When he had regained his seat he told
- the old man in detail all that had happened at the dance at the hotel,
- ending with the advice he had received from Rayburn Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know about that,” Abner said. “Maybe Miller could call a halt
- like that an' go on like nothin' had happened. I don't say he could nur
- couldn't; but it's fool advice. You mought miss it, an' regret it to yore
- dyin' day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan looked at him in some surprise; he had hardly expected just that
- stand on the part of a confirmed old bachelor like his uncle. The old
- man's glance swept dreamily over the green fields on either side of the
- road across which the red rays of the setting sun were streaming. Then he
- took a deep breath and lowered the reins till they rested on the backs of
- the horses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My boy,” he began, “I'm a good mind to tell you some 'n' that I hain't
- mentioned fer mighty nigh forty yeer. I don't believe anything but my
- intrust in that town gal an' you would make me bring it up. Huh! Ray
- Miller says you kin pass 'er over jest as ef you'd never seed 'er, does
- he? An' go on an' pick an' choose agin. Huh! I wasn't as old as you are by
- five yeer when the one I'm talkin' about passed away, jest a week after me
- 'n' her 'd come to a understandin'. I've seed women, women, women, sence I
- seed 'er corpse that day amongst all that pile o' wild flowers that old
- an' young fetched from the woods whar me 'n' 'er used to walk, but ef I
- live to be as old as that thar hill I 'll never forget my feelin'. I kin
- see 'er right now as plain as I did then, an' sometimes my heart aches as
- bad. I reckon you know now why I never got married. Folks has poked a lots
- o' fun at me, an' I tuck it as it was intended, but a lots o' times what
- they said made me suffer simply awful. They've picked out this un an' that
- un, from spring chickins to hags o' all ages, shapes, an' sizes; but the
- very thought o' givin' anybody her place made me sick. Thar never was but
- one fer me. I may be a fool, but I believe I was intended fer her. Shucks!
- Sech skip-abouts as Miller may talk sech bosh as that, but it's because
- the Lord never give 'em the glory o' the other thing. It larnt me the
- truth about the after-life; I know thar's a time to come, an' a blessed
- one, ur the Lord never would 'a' give me that taste of it. She's som 'er's
- out o' harm's way, an' when me 'n' her meet I 'll not have a wrinkle, an'
- I 'll be able to walk as spry an' hopeful as I did when she was heer. Thar
- ort to be punishment reserved fer hard-headed fools that separate lovin'
- young folks beca'se one ur t'other hain't jest so many dollars tied in a
- rag. Don't you listen to Miller. I don't say you ort to plunge right in
- an' make the old man mad; but don't give up. Ef she's what I think she is,
- an' she sees you ain't a-goin' to run after no fresh face, she 'll stick
- to you like the bark on a tree. The wait won't hurt nuther one of you,
- either. My wait ain't a-hurtin' me, an' yore'n won't you. I never seed a
- young woman I liked better 'n I do the one you selected, an' I've sent up
- many a petition that you'd both make it all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man raised his reins and clucked to his horses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Uncle Ab,” said Alan, “you've made a better man of me. I've had a lot of
- trouble over this, but you make me hope. I've tried to give her up, but I
- simply cannot do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She ain't a-goin' to give you up, nuther,” replied Abner; “that's the
- purty part about it. Thar ain't no give up in 'er. She ain't that sort.
- She's goin' to give that daddy o' her'n a tussle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XI
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9092.jpg" alt="9092 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9092.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- NE morning early in July, as Alan was passing Pole Baker's cabin, on his
- way to Darley, Pole's wife came out to the fence and stopped him. She was
- a slender, ill-clad woman, who had once been pretty, and her face still
- had a sort of wistful attractiveness that was appealing to one who knew
- what she had been through since her marriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you goin' to town, Mr. Alan?” she asked, nervously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Mrs. Baker,” Alan answered. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not reply at once, but came through the little gate, which swung
- on wooden hinges, and stood looking up at him, a thin, hesitating hand on
- his bridle-rein.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm afeerd some 'n' s happened to Pole,” she faltered. “He hain't been
- home fer two whole days an' nights. It's about time fer 'im to spree agin,
- an' I'm powerful afeerd he's in trouble. I 'lowed while you was in town
- that you mought inquire about 'im, an' let me know when you come back.
- That ud sorter free my mind a little. I didn't close my eyes all last
- night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll do all I can, Mrs. Baker,” Alan promised. “But you mustn't worry;
- Pole can take care of himself, drunk or sober. I 'll be back to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan rode on, leaving the pathetic figure at the gate looking after him.
- “I wonder,” he mused, “what Uncle Ab would say about love that has that
- sort of reward. Poor woman! Pole was her choice, and she has to make the
- best of it. Perhaps she loves the good that's in the rascal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He found Rayburn Miller at his desk, making out some legal document. “Take
- a seat,” said Miller, “I 'll be through in a minute. What's the news out
- your way?” he asked, as he finished his work and put down his pen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing new, I believe,” said Alan. “I've been away for two days. Not
- having anything else to do, I made it my business to ride over every foot
- of my father's big investment, and, to tell you the truth, I've come to
- you with a huge idea. Don't laugh; I can't help it. It popped in my head
- and sticks, that's all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good. Let me have it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Before I tell you what it is,” said Alan, “I want you to promise not to
- ridicule me. I'm as green as a gourd in business matters; but the idea has
- hold of me, and I don't know that even your disapproval will make me let
- it loose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's a good way to put it,” laughed Miller. “The idea has hold of you
- and you can't let it loose. It applies more closely to investments than
- anything else. Once git into a deal and you are afraid to let it go—like
- the chap that held the calf and called for help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, here it is,” said Alan. “I've made up my mind that a railroad can—and
- shall—be built from these two main lines to my father's lumber
- bonanza.” Miller whistled. A broad smile ingulfed the pucker of his lips,
- and then his face dropped into seriousness. A look almost of pity for his
- friend's credulity and inexperience came into his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must say you don't want a little thing, my boy,” he said, indulgently.
- “Remember you are talking to a fellow that has rubbed up against the
- moneyed world considerable for a chap raised in the country. The trouble
- with you, Alan, is that you have got heredity to contend with; you are a
- chip off the old block in spite of your belonging to a later generation.
- You have inherited your father's big ideas. You are a sort of Colonel
- Sellers, who sees millions in everything you look at.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan' s face fell, but there remained in it a tenacious expression that
- won Miller's admiration even while he deplored it. There was, too, a ring
- of confidence in the young farmer's tone when he replied:
- </p>
- <p>
- “How much would a railroad through that country, eighteen miles in length,
- cost?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing but a survey by an expert could answer that, even approximately,”
- said the lawyer, leaning back in his creaking chair. “If you had the right
- of way, a charter from the State, and no big tunnels to make nor long
- bridges to build, you might, I should say, construct the road alone—without
- locomotives and rolling-stock generally—for a little matter of one
- hundred and fifty thousand. I don't know; I'm only guessing; but it
- wouldn't fall under that estimate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't think it would,” replied Alan, growing more enthusiastic. “Now
- then, if there <i>was</i> a railroad to my father's property, how much
- would his twenty thousand acres be worth?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller smiled again and began to figure on a scrap of paper with a pencil.
- “Oh, as for that,” he said, “it would really be worth—standing
- uncut, unsawn, including a world of tan-bark—at least twenty-five
- dollars an acre, say a clear half million for it all. Oh, I know it looks
- as plain as your nose on your face; things always do on paper. It looks
- big and it shines; so does a spider-web in the sunshine to a fly; but you
- don't want to be no fly, my boy; and you don't want any spider-webs—on
- the brain, anyway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan stood up and walked to the door and back; finally he shrugged his
- broad shoulders. “I don't care what you say,” he declared, bringing his
- hand down firmly on Miller's desk. “It will pay, as sure as I'm alive.
- There's no getting around the facts. It will take a quarter of a million
- investment to market a half-million-dollar bunch of timber with the land
- thrown in and the traffic such a road would secure to help pay expenses.
- There are men in the world looking for such opportunities and I'm going to
- give somebody a chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have not looked deep enough into it, my boy,” mildly protested
- Miller. “You haven't figured on the enormous expense of running such a
- road and the dead loss of the investment after the lumber is moved out.
- You'd have a railroad property worth a quarter of a million on your hands.
- I can't make you see my position. I simply say to you that I wouldn't
- touch a deal like that with a ten-foot pole.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan laughed good-naturedly as he laid his hand on his friend's shoulder.
- “I reckon you think I'm off,” he said, “but sooner or later I'm going to
- put this thing through. Do you hear me? I 'll put it through if it takes
- ten years to do it. I want to make the old man feel that he has not made
- such a fool of himself; I want to get even with the Thompson crowd, and
- Perkins, and everybody that is now poking fun at a helpless old man. I
- shall begin by raising money some way or other to pay taxes, and hold on
- to every inch of the ground.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller's glance fell before the fierce fire of Alan's eyes, and for the
- first time his tone wavered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” he said, “you may have the stuff in you that big speculators are
- made of, and I may simply be prejudiced against the scheme on account of
- your father's blind plunging, and what some men would call
- over-cautiousness on my part. I may be trying to prevent what you really
- ought to do; but I am advising you as a friend. I only know <i>I</i> would
- be more cautious. Of course, you may try. You'd not lose in doing that; in
- fact, you'd gain experience. I should say that big dealers in lumber are
- the men you ought to see first. They know the values of such investments,
- and they are reaching out in all directions now. They have cleaned up the
- timber near the railroads.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9097.jpg" alt="9097 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9097.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- ILLER accompanied Alan to the door. Old Trabue stood in front of his
- office in his shirt-sleeves, his battered silk hat on the back part of his
- head. He was fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan and freely using his
- handkerchief on his brow. He bowed cordially to Alan and came towards him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to ask you,” he began, “as Pole Baker any way of raisin' money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not that I know of,” laughed Alan. “I don't know whether he's got a clear
- title to the shirt on his back. He owes everybody out our way. My father
- is supplying him on time now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was my impression,” said Trabue. “He wanted me to defend 'im the
- other day, but he couldn't satisfy me about the fee, an' I let him go. He
- first said he could give me a lien on a mule, but he finally admitted that
- it wasn't his.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's not in trouble, is he?” exclaimed Alan, suddenly recalling Mrs.
- Baker's uneasiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Trabue looked at Miller, who stood leaning in the doorway, and laughed.
- “Well, I reckon he might call it that. That chap owned the town two days
- ago. He got blind, stavin' drunk, an' wanted to whip us from one end o'
- the place to the other. The marshals are afraid of 'im, for they know he
- 'll shoot at the drop of a hat, an' the butt of it was stickin' out o' his
- hippocket in plain sight. Was you thar, Rayburn? Well, it was better 'n a
- circus. Day before yesterday thar was a sort o' street temperance lecturer
- in front o' the Johnston House, speakin' on a dry-goods box. He had a lot
- o' gaudy pictures illustratin' the appearance of a drinkin' man' s stomach
- an' liver, compared to one in a healthy condition. He was a sort of a
- snide faker, out fer what he could git dropped in a hat, an' Pole was
- sober enough to git on to his game. Pole stood thar with the rest, jest
- about able to stand, an' that was all. Finally, when the feller got warmed
- up an' got to screechin', Pole begun to deny what he was sayin'. As fast
- as he'd make a statement Pole would flatly deny it. The feller on the box
- didn't know what a tough customer he had to handle or he'd 'a' gone slow.
- As it was, he p'inted a finger o' scorn at Pole an' helt 'im up fer a
- example. Pole wasn't sober by a long shot, but you'd 'a' thought he was,
- fer he was as steady as a post. He kept grinnin', as cool as a cucumber,
- an' sayin', 'Now you know yo' re a-lyin', stranger—jest a-lyin' to
- get a few dimes drapped in yore hat. You know nobody's stomach don't look
- like that durn chromo. You never seed inside of a drinkin' man, an' yo' re
- the biggest liar that ever walked the earth.' This made the crowd laugh at
- the little, dried-up feller, an' he got as mad as Old Nick. He begun to
- tell Pole his liver was swelled from too much whiskey, an' that he'd bet
- he was jest the sort to beat his wife. Most of us thought that ud make
- Pole jump on 'im, but he seemed to enjoy naggin' the feller too much to
- sp'ile it by a fight. A nigger boy had been carryin' round a bell and a
- sign advertisin' Webb's auction sale, an' stopped to see the fun. Pole
- heerd the tinkle of the bell, an' tuck it an' begun to ring it in the
- lecturer's face. The harder the feller spoke the harder Pole rung. It was
- the damnedest racket ever heerd on a public square. Part of the crowd—the
- good church folks—begun to say it was a disgrace to the town to
- allow a stranger to be treated that away, sence thar was no law agin
- public speakin' in the streets. They was in fer callin' a halt, but all
- the rest—the drinkin' men, an' I frankly state I was one—secretly
- hoped Pole would ring 'im down. When the pore devil finally won I felt
- like yellin' hooray, fer I glory in the pluck even of a dare-devil, if
- he's a North Georgian an' white. The lecturer had to stop without his
- collection, an' went off to the council chamber swearin' agin the town fer
- allowin' him to be treated that away. Thar wasn't anything fer the mayor
- to do but order Pole's arrest, but it took four men—two regulars and
- two deputized men—to accomplish it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The trial was the richest thing I ever attended. Pole had sobered up jest
- enough to be witty, an' he had no more respect fer Bill Barrett's court
- than he had fer the lecturer's platform. Him an' Barrett used to fish an'
- hunt together when they was boys, an' Pole kept callin' him Bill. It was
- Bill this an' Bill that; an' as Barrett had only been in office a month,
- he hardly knew how to rise to his proper dignity, especially when he saw
- the crowd was laughin' at his predicament. When I declined to defend 'im,
- Pole attempted to read the law on the case to Barrett an' show whar he was
- right. Barrett let 'im talk because he didn't know how to stop 'im, an'
- Pole made the best defence I ever heerd from a unlettered man. It kept the
- crowd in a roar. For a while I swear it looked like Pole was goin' to
- cleer hisse'f, but Barrett had to do his duty, an' so he fined Pole thirty
- dollars, or in default thereof to break rock on the streets fer ten days.
- You ort to 'a' heerd Pole snort. 'Looky heer, Bill!' he said, 'you know as
- well as yo're a-settin' cocked up thar, makin' folks say 'yore honor'
- ever' breath they draw, that I ain't a-goin' to break no rock in that
- br'ilin' sun fer ten day 'ca'se I beat that skunk at his own game!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “You 'll have to do it if you don't pay out,” Barrett told 'im.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Well, I jest won't pay out, an' I won't break rock nuther,' Pole said.
- 'You've heerd about the feller that could lead a hoss to water but
- couldn't make 'im drink, hain't you? Well, I'm the hoss.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yesterday was Pole's fust day on the street. They put a ball an' chain to
- one of his ankles an' sent 'im out with the nigger gang, but all day
- yesterday an' to-day he hain't worked a lick. He's as stubborn as a mule.
- Thar's been a crowd around 'im all the time. You kin see 'im standin' up
- as straight as a post in the middle of the street from one end of it to
- the other. I'm sorter sorry fer 'im; he looks like he's ashamed at bottom,
- but don't want to give in. The funniest thing about the whole thing is
- that Pole seems to know more about the law than the mayor. He says unless
- they force him to work in the specified ten days they can't hold him any
- longer, an' that if they attempt to flog 'im he 'll kill the first man
- that lays hands on him. I think Bill Barrett likes him too well to have
- 'im whipped, an' the whole town is guyin' him, an' axin' 'im why he don't
- make Pole set in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan went down the street to see Pole. He found him seated on a large
- stone, a long-handled rock-hammer at his feet. He looked up from under his
- broad-brimmed hat, and a crestfallen look came into his big, brown eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry to see this, Pole,” said Alan.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole stood up at his full height, the chain clanking as he rose. “They
- hain't treated me right about this matter, Alan Bishop,” he said, half
- resentfully, half as if he recognized his own error. “Bill knows he hain't
- done the fair thing. I know I was full, but I jest wanted to have my fun.
- That don't justify him in puttin' me out heer with these niggers fer folks
- to gap' at, an' he knows it. He ain't a friend right. Me 'n' him has slep'
- together on the same pile o' leaves, an' I've let 'im pull down on a
- squirrel when I could 'a' knocket it from its perch; an' I've lent 'im my
- pointer an' gun many an' many a time. But he's showed what he is! He's got
- the wrong sow by the yeer, though, fer ef he keeps me heer till Christmas
- I 'll never crack a rock, unless I do it by accidentally step-pin' on it.
- Mark my words, Alan Bishop, thar 'll be trouble out o' this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't talk that way, Pole,” said Alan. “You've broken the law and they
- had to punish you for it. If they hadn't they would have made themselves
- ridiculous. Why didn't you send me word you were in trouble, Pole?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The fellow hung his head, and then he blurted out:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beca'se I knowed you would make a fool o' yorese'f an' try to pay me out.
- Damn it, Alan Bishop, this ain't no business o' yore'n!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll make it my business,” said Alan. “How much is your fine? You ought
- to have sent me word.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sent you hell, Alan Bishop,” growled the prisoner. “When I send you word
- to he'p me out of a scrape that whiskey got me into I 'll do it after I've
- decently cut my throat. I <i>say!</i>—when you've plead with me like
- you have to quit the durn stuff!”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this point of the conversation Jeff Dukes, a man of medium size,
- dressed in dark-blue uniform, with a nickel-plated badge shaped like a
- shield and bearing the words “Marshal No. 2,” came directly towards them
- from a stone-cutter's shop near by.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look heer, Bishop,” he said, dictatorially, “whar'd you git the right to
- talk to that man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan looked surprised. “Am I breaking the law, too?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are, ef you hain't got a permit from the mayor in yore pocket.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I have no permit,” replied Alan, with a good-natured smile. “Have
- you got another ball an' chain handy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The officer frowned off his inclination to treat the matter as a jest.
- “You ort to have more sense than that,” he said, crustily. “Pole's put out
- heer to work his time out, an' ef everybody in town is allowed to laugh
- an' joke with him he'd crack about as many rocks as you or me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a durn liar, Jeff Dukes,” said Pole, angrily. “You are a-makin'
- that up to humiliate me furder. You know no law like that never was
- inforced. Ef I ever git you out in Pea Vine Destrict I 'll knock a dent in
- that egg-shaped head o' yor'n, an' make them eyes look two ways fer
- Sunday. You know a gentleman like Alan Bishop wouldn't notice you under
- ordinary circumstances, an' so you trump up that excuse to git his
- attention.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two men glared at each other, but Pole seemed to get the best of that
- sort of combat, for the officer only growled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can insult a man when you are under arrest,” he said, “beca'se you
- know I am under bond to keep the peace. But I'm not afeerd of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They tell me you are afeerd o' sperits, though,” retorted the prisoner.
- “They tell me a little nigger boy that was shot when a passle o' skunks
- went to whip his daddy fer vagrancy stands at the foot o' yore bed ever'
- night. Oh, I know what I'm a-talkin' about!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you know a lots,” said the man, sullenly, as his eyes fell.
- </p>
- <p>
- To avoid encouraging the disputants further, Alan walked suddenly away.
- The marshal took willing advantage of the opportunity and followed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could make a case agin you,” he said, catching up, “but I know you
- didn't mean to violate the ordinance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, of course I didn't,” said Alan; “but I want to know if that fellow
- could be released if I paid his fine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not fool enough to do it, are you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's what I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you got the money in yore pocket?” The officer was laughing, as if
- at a good joke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well”—the marshal laughed again as he swung his short club round by
- a string that fastened it to his wrist—“well, you come with me, an'
- I 'll show you a man that wants thirty dollars wuss than any man I know
- of. I don't believe Bill Barrett has slept a wink sence this thing
- happened. He 'll be tickled to death to git off so easy. The town has
- devilled the life out of him. He don't go by whar Pole's at work—I
- mean, whar he ain't at work—fer Pole yells at 'im whenever he sees
- 'im.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That night when Alan reached home he sent a servant over to tell Mrs.
- Baker that Pole was all right and that he'd be home soon. He had eaten his
- supper and had gone up-stairs to go to bed when he heard his name called
- outside. Going to a window and looking out, he recognized Pole Baker
- standing at the gate in the clear moonlight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alan,” he said, softly, “come down heer a minute. I want to see you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan went down and joined him. For a moment Pole stood leaning against the
- fence, his eyes hidden by his broad-brimmed slouch hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you want to see me, Pole?” Alan asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I did,” the fellow swallowed. He made a motion as if to reach out
- his hand, but refrained. Then he looked straight into Alan's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I couldn't go to sleep till I'd said some 'n' to you,” he began, with
- another gulp. “I laid down an' made a try at it, but it wasn't no go. I've
- got to say it. I'm heer to swear that ef God, or some 'n' else, don't show
- me a way to pay you back fer what you done to-day, I 'll never draw a
- satisfied breath. Alan Bishop, yo're a man, <i>God damn it!</i> a man from
- yore outside skin to the marrow o' yore bones, an' ef I don't find some
- way to prove what I think about you, I 'll jest burn up! I got into that
- trouble as thoughtless as I'd play a prank with my baby, an' then they all
- come down on me an' begun to try to drive me like a hog out'n a field with
- rocks an' sticks, an' the very Old Harry riz in me an' defied 'em. I
- reckon thar wasn't anything Bill could do but carry out the law, an' I
- knowed it, but I wasn't ready to admit it. Then you come along an'
- rendered a verdict in my favor when you needed the money you did it with.
- Alan, ef I don't show my appreciation, it 'll be beca'se I don't live long
- enough. You never axed me but one thing, an' that was to quit drinkin'
- whiskey. I'm goin' to make a try at it, not beca'se I think that 'll pay
- you back, but beca'se with a sober head I kin be a better friend to you ef
- the chance ever comes my way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm glad to hear you say that, Pole,” replied Alan, greatly moved by the
- fellow's earnestness. “I believe you can do it. Then your wife and
- children—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Damn my wife an' children,” snorted Pole. “It's <i>you</i> I'm a-goin' to
- work fer—<i>you</i>, I say!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He suddenly turned through the open gate and strode homeward across the
- fields. Alan stood looking after him till his tall form was lost in the
- hazy moonlight, and then he went up to his bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole entered the open door of his cabin and began to undress as he sat on
- the side of his crude bedstead, made of unbarked poles fastened to the
- bare logs in one corner of the room. His wife and children slept on two
- beds on the other side of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you see 'im, Pole?” piped up Mrs. Baker from the darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I seed 'im. Sally, say, whar's that bottle o' whiskey I had the last
- time I was at home?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was an ominous silence. Out of it rose the soft breathing of the
- children. Then the woman sighed. “Pole, shorely you ain't a-goin' to begin
- agin?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I want to bu'st it into smithereens. I don't want it about—I
- don't want to know thar's a drap in the house. I've swore off, an' this
- time she sticks. Gi'me that bottle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Another silence. Suddenly the woman spoke. “Pole, you've swore off as many
- times as a dog has fleas. Often when I feel bad an' sick when you are off,
- a drap o' whiskey makes me feel better. I don't want you to destroy the
- last bit in the house jest be-ca'se you've tuck this turn, that may wear
- off before daylight. The last time you emptied that keg on the ground an'
- swore off you got on a spree an' helt the baby over the well an'
- threatened to drap 'er in ef I didn't find a bottle, an' you'd 'a' done
- it, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole laughed softly. “I reckon yo' re right, old gal,” he said. “Besides,
- ef I can' t—ef I ain't man enough to let up with a bottle in the
- house I won't do it without. But the sight or smell of it is hell itse'f
- to a lover of the truck. Ef I was to tell you what a little thing started
- me on this last spree you'd laugh. I went to git a shave in a barber shop,
- an' when the barber finished he soaked my face in bay-rum an' it got in my
- mustache. I kept smellin' it all mornin' an' tried to wipe it off, but she
- wouldn't wipe. All the time I kept walkin' up an' down in front o' Luke
- Sell-more's bar. Finally I said to myself: 'Well, ef you have to have a
- bar-room stuck under yore nose all day like a wet sponge, old man, you
- mought as well have one whar it 'll taste better, an' I slid up to the
- counter.” The woman sighed audibly, but she made no reply. “Is Billy
- awake?” Pole suddenly asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you know he ain't,” said Mrs. Baker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I want to take 'im in my bed.” Pole stood out on the floor in the
- sheet of moonlight that fell through the open door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't, Pole,” said the woman. “The pore little feller's been
- toddlin' about after the others, draggin' bresh to the heap tell he's
- tired. He drapped to sleep at the table with a piece o' bread in his
- mouth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won't wake 'im, God bless his little heart,” answered Pole, and he
- reached down and took the limp child in his arms and pressed him against
- the side of his face. He carried him tenderly across the room and laid
- down with him. His wife heard him uttering endearing things to the
- unconscious child until she fell asleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XIII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9107.jpg" alt="9107 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9107.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- T was the second Sunday in July, and a bright, clear day. In that
- mountainous region the early mornings of dry summer days are delightfully
- cool and balmy. Abner Daniel was in his room making preparations to go to
- meeting at Rock Crest Church. He had put on one of his best white shirts,
- black silk necktie, doeskin trousers, flowered waistcoat, and long
- frock-coat, and was proceeding to black his shoes. Into an old pie-pan he
- raked from the back of the fireplace a quantity of soot and added to it a
- little water and a spoonful of sorghum molasses from a jug under his bed,
- stirring the mixture into a paste. This he applied to his shoes with a
- blacking-brush, rubbing vigorously until quite a decent gloss appeared. It
- was a thing poverty had taught him just after the war, and to which he
- still resorted when he forgot to buy blacking.
- </p>
- <p>
- On his way to church, as he was crossing a broom-sedge field and steering
- for the wood ahead of him, through which a path made a short cut to Rock
- Crest Church, he overtook Pole Baker swinging along in his shirt-sleeves
- and big hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I 'll be bungfuzzled,” Abner exclaimed, “ef you hain't got on a
- clean shirt! Church?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I 'lowed I would, Uncle Ab. I couldn't stay away. I told Sally it ud
- be the biggest fun on earth. She's a-comin' on as soon as she gits the
- childern ready. She's excited, too, an' wants to see how it 'll come out.
- She's as big a believer in you as I am, mighty nigh, an' she 'lowed, she
- did, that she'd bet you'd take hair an' hide off'n that gang 'fore they
- got good started.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner raised his shaggy eyebrows. If this was one of Pole's jokes it
- failed in the directness that usually characterized the jests of the
- ex-moonshiner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder what yo' re a-drivin' at, you blamed fool,” he said, smiling in
- a puzzled fashion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole was walking in front, and suddenly wheeled about. He took off his
- hat, and, wiping the perspiration from his high brow with his forefinger,
- he cracked it into the broom-sedge like a whip.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Looky' heer, Uncle Ab,” he laughed, “what you givin' me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was jest tryin' to find out what you was a-givin' me,” retorted the
- rural philosopher, a dry note of rising curiosity dominating his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had reached a rail fence which separated the field from the wood, and
- they climbed over it and stood in the shade of the trees. Pole stared at
- the old man incredulously. “By hunkley, Uncle Ab, you don't mean to tell
- me you don't know what that passle o' hill-Billies is a-goin' to do with
- you this mornin' at meetin'?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner smiled mechanically. “I can't say I do, Pole. I'm at the fust of it,
- if thar is to be any—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole slapped his thigh and gave vent to a loud guffaw that rang through
- the trees and was echoed back from a hidden hill-side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what they <i>are</i> a-goin' to do with you 'll be a God's plenty.
- They are a-goin' to walk yore log, ur make you do it on all fours so they
- kin see you. You've made it hot fer them an' they are a-goin' to turn
- t'other cheek an' git a swipe at you. They are a-goin' to show you whar
- you come in—ur, ruther, whar you go out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner's face was a study in seriousness. “You don't say!” he muttered. “I
- <i>did</i> notice that brother Dole kinder give our house a wide berth
- last night. I reckon he sorter hated to eat at the same table with a
- feller he was goin' to hit at to-day. Yes, Dole is at the bottom of it. I
- know in reason I pushed 'im too fur the last time he was heer, but when he
- rears back an' coughs up sanctimony like he was literally too full of it
- fer comfort, I jest cayn't hold in. Seems to me I kin jest close my eyes
- an' hit some spot in 'im that makes 'im wiggle like a tadpole skeered in
- shallow water. But maybe I mought 'a' got a better mark to fire at; fer
- this 'll raise no end of a rumpus, an' they may try to make me take back
- water, but I never did crawfish. I couldn't do that, Pole. No siree, I—I
- can' t crawfish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner was a special object of regard as he and Pole emerged from the wood
- into the opening in front of the little unpainted meeting-house, where the
- men stood about among the buggies and horses, whittling, gossiping, and
- looking strange and fresh-washed in their clean clothes. But it was
- noticeable that they did not gather around him as had been their habit.
- His standing in that religious community was at stake; his continued
- popularity depended on the result of that day's investigation. Pole could
- afford to stand by him, and he did. They sat down on a log near the church
- door and remained silent till the cast-iron bell in the little belfry,
- which resembled a dog-kennel, was rattled vigorously as an announcement
- that the service was about to begin. They all scurried in like sheep.
- Abner went in last, with slow dignity and deliberation, leaving Pole in a
- seat near the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went up the narrow aisle to his accustomed seat near the long-wood
- stove. Many eyes were on his profile and the back of his neck. Dole was
- seated in the arm-chair behind the preacher's stand, but somehow he failed
- to look at Abner as he entered, or even after he had taken his seat. He
- seemed busy making notes from the big Bible which lay across his lap.
- Abner saw Bishop and his wife come in and sit down, and knew from the
- glances they gave him that they had heard the news. Mrs. Bishop looked
- keenly distressed, but Bishop seemed to regard the matter only as a small,
- buzzing incident in his own troubled career. Besides, Abner was no blood
- relative of his, and Bishop had enough to occupy him in looking after the
- material interests of his own family without bothering about the spiritual
- welfare of a connection by marriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole stood up and announced a hymn, and read it from beginning to end in a
- mellow, sonorous voice. The congregation, all eying Abner, rose and sang
- it energetically; even Abner, who sang a fair bass of the rasping,
- guttural variety, popular in the mountains, found himself joining in,
- quite unconcerned as to his future right to do so. After this, Dole led in
- prayer, standing with both hands resting on the crude, unpainted stand,
- the sole ornament of which was a pitcher of water, a tumbler, and a glass
- lamp with a green paper shade on it. Abner remarked afterwards that Dole,
- in this prayer, used the Lord as a cat's-paw to hit at him. Dole told the
- Lord a few things that he had never had the courage to tell Daniel. Abner
- was a black sheep in a flock earnestly striving to keep itself white—a
- thing in human shape that soiled that with which it came in contact. He
- had the subtle tongue of the serpent that blasted the happiness of the
- primeval pair in the Garden of Eden. Under the cloak of wit and wisdom he
- was continually dropping poison into the beverages of earnest folk who had
- not the religious courage to close their ears. As a member of a
- consecrated body of souls, it was the opinion of many that Abner was out
- of place, but that was to be decided after careful investigation in the
- Lord's presence and after ample testimony pro and con had been submitted.
- Any one wishing to show that the offending member had a right to remain in
- good standing would be gladly listened to, even prayerfully. On the other
- hand, such members as had had their religious sensibilities wounded should
- feel that a most sacred duty rested on them to speak their minds. All this
- Dole said he trusted the Lord would sanction and bless in the name of the
- Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour and Director of all men.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole then started another hymn, and when it had been sung he announced
- that no sermon would be preached that day, as the important business in
- hand would consume all available time before the dinner-hour. Then he
- courageously faced Abner. His countenance was pale and determined, his
- tone perfunctory and sharp as a knife.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon, brother Daniel,” he said, “that you have a idee who I've been
- talkin' about?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner was slightly pale, but calm and self-possessed. The light of
- merriment, always kindled by contact with Dole, danced in his eyes. “I
- kinder 'lowed I was the one,” he said, slowly, “an' I'm sorter curis to
- see who' ll speak an' what they 'll say. I 'll tell you now I ain't
- a-goin' to do myse'f jestice. I 'ain't been to a debatin' club sence I was
- a boy, but I 'll do my best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole stroked his beard and consulted a scrap of paper in the palm of his
- hand. “Brother Throg-martin,” he called out, suddenly, and a short, fat
- man on a bench behind Abner rose and cleared his throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, brother Throgmartin,” went on the preacher, “jest tell some o' the
- things you've heerd brother Daniel say that struck you as bein'
- undoctrinal an' unbecomin' a member of this body.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir,” Throgmartin began, in a thin, high voice that cut the
- profound silence in the room like a rusty blade, “I don't raily, in my
- heart o' hearts, believe that Ab—brother Daniel—has the right
- interpretation of Scriptur'. I remember, after you preached last summer
- about the sacred teachin' in regard to future punishment, that Ab—brother
- Daniel—an' me was walkin' home together. Ever' now an' then he'd
- stop in the road an' laugh right out sudden-like over what you'd
- contended.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he did, did he?” Dole's face hardened. He couldn't doubt that part of
- the testimony, for it was distinctly Abner's method.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” responded Throgmartin, sternly, “he 'lowed what you'd said was
- as funny to him as a circus clown's talk, an' that it was all he could do
- to hold in. He 'lowed ef you was to git up in a Darley church with sech
- talk as that they'd make you preach to niggers. He 'lowed he didn't
- believe hell was any hot place nohow, an' that he never could be made to
- believe that the Lord ud create folks an' then barbecue 'em alive through
- all eternity. He said it sorter turned his stomach to see jest a little
- lamb roasted at a big political gatherin', an' that no God he believed in
- would institute sech long torture as you spoke about when you brought up
- the mustard-seed p'int.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He deliberately gives the lie to Holy Scripture, then,” said Dole, almost
- beside himself with rage. “What else did he say of a blasphemous nature?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I hardly know,” hesitated the witness, his brow wrinkled
- thoughtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” snarled Dole, “you hain't told half you said to me this mornin' on
- the way to meetin'. What was his remark about the stars havin' people on
- 'em ever' bit an' grain as worthy o' salvation as us all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I disremember his exact words. Perhaps Ab—brother Daniel—will
- refresh my memory.” Throg-martin was gazing quite respectfully at the
- offender. “It was at Billy Malone's log-rollin', you know, Ab; me 'n'
- you'd eat a snack together, an' you said the big poplar had strained yore
- side an' wanted to git it rubbed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner looked straight at Dole. The corners of his big, honest mouth were
- twitching defiantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I said, I think,” he answered, “that no matter what some folks mought
- believe about the starry heavens, no man ever diskivered a big world with
- a tail to it through a spy-glass without bein' convinced that thar was
- other globes in the business besides jest this un.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole drew himself up straight and gazed broadly over his congregation. He
- felt that in the estimation of unimaginative, prosaic people like his
- flock Abner's defence would certainly fall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Kin I ax,” he asked, sternly, “how you happen to think like you do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner grasped the back of the bench in front of him and pulled himself up,
- only to sink back hesitatingly into his seat. “Would it be out o' order
- fer me to stand?” he questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole spread a hard, triumphant smile over the congregation. “Not at all,
- if it will help you to give a sensible answer to my question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I kin talk settin',” retorted the man on trial. “I jest didn't know
- what was right an' proper, an' I 'lowed I could hit that spit-box better
- standin' than I kin over brother Tarver's legs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man referred to quickly slid along the bench, giving Abner his place
- near the aisle, and Abner calmly emptied his mouth in the wooden box
- filled with sawdust and wiped his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hardly know why I think like I do about other worlds,” he answered,
- slowly, “unless it's beca'se I've always had the notion that the universe
- is sech a powerful, whoppin' big thing. Most folks believe that the spot
- they inhabit is about all thar is to creation, anyway. That's human
- natur'. About the biggest job I ever tackled was to drive a hungry cow
- from bad grass into a good patch. She wants to stay thar an' eat, an'
- that's about the way it is with folks. They are short-sighted. It makes
- most of 'em mad to tell 'em they kin better the'r condition. I've always
- believed that's the reason they make the bad place out so bad; they've
- made up the'r minds to live thar, an' they ain't a-goin' to misrepresent
- it. They are out o' fire-wood in this life an' want to have a good sweat
- in the next.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XIV
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9115.jpg" alt="9115 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9115.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- T looked as if Dole thought he could get down to the matter better out of
- the pulpit, so he descended the steps on the side near Abner, and stood on
- the floor inside the altar railing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We didn't assemble heer to argue with brother Daniel,” he informed the
- congregation, “fer that's evidently jest what he'd like. It would be raily
- kind of you all to consider what he's jest said as the product of a weak
- brain ruther 'n a bad heart. Brother Throgmartin, have you any other
- charges to prefer agin brother Daniel?” Dole looked as if he had already
- been apprised of the extent of the witness's testimony.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's all I keer to say,” replied the man addressed, and he coughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole consulted the scrap of paper in his hand, and while he did so Abner
- stole a glance at Bishop and his wife. Mrs. Bishop had her handkerchief to
- her eyes as if she were crying, and her husband's face wore the impatient
- look of a man detained by trivialities.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Brother Daniel,” the preacher began, suddenly, “charges has been
- preferred agin you on the score that you are a profane man. What have you
- got to say on that line?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner bent his head and spat down into the hopper-shaped box in the aisle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hardly know, brother Dole,” he said. “It's all owin' to what profanity
- is an' what it hain't. I don't know that I ever used but one word out o'
- the general run, an' that is 'dem.' I don't believe thar's any more harm
- in sayin' 'dem' than 'scat,' ur gruntin' when thar's no absolute call fer
- it. I don't know as anybody knows what it means. I don't. I've axed a
- number o' times, but nobody could tell me, so I knowed it wasn't patented
- anyway. Fer a long time I 'lowed nobody used it but me. I met a feller
- from up in Yankeedom that said 'darn,' an' another from out West that said
- 'dang,' so I reckon they are all three in a bunch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this juncture some one in the rear of the church laughed out, and the
- entire congregation turned its head. It was Pole Baker. He was red in the
- face, had his big hand pressed tightly over his mouth, and was bent over
- the bench towards the open doorway. Abner's eyes sparkled with
- appreciative merriment as he saw him, but he did not permit himself to
- smile. Dole could not hide his irritation, for Pole's unalloyed enjoyment
- had communicated itself to some of the less rigid members, and he felt
- that the reply which was stinging his tongue would fall less forcefully
- than if the incident hadn't happened.
- </p>
- <p>
- He held up his hand to invoke silence and respect. “I believe such a word,
- to say the least, is unbecoming in a Christian, and I think the membership
- will back me up in it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't look at it that away,” argued Abner. “I'd be above takin' the
- Lord's name in vain, but a little word that nobody cayn't find no fault
- with or tell its origin shorely is different.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that 'll be a matter to decide by vote.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole paused a moment and then introduced another topic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A report has gone round among the members that you said that red-handed
- murderer who killed a man over in Fannin' an' was hung, an' passed on
- without a single prayer fer pardon to his Maker—that he'd stand a
- chance fer redemption. In all my experience I've never heerd sech a
- dangerous doctrin' as that, brother Daniel—never, as I myself hope
- to be redeemed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I said he'd have a chance—I <i>thought</i>,” said Abner. “I reckon
- I must 'a' got that idee from what Jesus said to the thief on the cross.
- You see, brother Dole, I believe the Almighty gives us all equal chances,
- an' I don't believe that feller in Fannin' had as good a opportunity to
- git his heart saftened as the feller did that was dyin' right alongside o'
- the great Redeemer o' the world. Nobody spoke a kind word to the Fannin'
- man; on the contrary, they was hootin' an' spittin' at 'im night an' day,
- an' they say the man he killed had pestered 'im all his life. Scriptur'
- says we ort to forgive a man seventy times seven, an' that is four hundred
- an' ninety. Why they didn't make it even five hundred I never could tell.
- An' yet you-uns try to make folks believe the Lord that made us, frail as
- we are an' prone to sin, won't forgive us once ef we happen to die sudden.
- Shucks! that doctrine won't hold water; it's hide-bound an' won't stretch
- one bit. It seems to me that the trouble with yore—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We haven't time to listen to a speech on the subject,” interrupted the
- preacher, whose anger was inflamed by hearing Pole Baker sniggering. “If
- thar is anybody else that has anything to say we'd be glad to hear from
- 'em.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Mrs. Bishop rose, wiping her eyes. She was pale and deeply agitated.
- “I jest want to ax you all to be lenient with my pore brother,” she began,
- her thin voice cracking under its strain. “I've predicted that he'd bring
- disrepute down on us with his ready tongue an' odd notions. I've tried an'
- tried to stop 'im, but it didn't do a bit o' good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's very good of you to speak in his behalf,” said Dole, as she sank
- back into her seat. “I'm sure the membership will do its duty, sister
- Bishop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then a little, meanly clad man behind Daniel stood up. It was Jasper
- Marmaduke, a ne 'er-do-well farmer, who had a large family, few friends,
- and no earthly possessions. He was greatly excited, and as white as if he
- were on trial for his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ain't no member,” he began. “I know I ort to be, but I hain't. I don't
- know whether a outsider's got a right to chip into this or not, but it
- seems to me I 'll bu'st wide open ef I don't git up heer an' say as loud
- as I kin holler that Abner Daniel's the best man I ever seed, knowed, ur
- heerd tell of.” Tears were on the man's face and his voice shook with
- emotion. “He's fetched food an' medicine over to my folks an' run after a
- doctor when all the rest o' humanity had turned the'r backs on us. He made
- me promise not to cheep it to a soul, but I'm a-goin' to tell it—tell
- it, ef he never speaks to me agin. I ain't no godly man, an' this thing's
- makin' me so mad I feel like throwin' rocks!” And with a sob bursting from
- him, Marmaduke strode from the church with a loud clatter of his untied
- shoes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good! Good man!” spoke up Pole Baker, impulsively, unconscious of where
- he was. “Jas', yo're the right stuff.” And then, in the dead silence that
- followed his ejaculation, Pole realized what he had said and lowered his
- head in red embarrassment, for Dole's fierce eyes were bearing down on
- him. The preacher's pent-up wrath burst; he was really more infuriated at
- the man who had just left the church, but he had to make an example of
- some one, and Pole had laid himself open to attack.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is no place fer rowdies,” he snarled. “That outlaw back thar who has
- been continually disturbing these proceedings ort to be jailed. He's
- undertakin' to bring his violations of decency into the very house of
- God.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A vast surprise clutched the congregation, who, knowing Pole, scented
- trouble. And Pole did not disappoint them. With his flabby hat in his
- brawny grasp, Pole stood up, but his wife, who sat on the women's side
- across the aisle from him with her three eldest children, stepped to him
- and drew him back in his seat, sitting by him and whispering imploringly.
- Dole stared fiercely for a moment, and then, seeing that the disturbance
- was over, he shrugged his broad shoulders and applied himself to the
- business in hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is thar anybody else pro or con that ud like to be heerd?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the widow Pellham, sitting well towards the front, who now rose. “I
- feel like Jas' Marmaduke does,” she began, falteringly. Her hearers could
- not see her face, for she wore a black calico sunbonnet, and it was tilted
- downward. “I believe I 'll be committin' of a grievous sin ef I let my
- natural back'ard-ness keep me quiet. Abner Daniel was the fust, last, an'
- only pusson that made me see the true way into God's blessed sunshine out
- o' the pitch-black darkness that was over me. All of you, especially them
- livin' nigh me, knowed how I acted when my daughter Mary died. We'd lived
- together sence she was born, an' after her pa passed away she was all I
- had. Then God up an' tuck 'er. I tell you it made a devil out'n me. I
- liter'ly cussed my Maker an' swore revenge agin 'Im. I quit meetin' an'
- closed my door agin my neighbors. They all tried to show me whar I was
- wrong, but I wouldn't listen. Some nights I set up from dark till daylight
- without candle or fire, bemeanin' my God fer the way He'd done me. You
- remember, brother Dole, that you come a time or two an' prayed an' read,
- but I didn't budge out'n my cheer an' wouldn't bend a knee. Then that
- other little preacher, that was learnin' to preach, an' tuck yore place
- when you went off to bury yore mother—he come an' made a set at me,
- but every word he said made me wuss. I ordered <i>him</i> off the hill,
- an' told 'im ef he appeared agin I'd set my dog on 'im. I don't know why
- everybody made me so mad, but they did. The devil had me by the leg, an'
- was a-drag-gin' me as fast to his hole as a dog kin trot. But one mornin'
- Abner Daniel come over with that thar devilish twinkle in his eyes that ud
- make a cow laugh, an' begun to banter me to sell 'im the hay off'n my
- little neck o' land betwixt the creek an' the road. I kept tellin' 'im I
- didn't want to sell, but he kept a-com-in' an' a comin', with no end o'
- fool talk about this un an' that un, tell somehow I got to watchin' fer
- 'im, but still I wouldn't let nobody else in. Then one day, after I'd
- refused to sell an' told 'im I'd <i>give</i> 'im the hay, he growed
- serious an' said, ses he: 'Sister Pellham, I don't want the hay on that
- patch. I've been deliberately lyin'. I've been comin' over heer as a
- friend, to try to make you feel better.' Then he set in, an', as God is my
- highest judge, ef thar 'll be any more speritual talk on t'other shore it
- 'll be after Abner Daniel gits thar. He jest rolled me about in his hands
- like a piece o' wheat dough. He showed me what aileded me as plain as I
- could p'int out the top o' old Bald Mountain to you on a cleer day. He
- told me, I remember, that in grievin' like I was, I was sinnin' agin the
- Holy Ghost, an' jest as long as I did it I'd suffer wuss an' wuss as a
- penalty. He said it was a fight betwixt me an' my Maker an' that I was
- bound to be worsted. He said that when my Mary come into the world I
- couldn't tell whar she was from, nur why the Lord had fetched 'er, but I
- was jest pleased beca'se it suited me to be pleased, but, ses he, when she
- went back into the great mystery o' God's beautiful plan I wasn't
- satisfied beca'se it didn't suit me to be. He said it was downright
- selfishness, that had no part nur parcel in the kingdom o' heaven. He said
- to me, ses he, 'Sister, ef you 'll jest fer one minute make up yore mind
- that Mary is in better hands 'an she was in yor'n '—an' you kin bet
- yore bottom dollar she is—'you 'll feel as light as a feather. 'I
- had a tussle, but it come, God bless him! it come. It was jest like a
- great light had bu'sted over me. I fell down on my knees before 'im an'
- shouted an' shouted till I was as limp as a wet rag. I had always thought
- I was converted away back in the sixties when I was a gal, but I wasn't. I
- got my redemption that day under Abner Daniel's talk, an' I shall bless
- 'im an' sing his name on my dyin' bed. I don't want to entertain no
- spiteful feelin' s, but ef he goes out I 'll have to. I wouldn't feel
- right in no church too puore to fellowship with Abner Daniel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good! Good woman!” shouted Pole Baker, as if he were at a political
- speaking. She sat down. The house seemed profoundly moved. People were
- thinking of the good things they had heard about Abner Daniel. However,
- the turn of affairs did not suit Dole, who showed decided anger. His eyes
- flashed as they rested on Pole Baker, who had offended him again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall have to ax that law-breaker back thar to leave the church,” he
- said. “I think it's come to a purty pass ef strong, able-bodied
- church-members will set still an' allow the'r own house o' worship to be
- insulted by such a rascal as that one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole rose; many thought he was going to leave, but to the surprise of all
- he walked deliberately up to the altar and laid his hand upon the railing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Looky' heer,” he said, “they call you the fightin' preacher. They say you
- believe in hittin' back when yo' re hit. I'm heer to show you that ef I am
- a outlaw I ain't afeerd o' you, an' I ain't a-goin' to be abused by you
- when you are under the cloak o' this meetin'. When you say some 'n' you
- think is purty good you wink at some brother in the amen-corner an' he
- yells 'Amen 'loud enough to be heerd to the cross-roads. Then you go on as
- if nothin' had happened. What I said back thar was jest my way o' sayin'
- amen. Little Jas' Marmaduke hit you in a weak spot; so did what Mis'
- Pellham said, an' yo' re tryin' to take yore spite out on me. That won't
- work. I come heer to see fair play, an' I'm a-goin' to do it. Uncle Ab's a
- good man an' I'm heer to testify to it. He's come nigher—him an'
- Alan Bishop, that's a chip off'n 'im—to turn me into the right way
- than all the shoutin'-bees I ever attended, an' I've been to as many as
- thar are hairs on my head. I ain't bald, nuther. Now ef you want to have
- it out with me jest wait an' meet me outside, whar we 'll both have fair
- play.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dole was quivering with rage. “I kin whip a dozen dirty scoundrels like
- you,” he panted. “Men like you insult ministers, thinking they won't
- fight, but after meetin' I 'll simply wipe up the ground with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, 'nough said!” and Pole sat down. There was silence for a
- moment. Dole's furious panting could be heard all over the room. Then
- Abner Daniel rose. A vast change had come over him. The light of quizzical
- merriment had faded from his face; nothing lay there except the shadows of
- deepest regret. “I've been wrong—wrong—<i>wrong!</i>” he said,
- loudly. “I'm dead wrong, ur Pole Baker never would 'a' wanted to fight,
- an' brother Dole wouldn't 'a' been driv' to lose his temper in the pulpit.
- I'm at the bottom o' all this rumpus that has kept you all from listenin'
- to a good sermon. You've not found me hard to git along with when I see my
- error, an' I promise that I 'll try from this day on to keep from shovin'
- my notions on folks that ain't ready fer 'em. I want to stay in the
- church. I think every sane man an' woman kin do good in a church, an' I
- want to stay in this un.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The confession was so unexpected, and furnished Dole with such an easy
- loop-hole for gracefully retiring from a most unpleasant predicament, that
- he actually beamed on the speaker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think any more need be said,” he smiled. “Brother Daniel has
- shown himself willing to do the right thing, an' I propose that the
- charges be dropped.” Thereupon a vote was taken, and it went
- overwhelmingly in Abner's favor. After the benediction, which followed
- immediately, Pole Baker hurried across to Daniel. “I declare, you make me
- sick, Uncle Ab,” he grumbled. “What on earth did you mean by takin'
- back-water? You had 'im whar the wool was short; he was white at the
- gills. You could 'a' mauled the life out'n 'im. Ef I'd—”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Abner, smiling indulgently, had a watchful eye on Dole, and was moving
- forward to shake the preacher's outstretched hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I 'll be damned!” Pole grunted, half aloud and in high disgust, as
- he pushed his way through the crowd to the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner found him waiting for him near the hitch-ing-post, where he had been
- to untie Bishop's horse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon,” he said, “bein' as you got so mighty good yorese'f, 'at you
- think I acted wrong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not any wuss'n I did, Pole,” replied the old man, seriously. “My advice
- to you is to go to Dole an' tell 'im you are sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sorry hell!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It ud be better fer you,” half smiled Abner. “Ef you don't, some o' them
- hill-Billies 'll make a case at court agin you fer disturbin' public
- worship. Before a grand jury o' mossbacks a man with yore record ud not
- stand any better chance o' comin' cleer 'n a old bird-nest ud o' makin'
- good soup. When you was a-runnin' of yore still it made you powerful mad
- to have revenue men after you, didn't it? Well, this heer shebang is
- Dole's still, my boy, whar he claims to make good sperits out'n bad
- material, an' he's got a license, which is more 'n you could 'a' said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon yo' re right,” said Pole. “I 'll wait fer 'im.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XV
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9125.jpg" alt="9125 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9125.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- N the middle of the following week some of the young people of Darley gave
- a picnic at Morley's Spring, a beautiful and picturesque spot about a mile
- below Bishop's farm. Alan had received an urgent invitation to join the
- party, and he rode down after dinner.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a hot afternoon, and the party of a dozen couples had scattered in
- all directions in search of cool, shady nooks. Alan was by no means sure
- that Miss Barclay would be there, but, if the truth must be told, he went
- solely with the hope of at least getting another look at her. He was more
- than agreeably surprised, for, just as he had hitched his horse to a
- hanging bow of an oak near the spring, Frank Hillhouse came from the
- tangle of wild vines and underbrush on a little hill-side and approached
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are just the fellow I'm looking for,” said Frank. “Miss Dolly's over
- there in a hammock, and I want to leave somebody with her. Old man Morley
- promised me the biggest watermelon in his patch if I'd come over for it. I
- won't be long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don't care how long you are,” smiled Alan. “You can stay all day if
- you want to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you wouldn't mind,” grinned Frank. “I used to think you were
- the one man I had to fight, but I reckon I was mistaken. A feller in love
- imagines everybody in creation is against him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan made no reply to this, but hurried away to where Dolly sat, a new
- magazine in her hands and a box of candies on the grass at her feet. “I
- saw you riding down the hill,” she said, with a pretty flush and no little
- excitement. “To tell the truth, I sent Frank after the melon when I
- recognized you. He's been threatening to go all the afternoon, but I
- insisted on it. You may be surprised, but I have a business message for
- you, and I would have made Frank drive me past your house on the way home
- if you hadn't come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Business,” Alan laughed, merrily; he felt very happy in her presence
- under all her assurances of welcome. “The idea of your having a business
- message! That's really funny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that's what it is; sit down.” She made room for him in the hammock,
- and he sat beside her, his foolish brain in a whirl. “Why, yes, it is
- business; and it concerns you. I fancy it is important; anyway, it may
- take you to town to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't mean it,” he laughed. She looked very pretty, in her light
- organdie gown and big rustic hat, with its wide, flowing ribbons.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it is a message from Rayburn Miller, about that railroad idea of
- yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really? Then he told you about that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; he was down to see me last week. He didn't seem to think much of it
- then—but”—she hesitated and smiled, as if over the memory of
- something amusing—“he's been thinking of it since. As Frank and I
- drove through the main street this morning—Frank had gone in a store
- to get a basket of fruit—he came to me on his way to the train for
- Atlanta. He hadn't time to say much, but he said if you were out here
- to-day to tell you to come in town to-night without fail, so as to meet
- him at his office early in the morning. He 'll be back on the midnight
- train. I asked him if it was about the railroad, and he said it was—that
- he had discovered something that looked encouraging.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm glad of that,” said Alan, a thrill of excitement passing over him.
- “Rayburn threw cold water on my ideas the other day, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know he did, and it was a shame,” said Dolly, warmly. “The idea of his
- thinking he is the only man in Georgia with originality! Anyway, I hope it
- will come to something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I certainly do,” responded Alan. “It's the only thing I could think of to
- help my people, and I am willing to stake all I have on it—which is,
- after all, nothing but time and energy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, don't you let him nor any one else discourage you,” said the girl,
- her eyes flashing. “A man who listens to other people and puts his own
- ideas aside is unworthy of the brain God gave him. There is another thing”—her
- voice sank lower and her eyes sought the ground. “Rayburn Miller is a
- fine, allround man, but he is not perfect by any means. He talks freely to
- me, you know; he's known me since I was knee-high. Well, he told me—he
- told me of the talk he had with you at the dance that night. Oh, that hurt
- me—hurt me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He told you that!” exclaimed Alan, in surprise. “Yes, and it actually
- disgusted me. Does he think all men ought to act on that sort of advice?
- He might, for he has made an unnatural man of himself, with all his
- fancies for new faces; but you are not that kind, Alan, and I'm sorry you
- and he are so intimate—not that he can influence you <i>much</i>,
- but he has already, <i>in a way</i>, and that has pained me deeply.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has influenced me?” cried Alan, in surprise. “I think you are
- mistaken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may not realize it, but he has,” said Dolly, with gentle and yet
- unyielding earnestness. “You see, you are so very sensitive that it would
- not be hard to make you believe that a young man ought not to keep on
- caring for a girl whose parents object to his attentions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” He had caught her drift.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause. At the foot of the hill a little brook ran merrily over
- the water-browned stones, and its monotonous lapping could be heard
- distinctly. Under the trees across the open some of the couples had drawn
- together and were singing:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “I see the boat go 'round the bend,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Good-bye, my lover, good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly had said exactly what he had never hoped to hear her say, and the
- fact of her broaching such a subject in such a frank, determined way sent
- a glow of happiness all over him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think,” he began, thoughtfully, “that Rayburn or any man could
- keep me from”—he looked into her full, expectant eyes, and then
- plunged madly—“could keep me from caring for you, from loving you
- with all my heart, Dolly; but it really is a terrible thing to know that
- you are robbing a girl of not only the love of her parents but her
- rightful inheritance, when, when”—he hurried on, seeing that an
- impulse to speak was urging her to protest—“when you haven't a cent
- to your name, and, moreover, have a black eye from your father's
- mistakes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew that's what he'd said!” declared the girl, almost white with
- anger. “I knew it! Oh, Alan, Rayburn Miller might be able to draw back and
- leave a girl at such a time, but no man could that truly loves as—as
- I believe you love me. I have known how you have felt all this time, and
- it has nearly broken my heart, but I could not write to you when you had
- never even told me, what you have to-day. You must not let anybody or
- anything influence you, Alan. I'd rather be a poor man' s wife, and do my
- own work, than let a paltry thing like my father's money keep me from
- standing by the man I love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan' s face was ablaze. He drew himself up and gazed at her, all his soul
- in his eyes. “Then I shall not give you up,” he declared; “not for
- anything in the world. And if there is a chance in the railroad idea I
- shall work at it ten times as hard, now that I have talked with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They sat together in blissful ignorance of the passage of time, till some
- one shouted out that Frank Hill-house was coming with the watermelon. Then
- all the couples in sight or hearing ran to the spring, where Hillhouse
- could be seen plunging the big melon into the water. Hattie Alexander and
- Charlie Durant, who had been perched on a jutting bowlder high up on the
- hill behind Dolly and Alan, came half running, half sliding down, catching
- at the trees to keep from falling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Better come get your teeth in that melon,” Hattie said, with a knowing
- smile at Dolly. They lived next door to each other and were quite
- intimate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come on, Alan.” Dolly rose. “Frank will never forgive me if I don't have
- some.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I sha 'n' t have time, if I go to town to-night,” replied Alan. “I have
- something to do at home first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I won't keep you,” Dolly smiled, “for you must go and meet Rayburn
- Miller. I'm going to hope that he has had good luck in Atlanta.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The world had never seemed so full of joy and hope as Alan rode homeward.
- The sun was setting in glorious splendor beyond the towering mountains,
- above which the sky seemed an ocean of mother-of-pearl and liquid gold.
- Truly it was good to be alive. At the bars he met Abner Daniel with a
- fishing-cane in his hands, his bait-gourd under his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know right whar you've been,” he said, with a broad smile, as he threw
- down the bars for Alan to pass through. “I seed that gang drive by in all
- the'r flurry this mornin', the queen bee in the lead with that little
- makeshift of a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan dismounted to prevent his uncle from putting up the bars, and they
- walked homeward side by side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and I've had the time of my life,” said the young man. “I talked to
- her for a solid hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could see that in yore face,” said Abner, quietly. “You couldn't hide
- it, an' I 'll bet she didn't lose time in lettin' you know what she never
- could hide from me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We understand each other better now,” admitted Alan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I've certainly set my heart on the match—on gittin' her in
- our family,” affirmed Abner. “Durn-ed ef—I declare, sometimes I'm
- afeerd I'm gone on 'er myse'f. Yes, I want you 'n' her to make it. I want
- to set an' smoke an' chaw on yore front porch, an' heer her back in the
- kitchen fryin' ham an' eggs, an',” the old man winked, “I don't know as
- I'd object to trottin' some 'n' on my knee, to sorter pass the time
- betwixt meals.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come off, Uncle Ab!” said Alan, with a flush, “that's going too far.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man whisked his bait-gourd round under his other arm. His eyes
- twinkled, and he chuckled. “'Tain' t goin' as fur as havin' one on each
- knee an' both pine blank alike an' exactly the same age. I've knowed that
- to happen in my day an' time, when nobody wasn't even lookin' fer a'
- increase.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XVI
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9131.jpg" alt="9131 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9131.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- ATTIE ALEXANDER and Charlie Durant reached home before Dolly and
- Hillhouse, and as Dolly alighted from the buggy at the front gate and was
- going up the flower-bordered walk Hattie came to the side fence and called
- out:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Dolly, come here quick; I've got some 'n' to tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, wait till I get my hat off,” answered Dolly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I can't wait; come on, or you 'll wish you had.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it, goosie?” Dolly smiled, as she tripped across the grass, her
- face flushed from her rapid drive.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doll, darling, I've got you in an <i>awful</i> scrape. I know you 'll
- never forgive me, but I couldn't help it. When Charlie left me at the gate
- mother come out and asked me all about the picnic, who was there an' who
- talked to who, and all about it. Among other things I told her about you
- and Alan getting together for such a nice, long talk, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don't mind her,” broke in Dolly, as she reached for the skirt of
- her gown to rescue it from the dew on the high grass.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait, wait; I'm not through by a jugful,” panted Hattie. “Just then your
- pa came along an' asked if you'd got home. I told him you hadn't, an' then
- he up and asked me if Alan Bishop was out there. I had to say yes, of
- course, for you know how strict mother is about telling a fib, and then
- what do you think he did? He come right out plain and asked if Alan talked
- to you by yourself. I didn't know what on earth to do. I reckon I actually
- turned white, and then mother chipped in and said: 'Tell the truth,
- daughter; a story never mends matters; besides, Colonel Barclay, you must
- be more reasonable; young folks will be young folks, and Alan Bishop would
- be my choice if I was picking out a husband for my girl.' And then you
- ought to have heard your pa snort; it was as loud as a horse kicking up
- his heels in the lot. He wheeled round an' made for the house like he was
- shot out of a gun.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon he 'll raise the very Old Harry,” opined Dolly, grimly. “But I
- don't care; he's driven me about as far as he can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't make him any madder,” advised the innocent mischief-maker,
- with a doleful expression. “It's all my fault. I—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it wasn't,” declared Dolly. “But he can't run over me with his
- unreasonable ideas about Alan Bishop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With that she turned and went towards the house, her head down. On the
- veranda she met her mother, who was waiting for her with a pleasurable
- smile. “You've stirred up yore pa awful,” she said, laughing impulsively,
- and then trying to veil it with a seriousness that sat awkwardly on her.
- “You'd better dodge him right now. Oh, he's hot! He was just saying this
- morning that he believed you and Frank were getting on fine, and now he
- says Frank is an idiot to take a girl to a picnic to meet his rival. How
- did it happen?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just as I intended it should, mother,” Dolly said. “I knew he was coming,
- and sent Frank off after a watermelon. He didn't have sense enough to see
- through my ruse. If I'd treated Alan that way he'd simply have looked
- straight through me as if I'd been a window-pane. Mother, I'm not going to
- put up with it. I tell you I won't. I know what there is in Alan Bishop
- better than father does, and I am not going to stand it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You ain't, heigh?” thundered Barclay across the hall, and he stalked out
- of the sitting-room, looking over his eye-glasses, a newspaper in his
- hand. “Now, my lady, let me say to you that Alan Bishop shall never darken
- my door, and if you meet him again anywhere you shall go away and stay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father “—Dolly had never stood so tall in her high-heeled shoes nor
- so straight—“Father, you insulted Alan just now before Mrs.
- Alexander and Hattie, and I'm not going to have you do it any more. I love
- him, and I shall never love any other man, nor marry any other man. I know
- he loves me, and I'm going to stick to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then the quicker you get away from here the better,” said the old man,
- beside himself with rage. “And when you go, don't you dare to come back
- again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Colonel stalked from the room. Dolly glanced at her mother, who had a
- pale smile of half-frightened enjoyment on her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you said 'most too much,” Mrs. Barclay said. “You'd better not
- drive him too far.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly went up to her room, and when supper was called, half an hour later,
- she declined to come down. However, Mrs. Barclay sent up a tray of
- delicacies by Aunt Milly, the old colored woman, which came back
- untouched.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the custom of the family to retire rather early at that season of
- the year, and by half-past nine the house was dark and still. Mrs. Barclay
- dropped to sleep quickly, but waked about one o' clock, and lay unable to
- drift into unconsciousness again for the delightful pastime of thinking
- over her daughter's love affair. She began to wonder if Dolly, too, might
- not be awake, and the prospect of a midnight chat on that of all topics
- made her pulse beat quickly. Slipping noiselessly out of bed, so as not to
- wake her husband, who was snoring in his bed across the room, she glided
- up-stairs. She had not been there a moment before the Colonel was waked by
- a low scream from her, and then he heard her bare feet thumping on the
- floor overhead as she crossed the hall into the other rooms. She screamed
- out again, and the Colonel sprang up, grasped his revolver, which always
- lay on the bureau, and ran into the hall. There he met his wife, half
- sliding down the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dolly's gone,” she gasped. “Her bed hasn't been touched. Oh, Seth, do you
- reckon anything has happened to her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man stared in the dim light of the hall, and then turned towards
- the door which opened on the back veranda. He said not a word, but was
- breathing hard. The cabin of old Ned and his wife, Aunt Milly, was near
- by.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ned; oh, Ned!” called out the Colonel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, marster!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Crawl out o' that bed and come heer!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, marster; I'm a-comin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Seth, do you reckon—do you—?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dry up, will you?” thundered Barclay. “Are you comin', Ned?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Uncle Ned's gray head was thrust out at the partly open door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You want me, marster?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; what do you suppose I called you for if I didn't want you. Now I
- don't want any lies from you. You know you can't fool me. I want to know
- if you carried a note from this house to anybody since sundown.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A note must have been sent,” ventured Mrs. Barclay, in an undertone.
- “Dolly never would have gone to him. He must have been notified and come
- after her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dry up, for God's sake!” yelled the Colonel over his shoulder to the
- spectre by his side. “Answer me, you black rascal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Marse Seth, young miss, she—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She sent a note to Alan Bishop, didn't she?” interpolated the Colonel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Marster, I didn't know it was any harm. I des 'lowed it was some prank o'
- young miss'. Oh, Lordy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You might know you'd do suppen, you old sap-haid,” broke in Aunt Milly
- from the darkness of the cabin. “I kin count on you ever' time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Get back in bed,” ordered the Colonel, and he walked calmly into his room
- and lay down again. His wife followed him, standing in the middle of the
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aren't you going to do anything?” she said. Her voice was charged with a
- blending of tears and a sort of feminine eagerness that is beyond the
- comprehension of man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do anything? What do you think I ought to do? Raise an alarm, ring the
- church-bells, and call out the hook-and-ladder company? Huh! She's made
- her bed; let her lie on it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are heartless—you have no feeling,” cried his wife. The very
- core of her desire was to get him to talk about the matter. If he was not
- going to rouse the neighborhood, and thus furnish some one to talk to, he,
- at least, ought to be communicative.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you'd better go to bed,” snarled her husband.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No”—she scratched a match and lighted a candle—“I'm going
- up-stairs and see if she left a note. Now, you see, <i>I</i> had to think
- of that. The poor girl may have written something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There did seem to be a vestige of reason in this, and the old man said
- nothing against it, throwing himself back on his pillow with a stifled
- groan.
- </p>
- <p>
- After about half an hour Mrs. Barclay came back; she stood over him,
- holding the candle so that its best rays would fall on his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She didn't write one word,” was her announcement. “I reckon she knew we'd
- understand or find out from Uncle Ned. And just to think!”—Mrs.
- Barclay now sat down on a chair across the back of which lay the Colonel's
- trousers, holding the candle well to the right that she might still see
- the rigid torture of his face—“just to think, she's only taken the
- dress she had on at the picnic. It will be a poor wedding for her, when
- she's always said she wanted a lot of bridesmaids and ushers and
- decorations. Poor child! Maybe they had to drive into the country to get
- somebody to marry them. I know brother Lapsley wouldn't do it without
- letting us know. I reckon she 'll send the first thing in the morning for
- her trunk, if—” Mrs. Barclay gazed more steadily—“if she don't
- come herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, she needn't come herself,” grunted the reclining figure as it
- flounced under the sheets to turn its face to the wall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You wouldn't be that hard on our only child, just because she—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you don't go to bed,” the words rebounded from the white plastering an
- inch from the speaker's lips, “you 'n' me 'll have a row. I've said what
- I'd do, and I shall do it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I'm going out to speak to Aunt Milly a minute,” said Mrs. Barclay,
- and, drawing on a thin graywrapper and sliding her bare feet into a pair
- of slippers, she shuffled out to the back porch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come here, Aunt Milly,” she called out, and she sat down on the highest
- step and waited till the fat old woman, enveloped in a coarse gray
- blanket, joined her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aunt Milly, did you ever hear the like?” she said. “She 'ain't made off
- sho 'nough, have she, Miss Annie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, she's gone an' done it; her pa drove her just a little too far. I
- reckon she railly does love Alan Bishop, or thinks she does.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could take a stick an' baste the life out'n Ned,” growled the black
- woman, leaning against the veranda post; she knew better than to sit down
- in the presence of her mistress, even if her mistress had invited her to
- talk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he didn't know any better,” said Mrs. Barclay. “He always would trot
- his legs off for Dolly, and”—Mrs. Barclay's tone was tentative—“it
- wouldn't surprise me if Alan Bishop paid him to help to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, he didn't help, Miss Annie. Ned's been in bed ever since he come back
- fum town des atter supper. He tol' me des now dat de young man was in a
- room at de hotel playin' cyards wid some more boys an' he got up an' writ
- Miss Dolly er note; but Ned went straight to bed when he got home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, Alan must have got her to meet him at the front gate, don't you
- reckon? He didn't drive up to the house either, for I think I would have
- heard the wheels. He must have left his turn-out at the corner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you a-goin' to set there all night?” thundered the Colonel from his
- bed. “How do you expect anybody to sleep with that low mumbling going on,
- like a couple of dogs under the house?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Barclay got up, with a soft, startled giggle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He can' t sleep because he's bothered,” she said, in a confidential
- undertone. “We'd better go in. I don't want to nag him too far; it's going
- hard with Dolly as it is. I'm curious to see if he really will refuse to
- let her come back. Do you reckon he will, Milly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I sw'ar I don't know, Miss Annie,” replied the dark human shape from the
- depths of her blanket. “He sho is a caution, an' you kin see he's
- tormented. I 'll bet Ned won't have a whole skin in de mornin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Colonel, despite his sullen effort to conceal the fact from his
- wide-awake wife, slept very little during the remainder of that night, and
- when he rose at the usual hour he went out to see his horse fed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Barclay was fluttering from the dining-room to the kitchen, gossiping
- with the cook, who had run out of anything to say on the subject and could
- only grunt, “Yes'um, and no'um,” according to the reply she felt was
- expected. Aunt Milly was taking a plate of waffles into the dining-room
- when a little negro boy, about five years of age, the son of the cook at
- the Alexanders', crawled through a hole in the fence between the two
- houses and sauntered towards the kitchen. On the door-step he espied a
- black kitten that took his fancy and he caught it and began to stroke it
- with his little black hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What you want <i>now?</i>” Aunt Milly hovered over him like an angry hen.
- “Want ter borrow suppen, I boun' you; yo'-alls folks is de beatenes'
- people ter borrow I ever lived alongst.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The boy seemed to have forgotten his errand in his admiration for the
- kitten.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What you atter now?” snarled Aunt Milly, “eggs, flour, sugar, salt,
- pepper, flat-iron? Huh, we-all ain't keepin' er sto'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The boy looked up suddenly and drew his ideas together with a jerk. “Miss
- Dolly, she say sen 'er Mother Hubbub wrappin' dress, hangin' on de foot er
- her bed-post.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What?” gasped Aunt Milly, and, hearing the exclamation, Mrs. Barclay came
- to the door and paused to listen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Dolly,” repeated the boy, “she say sen 'er 'er wrappin' dress off'n
- de foot-post er 'er bed; en, en, she say keep 'er two waffles hot en, en
- dry—not sobby—en ter git 'er dat fresh cream fer 'er coffee in
- 'er lill pitcher whut she lef' in de ice-box.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dolly? Dolly?” cried Mrs. Barclay. “You are surely mistaken, Pete. Where
- did you see her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Over 't we-all's house,” said the boy, grabbing the kitten which had slid
- from his momentarily inattentive fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Over 't yo'-all's house!” cried Milly, almost in a tone of horror, “en,
- en is her husban' wid 'er?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The boy grinned contemptuously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh, Miss Dolly ain't no married ooman—you know she ain't, huh! I
- seh, married! Look heer”—to the kitten—“don't you scratch me,
- boy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Barclay bent over him greatly excited. “What was she doing over at
- your house, Pete?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothin' w'en I seed 'er 'cep'jest her en Miss Hattie lyin' in de bed
- laughin' en car'yin' on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Lordy!” Mrs. Barclay's eyes were riveted on Aunt Milly's beaming
- face, “do you reckon—?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's slep 'over dar many times before now, Miss Annie,” said Aunt Milly,
- and she burst into a round, ringing laugh, her fat body shaking like a
- mass of jelly. “She done it time en ergin—time en ergin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, ain't that a purty mess?” said Mrs. Barclay, almost in a tone of
- disappointment. “I 'll get the wrapper, Pete, and you tell her to put it
- on and hurry over here as soon as she possibly can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A few minutes later Dolly came from the Alexander's and met her mother at
- the gate. “Oh, Dolly,” Mrs. Barclay cried, “you've got us in an awful
- mess. We missed you about midnight and we thought—your father made
- Ned acknowledge that he took a note to Alan Bishop from you, and we
- thought you had gone off to get married. Your father's in an awful temper,
- swearing you shall never—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly tossed her head angrily. “Well, you needn't say I got you into it;
- you did it yourselves and I don't care how much you suffer. I say! When I
- go to get married it will not be that way, you can depend on it. Now, I
- reckon, it will be all over town that—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it needn't get out of the family,” Mrs. Barclay assured her, in a
- guilty tone of apology. “Your pa wouldn't let me raise any alarm. But you
- <i>did</i> send a note to Alan Bishop, Dolly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I knew he was in town, and would be here to-day, and I simply wrote
- him that father was angry at our seeing each other again and that I hoped
- he would avoid meeting him just now—that was all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, well, well.” Mrs. Barclay hurried through the house and out to
- where Barclay stood at the lot fence watching Ned curry his horse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you reckon?” she gasped. “Dolly didn't go off at all; she just
- went to spend the night with Hattie Alexander.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face changed its expression against his will; the blood flowed into
- the pallor and a satisfied gleam shot from his half-closed eyes. He turned
- from her, looking over the fence at the horse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You're leavin' a splotch on that right hind leg,” he said. “Are you stone
- blind?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was gittin' roun' to it, marster,” said the negro, looking his surprise
- over such an unexpected reproof. “No; she just wrote Alan that you was
- displeased at them getting together yesterday and advised him to dodge you
- to-day while he is in town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he'd better!” said the Colonel, gruffly, as they walked towards the
- house. “You tell her,” he enjoined—“you tell her what I said when I
- thought she <i>was</i> gone. It will be a lesson to her. She can tell now
- how I 'll do if she <i>does</i> go against me in this matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon you are glad she didn't run off,” replied his wife thoughtfully.
- “The Lord only knows what you'd do about writing your letters without her
- help. I believe she knows more about your business right now than you do,
- and has a longer head. You'd' a' saved a thousand dollars by taking her
- advice the other day about that cotton sale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XVII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9142.jpg" alt="9142 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9142.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- N his way to Rayburn Miller's office that morning Alan decided that he
- would not allude to the note he had received the previous evening from
- Dolly. He did not like the cynical mood into which such subjects seemed to
- draw his friend. He knew exactly what Miller would say, and felt that it
- would be too personal to be agreeable.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found the lawyer standing in the door of his little office building
- waiting for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon my message surprised you,” Miller said, tentatively, as he shook
- hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It took me off my feet,” smiled Alan. “You see, I never hoped to get you
- interested in that scheme, and when I heard you were actually going to
- Atlanta about it, I hardly knew what to make of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller turned into his office, kicked a chair towards Alan and dropped
- into his creaking rocker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was not due to you that I did get interested,” he said. “Do you know,
- I can't think of it without getting hot all over with shame. To tell you
- the truth, there is one thing I have always been vain about. I didn't
- honestly think there was a man in Georgia that could give me any tips
- about investments, but I had to take back water, and for a woman. Think of
- that—a woman knocked me off my perch as clean and easy as she could
- stick a hair-pin in a ball of hair. I'm not unfair; when anybody teaches
- me any tricks, I acknowledge the corn an' take off my hat. It was this
- way: I dropped in to see Miss Dolly the other evening. I accidentally
- disclosed two things in an offhand sort of way. I told her some of the
- views I gave you at the dance in regard to marriage and love and one thing
- and another, and then, in complimenting you most highly in other things, I
- confess I sort o' poked fun at your railroad idea.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you had,” said Alan, good-naturedly; “but go on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, she first read me a lecture about bad, empty, shallow men, whose
- very souls were damned by their past careers, interfering with the pure
- impulses of younger men, and I 'll swear I felt like crawling in a hole
- and pulling the hole in after me. Well, I got through that, in a fashion,
- because she didn't want me to see her real heart, and that helped me. Then
- she took up the railroad scheme. You know I had heard that she advised her
- father in all his business matters, but, geewhilikins! I never dreamt she
- could give me points, but she did—she simply did. She looked me
- straight in the eye and stared at me like a national bank examiner as she
- asked me to explain why that particular road could not be built, and why
- it would not be a bonanza for the owners of the timber-land. I thought she
- was an easy fish at first, and I gave her plenty of line, but she kept
- peppering me with unanswerable questions till I lay down on the bank as
- weak as a rag. The first bliff she gave me was in wanting to know if there
- were not many branch roads that did not own their rolling stock. She said
- she knew one in the iron belt in Alabama that didn't own a car or an
- engine, and wouldn't have them as a free gift. She said if such a road
- were built as you plan these two main lines would simply fall over each
- other to send out cars to be loaded for shipment at competitive rates. By
- George! it was a corker. I found out the next day that she was right, and
- that doing away with the rolling stock, shops, and so forth, would cut
- down the cost of your road more than half.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's a fact,” exclaimed Alan, “and I had not thought of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's a stronger woman than I ever imagined,” said Miller. “By George! if
- she were not on your string, I'd make a dead set for her. A wife like that
- would make a man complete. She's in love with you—or thinks she is—but
- she hasn't that will o' the wisp glamour. She's business from her toes to
- her fingertips. By George! I believe she makes a business of her love
- affair; she seems to think she 'll settle it by a sum in algebra. But to
- get back to the railroad, for I've got lots to tell you. What do you
- reckon I found that day? You couldn't guess in a thousand years. It was a
- preliminary survey of a railroad once planned from Darley right through
- your father's purchase to Morganton, North Carolina. It was made just
- before the war, by old Colonel Wade, who, in his day, was one of the most
- noted surveyors in the State. This end of the line was all I cared about,
- and that was almost as level as a floor along the river and down the
- valley into the north end of town. It's a bonanza, my boy. Why that big
- bottle of timber-land has never been busted is a wonder to me. If as many
- Yankees had been nosing about here as there have been in other Southern
- sections it would have been snatched up long ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm awfully glad to hear you say all this,” said Alan, “for it is the
- only way out of our difficulty, and something has to be done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It may cost you a few years of the hardest work you ever bucked down to,”
- said Miller, “and some sleepless nights, but I really believe you have
- fallen on to a better thing than any I ever struck. I could make it whiz.
- I've already done something that will astonish you. I happen to know
- slightly Tillman Wilson, the president of the Southern Land and Timber
- Company. Their offices are in Atlanta. I knew he was my man to tackle, so
- when I got to Atlanta yesterday I ran upon him just as if it were
- accidental. I invited him to lunch with me at the Capitol City Club—you
- know I'm a non-resident member. You see, I knew if I put myself in the
- light of a man with something to sell, he'd hurry away from me; but I
- didn't. As a pretext, I told him I had some clients up here who wanted to
- raise a considerable amount of money and that the security offered was
- fine timber-land. You see that caught him; he was on his own ground. I saw
- that he was interested, and I boomed the property to the skies. The more I
- talked the more he was interested, till it was bubbling out all over him.
- He's a New-Englander, who thinks a country lawyer without a Harvard
- education belongs to an effete civilization, and I let him think he was
- pumping me. I even left off my g's and ignored my r's. I let him think he
- had struck the softest thing of his life. Pretty soon he begun to want to
- know if you cared to sell, but I skirted that indifferently as if I had no
- interest whatever in it. I told him your father had bought the property to
- hold for an advance, that he had spent years of his life picking out the
- richest timber spots and buying them up. Then he came right out, as I
- hoped he would, and asked me the amount you wanted to borrow on the
- property. I had to speak quick, and remembering that you had said the old
- gentleman had put in about twenty thousand first and last, I put the
- amount at twenty-five thousand. I was taking a liberty, but I can easily
- get you out of it if you decide not to do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Twenty-five thousand! On that land?” Alan cried. “It would tickle my
- father to death to sell it for that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can arrange the papers so that you are not liable for any security
- outside of the land, and it would practically amount to a sale if you
- wished it, but you don't wish it. I finally told him that I had an idea
- that you would sell out for an even hundred thousand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A hundred thousand!” repeated Alan, with a cheery laugh. “Yes, we'd let
- go at that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, the figures didn't scarce him a bit, for he finally came right out
- and asked me if it was my opinion that in case his company made the loan,
- you would agree to give him the refusal of the land at one hundred
- thousand. I told him I didn't know, that I thought it possible, but that
- just then I had no interest in the matter beyond borrowing a little money
- on it. He asked me how long I was going to stay in Atlanta. I told him I
- was going to a bank and take the night train back. 'The banks will stick
- you for a high rate of interest,' he said, jealously. 'They don't do
- business for fun, while, really, our concern happens just now to have some
- idle capital on hand. Do you think you could beat five per cent.? I
- admitted that it was low enough, but I got up as if I was suddenly
- reminded that the banks close early in the afternoon. 'I think we can make
- the loan,' he said, 'but I must first see two or three of the directors.
- Can't you give me two hours?' I finally gave in and promised to meet him
- at the Kimball House at four. I went to a matinée, saw it half over, and
- went in at the ladies' entrance of the hotel. I saw him looking about for
- me and dodged him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dodged him?” echoed Alan. “Why—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller laughed. “You don't suppose I'd let a big fish like that see me
- flirting my hook and pole about in open sunlight, do you? I saw by his
- manner that he was anxious to meet me, and that was enough; besides, you
- can't close a deal like that in a minute, and there are many slips. I went
- back to the club and threw myself on a lounge and began to smoke and read
- an afternoon paper. Presently he came in a cab. I heard him asking for me
- in the hall and buried my head in the paper. He came in on me and I rose
- and looked stupid. I can do it when I try—if it <i>is</i> something
- God has failed at—and I began to apologize.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He didn't seem to care. 'If it had been a deal of your own,' he said with
- a laugh, 'you'd have been more prompt,' and I managed to look guilty. Then
- he sat down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Our directors are interested,' he said, confidentially. 'The truth is
- there is not another concern in America that can handle that property as
- cheaply as we can. We happen to have a railroad about that length up in
- East Tennessee that has played out, and you see we could move it to where
- it would do some good.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “As soon as he told me that I knew he was our meat; besides, I saw trade
- in his eye as big as an arc-light. To make a long tale short, he is coming
- up here tonight, and if your father is willing to accept the loan, he can
- get the money, giving only the land as security—provided we don't
- slip up. Here's the only thing I'm afraid of. When Wilson gets here he may
- get to making inquiries around and drop on to the report that your father
- is disgusted with his investment, and smell a mouse and pull off. What I
- want to do is to get at him the first thing after breakfast in the
- morning, so you'd better bring your father and mother in early. If we once
- get Wilson's twenty-five thousand into it, we can eventually sell out. The
- main thing is the loan. Don't you think so?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I certainly do,” said Alan. “Of course, a good many things might
- interfere; we'd have to get a right of way and a charter before the road
- could be built, and I reckon they won't buy till they are sure of those
- things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No it may take a long time and a lot of patience,” said Miller. “But your
- father could afford to wait if he can get his money back by means of the
- loan. I tell you that's the main thing. If I had offered to sell Wilson
- the whole thing at twenty-five thousand he never would have come up here,
- but he is sure now that the property is just what he is looking for. Oh,
- we are not certain of him by a long jump! It all depends on whether he
- will insist on going over there or not. If he does, those moss-backs will
- bu'st the thing wide open. If he comes straight to my office in the
- morning the deal may be closed, but if he lies around the hotel talking,
- somebody will spoil our plans and Wilson will hang off to make his own
- terms later—if he makes any at all. It's ticklish, but we may win.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It <i>is</i> a rather ticklish situation,” admitted Alan, “but even if we
- do get the loan on the property, don't you think Wilson may delay matters
- and hope to scoop the property in for the debt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He might,” Miller smiled, “if he didn't want to move that railroad
- somewhere else, and, besides, your father can keep the money in suitable
- shape to pay off the note in any emergency and free himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know how to thank you, old man,” answered Alan. “If you had been
- personally interested in this you could not have done more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller threw himself back in his chair and smiled significantly. “Do I
- look like a man with nothing in it?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you haven't anything in it,” retorted Alan, wonderingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's all you know about it” Miller laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If the road is built I 'll make by it. This is another story. As soon as
- I saw you were right about putting a railroad into the mountains, I began
- to look around for some of that timber-land. I didn't have long to wait,
- for the only man that holds much of it besides Colonel Barclay—Peter
- Mosely, whom Perkins fooled just as he did your father—came in. He
- was laying for me, I saw it in his eye. The Lord had delivered him to me,
- and I was duly thankful. He was a morsel I liked to look at. He opened up
- himself, bless you! and bragged about his fine body of virgin timber. I
- looked bored, but let him run on till he was tired; then I said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Well, Mosely, what do you intend to do with your white elephant? You
- know it's not just the sort Barnum is looking for.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “He kind o' blinked at that, but he said, 'I've half a notion to sell. The
- truth is, I've got the finest investment open to me that I ever had. If I
- could afford to wait a few years I could coin money out of this property,
- but I believe in turning money quick.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'So do I,' said I, and watched him flirt about in the frying-pan. Then I
- said, 'What is the price you hold it at?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I thought,' said he, 'that I ought to get as much as I paid.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'As much as you paid Abe Tompkins and Perkins?' I said, with a grin. 'Do
- you think you could possibly sell a piece of land for as much as those
- sharks? If you can, you'd better go in the real-estate business. You'd
- coin money. Why, they yanked two thousand out of you, didn't they?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I don't really think Perkins had anything to do with it,' he said.
- 'That's just a report out about old man Bishop's deal. I bought my land on
- my own judgment.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Well,' I said, 'how will fifteen hundred round wheels strike you?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I believe I 'll take you up,' he said. 'I want to make that other
- investment.' So we closed and I went at once to have the deed recorded
- before he had a chance to change his mind. Now, you see, I'm interested in
- the thing, and I'm going to help you put it through. If your folks want
- the loan, bring them in in the morning, and if we can manage our Yankee
- just right, we 'll get the money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XVIII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9151.jpg" alt="9151 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9151.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- FTER supper that evening the Bishops sat out on the veranda to get the
- cool air before retiring. There was only one light burning in the house,
- and that was the little, smoky lamp in the kitchen, where the cook was
- washing the dishes. Bishop sat near his wife, his coat off and vest
- unbuttoned, his chair tilted back against the weatherboarding. Abner
- Daniel, who had been trying ever since supper to cheer them up in regard
- to their financial misfortune, sat smoking in his favorite chair near the
- banisters, on top of which he now and then placed his stockinged feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn't talk that away, brother Ab,” sighed Mrs. Bishop. “Yo're jest
- doin' it out o' goodness o' heart. We might as well face the truth; we've
- got to step down from the position we now hold, an' present way o' livin'.
- And thar's Adele. Pore child! She said in 'er last letter that she'd cried
- 'er eyes out. She was bent on comin' home, but 'er uncle William won't let
- 'er. He said she'd not do any good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “An' she wouldn't,” put in Bishop, gruffly. “The sight o' you an' Alan
- before me all the time is enough to show me what a fool I've been.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are both crossin' bridges 'fore you git to 'em,” said Abner. “A lots
- o' folks has come out'n scrapes wuss'n what you are in, ten to one.
- I'ain't never mentioned it, but my land hain't got no mortgage on it, an'
- I could raise a few scads, to he'p keep up yore intrust an' taxes till you
- could see yore way ahead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh!” snorted his brother-in-law. “Do you reckon I'd let as old a man as
- you are, an' no blood kin, stake his little all to help me out of a hole
- that is gittin' deeper an' wider all the time—a hole I deliberately
- got myse'f into? Well, not much!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't listen to that nuther,” declared Mrs. Bishop, “but not many
- men would offer it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They heard a horse trotting down the road and all bent their heads to
- listen. “It's Alan,” said Abner. “I was thinkin' it was time he was
- showin' up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Bishop rose wearily to order the cook to get his supper ready, and
- returned to the veranda just as Alan Was coming from the stable. He sat
- down on the steps, lashing the legs of his dusty trousers with his
- riding-whip. It was plain that he had something of importance to say and
- they all waited in impatient silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father,” he said, “I've had a talk with Rayburn Miller about your land;
- he and I have lately been working on a little idea of mine. You know there
- are people who will lend money on real-estate. How would it suit you to
- borrow twenty-five thousand dollars on that land, giving that alone as
- security.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a startled silence, and Bishop broke it in a tone of great
- irritation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you take me fer a plumb fool?” he asked. “When I want you an' Miller
- to dabble in my business I 'll call on you. Twenty-five thousand, I say!
- If I could exchange every acre of it fer enough to lift the mortgage on
- this farm an' keep a roof over our heads I'd do it gladly. Pshaw!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was another silence, and then Alan began to explain. He almost
- seemed to his father and mother to be some stranger, as he sat there in
- the half dark ness, his eyes hidden by the brim of his soft hat, and told
- them how he had worried over their trouble till the idea of building a
- railroad had come to him. Then Miller had become interested, after
- discouraging him, and had gone to Atlanta to see Wilson, and it remained
- for the next day to decide what the outcome would be in regard to the big
- loan.
- </p>
- <p>
- While he talked Mrs. Bishop sat like a figure cut from stone, and Bishop
- leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his big face in his hands. It was
- as if a tornado of hope had blown over him, shaking him through and
- through.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You been doin' this to he'p me out,” he gasped, “an' I never so much as
- axed yore opinion one way or another.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd rather see you make money out of that purchase than anything in the
- world,” said his son, with feeling. “People have made fun of you in your
- old age, but if we can build the road and you can get your hundred
- thousand dollars some of these folks will laugh on the other side of their
- faces.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop was so full of excitement and emotion that he dared not trust his
- voice to utterance. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes,
- pretending to be calm, though his alert wife saw that he was quivering in
- every limb.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Alan,” she cried, “don't you see how excited your pa is? You ought
- not to raise his hopes this way on such an uncertainty. As Mr. Miller
- said, there may be some slip and we'd be right back where we was, and feel
- wuss than ever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop rose from his chair and began to walk to and fro on the veranda.
- “It ain't possible,” they heard him saying. “I won't git out as easy as
- that—I jest cayn't!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps it would be wrong to expect too much,” said Alan, “but I was
- obliged to tell you what we are going in town for to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop wheeled and paused before them. “Ef Wilson puts up the money I'd
- have enough to lift the mortgage an' a clean twenty thousand besides to
- put in some good investment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Aunt Maria, the colored cook, came out and timidly announced that Alan's
- supper was on the table, but no one heard her. She crossed the veranda and
- touched the young man on the shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Supper's raidy, Marse Alan,” she said, “en it's gittin' col' ergin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He rose and followed her into the dining-room and sat down in his
- accustomed place at the long table. When he had eaten he went back to the
- group on the veranda.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I 'll go up to bed,” he told them. “My ride and running around at
- Darley has made me very tired. Father, get all your papers together and
- let's take an early start in the morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But despite his feeling of weariness, Alan found he could not sleep. The
- bright moonlight, streaming in at his window, seemed a disturbing element.
- About eleven o'clock he heard some one turning the windlass at the well,
- and later the clatter of falling utensils in the kitchen, and the dead
- thump of a heavy tread below. He knew then that his father was up, and,
- like himself, unable to sleep. Presently Mrs. Bishop slipped into his
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you awake, son?” She spoke in a whisper that she might not disturb
- him if he were asleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed. “I haven't closed my eyes; it seems to me I have gone over my
- conversation with Miller a thousand times.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've give up tryin',” she told him, with a gratified little laugh. “I
- think I could, though, if your pa would 'a' kept still. He's in the
- kitchen now makin' him a cup o' strong coffee. He's been over them papers
- ever since you come up-stairs. Alan, I'm actually afeerd he couldn't stand
- it if that man didn't put up the money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would go hard with him,” said Alan. “Has Uncle Ab gone to sleep?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; he's settin' in the door o' his room chawin' tobacco; he lays the
- blame on yore pa. I don't think I ever saw him so irritated before. But
- nobody ain't to blame but hisse'f. He's jest excited like the rest of us.
- I've seed 'im lie an' snore with a bigger noise goin' on around 'im 'an
- yore pa is a-makin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XIX
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9156.jpg" alt="9156 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9156.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- S Henry, Aunt Maria's husband, who was the chief farm-hand, was busy
- patching fences the next morning, Bishop sent over for Pole Baker to drive
- the spring-wagon. Alan sat beside Pole, and Abner and Bishop and Mrs.
- Bishop occupied the rear seats.
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan knew he could trust Pole, drunk or sober, and he confided his plans
- to the flattered fellow's ears. Pole seemed to weigh all the chances for
- and against success in his mind as he sat listening, a most grave and
- portentous expression on his massive face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My opinion is the feller 'll be thar as shore as preachin',” he said.
- “But whether you git his wad or not, that's another question. Miller's as
- sharp as a briar, an', as he says, if Wilson gits to talkin' about that
- land to any o' these hill-Billies they 'll bu'st the trade or die tryin'.
- Jest let 'em heer money's about to change hands an' it 'll make 'em so
- durn jealous they 'll swear a lie to keep it away from anybody they know.
- That's human natur'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you are right,” said Alan, pulling a long face; “and I'm afraid
- Wilson will want to make some inquiries before he closes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like as not,” opined the driver; “but what I'd do, ef I was a-runnin' it,
- would be to git some feller to strike up with 'im accidental-like, an'
- liter'ly fill 'im to the neck with good things about the property without
- him ever dreamin' he was bein' worked.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two exchanged glances. Alan had never looked at the man so admiringly.
- At that moment he seemed a giant of shrewdness, as well as that of
- physical strength.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you are right, Pole,” he said, thoughtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's what I am, an', what's more, I'm the one that could do the
- fillin', without him ever knowin' I had a funnel in his mouth. If I can't
- do it, I 'll fill my hat with saft mud an' put it on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan smiled warmly. “I 'll mention it to Miller,” he said. “Yes, you could
- do it, Pole—if any man on earth could.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Driving up to Miller's office they found the door open, and the owner came
- out with a warm smile of greeting and aided Mrs. Bishop to alight. “Well,”
- he smiled, when they had taken seats in the office. “We have gained the
- first step towards victory. Wilson is at the hotel. I saw his name on the
- register this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The elder Bishops drew a breath of relief. The old man grounded his heavy
- walking-stick suddenly, as if it had slipped through his inert fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm trustin' you boys to pull me through,” he said, with a shaky laugh.
- “I hain't never treated Alan right, an' I'm heer to confess it. I 'lowed I
- was the only one in our layout with any business sense.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you are willing to accept the loan?” said Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Willin'? I reckon I am. I never slept one wink last night fer feer some
- 'n' 'll interfere with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller reflected a moment and then said: “I am afraid of only one thing,
- and that is this: Not one man in a million will make a trade of this size
- without corroborating the statements made by the people he is dealing
- with. Wilson is at breakfast by this time, and after he is through he may
- decide to nose around a little before coming to me. I'm afraid to go after
- him; he would think I was over-anxious. The trouble is that he may run
- upon somebody from out in the mountains—there are a lot in town
- already—and get to talking. Just one word about your biting off more
- than you can chaw, Mr. Bishop, would make 'im balk like a mean mule. He
- thinks I'm favoring him now, but let him get the notion that you haven't
- been holding that land for at least a hundred thousand an' the thing would
- bu'st like a bubble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan mentioned Pole Baker's proposition. Miller thought it over for a
- moment, his brow wrinkled, and then he said: “Good!—a good idea, but
- you must call Pole in and let me give him a few pointers. By George! he
- could keep Wilson away from dangerous people anyway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan went after Pole, and Miller took him into his consultation-room in
- the rear, where they remained for about fifteen minutes. When they came
- out Pole's face was very grave. “I won't forget a thing,” he said to
- Miller. “I understand exactly what you want. When I git through with 'im
- he 'll want that land bad enough to pay anything fer it, an' he won't
- dream I'm in cahoot with you, nuther. I can manage that. I ain't no fool
- ef I do have fits.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you remember my description of him?” asked Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You bet I do—thick-set, about fifty, bald, red-faced, sharp, black
- eyes, iron gray hair, an' mighty nigh always with a cigar in his mouth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's right,” laughed Miller, “now do your work, and we won't forget
- you. By all means keep him away from meddlesome people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Pole had left the office and Miller had resumed his revolving-chair
- Mrs. Bishop addressed him, looking straight into his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't see,” she said, in a timid, hesitating way, and yet with a note
- of firmness dominating her tone—“I don't see why we have to go
- through all this trickery to make the trade. Ef the land is good security
- fer the money we needn't be afeerd of what the man will find out. Ef it
- ain' t good security I don't want his money as fer as I'm concerned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was jest thinkin' that, too,” chimed in her husband, throwing a
- troubled glance all round. “I want money to help me out o' my scrape, but
- I don't want to trick no man, Yankee or what not, into toatin' my loads.
- As Betsy says, it seems to me if the land's wuth the money we needn't make
- such a great to-do. I'm afeerd I won't feel exactly right about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young men exchanged alarmed glances.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't understand,” said Miller, lamely, but he seemed to be
- unprepared for views so heretical to financial dealings, and could not
- finish what he had started to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why,” said Alan, testily, “the land is worth all Wilson can make out of
- it with the aid of his capital and the railroad he proposes to lay here.
- Father, you have spent several years looking up the best timbered
- properties, and getting good titles to it, and to a big lumber company a
- body of timber like you hold is no small tiling. We don't want to cheat
- him, but we do want to keep him from trying to cheat us by getting the
- upper hand. Rayburn thinks if he finds out we are hard up he 'll try to
- squeeze us to the lowest notch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” sighed Mrs. Bishop, “I'm shore I never had no idea we'd resort to
- gittin' Pole Baker to tole anybody around like a hog after a yeer o' corn.
- I 'lowed we was going to make a open-and-shut trade that we could be proud
- of, an' stop folk's mouths about Alfred's foolish dealin' s. But,” she
- looked at Abner, who stood in the doorway leading to the
- consultation-room, “I 'll do whatever brother Ab thinks is right. I never
- knowed 'im to take undue advantage of anybody.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They all looked at Abner, who was smiling broadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I say git his money,” he replied, with a short, impulsive laugh—“git
- his money, and then ef you find he's starvin', hand 'im back what you feel
- you don't need. I look on a thing like this sorter like I did on
- scramblin' fer the upper holt in war-times. I remember I shot straight at
- a feller that was climbin' up the enemy's breastworks on his all-fours. I
- said to myse'f, ef this ball strikes you right, old chap, 'fore you drap
- over the bank, yo're one less agin the Confederacy; ef it don't you kin
- pop away at me. I don't think I give 'im anything but a flesh-wound in the
- back—beca'se he jest sagged down a little an' crawled on—an'
- that's about the wust you could do fer Wilson. I believe he ort to hold
- the bag awhile. Alf's hung on to it till his fingers ache an' he's weak at
- the knees. I never did feel like thar was any harm in passin' a
- counterfeit bill that some other chap passed on me. Ef the government,
- with all its high-paid help, cayn't keep crooked shinplasters from slidin'
- under our noses, it ortn't to kick agin our lookin' out fer ourse'ves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn't lose any sleep about the Southern Land and Timber Company,
- Mrs. Bishop,” said Miller. “They will take care of themselves—in
- fact, we 'll have to keep our eyes peeled to watch them even if we get
- this loan. Wilson didn't come up here for his health.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, mother's all right,” said Alan, “and so is father, but they must not
- chip in with that sort of talk before Wilson.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh no, you mustn't,” said Miller. “In fact, I think you'd better let me
- and Alan do the talking. You see, if you sit perfectly quiet he 'll think
- you are reluctant about giving such big security for such a small amount
- of money, and he will trade faster.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I'm perfectly willin' to keep quiet,” agreed the old man, who now
- seemed better satisfied.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole Baker left the office with long, swinging strides. There was an
- entrance to the Johnston House through a long corridor opening on the
- street, and into this Pole slouched. The hotel office was empty save for
- the clerk who stood behind the counter, looking over the letters in the
- pigeon-holed key-rack on the wall. There was a big gong overhead which was
- rung by pulling a cord. It was used for announcing meals and calling the
- porter. A big china bowl on the counter was filled with wooden
- tooth-picks, and there was a show-case containing cigars. Pole glanced
- about cautiously without being noticed by the clerk, and then withdrew
- into the corridor, where he stood for several minutes, listening.
- Presently the dining-room door opened and Wilson strolled out and walked
- up to the counter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What sort of cigars have you got?” he said to the clerk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing better than ten, three for a quarter,” was the respectful reply,
- as the clerk recognized the man who had asked for the best room in the
- house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson thrust his fingers into his vest-pocket and drew out a cigar. “I
- guess I can make what I have last me,” he said, transferring his glance to
- Pole Baker, who had shambled across the room and leaned heavily over the
- open register. “Want to buy any chickins—fine fryin' size?” he asked
- the clerk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we are in the market,” was the answer. “Where are they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't fetch 'em in to-day,” said Pole, dryly. “I never do till I know
- what they are a-bringin'. You'd better make a bid on a dozen of 'em
- anyway. They are the finest ever raised on Upper Holly Creek, jest this
- side o' whar old man Bishop's lumber paradise begins.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole was looking out of the corner of his eye at the stranger, and saw his
- hand, which was in the act of striking a match, suddenly stay itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We don't bid on produce till we see it,” said the clerk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I reckon no harm was done by my axin',” said Pole, who felt the
- eyes of the stranger on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you live near here?” asked Wilson, with a smile half of apology at
- addressing a stranger, even of Pole's humble stamp.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.” Pole laughed and waved his hand towards the mountains in the west,
- which were plainly discernible in the clear morning light. “No, I'm a
- mountain shanghai. I reckon it's fifteen mile on a bee-line to my shack.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn't you say you lived near old Mr. Bishop's place?” asked Wilson,
- moving towards the open door which led to the veranda.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know which place o' his'n you mean,” said Pole when they were
- alone outside and Wilson had lighted his cigar. “That old scamp owns the
- whole o' creation out our way. Well, I 'll take that back, fer he don't
- own any land that hain't loaded down with trees, but he's got territory
- enough. Some thinks he's goin' to seceed from the United States an' elect
- himself President of his own country.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson laughed, and then he said: “Have you got a few minutes to spare?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon I have,” said Pole, “ef you've got the mate to that cigar.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson laughed again as he fished the desired article from his pocket and
- gave it and a match to Pole. Then he leaned against the heavy railing of
- the banisters. “I may as well tell you,” he said, “I'm a dealer in lumber
- myself, and I'd like to know what kind of timber you have out there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole pulled at the cigar, thrust it well into the corner of his mouth with
- the fire end smoking very near his left eye, and looked thoughtful. “To
- tell you the truth, my friend,” he said, “I railly believe you'd be
- wastin' time to go over thar.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you think so.” It was a vocal start on the part of Wilson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir; the truth is, old man Bishop has simply raked into his dern
- clutch ever' acre o' fine timber out that away. Now ef you went east, over
- t'other side o' the mountains, you mought pick out some good timber; but
- as I said, old man Bishop's got it all in a bag out our way. Saw-mill?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I don't run a saw-mill,” said Wilson, with an avaricious sparkle in
- his eye. “I sometimes buy timbered lands for a speculation, that's all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole laughed. “I didn't see how you could be a saw-mill man an' smoke
- cigars like this an' wear them clothes. I never knowed a saw-mill man to
- make any money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose this Mr. Bishop is buying to sell again,” said Wilson,
- tentatively. “People generally have some such idea when they put money
- into such property.” Pole looked wise and thoughtful. “I don't know
- whether he is or not,” he said. “But my opinion is that he 'll hold on to
- it till he's in the ground. He evidently thinks a good time's a-comin'!
- Thar was a feller out thar t'other day with money to throw at cats; he's
- been tryin' to honeyfuggle the old man into a trade, but I don't think he
- made a deal with 'im.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where was the man from?” Wilson spoke uneasily. “I don't railly know, but
- he ain't a-goin' to give up. He told Neil Fulmore at his store that he was
- goin' home to see his company an' write the old man a proposition that ud
- fetch 'im ef thar was any trade in 'im.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson pulled out his watch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you happen to know where Mr. Rayburn Miller's law office is?” he
- asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; it's right round the corner. I know whar all the <i>white</i> men in
- this town do business, an' he's as white as they make 'em, an' as straight
- as a shingle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's an acquaintance of mine,” said Wilson. “I thought I'd run in and see
- him before I leave.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's right round the corner, an' down the fust side street, towards the
- court-house. I 'ain't got nothin' to do; I 'll p'int it out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” said Wilson, and they went out of the house and down the
- street together, Pole puffing vigorously at his cigar in the brisk breeze.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thar you are,” said Pole, pointing to Miller's sign. “Good-day, sir; much
- obleeged fer this smoke,” and with his head in the air Pole walked past
- the office without looking in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-morning,” exclaimed Miller, as Wilson entered. “You are not an early
- riser like we are here in the country.” He introduced Wilson all round,
- and then gave him a chair near his desk and facing him rather than the
- others.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is the gentleman who owns the property, I believe,” said Wilson,
- suavely, as he indicated Bishop.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller nodded, and a look of cunning dawned in his clear eye.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I have just been explaining to Mr. and Mrs. Bishop that the mere
- signing of a paper such as will be necessary to secure the loan will not
- bind them at all in the handling of their property. You know how cautious
- older people are nowadays in regard to legal matters. Now, Alan here,
- their son, understands the matter thoroughly, and his mind is not at all
- disturbed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson fell into the preliminary trap. “Oh no; it's not a binding thing at
- all,” he said. “The payment of the money back to us releases you—that
- is, of course,” Wilson recovered himself, “if we make the loan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Several hearts in the room sank, but Miller's face did not alter in the
- slightest. “Oh, of course, if the loan is made,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson put his silk hat on the top of Miller's desk, and flicked the ashes
- from his cigar into a cuspidor. Then he looked at Mrs. Bishop suddenly—“Does
- the lady object to smoking?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all,” said the old lady—“not at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause as Wilson relighted his cigar and pulled at it in
- silence. A step sounded on the sidewalk and Trabue put his head in at the
- door. Miller could have sworn at him, but he smiled. “Good-morning,
- Squire,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see you are busy,” said the intruder, hastily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just a little, Squire. I 'll see you in a few minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, all right.” The old lawyer moved on down the sidewalk, his hands in
- his pockets.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller brought up the subject again with easy adroitness. “I mentioned
- your proposition to my clients—the proposition that they allow you
- the refusal of the land at one hundred thousand, and they have finally
- come round to it. As I told them, they could not possibly market a thing
- like that as easily and for as good a price as a company regularly in the
- business. I may have been wrong in giving such advice, but it was the way
- I felt about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Without realizing it, Wilson tripped in another hole dug by Miller's
- inventive mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They couldn't do half as well with it,” the Boston man said. “In fact, no
- one could, as I told you, pay as much for the property as we can,
- considering the railroad we have to move somewhere, and our gigantic
- facilities for handling lumber in America and abroad. Still I think, and
- our directors think, a hundred thousand is a big price.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller laughed as if amused. “That's five dollars an acre, you know, but
- I'm not here to boom Mr. Bishop's timber-land. In fact, all this has grown
- out of my going down to Atlanta to borrow twenty-five thousand dollars on
- the property. I think I would have saved time if I hadn't run on you down
- there, Mr. Wilson.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson frowned and looked at his cigar.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are willing,” said he, “to make the loan at five per cent, per annum
- on two conditions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, out with them,” laughed Miller. “What are they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “First,” said Wilson, slowly and methodically, “we want the refusal of the
- property at one hundred thousand dollars.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A thrill of triumph passed over the silent group. Alan saw his father's
- face fill with sudden hope, and then it seemed to stand in abeyance as if
- doubt had already mastered it. Abner Daniel caught his beard in his stiff
- fingers and slowly slid them downward. Mrs. Bishop's bonnet hid her face,
- but her fingers were twitching excitedly as they toyed with the fringe of
- her shawl.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller's indifference was surprising. “For what length of time do you want
- the refusal of the property at that figure?” he asked, almost in a tone of
- contempt.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson hung fire, his brow wrinkled thoughtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Till it is decided positively,” he got out finally, “whether we can get a
- charter and a right of way to the property.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To those who were not following the details as closely as were Alan and
- Miller the reply of the latter fell discouragingly, even Abner Daniel
- glared in open horror of what he regarded as an unfavorable turn in the
- proceedings.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's entirely too indefinite to suit my clients,” said the lawyer. “Do
- you suppose, Mr. Wilson, that they want to hang their property up on a
- hook like that? Why, if you didn't attend to pushing your road through—well,
- they would simply be in your hands, the Lord only knows how long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But we intend to do all we can to shove it through,” said Wilson, with a
- flush.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know that is not a business-like proposition, Mr. Wilson,” said
- Miller, with a bland smile. “Why, it amounts to an option without any
- limit at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don't know,” said Wilson, lamely. “Mr. Bishop will be interested
- just as we are in getting a right of way through—in fact, it would
- insure us of his help. We can't buy a right of way; we can't afford it.
- The citizens through whose property the road runs must be persuaded to
- contribute the land for the purpose, and Mr. Bishop, of course, has
- influence up here with his neighbors.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Still he would be very imprudent,” said Miller, “to option his property
- without any limit. Now here's what we are willing to do. As long as you
- hold Mr. Bishop's note for twenty-five thousand dollars unpaid, you shall
- have the refusal of the land at one hundred thousand dollars. Now take my
- advice”—Miller was smiling broadly—“let it stand at that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson reflected for a moment, and then he said: “All right; let that go.
- The other condition is this—and it need be only a verbal promise—that
- nothing be said about my company's making this loan nor our securing the
- refusal of the property.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will suit us,” said Miller. “Mr. Bishop' doesn't care to have the
- public know his business. Of course, the mortgage will have to be recorded
- at the court-house, but that need not attract attention. I don't blame Mr.
- Bishop,” went on Miller, in a half-confidential tone. “These people are
- the worst gossips you ever saw. If you meet any of them they will tell you
- that Mr. Bishop has bu'sted himself wide open by buying so much
- timber-land, but this loan will make him as solid as the Bank of England.
- The people don't understand his dealings, and they are trying to take it
- out on him by blasting his reputation for being one of the solidest men in
- his county.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that's all, I believe,” said Wilson, and Miller drew a blank sheet
- of legal-cap paper to him and began to write. Half an hour later the
- papers were signed and Miller carelessly handed Wilson's crisp pink check
- on a New York bank to Mr. Bishop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There you are, Mr. Bishop,” he said, with a smile; “you didn't want any
- one else to have a finger in that big pie of yours over there, but you
- needed money, and I 'll tell you as a friend that a hundred thousand cash
- down will be about as well as you can do with that land. It takes money,
- and lots of it, to make money, and Mr. Wilson's company can move the thing
- faster than you can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's a fact,” said Wilson, in a tone that betrayed self-gratification.
- “Now we must all pull together for the railroad.” He rose and turned to
- Miller. “Will you come with me to record the paper?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly,” said Miller, and they both left together.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Bishop family were left alone, and the strain being lifted, they found
- themselves almost wholly exhausted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it all over?” gasped the old woman, standing up and grasping her son's
- arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We've got his money,” Alan told her, with a glad smile, “and a fair
- chance for more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The pink check was fluttering in old Bishop's hand. Already the old
- self-willed look that brooked no interference with his personal affairs
- was returning to his wrinkled face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll go over to Craig's bank an' deposit it,” he said to Alan. “It 'll
- take a day or two to collect it, but he'd let me check on it right now fer
- any reasonable amount.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe I'd ask him not to mention the deposit,” suggested Alan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh! I reckon I've got sense enough to do that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you intended to pay off the mortgage on our farm the fust
- thing,” ventured Mrs. Bishop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We can' t do it till the note's due next January,” said Bishop, shortly.
- “I agreed to keep the money a yeer, an' Martin Doe 'll make me hold to it.
- But what do you reckon I care as long as I've got some 'n' to meet it
- with?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Bishop's face fell. “I'd feel better about it if it was cleer,” she
- faltered. “But the Lord knows we ort to feel thankful to come out as we
- have. If it hadn't been fer Alan—Mr. Miller said that Alan—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ef you all hadn't made sech a eternal row,” broke in Bishop, testily,
- “I'd 'a' had more timber-land than this. Colonel Barclay has as fine a
- strip as any I got, an' he's bantered me for a trade time an' agin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner Daniel seldom sneered at anybody, no matter what the provocation
- was, but it seemed impossible for him to refrain from it now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've been lookin' fer the last three months like a man that needed more
- land,” he said. “Jest no furder back 'an last night you 'lowed ef you
- could git enough fer yore folly to raise the debt off'n yore farm you'd
- die happy, an' now yo' re a-frettin' beca'se you didn't buy up the sides
- o' the earth an' give nobody else a foothold. Le' me tell you the truth,
- even ef it <i>does</i> hurt a little. Ef Alan hadn't thought o' this heer
- railroad idea, you'd 'a' been the biggest human pancake that ever lay flat
- in its own grease.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hain't said nothin' to the contrary,” admitted Bishop, who really took
- the reproof well. “Alan knows what I think about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Bishop and his wife went to Craig's bank, and a moment later Miller
- returned, rubbing his hands with satisfaction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We got through, and he's gone to catch his train,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It worked as smooth as goose-grease. I wonder what Pole Baker said to
- him, or if he saw him. I have an idea he did, from the way Wilson danced
- to our music.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heer's Pole now,” said Abner, from the door. “Come in heer, you triflin'
- loafer, an' give an account o' yorese'f.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I seed 'im makin' fer the train,” laughed Pole, “an' so I sneaked in to
- see what you-uns done. He walked like he owned the town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It went through like lightning, without a hitch or a bobble,” Abner told
- him. “We was jest a-won-derin' what you shot into 'im.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hardly know,” Pole sniggered. “I got to talkin' to 'im an' it looked to
- me like I was chippin' off tan-bark with the sharpest tool I ever handled.
- Every lick seemed to draw blood, an' he stood an' tuck it without a start
- or a shiver. I said to myse'f: 'Pole Baker, yo're nothin' but a rag-tag,
- bob-tail mountain Hoosier, an' he's a slick duck from up North, with a
- gold watch-chain an' a silk beaver, but he's a lappin' up what you say
- like a hungry kitten does a pan o' milk. Go it, old boy, an' ef you win,
- you 'll he'p the finest man out o' trouble—I mean Alan Bishop, by
- gum—that ever lived.' It seemed to me I was filled with the fire of
- heaven. I could 'a' been at it yet—fer I'd jest started—but he
- drawed his watch on me, an' made a shoot fer this office, me with 'im, fer
- feer some yokel would strike up with 'im. I mighty nigh shoved 'im in at
- the door.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You did noble,” said Miller, while Pole and Alan were silently clasping
- hands. “Now I told you we wouldn't forget you. Go down to Wimbley's and
- tell him to give you the best suit of clothes he's got, and to charge them
- to me 'n' Alan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole drew himself up to his full height, and stared at the lawyer with
- flashing eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Damn yore soul,” he said; “don't you say a thing like that to me agin. I
- 'll have you know I've got feelin' s as well as you or anybody else. I'd
- cut off this right arm an' never wince to do Alan Bishop a favor, but I
- 'll be danged ef anybody kin look me over after I've done a <i>little</i>
- one an' pay me for it in store-clothes. I don't like that one bit, an' I
- ain't afeerd to say so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't mean any offence, Pole,” apologized Miller, most humbly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you wouldn't 'a' said it to <i>some</i> men,” growled Pole, “I know
- that. When I want pay fer a thing like that, I 'll jest go to that corner
- o' the street an' look down at that rock-pile, whar Alan found me one day
- an' paid me out jest to keep me from bein' the laughin'-stock o' this
- town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan put his arm over his shoulder. “Rayburn didn't mean any harm,” he
- said, gently. “You are both my friends, and we've had a big victory
- to-day; let's not have hard feelings.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole hung his head stubbornly and Miller extended his hand. Abner Daniel
- was an attentive listener, a half smile on his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say, Pole,” he said, with a little laugh, “you run down to Wimbley's an'
- tell 'im not to wrop up that suit. I'm a-owin' him a bill, an' he kin jest
- credit the value of it on my account.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole laughed heartily and thrust his big hand into Miller's.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Uncle Ab,” he said, “you'd make a dog laugh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe yo' re right,” said Abner, significantly, and then they all
- roared at Pole's expense.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day Alan received the following letter from Dolly Barclay:
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>DEAR ALAN,—Rayburn Miller told me in confidence of your
- wonderful success yesterday, and I simply cried with joy. I knew—I
- felt that you would win, and this is, as he says, a glorious beginning. I
- am so proud of you, and I am so full of hope to-day. All our troubles will
- come out right some day, and now that I know you love me I can wait.
- Rayburn would not have confided so much to me, but he said, while he would
- not let me tell father anything about the prospective railroad, he wanted
- me to prevent him from selling his tract of land near yours. You know my
- father consults me about all his business, and he will not dispose of that
- property without my knowing of it. Oh, wouldn't it he a fine joke on him
- to have him profit by your good judgment.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan was at the little post-office in Filmore's store when he received the
- letter, and he folded it and restored it to its envelope with a heart
- filled with love and tenderness. As he walked home through the woods, it
- seemed to him that everything in nature was ministering to his boundless
- happiness. He felt as light as air as he strode along. “God bless her
- dear, dear little soul!” he said, fervently.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XX
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9173.jpg" alt="9173 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9173.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- BOUT a week after this transaction Rayburn Miller went to Atlanta on
- business for one of his clients, and while there he incidentally called at
- the offices of the Southern Land and Timber Company, hoping to meet Wilson
- and learn something about his immediate plans in regard to the new
- railroad. But he was informed that the president of the company had just
- gone to New York, and would not be back for a week.
- </p>
- <p>
- Rayburn was waiting in the rotunda of the Kimball House for his train,
- which left at ten o' clock, when he ran across his friend, Captain Ralph
- Burton, of the Gate City Guards, a local military company.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Glad to see you,” said the young officer. “Did you run up for the ball?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What ball is that?” asked Miller. “I am at the first of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, we are giving one here in this house tonight,” answered Burton, who
- was a handsome man of thirty-five, tall and erect, and appeared at his
- best in his close-fitting evening-suit and light overcoat. “Come up-stairs
- and I 'll introduce you to a lot of strangers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can't,” Rayburn told him. “I've got to leave at ten o' clock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you've got a good hour yet,” insisted the officer. “Come up on the
- next floor, where the orchestra is, anyway, and we can sit down and watch
- the crowd come in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller complied, and they found seats on the spacious floor overlooking
- the thronged office. From where they sat they could look through several
- large drawing-rooms into the ballroom beyond. Already a considerable
- number of people had assembled, and many couples were walking about, even
- quite near to the two young men.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By George!” suddenly exclaimed Miller, as a couple passed them, “who is
- that stunning-looking blonde; she walks like a queen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where?” asked Burton, looking in the wrong direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, there, with Charlie Penrose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that one,” said Burton, trying to think, “I know as well as I know
- anything, but her name has slipped my memory. Why, she's visiting the
- Bishops on Peachtree Street—a Miss Bishop, that's it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Adele, little Adele? Impossible!” cried Rayburn, “and I've been thinking
- of her as a child all these years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you know her?” said Captain Burton.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her brother is a chum of mine,” explained Miller. “I haven't seen her
- since she went to Virginia to school, five years ago. I never would have
- recognized her in the world. My Lord! she's simply regal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her,” said the Captain; “but I've
- heard lots about her from the boys who go to Bishop's. They say she's
- remarkably clever—recites, you know, and takes off the plantation
- negro to perfection. She's a great favorite with Major Middleton, who
- doesn't often take to the frying size. She has been a big drawing card out
- at Bishop's ever since she came. The boys say the house overflows every
- evening. Are you going to speak to her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I get a good chance,” said Rayburn, his eyes on the couple as they
- disappeared in the ballroom. “I don't like to go in looking like this, but
- she'd want to hear from home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I see,” said Burton. “Well, you'd better try it before the grand
- march sweeps everything before it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As Miller entered the ballroom, Penrose was giving Adele a seat behind a
- cluster of palms, near the grand piano, around which the German orchestra
- was grouped. He went straight to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You won't remember me, Miss Adele,” he said, with a smile, “but I'm going
- to risk speaking to you, anyway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked up from the bunch of flowers in her lap, and, in a startled,
- eager sort of way, began to study his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I do not,” she said, flushing a little, and yet smiling agreeably.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I call that a good joke,” Penrose broke in, with a laugh, as he
- greeted Miller with a familiar slap on the shoulder. “Why, Rayburn, on my
- word, she hasn't talked of anybody else for the last week, and here she—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are <i>not</i> Rayburn Miller!” Adele exclaimed, and she stood up to
- give him her hand. “Yes, I have been talking of you, and it seems to me I
- have a thousand things to say, and oh, so many thanks!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something in this impulsive greeting that gave Miller a
- delectable thrill all over.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were such a little thing the last time I saw you,” he said, almost
- tenderly. “I declare, you have changed—so, so remarkably.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded to Penrose, who was excusing himself, and then she said to
- Miller, “Are you going to dance to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He explained that he was obliged to take the train which left in a few
- minutes.
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw her face actually fall with disappointment. The very genuineness of
- the expression pleased him inexplicably. “Then I must hurry,” she said.
- “Would you mind talking to me a little while?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing could possibly please me so much,” said he. “Suppose we stroll
- around?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She took his arm and he led her back to the rotunda overlooking the
- office.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you are Rayburn Miller!” she said, looking at him wonderingly. “Do you
- know, I have pictured you in my mind many times since mother wrote me all
- about how you rescued us from ruin. Oh, Mr. Miller, I could not in a
- thousand years tell you how my heart filled with gratitude to you. My
- mother goes into the smallest details in her letters, and she described
- your every word and action during that transaction in your office. I could
- tell just where her eyes filled and her throat choked up by her quivering
- handwriting. I declare, I looked on you as a sort of king with unlimited
- power. If I were a man I'd rather use my brain to help suffering people
- than to be made President of the United States and be a mere figure-head.
- You must not think I am spoiled by all this glitter and parade down here.
- The truth is, I heartily despise it. I wanted to be at home so bad when I
- got that letter that I cried myself to sleep.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must not forget that your brother conceived the plan,” Miller
- protested, “and that I only—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes; I know Alan thought of it,” she interrupted, “but without your
- experience and firmness it would have remained in his dear old brain till
- the Lord knows when. The idea of their being in debt was slowly killing my
- father and mother, and you came to their relief just when they were unable
- to bear it any longer. I'm so glad you thought of borrowing that money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just then a young man, half a head shorter than Adele, came up hurriedly.
- “Oh, here you are,” he exclaimed, in a gasp of relief. “I've been looking
- for you everywhere. This is mine, you know—the grand march. They are
- all ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Adele smiled pleasantly. “I hope you 'll excuse me from it, Mr.
- Tedcastle,” she said. “I've just met a friend from home; I want to talk
- with him, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, Miss Bishop, I—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I asked you to please excuse me, Mr. Tedcastle.” Miller saw her face
- harden, as if from the sneer of contempt that passed over it. “I hope it
- will not be necessary for me to explain my reasons in detail until I have
- a little more time at my disposal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, certainly not, Miss Bishop,” said the young man, red with anger, as
- he bowed himself away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's society coming to?” Adele asked Miller, with a nervous little
- laugh. “Does a lady have to get down on her knees and beg men, little
- jumping-jacks, like that one, to excuse her, and pet them into a
- good-humor when she has good reason to change her mind about an
- engagement? That's a sort of slavery I don't intend to enter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You served him right,” said Miller, who had himself resented the young
- man's childish impetuosity, and felt like slapping him for his
- impertinence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Adele shrugged her fine shoulders. “Let's not waste any more time talking
- about him,” she said. “I was going to tell you how happy you made them
- all. When I read mother's description of their return home that night—how
- she went round looking at each object and touching it, that she might
- realize it was hers again; and how father sat up till past midnight
- talking incessantly about it; and all the droll things Uncle Abner said, I
- cried and laughed by turns. I longed to see you, to tell you how I felt
- about what you did, and yet, now that I'm with you, all I say seems
- utterly weak and—inadequate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems wonderfully nice to me,” Miller declared. “I don't deserve
- anything, and yet—well, I like to hear you talk.” He laughed.
- “Whether I deserve it or not, I could listen to you for a week on a
- stretch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In truth, Rayburn Miller had never in all his varied social career become
- so suddenly and startlingly interested in any woman. It all seemed like a
- dream, and a most delicious one—the gay assemblage, the intermittent
- strains of the music, the touch of the stately creature on his arm, the
- perfume of her flowers, her hair, her eyes! He suddenly felt fearful of
- the passage of time, the leaving of his train, the approach of some one to
- claim her attention. He could not explain the spell she had thrown on him.
- Was it because she was his friend's sister, and so astoundingly pretty,
- frank, and sensible, or could it be that—?
- </p>
- <p>
- His train of thought was broken by the approach of Miss Ida Bishop,
- Adele's cousin, a rather plain girl, who, with her scrawny neck and scant
- hair—which rebelled against being made much of—would have
- appeared to better advantage in a street costume.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Adele,” she cried, reproachfully, “what <i>do</i> you mean? Do you
- know you have mortally offended Mr. Tedcastle? He had the march with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I asked him as a favor to excuse me from it,” said Adele, simply. “I
- had just met Mr. Miller, who is to leave on an early train, and I wanted
- to talk to him about home. Have you been introduced? My cousin, Miss
- Bishop, Mr. Rayburn Miller.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Bishop bowed indifferently, and looked as if she still saw no
- justification in the slight under question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm awfully sorry,” she said, reprovingly. “Mr. Tedcastle has been as
- nice to you as he could be, and this is the way you show appreciation for
- it. I don't blame him for being mad, do you, Mr. Miller?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm afraid I'd be a prejudiced witness,” he smiled, “benefiting as I am
- by the gentleman' s discomfiture; but, really, I can' t think that any
- circumstances could justify a man in pressing a lady to fill an engagement
- when she chooses not to do so for any reason of hers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew you'd say that,” said Adele. “If anybody has a right to be
- offended it is I, for the way he has acted without waiting for my full
- explanation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that is a high and mighty course that will do better for novels than
- real life,” disagreed Miss Ida Bishop. “The young men are badly spoiled
- here, and if we want attention we've got to humor them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They shall not be spoiled by me,” declared Adele. “Why,” shrugging her
- shoulders, contemptuously, “if I had to run after them and bind up their
- bruises every time they fell down, I'd not appreciate their attentions.
- Besides, Mr. Tedcastle and his whole ilk actually put me to sleep. What do
- they talk about? Driving, pet dogs, flowers, candies, theatre-parties, and
- silly bosh, generally. Last Sunday Senator Hare dined at uncle's, and
- after dinner he and I were having really a wholesome sort of talk, and I
- was respecting myself—well, a little like I am now—when in
- traped 'Teddy' with his hangers-on. Of course, I had to introduce them to
- the Senator, and I felt like a fool, for he knew they were my 'company,'
- and it was impossible to keep them quiet. They went on with their baby
- talk, just as if Senator Hare were being given an intellectual treat. Of
- course, there are <i>some</i> grown-up men in Atlanta, but they are driven
- to the clubs by the swarms of little fellows. There comes Major Middleton,
- one of the old régime. He may ask me to dance with him. Now watch; if he
- does, I 'll answer him just as I did Mr. Tedcastle, and you shall see how
- differently he will treat it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Major, a handsome man of powerful physique and a great shock of curly,
- iron-gray hair, approached Adele, and with a low bow held out his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm after the next dance, my dear,” he said. “You are one of the very few
- who ever dance with me, and I don't want to go home without it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Adele smiled. “I'm very sorry, Major,” she said; “but I hope you 'll
- excuse me this evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that's all right, my dear <i>child</i>,” he said. “No, don't explain.
- I know your reasons are all right. Go ahead and enjoy yourself in your own
- way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won my bet,” Adele laughed. “Major, I knew so well what you would say
- that I bet on it,” and then she explained the situation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tedcastle ought to be spanked,” said the Major, in his high-keyed voice.
- “A girl who had not rather hear from home than spin around with him ought
- not to have a home. I'm going to mine rather early tonight. I came only to
- show the boys how to make my famous Kentucky punch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When the Major and Miss Ida Bishop had gone and left them together, Adele
- looked over the railing at the big clock in the office. “We have only a
- few minutes longer—if you are to take that train,” she said,
- regretfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never had as little interest in trains in my life,” he said. And he
- meant it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not in the trains on our new road?” she laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are too far ahead to interfere with my comfort,” he retorted. “This
- one is a steam nightmare.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I presume you really could not miss it?” Her long-lashed eyes were down.
- </p>
- <p>
- He hesitated; the simple thought suggested by her thrilled him as he had
- never been thrilled before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because,” she added, “it would be so nice to have you come out to-morrow
- afternoon to tea, about four.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew out his watch and looked at it waveringly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could send a night message,” he said, finally. “I really don't want to
- go. Miss Adele, I don't want to go at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want you to either,” she said, softly. “It seems almost as if we
- are quite old friends. Isn't that strange?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He restored his watch to his pocket. “I shall stay,” he said, “and I shall
- call to-morrow afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Some one came for her a few minutes later, and he went down to the office
- and out into the street. He wanted to walk, to feel his body in action,
- keeping pace with his throbbing, bounding brain. His whole being was
- aflame with a fire which had never burned in him before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alan' s little sister!” he kept repeating to himself. “Little Adele—she's
- wonderful, wonderful! Perhaps she may be <i>the</i> woman. By George! she
- <i>is</i>—she <i>is!</i> A creature like that, with that soul full
- of appreciation for a man' s best efforts, would lift a fellow to the
- highest rung on the ladder of human effort. Alan's little sister! And the
- idiot never told me, never intimated that she was—a goddess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In his room at the hotel that night he slept little, his brain being so
- active with his new experience. He saw her the next afternoon alone, over
- a dainty tea-service of fragile china, in a Turkish corner in William
- Bishop's great, quiet, house, and then proposed driving her the next day
- to the Driving Club. He remained a week, seeing her, under some pretext or
- other, every day during that time. Sometimes it was to call with her on
- friends of hers. Once it was to attend a barbecue given by Captain Burton
- at a club-house in the country, and once he gave her and her cousin a
- luncheon at the Capitol City Club with a box at the matinée afterwards. He
- told himself that he had never lived before, and that, somehow, he was
- just beginning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he mused, as he sat in his train homeward bound. “I can't tell Alan.
- I simply couldn't do it, after all the rubbish I have crammed into him.
- Then she's his sister. I couldn't talk to him about her—not now,
- anyway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXI
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9183.jpg" alt="9183 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9183.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- M glad you got back.” Rayburn's sister, Mrs. Lampson, said to him at
- breakfast the morning following his return on the midnight train. “We are
- having a glorious meeting at our church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, is that so?” said the young man, sipping his coffee. “Who is
- conducting it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Brother Maynell,” answered Mrs. Lampson, enthusiastically, a tinge of
- color in her wan, thin face. “He's a travelling evangelist, who has been
- conducting revivals all over the South. It is really remarkable the
- interest he has stirred up. We are holding prayer-meetings morning and
- afternoon, though only the ladies meet in the afternoon. I conducted the
- meeting yesterday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh no; did you, really? Why, sis—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't begin to poke fun at me,” said Mrs. Lamp-son. “I know I didn't do
- as well as some of the others, but I did the best I could, because I felt
- it was my duty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was not going to make fun,” said Miller, soothingly; “but it seems
- mighty strange to think of you standing up before all the rest, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was not such a very hard thing to do,” said the lady, who was older
- than her brother by ten years. She had gray hairs at her temples, and
- looked generally as if she needed out-door exercise and some diversion to
- draw her out of herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Rayburn helped himself to the deliciously browned, fried chicken, in its
- bed of cream gravy, and a hot puffy biscuit.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And how does Mr. Lapsley, the regular preacher, like this innovation?” he
- questioned. “I reckon you all pay the new man a fee for stirring things
- up?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; we agreed to give him two hundred dollars, half of which goes to an
- orphan asylum he is building. Oh, I don't think brother Lapsley minds
- much, but of course it must affect him a little to see the great interest
- brother Maynell has roused, and I suppose some are mean enough to think he
- could have done the same, if he had tried.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it's clearly a case of a new broom,” smiled Rayburn, buttering his
- biscuit. “Old Lap might get up there and groan and whine for a week and
- not touch a mourner with a ten-foot pole. The other chap knows his
- business, and part of his business is not to stay long enough to wear out
- his pet phrases or exhaust his rockets. I'm sorry for Lapsley; he's paid a
- regular salary, and is not good for any other sort of work, and this shows
- him up unfairly. In the long run, I believe he 'll get as many into the
- church as the other man, and they will be more apt to stick. Sister,
- that's the trouble with these tin-pan revivals. The biggest converts
- backslide. I reckon you are working over old material now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Lampson frowned and her lip stiffened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't like your tone in speaking of such things,” she said. “Indeed,
- Rayburn, I have been deeply mortified in the last week by some remarks
- that have been made about you. I didn't intend to mention them, but you
- make me do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I knew they wouldn't let me rest,” said Miller; “they never do in
- their annual shake-ups.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Brother, you are looked on by nearly all religious workers in town as a
- dangerous young man—I mean dangerous to the boys who are just
- growing up, because they all regard you as a sort of standard to shape
- their conduct by. They see you going to balls and dances and playing
- cards, and they think it is smart and will not be interested in our
- meetings. They see that you live and seem to prosper under it, and they
- follow in your footsteps. I am afraid you don't realize the awful example
- you are setting. Brother May-nell has heard of you and asked me about you
- the other day. Some people think you have been in Atlanta all this time to
- avoid the meeting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't know it was going on,” said Miller, testily. “I assure you I
- never run from a thing like that. The best thing to do is to add fuel to
- the fire—it burns out quicker.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you will go out to meeting, won't you?” insisted the sweet-voiced
- woman. “You won't have them all thinking you have no respect for the
- religion of our father and mother—will you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Rayburn squirmed under this close fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall go occasionally when there is <i>preaching</i>,” he said,
- reluctantly. “I would be out of place at one of the—the knock-down
- and drag-out shouting-bees.” Then, seeing her look of horror at the words
- which had unthoughtedly glided from his lips, he strove to make amends.
- “Oh, sister, do—<i>do</i> be reasonable, and look at it from my
- point of view. I don't believe that's the way to serve God or beautify the
- world. I believe in being happy in one's own way, just so that you don't
- tread on the rights of other people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But,” said Mrs. Lampson, her eyes flashing, “you <i>are</i> treading on
- the rights of others. They are trying to save the souls of the rising
- generation in the community, and you and your social set use your
- influence in the other direction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what about the rights of my social set, if you want to call it by
- that name?” Miller retorted, warmly. “We have the right to enjoy ourselves
- in our way, just as you have in yours. We don't interfere—we never
- ask you to close up shop so we can have a dance or a picnic, but you do.
- If we dare give a party while some revivalist is filling his pockets in
- town the revivalist jumps on us publicly and holds us up as examples of
- headlong plungers into fiery ruin. There is not a bit of justice or human
- liberty in that, and you 'll never reach a certain element till you quit
- such a course. Last year one of the preachers in this town declared in the
- pulpit that a girl could not be pure and dance a round dance. It raised
- the very devil in the hearts of the young men, who knew he was a dirty
- liar, and they got up as many dances out of spite as they possibly could.
- In fact, some of them came near knocking the preacher down on the street.
- I am a conservative sort of fellow, but I secretly wished that somebody
- would slug that man in the jaw.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm really afraid you are worse than ever,” sighed Mrs. Lampson. “I don't
- know what to do with you.” She laughed good-naturedly as she rose and
- stood behind his chair, touching his head tenderly. “It really does make
- me rather mad,” she confessed, “to hear them making you out such a bad
- stripe when I know what a wonderful man you really are for your age. I
- really believe some of them are jealous of your success and standing, but
- I do want you to be more religious.” When Miller reached his office about
- ten o' clock and had opened the door he noticed that Craig's bank on the
- corner across the street was still closed. It was an unusual occurrence at
- that hour and it riveted Miller's attention. Few people were on the
- street, and none of them seemed to have noticed it. The church-bell in the
- next block was ringing for the revivalist's prayer-meeting, and Miller saw
- the merchants and lawyers hurrying by on their way to worship. Miller
- stood in his front door and bowed to them as they passed. Trabue hustled
- out of his office, pulling the door to with a jerk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Prayer-meeting?” he asked, glancing at Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not to-day,” answered Miller; “got some writing to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That preacher's a hummer,” said the old lawyer. “I've never seen his
- equal. He'd 'a' made a bang-up criminal lawyer. Why, they say old Joe
- Murphy's converted—got out of his bed at midnight and went to Tim
- Slocum's house to get 'im to pray for 'im. He's denied thar was a God all
- his life till now. I say a preacher's worth two hundred to a town if it
- can do that sort of work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's certainly worth it to Slocum,” said Miller, with a smile. “If I'd
- been denying there was a God as long as he has, I'd pay more than that to
- get rid of the habit. Slocum's able, and I think he ought to foot that
- preacher's bill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a tough customer, Miller,” said Trabue, with a knowing laugh.
- “You'd better look out—May-nell's got an eye on you. He 'll call out
- yore name some o' these days, an' ask us to pray fer you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was just wondering if there's anything wrong with Craig,” said Miller.
- “I see his door's not open.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I reckon not,” said the old lawyer. “He's been taking part in the
- meeting. He may have overslept.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a grocery-store near Miller's office, and the proprietor came
- out on the sidewalk and joined the two men. His name was Barnett. He was a
- powerful man, who stood six feet five in his boots; he wore no coat, and
- his suspenders were soiled and knotted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see you-uns is watchin' Craig's door,” he said. “I've had my eye on it
- ever since breakfast. I hardly know what to make of it. I went thar to buy
- some New York exchange to pay for a bill o' flour, but he wouldn't let me
- in. I know he's thar, for I seed 'im go in about an hour ago. I mighty
- nigh shook the door off'n the hinges. His clerk, that Western fellow,
- Win-ship, has gone off to visit his folks, an' I reckon maybe Craig's got
- all the book-keepin' to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he oughtn't to keep his doors closed at this time of day,” remarked
- Miller. “A man who has other people's money in his charge can' t be too
- careful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's got some o' mine,” said the grocer, “and Mary Ann Tarpley, my wife's
- sister, put two hundred thar day before yesterday. Oh, I reckon nothin' s
- wrong, though I do remember I heerd somebody say Craig bought cotton
- futures an' sometimes got skeerd up a little about meetin' his
- obligations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have never heard that,” said Rayburn Miller, raising his brows.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I have, an' I've heerd the same o' Winship,” said the grocer, “but
- I never let it go no furder. I ain't no hand to circulate ill reports agin
- a good member of the church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller bit his lip and an unpleasant thrill passed over him as Trabue
- walked on. “Twenty-five thousand,” he thought, “is no small amount. It
- would tempt five men out of ten if they were inclined to go wrong, and
- were in a tight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The grocer was looking at him steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You bank thar, don't you?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller nodded: “But I happen to have no money there right now. I made a
- deposit at the other bank yesterday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Suspicious, heigh? Now jest a little, wasn't you?” The grocer now spoke
- with undisguised uneasiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all,” replied the lawyer. “I was doing some business for the other
- bank, and felt that I ought to favor them by my cash deposits.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't think thar's anything the matter, do you?” asked the grocer,
- his face still hardening.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think Craig is acting queerly—very queerly for a banker,” was
- Miller's slow reply. “He has always been most particular to open up early
- and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello,” cried out a cheery voice, that of the middle-aged proprietor of
- the Darley Flouring Mills, emerging from Barnett's store. “I see you
- fellows have your eye on Craig's front. If he was a drinking man we might
- suspicion he'd been on a tear last night, wouldn't we?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It looks damned shaky to me,” retorted the grocer, growing more excited.
- “I'm goin' over there an' try that door again. A man 'at has my money
- can't attract the attention Craig has an' me say nothin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The miller pulled his little turf of gray beard and winked at Rayburn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You been scarin' Barnett,” he said, with a tentative inflection. “He's
- easily rattled. By-the-way, now that I think of it, it does seem to me I
- heard some of the Methodists talkin' about reproving Craig an' Winship for
- speculatin' in grain and cotton. I know they've been dabblin' in it, for
- Craig always got my market reports. He's been dealin' with a bucket-shop
- in Atlanta.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm going over there,” said Miller, abruptly, and he hurried across in
- the wake of the big grocer. The miller followed him. On the other side of
- the street several people were curiously watching the bank door, and when
- Barnett went to it and grasped the handle and began to shake it vigorously
- they crossed over to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's wrong?” said a dealer in fruits, a short, thick-set man with a
- florid face; but Barnett's only reply was another furious shaking of the
- door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, man, what's got into you?” protested the fruit-dealer, in a rising
- tone of astonishment. “Do you intend to break that door down?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will if that damned skunk don't open it an' give me my money,” said
- Barnett, who was now red in the face and almost foaming at the mouth.
- “He's back in thar, an' he knows it's past openin' time. By gum! I know
- more 'n I'm goin' to tell right now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was followed by another rattling of the door, and the grocer's
- enormous weight, like a battering-ram, was thrown against the heavy walnut
- shutter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Open up, I say—open up in thar!” yelled the grocer, in a voice
- hoarse with passion and suspense.
- </p>
- <p>
- A dozen men were now grouped around the doorway. Barnett released the
- handle and stood facing them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Somethin' s rotten in Denmark,” he panted. “Believe me or not, fellows, I
- know a thing or two. This bank's in a bad fix.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A thrill of horror shot through Miller. The words had the ring of
- conviction. Alan Bishop's money was in bad hands if it was there at all.
- Suddenly he saw a white, trembling hand fumbling with the lower part of
- the close-drawn window-shade, as if some one were about to raise it; but
- the shade remained down, the interior still obscured. It struck Miller as
- being a sudden impulse, defeated by fear of violence. There was a pause.
- Then the storm broke again. About fifty men had assembled, all wild to
- know what was wrong. Miller elbowed his way to the door and stood on the
- step, slightly raised above the others, Barnett by his side. “Let me speak
- to him,” he said, pacifically. Barnett yielded doggedly, and Rayburn put
- his lips to the crack between the two folding-doors.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Craig!” he called out—“Mr. Craig!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no reply, but Rayburn heard the rustling of paper on the inside
- near the crack against which his ear was pressed, and then the edge of a
- sheet of writing-paper was slowly shoved through. Rayburn grasped it,
- lifting it above a dozen outstretched hands. “Hold on!” he cried,
- authoritatively. “Til read it.” The silence of the grave fell on the crowd
- as the young man began to read.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Friends and citizens,” the note ran, “Winship has absconded with every
- dollar in the vaults, except about two hundred dollars in my small safe.
- He has been gone two days, I thought on a visit to his kinfolks. I have
- just discovered the loss. I'm completely ruined, and am now trying to make
- out a report of my condition. Have mercy on an old man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Rayburn's face was as white as that of a corpse. The paper dropped from
- his hand and he stepped down into the crowd. He was himself no loser, but
- the Bishops had lost their all. How could he break the news to them?
- Presently he began to hope faintly that old Bishop might, within the last
- week, have drawn out at least part of the money, but that hope was soon
- discarded, for he remembered that the old man was waiting to invest the
- greater part of the deposit in some Shoal Creek Cotton Mill stock which
- had been promised him in a few weeks. No, the hope was groundless. Alan,
- his father, Mrs. Bishop, and—Adele—Miller's heart sank down
- into the very ooze of despair. All that he had done for Adele's people,
- and which had roused her deepest, tenderest gratitude, was swept away.
- What would she think now?
- </p>
- <p>
- His train of thought was rudely broken by an oath from Barnett, who, with
- the rage of a madman, suddenly threw his shoulder against the door. There
- was a crash, a groan of bursting timber and breaking bolts, and the door
- flew open. For one instant Miller saw the ghastly face and cowering form
- of the old banker behind the wire-grating, and then, with a scream of
- terror, Craig ran into a room in the rear, and thence made his escape at a
- door opening on the side street. The mob filled the bank, and did not
- discover Craig's escape for a minute; then, with a howl of rage, it surged
- back into the street. Craig was ahead of them, running towards the church,
- where prayer-meeting-was being held, the tails of his long frock-coat
- flying behind him, his worn silk hat in his convulsive grasp.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thar he goes!” yelled Barnett, and he led the mob after him, all running
- at the top of their speed without realizing why they were doing so. They
- gained on the fleeing banker, and Barnett could almost touch him when they
- reached the church. With a cry of fear, like that of a wild animal brought
- to bay, Craig sprang up the steps and ran into the church, crying and
- groaning for help.
- </p>
- <p>
- A dozen men and women and children were kneeling at the altar to get the
- benefit of the prayers of the ministers and the congregation, but they
- stood up in alarm, some of them with wet faces.
- </p>
- <p>
- The mob checked itself at the door, but the greater part of it crowded
- into the two aisles, a motley human mass, many of them without coats or
- hats. The travelling evangelist seemed shocked out of expression; but the
- pastor, Mr. Lapsley, who was an old Confederate soldier, and used to
- scenes of violence, stood calmly facing them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's all this mean?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came here for protection,” whined Craig, “to my own church and people.
- This mob wants to kill me—tear me limb from limb.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what's wrong?” asked the preacher.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Winship,” panted Craig, his white head hanging down as he stood touching
- the altar railing—“Win-ship's absconded with all the money in my
- vault. I'm ruined. These people want me to give up what I haven't got. Oh,
- God knows, I would refund every cent if I had it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall have our protection,” said the minister, calmly. “They won't
- violate the sacredness of the house of God by raising a row. You are safe
- here, brother Craig. I'm sure all reasonable people will not blame you for
- the fault of another.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe he's got my money,” cried out Barnett, in a coarse, sullen
- voice, “and the money of some o' my women folks that's helpless, and he's
- got to turn it over. Oh, he's got money some'r's, I 'll bet on that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The law is your only recourse, Mr. Barnett,” said the preacher, calmly.
- “Even now you are laying yourself liable to serious prosecution for
- threatening a man with bodily injury when you can't prove he's wilfully
- harmed you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words told on the mob, many of them being only small depositors, and
- Barnett found himself without open support. He was silent. Rayburn Miller,
- who had come up behind the mob and was now in the church, went to Craig's
- side. Many thought he was proffering his legal services.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One word, Mr. Craig,” he said, touching the quivering arm of the banker.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you're no loser,” said Craig, turning on him. “There was nothing to
- your credit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that,” whispered Miller, “but as attorney for the Bishops, I have
- a right to ask if their money is safe.” The eyes of the banker went to the
- ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's gone—every cent of it!” he said. “It was their money that
- tempted Winship. He'd never seen such a large pile at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't mean—” But Miller felt the utter futility of the question
- on his tongue and turned away. Outside he met Jeff Dukes, one of the town
- marshals, who had been running, and was very red in the face and out of
- breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that mob in thar?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and quiet now,” said Miller. “Let them alone; the important thing is
- to put the police on Winship's track. Come back down-town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll have to git the particulars from Craig fust,” said Dukes. “Are you
- loser?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, but some of my clients are, and I'm ready to stand any expense to
- catch the thief.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I 'll see you in a minute, and we 'll heat all the wires out of
- town. I 'll see you in a minute.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Farther down the street Miller met Dolly Barclay. She had come straight
- from her home, in an opposite direction from the bank, and had evidently
- not heard the news.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm on my way to prayer-meeting,” she smiled. “I'm getting good to please
- the old folks, but—” She noticed his pale face. “What is the matter?
- Has anything—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Craig's bank has failed,” Rayburn told her briefly. “He says Winship has
- absconded with all the cash in the vaults.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly stared aghast. “And you—you—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had no money there,” broke in Miller. “I was fortunate enough to
- escape.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Alan—Mr. Bishop?” She was studying his face and pondering his
- unwonted excitement. “Had they money there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller did not answer, but she would not be put aside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me,” she urged—“tell me that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I do, it's in absolute confidence,” he said, with professional
- firmness. “No one must know—not a soul—that they were
- depositors, for much depends on it. If Wilson knew they were hard up he
- might drive them to the wall. They were not only depositors, but they lose
- every cent they have—twenty-five thousand dollars in a lump.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw her catch her breath, and her lips moved mutely, as if repeating
- the words he had just spoken. “Poor Alan!” he heard her say. “This is too,
- <i>too</i> much, after all he has gone through.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller touched his hat and started on, but she joined him, keeping by his
- side like a patient, pleading child. He marvelled over her strength and
- wonderful poise. “I am taking you out of your way, Miss Dolly,” he said,
- gently, more gently than he had ever spoken to her before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only want to know if Alan has heard. Do—do tell me that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, he's at home. I shall ride out as soon as I get the matter in the
- hands of the police.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She put out her slender, shapely hand and touched his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell him,” she said, in a low, uncertain voice, “that it has broken my
- heart. Tell him I love him more than I ever did, and that I shall stick to
- him always.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller turned and took off his hat, giving her his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I believe you will do it,” he said. “He's a lucky dog, even if he <i>has</i>
- just struck the ceiling. I know him, and your message will soften the
- blow. But it's awful, simply awful! I can't now see how they can possibly
- get from under it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, tell him,” said Dolly, with a little, soundless sob in her throat—“tell
- him what I told you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0022" id="linkimage-0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9196.jpg" alt="9196 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9196.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HAT afternoon the breeze swerved round from the south, bringing vague
- threats About three o' clock Alan, his his mother and father were in the
- front yard, looking at the house, with a view to making some alterations
- that had been talked of for several years past.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never had my way in anything before,” Mrs. Bishop was running on, in
- the pleased voice of a happy child, “and I'm glad you are goin' to let me
- this once. I want the new room to jut out on this side from the parlor,
- and have a bay-window, and we must cut a wide foldin'-door between the two
- rooms. Then the old veranda comes down and the new one must have a double
- floor, like Colonel Sprague's on the river, except ours will have round,
- white columns instead o' square, if they do cost a trifle more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She knows what she wants,” said Bishop, with one of his infrequent
- smiles, “and I reckon we'd save a little to let her boss the job, ef she
- don't hender the carpenters by too much talk. I don't want 'em to put in a
- stick o' lumber that ain't the best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm glad she's going to have her way,” said Alan. “She's wanted a better
- house for twenty years, and she deserves it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't believe in sech fine feathers,” said Bishop, argumentatively.
- “I'd a leetle ruther wait till we see whether Wilson's a-goin' to put that
- road through—then we <i>could</i> afford to put on a dab or two o'
- style. I don't know but I'd move down to Atlanta an' live alongside o'
- Bill, an' wear a claw-hammer coat an' a dicky cravat fer a change.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you mought run fer the legislatur',” spoke up Abner Daniel, who had
- been an amused listener, “an' git up a law to pen up mad dogs at the
- dangerous part o' the yeer. Alf, I've always thought you'd be a' ornament
- to the giddy whirl down thar. William was ever' bit as green as you are
- when he fust struck the town. But he had the advantage o' growin' up an'
- sorter ripenin' with the place. It ud be hard on you at yore time o'
- life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this juncture Alan called their attention to a horseman far down the
- road. “It looks like Ray Miller's mare,” he remarked. “This is one of his
- busy days; he can' t be coming to fish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Railroad news,” suggested Abner. “It's a pity you hain't connected by
- telegraph.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were all now sure that it was Miller, and with no little curiosity
- they moved nearer the gate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By gum! he's been givin' his mare the lash,” said Abner. “She's fairly
- kivered with froth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello, young man,” Alan called out, as Miller dismounted at a
- hitching-post just outside the fence and fastened his bridle-rein. “Glad
- to see you; come in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller bowed and smiled as he opened the gate and came forward to shake
- hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are certainly glad you came, Mr. Miller,” said Mrs. Bishop, with all
- her quaint cordiality. “Ever since that day in the office I've wanted a
- chance to show you how much we appreciate what you done fer us. Brother Ab
- will bear me out when I say we speak of it mighty nigh ever'day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller wore an inexpressible look of embarrassment, which he tried to lose
- in the act of shaking hands all round the group, but his platitudes fell
- to the ground. Abner, the closest observer among them, already had his
- brows drawn together as he pondered Miller's unwonted lack of ease.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bring any fishing-tackle?” asked Alan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I didn't,” said the lawyer, jerking himself to that subject
- awkwardly. “The truth is, I only ran out for a little ride. I've got to
- get back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it <i>is</i> business, as brother Ab said,” put in Mrs. Bishop,
- tentatively.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller lowered his eyes to the ground and then raised them to Alan's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it's railroad business,” said Abner, his voice vibrant with
- suspense.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it's not favorable,” said Alan, bravely. “I can see that by your
- looks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller glanced at his mare, and lashed the leg of his top-boots with his
- riding-whip. “No, I have bad news, but it's not about the railroad. I
- could have written, but I thought I'd better come myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Adele!” gasped Mrs. Bishop. “You have heard—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, she's well,” said Miller. “It's about the money you put in Craig's
- bank.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What about that?” burst from old Bishop's startled lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Craig claims Winship has absconded with all the cash. The bank has
- failed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Failed!” The word was a moan from Bishop, and for a moment no one spoke.
- A negro woman at the wash-place behind the house was using a batting-stick
- on some clothing, and the dull blows came to them distinctly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that so, Ray?” asked Alan, calm but pale to the lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm sorry to say it is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can anything at all be done?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've done everything possible already. We have been telegraphing the
- Atlanta police all morning about tracing Winship, but they don't seem much
- interested. They think he's had too big a start on us. You see, he's been
- gone two days and nights. Craig says he thought he was on a visit to
- relatives till he discovered the loss last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It simply spells ruin, old man,” said Alan, grimly. “I can see that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller said nothing for a moment—then:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's just as bad as it could be, my boy,” he said. “I see no reason to
- raise false hopes. There is a strong feeling against Craig, and no little
- suspicion, owing to the report that he has been speculating heavily, but
- he has thrown himself on the protection of his church, and even some of
- his fellow-members, who lose considerably, are standing by him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here old Bishop, with compressed lips, turned and walked unsteadily into
- the house. With head hanging low and eyes flashing strangely, his wife
- followed him. At the steps she paused, her sense of hospitality
- transcending her despair. “You must stay to early supper, anyway, Mr.
- Miller,” she said. “You could ride back in the cool o' the evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, but I must hurry right back, Mrs. Bishop,” Miller said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Dolly—does she know?” asked Alan, when his mother had
- disappeared and Abner had walked to the hitching-post, and stood as if
- thoughtfully inspecting Miller's mare. Miller told him of their
- conversation that morning, and Alan' s face grew tender and more resigned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's a brick!” said Miller. “She's a woman I now believe in thoroughly—she
- and one other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then there <i>is</i> another?” asked Alan, almost cheerfully, as an
- effect of the good news that had accompanied the bad.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I see things somewhat differently of late,” admitted Miller, in an
- evasive, non-committal tone. “Dolly Barclay opened my eyes, and when they
- were open I saw—well, the good qualities of some one else. I may
- tell you about her some day, but I shall not now. Get your horse and come
- to town with me. We must be ready for any emergency.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner Daniel came towards them. “I don't want to harm nobody's character,”
- he said; “but whar my own kin is concerned, I'm up an' wide awake. I don't
- know what you think, but I hain't got a speck o' faith in Craig hisse'f.
- He done me a low, sneakin' trick once that I ketched up with. He swore it
- was a mistake, but it wasn't. He's a bad egg—you mind what I say; he
- won't do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It may be as you say, Mr. Daniel,” returned Miller, with a lawyer's
- reserve on a point unsubstantiated by evidence, “but even if he has the
- money hidden away, how are we to get it from him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd find a way,” retorted Daniel, hotly, “so I would.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We 'll do all we can,” said Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- Daniel strode into the house and Alan went after his horse. Miller stood
- at the gate, idly tapping his boot with his whip.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Mrs. Bishop!” he said, his eyes on the house; “how very much she
- resembled Adele just now, and she is bearing it just like the little girl
- would. I reckon they 'll write her the bad news. I wish I was there to—soften
- the blow. It will wring her heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXIII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0023" id="linkimage-0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9201.jpg" alt="9201 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9201.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HAT evening after supper the family remained, till bedtime, in the big,
- bare-looking dining-room, the clean, polished floors of which gleamed in
- the light of a little fire in the big chimney. Bishop's chair was tilted
- back against the wall in a dark corner, and Mrs. Bishop sat knitting
- mechanically. Abner was reading—or trying to read—a weekly
- paper at the end of the dining-table, aided by a dimly burning glass-lamp.
- Aunt Maria had removed the dishes and, with no little splash and clatter,
- was washing them in the adjoining kitchen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly Abner laid down his paper and began to try to console them for
- their loss. Mrs. Bishop listened patiently, but Bishop sat in the very
- coma of despair, unconscious of what was going on around him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alf,” Abner called out, sharply, “don't you remember what a close-fisted
- scamp I used to be about the time you an' Betsy fust hitched together?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I don't,” said the man addressed, almost with a growl at being roused
- from what could not have been pleasant reflections.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember folks said you was the stingiest one in our family,” struck in
- Mrs. Bishop, plaintively. “Law me! I hain't thought of it from that day to
- this. It seems powerful funny now to think of you havin' sech a
- reputation, but I railly believe you had it once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “An' I deserved it,” Abner folded his paper, and rapped with it on the
- table. “You know, Betsy, our old daddy was as close as they make 'em; he
- had a rope tied to every copper he had, an' I growed up thinkin' it was
- the only safe course in life. I was too stingy to buy ginger-cake an'
- cider at camp-meetin' when I was dyin' fer it. I've walked round an' round
- a old nigger woman's stand twenty times with a dry throat an' my fingers
- on a slick dime, an' finally made tracks fer the nighest spring. I had my
- eyes opened to stinginess bein' ungodly by noticin' its effect on pa. He
- was a natural human bein' till a body tetched his pocket, an' then he was
- a rantin' devil. I got to thinkin' I'd be like 'im by inheritance ef I
- didn't call a halt, an' I begun tryin' in various ways to reform. I
- remember I lent money a little freer than I had, which wasn't sayin' much,
- fer thar was a time when I wouldn't 'a' sold a man a postage-stamp on a
- credit ef he'd 'a' left it stuck to the back o' my neck fer security.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I 'll tell you how I made my fust great big slide towards
- reformation. It tuck my breath away, an' lots o' my money; but I did it
- with my eyes open. I was jest a-thinkin' a minute ago that maybe ef I told
- you-uns about how little it hurt me to give it up you mought sleep better
- to-night over yore own shortage. Alf, are you listenin'?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I heerd what you said,” mumbled Bishop.
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner cleared his throat, struck at a moth with his paper, and continued:
- “Betsy, you remember our cousin, Jimmy Bartow? You never knowed 'im well,
- beca'se you an' Alf was livin' on Holly Creek about that time, an' he was
- down in our neighborhood. He never was wuth shucks, but he twisted his
- mustache an' greased his hair an' got 'im a wife as easy as fallin' off a
- log. He got to clerkin' fer old Joe Mason in his store at the cross-roads,
- and the sight o' so much change passin' through his fingers sort o' turned
- his brain. He tuck to drinking an' tryin' to dress his wife fine, an' one
- thing or other, that made folks talk. He was our double fust cousin, you
- know, an' we tuck a big interest in 'im on that account. After a while old
- Joe begun to miss little dribs o' cash now an' then, an' begun to keep tab
- on Jimmy, an' 'fore the young scamp knowed it, he was ketched up with as
- plain as day.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Old Joe made a calculation that Jimmy had done 'im, fust and last, to the
- tune of about five hundred dollars, an' told Jimmy to set down by the
- stove an' wait fer the sheriff.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jimmy knowed he could depend on the family pride, an' he sent fer all the
- kin fer miles around. It raised a awful rumpus, fer not one o' our stock
- an' generation had ever been jailed, an' the last one of us didn't want it
- to happen. I reckon we was afeerd ef it once broke out amongst us it
- mought become a epidemic. They galloped in on the'r hosses an' mules, an'
- huddled around Mason. They closed his doors, back an' front, an' patted
- 'im on the back, an' talked about the'r trade an' influence, an' begged
- 'im not to prefer charges; but old Joe stood as solid as a rock. He said a
- thief was a thief, ef you spelt it back'ards or for'ards, or ef he was
- akin to a king or a corn-fiel' nigger. He said it was, generally, the
- bigger the station the bigger the thief. Old Joe jest set at his stove an'
- chawed tobacco an' spit. Now an' then he'd stick his hands down in his
- pockets an' rip out a oath. Then Jimmy's young wife come with her little
- teensy baby, an' set down by Jimmy, skeerd mighty nigh out of 'er life.
- Looked like the baby was skeerd too, fer it never cried ur moved. Then the
- sheriff driv' up in his buggy an' come in clinkin' a pair o' handcuffs. He
- seed what they was all up to an' stood back to see who would win, Jimmy's
- kin or old Joe. All at once I tuck notice o' something that made me
- madder'n a wet hen. They all knowed I had money laid up, an' they begun to
- ax old Mason ef I'd put up the five hundred dollars would he call it off.
- I was actu'ly so mad I couldn't speak. Old Joe said he reckoned, seein'
- that they was all so turribly set back, that he'd do it ef I was willin'.
- The Old Nick got in me then as big as a side of a house, an' I give the
- layout about the toughest talk they ever had. It didn't faze 'em much, fer
- all they wanted was to git Jimmy free, an' so they tuck another tack. Ef
- they'd git up half amongst 'em all, would I throw in t'other half? That,
- ef anything, made me madder. I axed 'em what they tuck me fer—did I
- look like a durn fool? An' did they think beca'se they was sech fools I
- was one?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Old Tommy Todd, Jimmy's own uncle, was thar, but he never had a word to
- say. He jest set an' smoked his pipe an' looked about, but he wouldn't
- open his mouth when they'd ax him a question. He was knowed to be sech a
- skinflint that nobody seemed to count on his help at all, an' he looked
- like he was duly thankful fer his reputation to hide behind in sech a
- pressure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then they lit into me, an' showed me up in a light I'd never appeared in
- before. They said I was the only man thar without a family to support, an'
- the only one thar with ready cash in the bank, an' that ef I'd let my own
- double fust cousin be jailed, I was a disgrace to 'em all. They'd not nod
- to me in the big road, an' ud use the'r influence agin my stayin' in the
- church an' eventually gittin' into the kingdom o' Heaven. I turned from
- man to devil right thar. I got up on the head of a tater-barrel behind the
- counter, an' made the blamedest speech that ever rolled from a mouth
- inspired by iniquity. I picked 'em out one by one an' tore off their
- shirts, an' chawed the buttons. The only one I let escape was old Tommy;
- he never give me a chance to hit him. Then I finally come down to the
- prisoner at the bar an' I larruped him. Ever' time I'd give a yell, Jimmy
- ud duck his head, an' his wife ud huddle closer over the baby like she was
- afeerd splinters ud git in its eyes. I made fun of 'em till I jest had to
- quit. Then they turned the'r backs on me an' begun to figure on doin'
- without my aid. It was mortgage this, an' borrow this, an' sell this hoss
- or wagon or mule or cow, an' a turrible wrangle. I seed they was gittin'
- down to business an' left 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I noticed old Tommy make his escape, an' go out an' unhitch his hoss, but
- he didn't mount. Looked like he 'lowed he was at least entitled to
- carryin' the news home, whether he he'ped or not. I went to the spring at
- the foot o' the rise an' set down. I didn't feel right. In fact, I felt
- meaner than I ever had in all my life, an' couldn't 'a' told why. Somehow
- I felt all at once ef they did git Jimmy out o' hock an' presented 'im to
- his wife an' baby without me a-chippin' in, I'd never be able to look at
- 'em without remorse, an' I did think a lots o' Jimmy's wife an' baby. I
- set thar watchin' the store about as sorry as a proud sperit kin feel
- after a big rage. Fust I'd hope they'd git up the required amount, an'
- then I'd almost hope they wouldn't. Once I actually riz to go offer my
- share, but the feer that it ud be refused stopped me. On the whole, I
- think I was in the mud about as deep as Jimmy was in the mire, an' I
- hadn't tuck nobody's money nuther. All at once I begun to try to see some
- way out o' my predicament. They wouldn't let me chip in, but I wondered ef
- they'd let me pay it all. I believed they would, an' I was about to hurry
- in the store when I was balked by the thought that folks would say I was a
- born idiot to be payin' my lazy, triflin' kinfolks out o' the consequences
- o' the'r devilment; so I set down agin, an' had another wrastle. I seed
- old Tommy standin' by his hoss chawin' his ridin'-switch an' watchin' the
- door. All at once he looked mighty contemptible, an' it struck me that I
- wasn't actin' one bit better, so I ris an' plunged fer the door. Old Tommy
- ketched my arm as I was about to pass 'im an' said, 'What you goin' to do,
- Ab?' An' I said, 'Uncle Tommy, I'm a-goin' to pay that boy out ef they 'll
- let me.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'You don't say,' the old fellow grunted, lookin' mighty funny, an' he
- slid in the store after me. Somehow I wasn't afeerd o' nothin' with or
- without shape. I felt like I was walkin' on air in the brightest, saftest
- sunshine I ever felt. They was all huddled over Mason's desk still
- a-figurin' an' a-complainin' at the uneven division. Jimmy set thar with
- his head ducked an' his young wife was tryin' to fix some'n' about the
- baby. She looked like she'd been cryin.'I got up on my tater-barrel an'
- knocked on the wall with a axe-handle to attract the'r attention. Then I
- begun. I don't know what I said, or how it sounded, but I seed Jimmy raise
- his head an' look, an' his wife push back her poke-bonnet an' stare like
- I'd been raised from the grave. Along with my request to be allowed to
- foot the whole bill, I said I wanted to do it beca'se I believed I could
- show Jimmy an' his wife that I was doin' it out o' genuine regard fer 'em
- both, an' that I wanted 'em to take a hopeful new start an' not be
- depressed. Well, sir, it was like an avalanche. I never in all my life
- seed sech a knocked-out gang. Nobody wanted to talk. The sheriff looked
- like he was afeerd his handcuffs ud jingle, an' Jimmy bu'st out cryin'.
- His wife sobbed till you could 'a' heerd her to the spring. She sprung up
- an' fetched me her baby an' begged me to kiss it. With her big glad eyes,
- an' the tears in 'em, she looked nigher an angel than any human bein' I
- ever looked at. Jimmy went out the back way wipin' his eyes, an' I went to
- Mason's desk to write him a check fer the money. He come to my elbow an'
- looked troubled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I said it was five hundred dollars,' said he, 'but I was sorter averagin'
- the loss. I ain't a-goin' to run no risks in a matter like this. I'd feel
- better to call it four hundred. You see, Jimmy's been a sort o' standby
- with me, an' has fetched me lots o' trade. Make it four hundred and I 'll
- keep 'im. I don't believe he 'll ever git wrong agin.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Jimmy never did. He stayed thar for five yeer on a stretch, an' was
- the best clerk in the county. I was paid a thousandfold. I never met them
- two in my life that they didn't look jest like they thought I was all
- right, an' that made me feel like I was to some extent. Old Tommy, though,
- was the funniest thing about it. He bored me mighty nigh to death. He'd
- come to my cabin whar I was livin' at the time an' set by my fire an'
- smoke an' never say hardly a word. It looked like some 'n' was on his
- mind, an' he couldn't git it off. One night when he'd stayed longer 'n
- usual, I pinned 'im down an' axed 'im what was the matter. He got up quick
- an' said nothin' aileded 'im, but he stopped at the fence an' called me
- out. He was as white as a sheet an' quiverin' all over. Said he: 'I've got
- to have this over with, Ab. I may as well tell you an' be done with it.
- It's been botherin' the life out o' me, an' I 'll never git rid of it till
- it's done. I want to pay you half o' that money you spent on Jimmy. I had
- the cash that day, an' it 'ain't done me one bit o' good sence then. I 'll
- never sleep well till I go you halvers.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I cayn't sell that to you, Uncle Tommy,' I said, laughin'. 'No, siree,
- you couldn't chip into that investment ef you doubled yore offer. I've
- found out what it is wuth. But,' said I, 'ef you've got two hundred that's
- burnin' a hole in yore pocket, ur conscience, an' want to yank it out, go
- give it to Jimmy's wife to he'p her educate that baby.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “It struck 'im betwixt the eyes, but he didn't say yes or no. He slid away
- in the moonlight, all bent over an' quiet. I never seed 'im agin fer a
- month, an' then I called 'im out of a crowd o' fellers at the court-house
- an' axed 'im what he'd done. He looked bothered a little, but he gave me a
- straight look like he wasn't ready to sneak out o' anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I thought it over,' said he, 'but I railly don't see no reason why I ort
- to help Jimmy's child any more 'n a whole passle o' others that have as
- much claim on me by blood; but somehow I do feel like goin' cahoot with
- you in what's already been done, an' I'm still ready to jine you, ef you
- are willin'.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't take his money, but it set me to thinkin'. When old Tommy died,
- ten years after that, they found he had six wool socks filled with gold
- an' silver coin under his house, an' nobody ever heerd o' his doin' any
- charity work. I wish now that I'd 'a' lifted that cash an' 'a' put it whar
- it would do good. If I had he'd 'a' had a taste o' some 'n' that never
- glorified his pallet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Abner concluded, Mrs. Bishop went to the fire and pushed the chunks
- together into a heap in the fireplace. Bishop moved in his chair, but he
- said nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember heerin' about that, brother Ab,” Mrs. Bishop said, a
- reminiscent intonation in her voice. “Some folks wondered powerful over
- it. I don't believe money does a body much good jest to hold an' keep. As
- the Lord is my judge, I jest wanted that bank deposit fer Alan and Adele.
- I wanted it, an' I wanted it bad, but I cayn't believe it was a sin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Something like a groan escaped Bishop's lips as he lowered the front posts
- of his chair to the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the use o' talkin' about it?” he said, impatiently. “What's the
- use o' anything?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He rose and moved towards the door leading to his room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alfred,” Mrs. Bishop called to him, “are you goin' to bed without holdin'
- prayer?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm goin' to omit it to-night,” he said. “I don't feel well, one bit.
- Besides, I reckon each pusson kin pray in private according to the way
- they feel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner stood up, and removing the lamp-chimney he lighted a candle by the
- flame.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tried to put a moral lesson in what I said just now,” he smiled,
- mechanically, “but I missed fire. Alf's sufferin' is jest unselfishness
- puore an' undefiled; he wants to set his children up in the world. This
- green globe is a sight better 'n some folks thinks it is. You kin find a
- little speck o' goody in mighty nigh ever' chestnut.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's so, brother Ab,” said his sister; “but we are ruined now—ruined,
- ruined!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ef you will look at it that way,” admitted Abner, reaching for his
- candle; “but thar's a place ahead whar thar never was a bank, or a dollar,
- or a railroad, an' it ain't fur ahead, nuther. Some folks say it begins
- heer in this life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXIV
- </h2>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9000.jpg" alt="9000 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9000.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- S Abner Daniel leaned over the rail-fence in front of Pole Baker's
- log-cabin one balmy day, two weeks later, he saw evidences of the
- ex-moonshiner's thriftlessness combined with an inordinate love for his
- children. A little express-wagon, painted red, such as city children
- receive from their well-to-do parents on Christmas, was going to ruin
- under a cherry-tree which had been bent to the ground by a rope-swing
- fastened to one of its flexible boughs. The body of a mechanical
- speaking-doll lay near by, and the remains of a toy air-rifle. After a
- protracted spree Pole usually came home laden down with such
- peace-offerings to his family and conscience. His wife might go without a
- needed gown, and he a coat, but his children never without toys. Seeing
- Abner at the fence, Mrs. Baker came to the low door and stood bending her
- head to look out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heerd at home,” said Abner, “that Pole was over thar axin' fer me. I've
- been away to my peach-orchard on the hill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, he's been over thar twice,” said the woman. “He's back of the house
- some'r's settin' a trap fer the children to ketch some birds in. I 'll
- blow the horn. When I blow twice he knows he's wanted right off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She took down a cow's-horn from a nail on the wall, and going to the door
- on the opposite side of the house she gave two long, ringing blasts, which
- set half a dozen dogs near by and some far off to barking mellowly. In a
- few minutes Pole appeared around the corner of the cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello, Uncle Ab,” he said. “Won't you come in?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, hain't time,” smiled the old man. “I jest come over to see how much
- money you wanted to borrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want any o' yo'rn,” said Pole, leaning over the fence, his
- unbuttoned shirt-sleeves allowing his brawny, bare arms to rest on the top
- rail. “I wanted to talk to you about Alan an' that bank bu'st-up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've been to town, I heer,” said Abner, deeply interested.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, an' I've been with Alan an' Miller fer the last week tryin' to do
- some 'n', but we couldn't. They've been sendin' telegrams by the
- basketful, an' Jeff Dukes has trotted his legs off back an' forth, but
- nothin' hain't been done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say the' hain't?” Abner's voice quivered and fell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; they both kept up the'r sperits purty well fer about ten days beca'se
- that dang Atlanta chief of police kept wirin' he was on a scent o'
- Winship; but day before yesterday they give in. We was a-settin' in
- Miller's office when the last message come from Atlanta. They said they'd
- been after the wrong man, an' that they'd give up. You ort to 'a' seed
- Alan's face. Miller tried to cheer 'im up, but it wasn't no go. Then who
- do you think come? Alan's sweetheart. She axed to see 'im, an' they talked
- awhile in the front room; then Miller come back an' said she'd axed to be
- introduced to me. Jest think of it! I went in and seed she'd been
- a-cryin'. She got up, by jinks! an' ketched my hand an' said she wanted to
- thank me beca'se I'd been sech a friend to Alan. Uncle Ab, I felt as mean
- as a egg-suckin' dog, beca'se thar was Alan flat o' his back, as the
- feller said, an' I hadn't turned a hand to he'p 'im. And thar she was, the
- gal he loves an' wants, an' his poverty standin' betwixt 'em. I couldn't
- say nothin', an' I reckon I looked more kinds of a damn fool than she ever
- seed on two legs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what did you do?” asked Abner, too much moved by Pole's graphic
- picture to speak with his usual lightness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did I do? I made my bow an' slid. I made a bee-line fer Murray's bar
- an' put two down as fast as they could shovel 'em out. Then I tuck
- another, an' quit countin'. I begun to think I owned the shebang, an'
- broke several billiard-cues an' throwed the chalk around. Then Dukes come
- an' said he'd give me a chance to escape trial fer misconduct, ef I'd
- straddle my hoss an' make fer home. I agreed, but thar was one thing I had
- to do fust. I had promised Alan not to drink any more, an' so I didn't
- want to sneak away to hide it. I went to Miller's house, whar he's
- stayin', an' called 'im out. I told 'im I'd jest come fer no other reason
- 'an to let 'im see me at my wust. I felt like it was the only manly way,
- after I'd broke faith with a friend as true as he is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too bad!” sighed Abner. “I 'll bet it hurt Alan to see you in that fix.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he didn't complain,” said Pole. “But he put his arm around me an'
- come as nigh cryin' as I ever seed a strong man. 'It's my fault, Pole,'
- ses he. 'I can see that.' Then him an' Miller both tried to git me to go
- up-stairs in that fine house an' go to bed an' sleep it off, but I
- wouldn't. I come on home an' got mad at Sally fer talkin' to me, an' come
- as nigh as peas hittin' 'er in the jaw. But that's over, Uncle Ab. What
- I'm in fer now is work. I ain't no fool. I'm on a still hunt, an' I jest
- want yore private opinion. I don't want you to commit yorese'f, unless you
- want to; but I'd go more on yore jedgment than any man' s in this county.
- I want to know ef you think old Craig is a honest man at heart. Now don't
- say you don't know, an' keep yore mouth shet; fer what I want to know, an'
- <i>all</i> I want to know, is how you feel about that one thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner hung his head down. His long thumb trembled as its nail went under a
- splinter on the rail and pried it off.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see what you are a-drivin' at,” he said. “You jest want to feel shore
- o' yore ground.” Abner began to chew the splinter and spit out the broken
- bits. He was silent, under Pole's anxious gaze, for a minute, and then he
- laughed dryly. “I reckon me 'n' you has about the same suspicions,” he
- said. “That p'int's been worryin' me fer several days, an' I didn't let it
- end, thar nuther.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! you didn't?” exclaimed Baker. “You say you didn't, Uncle Ab?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; I got so I couldn't lie down at night without the idea poppin' into
- my head that maybe Craig had made a tool of Winship fer some minor crime
- an' had hustled 'im out o' the country so he could gobble up what was in
- the bank an' pose as a injured man in the community.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Same heer, pine blank!” said Pole, eagerly. “What did you do, Uncle Ab?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I went to Darley an' attended his church last Sunday,” replied the old
- man, a tense expression in his eyes. “I got a seat in the amen-corner,
- whar I could see him, an' all through preachin' I watched 'im like a hawk.
- He didn't look to me like a man who had bu'sted on wind alone. He had a
- fat, oily, pink look, an' when they axed 'im to lead in prayer it looked
- to me like he was talkin' more to the people 'an he was to God. I didn't
- like his whine, an' what he said didn't seem to come from the cellar. But
- I seed that he was makin' converts to his side as fast as a dog kin trot.
- The Presbyterians an' Baptists has been accusin' the Methodists o' packin'
- more bad eggs 'an they have, an' it looks like Craig's crowd's a-goin' to
- swear he's fresh whether he is or not. After meetin' was over I walked
- ahead of him an' his fine lady, who has made the mistake o' tryin' to
- kiver the whole business up with silk an' feathers, an' waited fer 'em
- nigh the'r gate. I told 'im I wanted a word with 'im, an' they axed me in
- the parlor. I smelt dinner, but they didn't mention it. I wasn't goin' to
- eat thar nohow. Well, I set in an' jest told Craig what had been troublin'
- me. I said the loss o' my folk's money was as bad as death, an' that
- thar'd been so much talk agin him, an' suspicion, that I had jest come to
- headquarters. Ef he had any money laid away, I was thar to tell 'im it
- never would do 'im any good, an' ef he didn't, I wanted to beg his pardon
- fer my evil thoughts, an' try to git the matter off'n my mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God! did you railly tell 'im that, Uncle Ab?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, an' I had a deep-laid reason. I wanted to make 'im mad an' study
- 'im. He did git mad. He was as red as a dewberry, an' quivered from head
- to foot. Thar's two kinds o' mad—the justified an' the unjustified.
- Make a good man rail mad by accusin' 'im, an' he 'll justify hisse'f or
- bu'st; but ef you make a bad un mad by accusin' 'im, he 'll delight in
- showin' you he's done wrong—ef it hurts you <i>an' he's safe</i>.
- Thar's right whar I landed Craig. He had the look, as plain as day, o'
- sayin', 'Yes, dang you, I did it, an' you cayn't he'p yorese'f!' His wife
- had gone in the back part o' the house, an' after a while I heerd her new
- shoes a-creakin' at the door betwixt the two rooms. Now a pair o' shoes
- don't walk up to a door squeakin' like mice an' then stop all of a sudden
- without reason. I knowed she was a-listenin', an' I determined she should
- not heer me say she was purty. I told 'im louder 'an ever that folks was
- a-talkin', an' a-talkin', an' that fetched her. She flung open the door
- an' faced me as mad as a turtle on its back. She showed her hand, too, an'
- I knowed she was in cahoot with 'im. She cussed me black an' blue fer a
- uncouth, meddlin' devil, an' what not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By gum!” said Pole, his big eyes expanding. “But you didn't gain much by
- that, did you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jest satisfied myself that Alan's money—or some of it—wasn't
- out o' creation, that's all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have my reasons fer believin' like you do,” said Pole.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say you have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole glanced furtively over his shoulder at his cabin to see that no one
- was within hearing, then said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know Winship is old Fred Parson's nephew. Well, old Fred's always
- been a stanch friend to me. We moonshined it together two yeer, though he
- never knowed my chief hidin'-place. In fact, nobody knows about that spot,
- Uncle Ab, even now. Well, I had a talk with him an' axed his opinion about
- his nephew. He talks as straight as a shingle, an' he ain't no idiot. He
- says it's all bosh about Winship takin' away all that boodle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He does, does he?” Abner nodded, as if to himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and he don't claim Winship ain't guilty, nuther; he jest holds that
- he was too small a dabbler in devilment. He thinks, as I do, that Craig
- run 'im off with threats of arrest an' picked that chance to bu'st. He
- thinks Winship's in a safe place an' never will be fetched back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner drew himself up straight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you talked to Alan an' Miller on that line?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tried to,” grunted Pole, in high disgust, “but Miller says it's no good
- to think of accusin' Craig. He says we can' t prove a thing on 'im, unless
- we ketch Winship. He says that sort of a steal is the easiest thing on
- earth, an' that it's done every day. But that's beca'se he was fetched up
- in the law,” Pole finished. “We-uns out heer in the mountains kin fish up
- other ways o' fetchin' a scamp to time without standin' 'im up before a
- thick-headed jury, or lettin' 'im out on bond till he dies o' old age.
- You've got sense enough to know that, Uncle Ab.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The slanting rays of the setting sun struck the old man in the face. There
- was a tinkle of cow-bells in the pasture below the cabin. The outlaw in
- Pole Baker was a thing Abner Daniel deplored; and yet, to-day it was a
- straw bobbing about on the troubled waters of the old man' s soul towards
- which, if he did not extend his hand, he looked interestedly. A grim
- expression stole into his face, drawing the merry lines down towards his
- chin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole Baker grunted in sheer derision. “I've done fool things whar thar
- wasn't a thing to be made by 'em. By gum! I'd do ten dozen fer jest a bare
- chance o' shakin' that wad o' cash in Alan Bishop's face, an' so would
- you, dern yore hide—so would you, Uncle Ab Daniel!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner blinked at the red sun.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The boy's been bad treated,” he said, evasively; “bad, bad, bad! It's
- squeezed life an' hope out o' him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you are a church-member, an' so <i>fur</i> in good-standin',” said
- Pole, “an' I ain't agoin' to pull you into no devilment; but ef I see any
- way—I say <i>ef</i> I see any way, I 'll come an' tell you the
- news.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy,” said Abner, and turned to go. He paused
- a few paces away and said, “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy, Pole.” He
- motioned towards the cabin. “You've got them in thar to look after.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole let him walk on a few paces, then he climbed over the fence and
- caught him up. He drew the piece of quartz containing the tiny nugget of
- gold from his pocket, which he had shown Abner and Dole on a former
- occasion. “You see that, Uncle Ab,” he said. “That dirty rock is like
- friendship in general, but that little yaller lump is like my friendship
- fer Alan Bishop. It's the puore thing, solid an' heavy, an' won't lose
- color. You don't know when that boy done his first favor to me. It was
- away back when we was boys together. A feller at Treadwell's mill one day,
- behind my back, called me a bad name—a name no man will take or can.
- He used my mother's name, God bless her! as puore an' holy a woman as ever
- lived, to git back at me. He hadn't no sooner spoke it than Alan was at
- his throat like a wild-cat. The skunk was bigger 'n him, but Alan beat 'im
- till he was black all over. I never heerd about it till about two weeks
- after it happened an' the feller had moved out West. Alan wouldn't let
- nobody tell me. I axed 'im why he hadn't let me know. 'Beca'se,' ses he,
- 'you'd 'a' killed 'im an' 'a' got into trouble, an' he wasn't wuth it.
- 'That's what he said, Uncle Ab.” Pole's big-jawed face was full of
- struggling emotion, his voice was husky, his eyes were filling. “That's
- why it's a-killin' me to see 'im robbed of all he's got—his pride,
- his ambition, an' the good woman that loves 'im. Huh! ef I jest <i>knowed</i>
- that pie-faced hypocrite had his money he wouldn't have it long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn't do nothin' foolhardy, Pole.” Abner looked into the fellow's
- face, drew a long, trembling breath, and finished, “I wouldn't—but I
- 'll be dumed ef I know what I'd do!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXV
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0024" id="linkimage-0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9218.jpg" alt="9218 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9218.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE following morning Pole rose before daylight and rode to Darley. As he
- reached the place, the first rays of the sun were touching the
- slate-covered spire of the largest church in town.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went to a public wagon-yard and hitched his horse to one of the long
- racks. A mountain family he knew slightly had camped in the yard, sleeping
- in their canvas-covered wagon, and were making coffee over a little fire.
- Pole wanted a cup of the beverage, but he passed on into a grocery-store
- across the street and bought a dime's worth of cheese and hard-tack
- crackers. This was his breakfast. He washed it down with a dipper of water
- from the street well, and sat around the store chatting with the clerk,
- who was sprinkling the floor, and sweeping and dusting the long room. The
- clerk was a red-headed young man with a short, bristling mustache, and a
- suit of clothes that was too large for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't Mr. Craig stay around Fincher's warehouse a good deal?” Pole asked,
- as the clerk rested for a moment on his broom near him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mighty nigh all day long,” was the reply; “him an' Fincher's some kin, I
- think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “On his wife's side,” said Pole. “I want to see Mr. Craig. I wonder ef he
- 'll be down thar this mornin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Purty apt,” said the clerk. “Fincher's his best friend sence his
- bu'st-up, an' they are mighty thick. I reckon he gits the cold-shoulder at
- a lots o' places.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't say!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “An' of course he wants somewhar to go besides home. In passing I've seed
- 'im a-figurin' several times at Fincher's desk. They say he's got some
- notion o' workin' fer Fincher as his bookkeeper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he 'll have to make a livin' some way,” said Pole.
- </p>
- <p>
- The clerk laughed significantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ef it ain't already made,” said he, with a smile. Pole stood up. “I don't
- think that's right,” he said, coldly. “Me nur you, nur nobody, hain't got
- no right to hint at what we don't know nothin' about. Mr. Craig may 'a'
- lost ever' cent he had.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In a pig's valise!” sneered the red-headed man. “I'd bet my hat he's got
- money—an' plenty of it, huh!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I don't know nothin' about it,” said Pole, still coldly. “An'
- what's more, Dunn, I ain't a-goin' about smirchin' any helpless man's
- character, nuther. Ef I knowed he had made by the bu'st I'd talk
- different, but I don't know it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I see which side you are on, Baker,” laughed the clerk. “Folks are
- about equally divided. Half is fer 'im an' half agin. But mark my words,
- Craig will slide out o' this town some day, an' be heerd of after a while
- a-gittin' started agin some'r's else. That racket has been worked to death
- all over the country.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole carried the discussion no further. Half an hour passed. Customers
- were coming in from the wagon-yard and examining the wares on the counters
- and making slow purchases. The proprietor came in and let the clerk go to
- breakfast. Pole stood in the doorway, looking up the street in the
- direction of Craig's residence. Presently he saw the ex-banker coming from
- the post-office, reading his mail. Pole stepped back into the store and
- let him go by; then he went to the door again and saw Craig go into
- Fincher's warehouse at the end of the next block of straggling, wooden
- buildings. Pole sauntered down the sidewalk in that direction, passing the
- front door of the warehouse without looking in. The door at the side of
- the house had a long platform before it, and on it Fincher, the
- proprietor, was weighing bales of hay which were being unloaded from
- several wagons by the countrymen who were disposing of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello, Mr. Fincher,” Pole greeted him, familiarly. “Want any help
- unloadin'?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hello, Baker,” said Fincher, looking up from the blank-book in which he
- was recording the weights. “No, I reckon they can handle it all right.”
- Fincher was a short, fat man, very bald, and with a round, laughing face.
- He had known Pole a long time and considered him a most amusing character.
- “How do you come on, Pole?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, about as common. I jest thought them fellers looked sorter
- light-weight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The men on the wagon laughed as they thumped a bale of hay on to the
- platform. “You'd better dry up,” one of them said. “We 'll git the mayor
- to put you to work agin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he 'll have to be quicker about it than he was the last time,” said
- Pole, dryly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some one laughed lustily from behind a tall stack of wheat in bags in the
- warehouse. It was Lawyer Trabue. He came round and picked up Fincher's
- daily paper, as he did every morning, and sat down and began to read it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now you are talkin',” he said. “Thar was more rest in that job, Pole,
- than any you ever undertook. They tell me you didn't crack a rock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fincher laughed as he closed his book and struck Baker with it playfully.
- “Pole was too tired to do that job,” he said. “He was born that way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say, Mr. Trabue,” retaliated Pole, “did you ever heer how I got the best
- o' Mr. Fincher in a chicken trade?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't think I ever did, Pole,” laughed the lawyer, expectantly. “How
- was it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come off, don't go over that again,” said Fincher, flushing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was this away,” said Pole, with a broad, wholesome grin. “My cousin,
- Bart Wilks, was runnin' the restaurant under the car-shed about two yeer
- ago. He was a new hand at the business, an' one day he had a awful rush.
- He got a telegram that a trainload o' passengers had missed connection at
- Chattanooga an' would have to eat with him. He was powerful rattled,
- runnin' round like a dog after its tail. He knowed he'd have to have a lot
- o' fryin' chickens, an' he couldn't leave the restaurant, so he axed me ef
- I'd take the money an' go out in town an' buy 'em fer 'im. I consented,
- an' struck Mr. Fincher, who was sellin' sech truck then. He 'lowed, you
- know, that I jest wanted one, or two at the outside, fer my own use, so
- when I seed a fine coop out in front an' axed the price of 'em he kinder
- drawed on his beerd till his mouth fell open, an' studied how he could
- make the most out o' me. After a while he said: 'Well, Pole, I 'll make
- 'em ten cents apiece ef I pick 'em, an' fifteen ef you pick 'em.' I sorter
- skeerd the chickens around an' seed thar was two or three tiny ones hidin'
- under the big ones, an' I seed what he was up to, but I was ready fer 'im.
- 'All right,' ses I, 'you pick 'em.' Thar was two or three loafers standin'
- round an' they all laughed at me when Mr. Fincher got down over the coop
- an' finally ketched one about the size of a robin an' hauled it out. 'Keep
- on a-pickin',' ses I, an' he made a grab fer one a little bigger an'
- handed it up to me. Then he stuck his hands down in his pockets, doin' his
- best to keep from laughin'. The gang yelled then, but I wasn't done. 'Keep
- on a-pickin',' ses I. An' he got down agin. An', sir, I got that coop at
- about four cents apiece less 'n he'd paid fer 'em. He tried to back, but
- the gang wouldn't let 'im. It was the cheapest lot o' chickens I ever
- seed. I turned the little ones out to fatten, an' made Wilks pay me the
- market-price all round fer the bunch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll be bound you made some 'n' out of it,” said Trabue. “Fincher, did
- you ever heer how that scamp tuck in every merchant on this street about
- two yeer ago?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never heerd anything except his owin' 'em all,” said Fincher, with a
- laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could put 'im in the penitentiary fer it,” affirmed the lawyer. “You
- know about that time thar was a powerful rivalry goin' on among the
- storekeepers. They was movin' heaven an' earth to sell the'r big stocks.
- Well, one of the spryest in the lot, Joe Gaylord, noticed that Pole was
- powerful popular with mountain-folks, an' he made 'im a proposition,
- bindin' 'im down to secrecy. He proposed to give Pole ten per cent,
- commission on all the goods he'd he'p sell by bringin' customers in the
- store. Pole hesitated, beca'se, he said, they might find it out, an' Joe
- finally agreed that all Pole would have to do was to fetch 'em in, give
- the wink, an' him an' his clerks would do the rest. It worked mighty slick
- fer a while, but Pole noticed that very often the folks he'd fetch in
- wouldn't be pleased with the goods an' prices an' ud go trade some'r's
- else. Then what do you think the scamp did? He went to every store in town
- an' made a secret contract to git ten per cent, on all sales, an' he had
- the softest snap you ever heerd of. He'd simply hang onto a gang from the
- country, whether he knowed 'em or not, an' foller 'em around till they
- bought; then he'd walk up an' rake in his part.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got left once,” said Pole, laughing with the others. “One gang that I
- stuck to all day went over to Melton an' bought.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, the merchants caught on after a while an' stopped him,” said
- Trabue; “but he made good money while he was at it. They'd 'a' sent 'im up
- fer it, ef it hadn't been sech a good joke on 'em.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know about that,” replied Pole, thoughtfully. “I was doin' all I
- agreed, an' ef they could afford to pay ten per cent, to anybody, they
- mought as well 'a' paid it to me. I drawed trade to the whole town. The
- cigars an' whiskey I give away amounted to a lots. I've set up many a
- night tellin' them moss-backs tales to make 'em laugh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, ef you ever git into any trouble let me know,” said Trabue, as he
- rose to go. “I 'll defend you at half price; you'd be a sight o' help to a
- lawyer. I 'll be hanged if I ever seed a better case 'an you made out in
- the mayor's court, an' you hadn't a thing to back it up with, nuther.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The hay was unloaded and the wagons driven away. Fincher stood eying Pole
- with admiration. “It's a fact,” he said. “You could 'a' made some 'n' out
- o' yorese'f, if you'd 'a' been educated, an' had a showin'.” Pole jerked
- his thumb over his shoulder at Craig, who was standing in the front door,
- looking out into the street. “Everybody don't git a fair showin' in this
- world, Mr. Fincher,” he said. “That man Craig hain't been treated right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The jovial expression died out of the merchant's face, and he leaned
- against the door-jamb.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right thar,” he said—“dead right. He's been mighty unlucky
- and bad treated.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole grasped the brim of his massive hat, and drew it from his shaggy
- head. “It makes me so all-fired mad sometimes, Mr. Fincher, to heer folks
- a-runnin' that man down, that I want to fight. I ain't no religious man
- myse'f, but I respect one, an' I've always put him down in my book as a
- good man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So 've I,” said the merchant, and he looked towards the subject of their
- conversation and called out: “Craig, oh, Craig, come back heer a minute.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole put on his hat and stared at the ground. He made a gesture as if of
- protest, but refrained from speaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's wanted?” Craig came down to them. He was smoking a cigar and wore
- a comfortable look, as if he had been fighting a hard but successful fight
- and now heard only random shots from a fleeing enemy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You ain't a candidate fer office,” laughed Fincher, “but nearly all men
- like to know they've got friends. This chap heer's been standin' up fer
- you. He says it makes him mad to hear folks talk agin you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it's Baker!” exclaimed the ex-banker, shaking hands with Pole and
- beaming on him. “Well, I don't know a man I'd rather have for a friend,”
- he said, smoothly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole tossed his head, and looked straight into the speaker's eye. “I'm fer
- human justice, Mr. Craig,” he said. “An' I don't think folks has treated
- you right. What man is thar that don't now an' then make mistakes, sir?
- You've always had means, an' I never was anything but a pore mountain-boy,
- but I've always looked on you as a good man, a law-abidin' man, an' I
- don't like to heer folks try to blame you fer what another man done. When
- you had plenty, I never come nigh you, beca'se I knowed you belonged to
- one life an' me another, but now you are flat o' yore back, sir, I'm yore
- friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig's face beamed; he pulled his beard; his eyes danced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm glad there are men in the world like you, Baker,” he said. “I say I'm
- glad, and I mean it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fincher had begun to look over the figures in his book, and walked to the
- front.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my friendship ain't wuth nothin',” said Pole. “I know that. I never
- was in the shape to he'p nobody, but I know when a man' s treated right or
- wrong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, if you ever need assistance, and I can help you, don't fail to call
- on me,” Craig spoke with a tone of sincerity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole took a deep breath and lowered his voice, glancing cautiously into
- the house, as if fearful of being overheard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I <i>do</i> need advice, Mr. Craig,” he said. “Not money, nor
- nothin' expensive, but I've laid awake night after night wishing 'at I
- could run on some man of experience that I could ax fer advice, an' that I
- could trust. Mr. Craig, I 'll be blamed ef I don't feel like tellin' you
- some 'n' that never has passed my lips.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig stared in interested astonishment. “Well, you can trust me, Baker,”
- he said; “and if I can advise you, why, I 'll do it with pleasure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a cotton compress near by, with its vast sheds and platforms,
- and Pole looked at it steadily. He thrust his hand into his pants pocket
- and kept it there for a full minute. Then he shook his head, drew out his
- hand, and said: “I reckon I won't bother you to-day, Mr. Craig. Some day I
- 'll come in town an' tell you, but—” Pole looked at the sun. “I
- reckon I'd better be goin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold on,” Craig caught Pole's arm. The exbanker was a natural man.
- Despite his recent troubles, he had his share of curiosity, and Pole's
- manner and words had roused it to unwonted activity. “Hold on,” he said.
- “What's your hurry? I've got time to spare if you have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole hung his head for a moment in silence, then he looked the old man in
- the face. “Mr. Craig,” he began, in even a lower voice, “do you reckon
- thar's any gold in them mountains?” Pole nodded to the blue wave in the
- east.
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig was standing near a bale of cotton and he sat down on it, first
- parting the tails of his long, black coat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know; there might be,” he said, deeply interested, and yet trying
- to appear indifferent. “There is plenty of it in the same range further
- down about Dalonega.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole had his hand in the right pocket of his rough jean trousers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is thar anybody in this town that could tell a piece o' gold ef they seed
- it?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, a good many, I reckon,” said Craig, a steely beam of excitement in
- his unsteady eye. “I can, myself. I spent two years in the gold-mines of
- California when I was a young man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't say! I never knowed that.” Pole had really heard of that fact,
- but his face was straight. He had managed to throw into it a most
- wonderful blending of fear and over-cautiousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes; I've had a good deal of experience in such things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't say!” Pole was looking towards the compress again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig laughed out suddenly, and put his hand on Pole's shoulder with a
- friendly, downward stroke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can trust me, Baker,” he said, persuasively, “and it may be that I
- could be of assistance to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something like an actual tremor of agitation in Pole's rough
- hand as he drew his little nugget from its resting-place at the bottom of
- his pocket. With a deep, indrawn breath, he handed it to Craig. “Is that
- thar little lump gold or not?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig started visibly as his eyes fell on the piece of gold. But he took
- it indifferently, and examined it closely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where did you run across that?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to know ef it's the puore thing,” answered Pole.
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig made another examination, obviously to decide on the method he would
- apply to a situation that claimed all his interest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it is,” he said; “in fact, I know it is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole took it eagerly, thrust it back into his pocket, and said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Craig, I know whar thar's a vein o' that stuff twenty yards thick,
- runnin' clean through a mountain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do!” Craig actually paled under his suppressed excitement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir; an' I kin buy it, lock, stock, and barrel, fer five hundred
- dollars—the feller that owns it ud jump at it like a duck on a
- June-bug. That's my secret, Mr. Craig. I hain't one dollar to my name, but
- from this day on I'm goin' to work hard an' save my money till I own that
- property. I'm a-goin' down to Atlanta next week, whar people don't know
- me, an' have a lump of it bigger 'n this examined, an' ef it's gold I 'll
- own the land sooner or later.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig glanced to the rear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come back here,” he said. Opening a door at the end of the warehouse, he
- led Pole into a more retired spot, where they would be free from possible
- interruption. Then, in a most persuasive voice, he continued: “Baker, you
- need a man of experience with you in this. Besides, if there is as much of—of
- that stuff as you say there is, you wouldn't be able to use all you could
- make out of it. Now, it might take you a long time to get up the money to
- buy the land, and there is no telling what might happen in the mean time.
- I'm in a close place, but I could raise five hundred dollars, or even a
- thousand. My friends still stick to me, you know. The truth is, Baker, I'd
- like the best in the world to be able to make money to pay back what some
- of my friends have lost through me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole hung his head. He seemed to be speaking half to himself and on the
- verge of a smile when he replied: “I'd like to see you pay back some of
- 'em too, Mr. Craig.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig laid his hand gently on Pole's shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How about lettin' me see the place, Baker?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole hesitated, and then he met the ex-banker's look with the expression
- of a man who has resigned himself to a generous impulse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, some day when you are a-passin' my way, stop in, an' I 'll—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How far is it?” broke in Craig, pulling his beard with unsteady fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A good fifteen miles from heer,” said Pole.
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig smiled. “Nothin' but an easy ride,” he declared. “I've got a horse
- doin' nothing in the stable. What's to hinder us from going to-day—this
- morning—as soon as I can go by for my horse?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't keer,” said Pole, resignedly. “But could you manage to go without
- anybody knowin' whar you was bound fer?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Easy enough,” Craig laughed. He was really pleased with Pole's extreme
- cautiousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you mought meet me out thar some'r's.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A good idea—a good idea, Baker.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know whar the Ducktown road crosses Holly Creek, at the foot o'
- Old Pine Mountain?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As well as I know where my house is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole looked at the sun, shading his eyes with his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Could you be thar by eleven o'clock?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Easy enough, Baker.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I 'll meet you—I'm a-goin' to trust you, Mr. Craig, an' when
- you see the vein, ef you think thar's enough money in it fer two—but
- we can see about that later.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, Baker. I 'll be there. But say,” as Pole was moving away, “you
- are a drinking man, and get a little off sometimes. You haven't said
- anything about this where anybody—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole laughed reassuringly. “I never have been drunk enough to do that, Mr.
- Craig, an', what's more, I never will be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXVI
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0025" id="linkimage-0025"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9230.jpg" alt="9230 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9230.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- BOUT noon that day, as Pole Baker sat on a fallen tree near the road-side
- in the loneliest spot of that rugged country, his horse grazing behind
- him, he saw Craig coming up the gradual incline from the creek. Pole stood
- up and caught the bridle-rein of his horse and muttered:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, Pole Baker, durn yore hide, you've got brains—at least, some
- folks say you have—an' so has he. Ef you don't git the best of that
- scalawag yo' re done fer. You've put purty big things through; now put
- this un through or shet up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, heer you are,” merrily cried out the ex-banker, as he came up. He
- was smiling expectantly. “Your secret's safe with me. I hain't met a soul
- that I know sence I left town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm glad you didn't, Mr. Craig,” Pole said. “I don't want anybody
- a-meddlin' with my business.” He pointed up the rather steep and rocky
- road that led gradually up the mountain. “We've got two or three mile
- furder to go. Have you had any dinner?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I put a cold biscuit and a slice of ham in my pocket,” said Craig. “It
- 'll do me till supper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole mounted and led the way up the unfrequented road.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I may as well tell you, Mr. Craig, that I used to be a moonshiner in
- these mountains, an'—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lord, I knew that, Baker. Who doesn't, I'd like to know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole's big-booted legs swung back and forth like pendulums from the flanks
- of his horse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was a-goin' to tell you that I had a hide-out, whar I kept stuff
- stored, that wasn't knowed by one livin' man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you must have had a slick place from all I've heerd,” said Craig,
- still in his vast good-humor with himself and everybody else.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The best natur' ever built,” said Pole; “an' what's more, it was in thar
- that I found the gold. I reckon it ud 'a' been diskivered long ago, ef it
- had 'a' been above ground.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it's in—a sort of cave?” ventured Craig.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's jest it; but I've got the mouth of it closed up so it ud fool even
- a bloodhound.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Half an hour later Pole drew rein in a most isolated spot, near a great
- yawning canon from which came a roaring sound of rushing water and
- clashing winds. The sky overhead was blue and cloudless; the air at that
- altitude was crisp and rarefied, and held the odor of spruce pine. With a
- laugh Pole dismounted. “What ef I was to tell you, Mr. Craig, that you was
- in ten yards o' my old den right now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig looked about in surprise. “I'd think you was makin' fun o' me—tenderfootin',
- as we used to say out West.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm givin' it to you straight,” said Pole, pointing with his
- riding-switch. “Do you see that pile o' rocks?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Right under them two flat ones is the mouth o' my den,” said Pole. “Now
- let's hitch to that hemlock, an' I 'll show you the whole thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had fastened their horses to swinging limbs in a dense thicket
- of laurel and rhododendron bushes, they went to the pile of rocks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I toted mighty nigh all of 'em from higher up,” Pole explained. “Some o'
- the biggest I rolled down from that cliff above.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't see how you are going to get into your hole in the ground,” said
- Craig, with a laugh of pleasant anticipation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole picked up a big, smooth stick of hickory, shaped like a crowbar, and
- thrust the end of it under the largest rock. “Huh! I 'll show you in a
- jiffy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an enormous stone weighing over three hundred pounds; but with his
- strong lever and knotted muscles the ex-moonshiner managed to slide it
- slowly to the right, disclosing a black hole about two feet square in the
- ragged stone. From this protruded into the light the ends of a crude
- ladder leading down about twenty-five feet to the bottom of the cave.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ugh!” Craig shuddered, as he peered into the dank blackness. “You don't
- mean that we are to go down there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a crisis. Craig seemed to be swayed between two impulses—a
- desire to penetrate farther and an almost controlling premonition of
- coming danger. Pole met the situation with his usual originality and
- continued subtlety of procedure. With his big feet dangling in the hole he
- threw himself back and gave vent to a hearty, prolonged laugh that went
- ringing and echoing about among the cliffs and chasms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'lowed this ud make yore flesh crawl,” he said. “Looks like the openin'
- to the bad place, don't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It certainly does,” said Craig, somewhat reassured by Pole's levity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, it <i>ain' t</i> more 'n forty feet square,” said Pole. “Wait till I
- run down an' make a light. I've got some fat pine torches down at the foot
- o' the ladder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I believe I <i>will</i> let you go first,” said Craig, with an
- uneasy little laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole went down the ladder, recklessly thumping his heels on the rungs. He
- was lost to sight from above, but in a moment Craig heard him strike a
- match, and saw the red, growing flame of a sputtering torch from which
- twisted a rope of smoke. When it was well ablaze, Pole called up the
- ladder: “Come on, now, an' watch whar you put yore feet. This end o' the
- ladder is solid as the rock o' Gibralty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The square of daylight above was cut off, and in a moment the ex-banker
- stood beside his guide.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now come down this way,” said Pole, and with the torch held high he led
- the way into a part of the chamber where the rock overhead sloped, down
- lower. Here lay some old whiskey-barrels, two or three lager-beer kegs,
- and the iron hoops of several barrels that had been burned. There were
- several one-gallon jugs with corn-cob stoppers. Pole swept his hand over
- them with a laugh. “If you was a drinkin' man, I could treat you to a
- thimbleful or two left in them jugs,” he said, almost apologetically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I don't drink, Baker,” Craig said. His premonition of danger seemed
- to have returned to him, and to be driven in by the dank coolness of the
- cavern, the evidence of past outlawry around him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole heaped his pieces of pine against a rock, and added to them the
- chunks of some barrel-staves, which set up a lively popping sound like a
- tiny fusillade of artillery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see that rock behind you, Mr. Craig?” asked Pole. “Well, set down on
- it. Before we go any furder, me'n you've got to have a understanding.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man stared hesitatingly for an instant, and then, after carefully
- feeling of the stone, he complied.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought we already—but, of course,” he said, haltingly, “I'm
- ready to agree to anything that 'll make you feel safe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I kinder 'lowed you would,'' and to Craig's overwhelming astonishment
- Pole drew a revolver from his hip-pocket and looked at it, twirling the
- cylinder with a deft thumb.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean, Baker—'' But Craig's words remained unborn in his
- bewildered brain. The rigor of death itself seemed to have beset his
- tongue. A cold sweat broke out on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean that I've tuck the trouble to fetch you heer fer a purpose, Mr.
- Craig, an' thar ain't any use in beatin' about the bush to git at it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig made another effort at utterance, but failed. Pole could hear his
- rapid breathing and see the terrified gleaming of his wide-open eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've had a lots o' dealin' s, Mr. Craig,” said Pole. “You've made yore
- mistakes an' had yore good luck, but you never did a bigger fool thing 'an
- you did when you listened to my tale about that lump o' gold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've trapped me!” burst from Craig's quivering lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's about the size of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But—why?” The words formed the beginning and the end of a gasp.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole towered over him, the revolver in his tense hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Craig, thar is one man in this world that I'd die fer twenty times
- over. I love 'im more than a brother. That man you've robbed of every
- dollar an' hope on earth. I've fetched you heer to die a lingerin' death,
- ef—ef, I say, <i>ef</i>—you don't refund his money. That man
- is Alan Bishop, an' the amount is twenty-five thousand dollars to a cent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I haven't any money,” moaned the crouching figure; “not a dollar that
- I kin lay my hands on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you are in a damn bad fix,” said Pole. “Unless I git that amount o'
- money from you you 'll never smell a breath o' fresh air or see natural
- daylight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean to kill a helpless man?” The words were like a prayer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd bottle you up heer to die,” said Pole Baker, firmly. “You've met me
- in this lonely spot, an' no man could lay yore end to me. In fact, all
- that know you would swear you'd run off from the folks you've defrauded.
- You see nothin' but that money o' Alan Bishop's kin possibly save you. You
- know that well enough, an' thar ain't a bit o' use palaverin' about it.
- I've fetched a pen an' ink an' paper, an' you've got to write me an order
- fer the money. If I have to go as fur off as Atlanta, I 'll take the fust
- train an' go after it. If I git the money, you git out, ef I don't you
- won't see me agin, nur nobody else till you face yore Maker.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig bent over his knees and groaned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think I <i>have</i> money,” he said, straightening up. “Oh, my God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I <i>know</i> it,” said Pole. “I don't think anything about it—I <i>know</i>
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took out the pen and ink from his pants pocket and unfolded a sheet of
- paper. “Git to work,” he said. “You needn't try to turn me, you damned old
- hog!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig raised a pair of wide-open, helpless eyes to the rigid face above
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my God!” he said, again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You let God alone an' git down to business,” said Pole, taking a fresh
- hold on the handle of his weapon. “I'm not goin' to waste time with you.
- Either you git me Alan Bishop's money or you 'll die. Hurry up!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you keep faith with me—if—if—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, durn you, why wouldn't I?” A gleam of triumph flashed in the
- outlaw's eyes. Up to this moment he had been groping in experimental
- darkness. He now saw his way clearly and his voice rang with dawning
- triumph.
- </p>
- <p>
- The ex-banker had taken the pen and Pole spread out the sheet of paper on
- his knee.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What assurance have I?” stammered Craig, his face like a death-mask
- against the rock behind him. “You see, after you got the money, you might
- think it safer to leave me here, thinking that I would prosecute you. I
- wouldn't, as God is my judge, but you might be afraid—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not afraid o' nothin',” said Pole. “Old man, you couldn't handle me
- without puttin' yorese'f in jail fer the rest o' yore life. That order's
- a-goin' to be proof that you have money when you've swore publicly that
- you didn't. No; when I'm paid back Alan Bishop's money I 'll let you go. I
- don't want to kill a man fer jest tryin' to steal an' not makin' the
- riffle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The logic struck home. The warmth of hope diffused itself over the gaunt
- form. “Then I 'll write a note to my wife,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole reached for one of the torches and held it near the paper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I'm glad I won't have to go furder'n Darley,” he said. “It 'll be
- better fer both of us. By ridin' peert I can let you out before sundown.
- You may git a late supper at Darley, but it's a sight better'n gittin'
- none heer an' no bed to speak of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm putting my life in your hands, Baker,” said Craig, and with an
- unsteady hand he began to write.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold on thar,” said Pole. “You 'll know the best way to write to her, but
- when the money's mentioned I want you to say the twenty-five thousand
- dollars deposited in the bank by the Bishops. You see I'm not goin' to
- tote no order fer money I hain't no right to. An' I 'll tell you another
- thing, old man, you needn't throw out no hint to her to have me arrested.
- As God is my final judge, ef I'm tuck up fer this, they 'll never make me
- tell whar you are. I'd wait until you'd pegged out, anyway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm not setting any trap for you, Baker,” whined Craig. “You've got the
- longest head of any man I ever knew. You've got me in your power, and all
- I can ask of you is my life. I've got Bishop's money hidden in my house. I
- am willing to restore it, if you will release me. I can write my wife a
- note that will cause her to give it to you. Isn't that fair?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's all I want,” said Pole; “an' I 'll say this to you, I 'll agree to
- use my influence with Alan Bishop not to handle you by law; but the best
- thing fer you an' yore family to do is to shake the dirt of Darley off'n
- yore feet an' seek fresh pastures. These 'round heer ain't as green, in
- one way, as some I've seed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Craig wrote the note and handed it up to Baker. Pole read it slowly, and
- then said: “You mought 'a' axed 'er to excuse bad writin' an' spellin',
- an' hopin' these few lines will find you enjoyin' the same blessin' s; but
- ef it gits the boodle that's all I want. Now you keep yore shirt on, an'
- don't git skeerd o' the darkness. It will be as black as pitch, an' you
- kin heer yore eyelids creak after I shet the front door, but I 'll be back—ef
- I find yore old lady hain't run off with a handsomer man an' tuck the swag
- with 'er. I'm glad you cautioned 'er agin axin' me questions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole backed to the foot of the ladder, followed by Craig.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't leave me here, Baker,” he said, imploringly. “Don't, for God's
- sake! I swear I 'll go with you and get you the money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't do that, Mr. Craig; but I 'll be back as shore as fate, ef I get
- that cash,” promised Pole. “It all depends on that. I 'll keep my word, if
- you do yore'n.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going to trust you,” said the old man, with the pleading intonation
- of a cowed and frightened child.
- </p>
- <p>
- After he had gotten out, Pole thrust his head into the opening again. “It
- 'll be like you to come up heer an' try to move this rock,” he called out,
- “but you mought as well not try it, fer I'm goin' to add about a dump-cart
- load o' rocks to it to keep the wolves from diggin' you out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXVII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0026" id="linkimage-0026"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9239.jpg" alt="9239 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9239.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- AYBURN MILLER and Alan spent that day on the river trying to catch fish,
- but with no luck at all, returning empty-handed to the farm-house for a
- late dinner. They passed the afternoon at target-shooting on the lawn with
- rifles and revolvers, ending the day by a reckless ride on their horses
- across the fields, over fences and ditches, after the manner of
- fox-hunting, a sport not often indulged in in that part of the country.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the evening as they sat in the big sitting-room, smoking after-supper
- cigars, accompanied by Abner Daniel, with his long, cane-stemmed pipe,
- Mrs. Bishop came into the room, in her quiet way, smoothing her apron with
- her delicate hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pole Baker's rid up an' hitched at the front gate,” she said. “Did you
- send 'im to town fer anything, Alan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, mother,” replied her son. “I reckon he's come to get more meat. Is
- father out there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think he's some'r's about the stable,” said Mrs. Bishop.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller laughed. “I guess Pole isn't the best pay in the world, is he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father never weighs or keeps account of anything he gets,” said Alan.
- “They both make a guess at it, when cotton is sold. Father calls it
- 'lumping' the thing, and usually Pole gets the lump. But he's all right,
- and I wish we could do more for him. Father was really thinking about
- helping him in some substantial way when the crash came—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thar!” broke in Daniel, with a gurgling laugh, “I've won my bet. I bet to
- myse'f jest now that ten minutes wouldn't pass 'fore Craig an' his
- bu'st-up would be mentioned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have been at it, off and on, all day,” said Miller, with a low laugh.
- “The truth is, it makes me madder than anything I ever encountered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know why?” asked Abner, seriously, just as Pole Baker came through
- the dining-room and leaned against the door-jamb facing them. “It's
- beca'se”—nodding a greeting to Pole along with the others—“it's
- beca'se you know in reason that he's got that money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I wouldn't say <i>that</i>,” protested Miller, in the tone of a man
- of broad experience in worldly affairs. “I wouldn't say that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I would, an' do,” said Abner, in the full tone of decision. “I <i>know</i>
- he's got it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, yo' re wrong thar, Uncle Ab,” said Pole, striding forward and
- sinking into a chair. “You've got as good jedgment as any man I ever run
- across. I thought like you do once. I'd 'a' tuck my oath that he had it
- about two hours by sun this evenin', but I kin swear he hain't a cent of
- it now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean that, Pole?” Abner stared across the wide hearth at him
- fixedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He hain't got it, Uncle Ab.” Pole was beginning to smile mysteriously.
- “He <i>did</i> have it, but he hain't got it now. I got it from 'im, blast
- his ugly pictur'!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>You</i> got it?” gasped Daniel. “<i>You?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I made up my mind he had it, an' it deviled me so much that I
- determined to have it by hook or crook, ef it killed me, or put me in hock
- the rest o' my life.” Pole rose and took a packet wrapped in brown paper
- from under his rough coat and laid it on the table near Alan. “God bless
- you, old boy,” he said, “thar's yore money! It's all thar. I counted it.
- It's in fifties an' hundreds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Breathlessly, and with expanded eyes, Alan broke the string about the
- packet and opened it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great God!” he muttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller sprang up and looked at the stack of bills, but said nothing.
- Abner, leaning forward, uttered a little, low laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you didn't kill 'im, did you, Pole, old boy—you didn't,
- did you?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn't harm a hair of his head,” said Pole. “All I wanted was Alan' s
- money, an' thar it is!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” grunted Daniel, “I'm glad you spared his life. And I thank God you
- got the money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller was now hurriedly running over the bills.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say you counted it, Baker?” he said, pale with pleased excitement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Three times; fust when it was turned over to me, an' twice on the way out
- heer from town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Bishop had not spoken until now, standing in the shadows of the
- others as if bewildered by what seemed a mocking impossibility.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it our money—is it our'n?” she finally found voice to say. “Oh,
- is it, Pole?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, 'm,” replied Pole. “It's yo'rn.” He produced a crumpled piece of
- paper and handed it to Miller. “Heer's Craig's order on his wife fer it,
- an' in it he acknowledges it's the cash deposited by Mr. Bishop. He won't
- give me no trouble. I've got 'im fixed. He 'll leave Darley in the
- mornin'. He's afeerd this 'll git out an' he 'll be lynched.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan was profoundly moved. He transferred his gaze from the money to
- Pole's face, and leaned towards him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You did it out of friendship for me,” he said, his voice shaking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's what I did it fer, Alan, an' I wish I could do it over agin. When
- I laid hold o' that wad an' knowed it was the thing you wanted more'n
- anything else, I felt like flyin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell us all about it, Baker,” said Miller, wrapping up the stack of
- bills.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right,” said Pole, but Mrs. Bishop interrupted him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait fer Alfred,” she said, her voice rising and cracking in delight.
- “Wait; I 'll run find 'im.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She went out through the dining-room towards the stables, calling her
- husband at every step. “Alfred, oh, Alfred!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heer!” she heard him call out from one of the stables.
- </p>
- <p>
- She leaned over the fence opposite the closed door, behind which she had
- heard his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Alfred!” she called, “come out, quick! I've got news fer you—big,
- big news!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She heard him grumbling as he emptied some ears of corn into the trough of
- the stall containing Alan' s favorite horse, and then with a growl he
- emerged into the starlight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That fool nigger only give Alan's hoss six ears o' corn,” he fumed. “I
- know, beca'se I counted the cobs; the hoss had licked the trough clean,
- an' gnawed the ends o' the cobs. The idea o' starvin' my stock right
- before my—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Alfred, what <i>do</i> you think has happened?” his wife broke in.
- “We've got the bank money back! Pole Baker managed somehow to get it. He's
- goin' to tell about it now. Come on in!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop closed the door behind him; he fumbled with the chain and padlock
- for an instant, then he moved towards her, his lip hanging, his eyes
- protruding.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll believe my part o' that when—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But,” she cried, opening the gate for him to pass through, “the money's
- thar in the house on the table; it's been counted. I say it's thar! Don't
- you believe it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man moved through the gate mechanically. He paused to fasten it
- with the iron ring over the two posts. But after that he seemed to lose
- the power of locomotion. He stood facing her, his features working.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll believe my part o' that cat-an'-bull story when I see—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, come in the house, then,” she cried. “You kin lay yore hands on it
- an' count it. It's a awful big pile, an' nothin' less than fifty-dollar
- bills.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Grasping his arm, she half dragged, half led him into the house. Entering
- the sitting-room, he strode to the table and, without a word, picked up
- the package and opened it. He made an effort to count the money, but his
- fingers seemed to have lost their cunning, and he gave it up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's all there,” Miller assured him, “and it's your money. You needn't
- bother about that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop sat down in his place in the chimney corner, the packet on his
- knees, while Pole Baker, modestly, and not without touches of humor,
- recounted his experiences.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The toughest job I had was managin' the woman,” Pole laughed. “You kin
- always count on a woman to be contrary. I believe ef you was tryin' to git
- some women out of a burnin' house they'd want to have the'r way about it.
- She read the order an' got white about the gills an' screamed, low, so
- nobody wouldn't heer 'er, an' then wanted to ax questions. That's the
- female of it. She knowed in reason that Craig was dead fixed an' couldn't
- git out until she complied with the instructions, but she wanted to know
- all about it. I reckon she thought he wouldn't give full particulars—an'
- he won't, nuther. She wouldn't budge to git the money, an' time was
- a-passin'. I finally had a thought that fetched 'er. I told 'er Craig was
- confined in a place along with a barrel o' gunpowder; that a slow fuse was
- burnin' towards 'im, an' that he'd go sky-high at about sundown ef I
- didn't git thar an' kick out the fire. Then I told 'er she'd be arrested
- fer holdin' the money, an' that got 'er in a trot. She fetched it out
- purty quick, a-cryin' an' abusin' me by turns. As soon as the money left
- 'er hands though, she begun to beg me to ride fast. I wanted to come heer
- fust; but I felt sorter sorry fer Craig, an' went an' let 'im out. He was
- the gladdest man to see me you ever looked at. He thought I was goin' to
- leave 'im thar. He looked like he wanted to hug me. He says Winship wasn't
- much to blame. They both got in deep water speculatin', an' Craig was
- tempted to cabbage on the twenty-five thousand dollars.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Pole had concluded, the group sat in silence for a long time. It
- looked as if Bishop wanted to openly thank Pole for what he had done, but
- he had never done such a thing in the presence of others, and he could not
- pull himself to it. He sat crouched up in his tilted chair as if burning
- up with the joy of his release.
- </p>
- <p>
- The silence was broken by Abner Daniel, as he filled his pipe anew and
- stood over the fireplace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They say money's a cuss an' the root of all evil,” he said, dryly. “But
- in this case it's give Pole Baker thar a chance to show what's in 'im. I'd
- 'a' give the last cent I have to 'a' done what he did to-day. I grant you
- he used deception, but it was the fust-water sort that that Bible king
- resorted to when he made out he was goin' to divide that baby by cuttin'
- it in halves. He fetched out the good an' squelched the bad.” Abner
- glanced at Pole, and gave one of his impulsive inward laughs. “My boy,
- when I reach t'other shore I expect to see whole strings o' sech
- law-breakers as you a-playin' leap-frog on the golden sands. You don't
- sing an' pray a whole lot, nur keep yore religion in sight, but when
- thar's work to be done you shuck off yore shirt an' do it like a wild-cat
- a-scratchin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- No one spoke after this outburst for several minutes, though the glances
- cast in his direction showed the embarrassed ex-moonshiner that one and
- all had sanctioned Abner Daniel's opinion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop leaned forward and looked at the clock, and seeing that it was
- nine, he put the money in a bureau-drawer and turned the key. Then he took
- down the big family Bible from its shelf and sat down near the lamp. They
- all knew what the action portended.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's another thing,” smiled Abner Daniel, while his brother-in-law was
- searching for his place in the big Book. “Money may be a bad thing, a cuss
- an' a evil, an' what not, but Alf 'ain't felt like holdin' prayer sence
- the bad news come; an' now that he's got the scads once more the fust
- thing is an appeal to the Throne. Yes, it may be a bad thing, but
- sometimes it sets folks to singin' an' shoutin'. Ef I was a-runnin' of the
- universe, I believe I'd do a lots o' distributin' in low places. I'd
- scrape off a good many tops an' level up more. Accordin' to some, the
- Lord's busy watchin' birds fall to the ground. I reckon our hard times is
- due to them pesky English sparrows that's overrun ever'thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You'd better dry up, Uncle Ab,” said Pole Baker. “That's the kind o' talk
- that made brother Dole jump on you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh! That's a fact,” said Daniel; “but this is in the family.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Bishop began to read in his even, declamatory voice, and all the
- others looked steadily at the fire in the chimney, their faces lighted up
- by the flickering flames.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had risen from their knees after prayer, Pole looked at Abner
- with eyes from which shot beams of amusement. He seemed to enjoy nothing
- so much as hearing Abner's religious opinions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say this thing has set Mr. Bishop to prayin', Uncle Ab?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's what,” smiled Abner, who had never admired Baker so much before.
- “Ef I stay heer, an' they ever git that railroad through, I'm goin' to
- have me a pair o' knee-pads made.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXVIII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0027" id="linkimage-0027"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9247.jpg" alt="9247 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9247.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- BOUT a week after the events recorded in the preceding chapter, old man
- Bishop, just at dusk one evening, rode up to Pole Baker's humble domicile.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole was in the front yard making a fire of sticks, twigs, and chips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's that fer?” the old man questioned, as he dismounted and hitched
- his horse to the worm fence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To drive off mosquitoes,” said Pole, wiping his eyes, which were red from
- the effects of the smoke. “I 'll never pass another night like the last un
- ef I kin he'p it. I 'lowed my hide was thick, but they bored fer oil all
- over me from dark till sun-up. I never 've tried smoke, but Hank Watts
- says it's ahead o' pennyr'yal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shucks!” grunted the planter, “you ain't workin' it right. A few rags
- burnin' in a pan nigh yore bed may drive 'em out, but a smoke out heer in
- the yard 'll jest drive 'em in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What?” said Pole, in high disgust. “Do you expect me to sleep sech hot
- weather as this is with a fire nigh my bed? The durn things may eat me
- raw, but I 'll be blamed ef I barbecue myse'f to please 'em.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Baker appeared in the cabin-door, holding two of the youngest
- children by their hands. “He won't take my advice, Mr. Bishop,” she said.
- “I jest rub a little lamp-oil on my face an' hands an' they don't tetch
- me.” Pole grunted and looked with laughing eyes at the old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She axed me t'other night why I'd quit kissin' 'er,” he said. “An' I told
- 'er I didn't keer any more fer kerosene than the mosquitoes did.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Baker laughed pleasantly, as she brought out a chair for Bishop and
- invited him to sit down. He complied, twirling his riding-switch in his
- hand. From his position, almost on a level with the floor, he could see
- the interior of one of the rooms. It was almost bare of furniture. Two
- opposite corners were occupied by crude bedsteads; in the centre of the
- room was a cradle made from a soap-box on rockers sawn from rough poplar
- boards. It had the appearance of having been in use through several
- generations. Near it stood a spinning-wheel and a three-legged stool. The
- sharp steel spindle gleamed in the firelight from the big log and mud
- chimney.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the news from town, Mr. Bishop?” Pole asked, awkwardly, for it
- struck him that Bishop had called to talk with him about some business and
- was reluctant to introduce it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothin' that interests any of us, I reckon, Pole,” said the old man,
- “except I made that investment in Shoal Cotton Factory stock.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's good,” said Pole, in the tone of anybody but a man who had never
- invested a dollar in anything. “It's all hunkey, an' my opinion is that it
- 'll never be wuth less.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did heer, too,” added Bishop, “that it was reported that Craig had set
- up a little grocery store out in Texas, nigh the Indian Territory. Some
- thinks that Winship 'll turn up thar an' jine 'im, but a body never knows
- what to believe these days.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That shore is a fact,” opined Pole. “Sally, that corn-bread's a-burnin';
- ef you'd use less lamp-oil you'd smell better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Baker darted to the fireplace, raked the live coals from beneath the
- cast-iron oven, and jerked off the lid in a cloud of steam and smoke. She
- turned over the pone with the aid of a case-knife, and then came back to
- the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fer the last month I've had my eye on the Bascome farm,” Bishop was
- saying. “Thar's a hundred acres even, some good bottom land and upland,
- an' in the neighborhood o' thirty acres o' good wood. Then thar's a
- five-room house, well made an' tight, an' a barn, cow-house, an' stable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lord! I know the place like a book,” said Pole; “an' it's a dandy
- investment, Mr. Bishop. They say he offered it fer fifteen hundred. It's
- wuth two thousand. You won't drap any money by buyin' that property, Mr.
- Bishop. I'd hate to contract to build jest the house an' well an'
- out-houses fer a thousand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I bought it,” Bishop told him. “He let me have it fer a good deal less 'n
- fifteen hundred, cash down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you made a dandy trade, Mr. Bishop. Ah, that's what ready money
- will do. When you got the cash things seem to come at bottom figures.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Old Bishop drew a folded paper from his pocket and slapped it on his knee.
- “Yes, I closed the deal this evenin', an' I was jest a-thinkin' that as
- you hain't rented fer next yeer—I mean—” Bishop was ordinarily
- direct of speech, but somehow his words became tangled, and he delivered
- himself awkwardly on this occasion. “You see, Alan thinks that you 'n
- Sally ort to live in a better house than jest this heer log-cabin, an'—”
- </p>
- <p>
- The wan face of the tired woman was aglow with expectation. She sank down
- on the doorstep, and sat still and mute, her hands clasping each other in
- her lap. She had always disliked that cabin and its sordid surroundings,
- and there was something in Bishop's talk that made her think he was about
- to propose renting the new farm, house and all, to her husband. Her mouth
- fell open; she scarcely allowed herself to breathe. Then, as Bishop
- paused, her husband's voice struck dumb dismay to her heart. It was as if
- she were falling from glowing hope back to tasted despair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thar's more land in that farm an' I could do jestice to, Mr. Bishop; but
- ef thar's a good cabin on it an' you see fit to cut off enough fer me'n
- one hoss I'd jest as soon tend that as this heer. I want to do what you
- an' Alan think is best all'round.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Pole, Pole!” The woman was crying it to herself, her face lowered to
- her hands that the two men might not see the agony written in her eyes. A
- house like that to live in, with all those rooms and fireplaces, and
- windows with panes of glass in them! She fancied she saw her children
- playing on the tight, smooth floors and on the honeysuckled porch. For one
- minute these things had been hers, to be snatched away by the callous
- indifference of her husband, who, alas! had never cared a straw for
- appearances.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I wasn't thinking about <i>rentin''</i> it to you,” said Bishop, and
- the woman's dream was over. She raised her head, awake again. “You see,”
- went on Bishop, still struggling for proper expression, “Alan thinks—well,
- he thinks you are sech a born fool about not acceptin' help from them that
- feels nigh to you, an' I may as well say grateful, exceedingly grateful,
- fer what you've done, things that no other livin' man could 'a' done. Alan
- thinks you ort to have the farm fer yore own property, an' so the deeds
- has been made out to—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole drew himself up to his full height. His big face was flushed, half
- with anger, half with a strong emotion of a tenderer kind. He stood
- towering over the old man like a giant swayed by the warring winds of good
- and evil, “I won't heer a word more of that, Mr. Bishop,” he said, with a
- quivering lip; “not a word more. By golly! I mean what I say. I don't want
- to heer another word of it. This heer place is good enough fer me an' my
- family. It's done eight yeer, an' it kin do another eight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Pole, Pole, <i>Pole!</i>” The woman's cry was now audible. It came
- straight from her pent-up, starving soul and went right to Bishop's heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You want the place, don't you, Sally?” he said, calling her by her given
- name for the first time, as if he had just discovered their kinship. He
- could not have used a tenderer tone to child of his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mind, mind what you say, Sally!” ordered Pole, from the depths of his
- fighting emotions. “Mind what you say!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman looked at Bishop. Her glance was on fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I want it—I <i>want</i> it!” she cried. “I ain't goin' to lie.
- I want it more right now than I do the kingdom of heaven. I want it ef we
- have a right to it. Oh, I don't know.” She dropped her head in her lap and
- began to sob.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop stood up. He moved towards her in a jerky fashion and laid his hand
- on the pitifully tight knot of hair at the back of her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it's yores,” he said. “Alan thought Pole would raise a kick agin
- it, an' me'n him had it made out in yore name, so he couldn't tetch it.
- It's yores, Sally Ann Baker. That's the way it reads.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman's sobs increased, but they were sobs of unbridled joy. With her
- apron to her eyes she rose and hurried into the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- The eyes of the two men met. Bishop spoke first:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You've got to give in, Pole,” he said. “You'd not be a man to stand
- betwixt yore wife an' a thing she wants as bad as she does that place,
- an', by all that's good an' holy, you sha 'n' t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What's the use o' me tryin' to git even with Alan,” Pole exclaimed, “ef
- he's eternally a-goin' to git up some 'n'? I've been tickled to death ever
- since I cornered old Craig till now, but you an' him has sp'iled it all by
- this heer trick. It ain't fair to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it's done,” smiled the old man, as he went to his horse; “an' ef
- you don't live thar with Sally, I 'll make 'er git a divorce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop had reached a little pig-pen in a fence-corner farther along, on
- his way home, when Mrs. Baker suddenly emerged from a patch of high corn
- in front of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is he a-goin' to take it, Mr. Bishop?” she asked, panting from her
- hurried walk through the corn that hid her from the view of the cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” Bishop told her; “I'm a-goin' to send two wagons over in the
- morning to move yore things. I wish it was ten times as good a place as it
- is, but it will insure you an' the children a living an' a comfortable
- home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After the manner of many of her kind, the woman uttered no words of
- thanks, but simply turned back into the corn, and, occupied with her own
- vision of prosperity and choking with gratitude, she hurried back to the
- cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXIX
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0028" id="linkimage-0028"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9253.jpg" alt="9253 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9253.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE summer ended, the autumn passed, 'and Christmas approached. Nothing of
- much importance had taken place among the characters of this little
- history. The Southern Land and Timber Company, and Wilson in particular,
- had disappointed Miller and Alan by their reticence in regard to the
- progress of the railroad scheme. At every meeting with Wilson they found
- him either really or pretendedly indifferent about the matter. His
- concern, he told them, was busy in other quarters, and that he really did
- not know what they would finally do about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He can' t pull the wool over my eyes,” Miller told his friend, after one
- of these interviews. “He simply thinks he can freeze you out by holding
- off till you have to raise money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He may have inquired into my father's financial condition,” suggested
- Alan, with a long face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Most likely,” replied the lawyer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And discovered exactly where we stand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps, but we must not believe that till we know it. I'm going to try
- to checkmate him. I don't know how, but I 'll think of something. He feels
- that he has the upper hand now, but I 'll interest him some of these
- days.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan's love affair had also been dragging. He had had numerous assurances
- of Dolly's constancy, but since learning how her father had acted the
- night he supposed she had eloped with Alan, her eyes had been opened to
- the seriousness of offending Colonel Barclay. She now knew that her
- marriage against his will would cause her immediate disinheritance, and
- she was too sensible a girl to want to go to Alan without a dollar and
- with the doors of her home closed against her. Besides, she believed in
- Alan' s future. She, somehow, had more faith in the railroad than any
- other interested person. She knew, too, that she was now more closely
- watched than formerly. She had, with firm finality, refused Frank
- Hillhouse's offer of marriage, and that had not helped her case in the
- eyes of her exasperated parent. Her mother occupied neutral ground; she
- had a vague liking for Alan Bishop, and, if the whole truth must be told,
- was heartily enjoying the situation. She was enjoying it so subtly and so
- heartily, in her own bloodless way, that she was at times almost afraid of
- its ending suddenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- On Christmas Eve Adele was expected home from Atlanta, and Alan had come
- in town to meet her. As it happened, an accident delayed her train so that
- it would not reach Darley till ten o' clock at night instead of six in the
- evening, so there was nothing for her brother to do but arrange for their
- staying that night at the Johnston House. Somewhat to Alan' s surprise,
- who had never discovered the close friendship and constant correspondence
- existing between Miller and his sister, the former announced that he was
- going to spend the night at the hotel and drive out to the farm with them
- the next morning. Of course, it was agreeable, Alan reflected, but it was
- a strange thing for Miller to propose.
- </p>
- <p>
- From the long veranda of the hotel after supper that evening the two
- friends witnessed the crude display of holiday fireworks in the street
- below. Half a dozen big bonfires made of dry-goods boxes, kerosene and tar
- barrels, and refuse of all kinds were blazing along the main street.
- Directly opposite the hotel the only confectionery and toy store in the
- place was crowded to overflowing by eager customers, and in front of it
- the purchasers of fireworks were letting them off for the benefit of the
- bystanders. Fire-crackers were exploded by the package, and every now and
- then a clerk in some store would come to the front door and fire off a gun
- or a revolver.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this noise and illumination was at its height when Adele's train drew
- up in the car-shed. The bonfires near at hand made it as light as day, and
- she had no trouble recognizing the two friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, what an awful racket!” she exclaimed, as she released herself from
- Alan' s embrace and gave her hand to Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's in your honor,” Miller laughed, as, to Alan' s vast astonishment, he
- held on to her hand longer than seemed right. “We ought to have had the
- brass band out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I'm so glad to get home,” said Adele, laying her hand on Miller's
- extended arm. Then she released it to give Alan her trunk-checks. “Get
- them, brother,” she said. “Mr. Miller will take care of me. I suppose you
- are not going to drive home to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not if you are tired,” said Miller, in a tone Alan had never heard his
- friend use to any woman, nor had he ever seen such an expression on
- Miller's face as lay there while the lawyer's eyes were feasting
- themselves on the girl's beauty.
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan hurried away after the trunks and a porter. He was almost blind with
- a rage that was new to him. Was Miller deliberately beginning a flirtation
- with Adele at a moment's notice? And had she been so spoiled by the “fast
- set” of Atlanta during her stay there that she would allow it—even
- if Miller was a friend of the family? He found a negro porter near the
- heap of luggage that had been hurled from the baggage-car, and ordered his
- sister's trunks taken to the hotel. Then he followed the couple moodily up
- to the hotel parlor. He was destined to undergo another shock, for, on
- entering that room, he surprised Miller and Adele on a sofa behind the big
- square piano with their heads suspiciously near together, and so deeply
- were they engaged in conversation that, although he drew up a chair near
- them, they paid no heed to him further than to recognize his appearance
- with a lifting of their eyes. They were talking of social affairs in
- Atlanta and people whose names were unfamiliar to Alan. He rose and stood
- before the fireplace, but they did not notice his change of position.
- Truly it was maddening. He told himself that Adele's pretty face and far
- too easy manner had attracted Miller's attention temporarily, and the
- fellow was daring to enter one of his flirtations right before his eyes.
- Alan would give him a piece of his mind at the first opportunity, even if
- he was under obligations to him. Indeed, Miller had greatly disappointed
- him, and so had Adele. He had always thought she, like Dolly Barclay, was
- different from other girls; but no, she was like them all. Miller's
- attention had simply turned her head. Well, as soon as he had a chance he
- would tell her a few things about Miller and his views of women. That
- would put her on her guard, but it would not draw out the poisoned sting
- left by Miller's presumption, or indelicacy, or whatever it was. Alan rose
- and stood at the fire unnoticed for several minutes, and then he showed
- that he was at least a good chaperon, for he reached out and drew on the
- old-fashioned bell-pull in the chimney-corner. The porter appeared, and
- Alan asked: “Is my sister's room ready?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it's good and warm now, suh,” said the negro. “I started the fire an
- hour ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller and Adele had paused to listen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you are going to hurry me off to bed,” the girl said, with an audible
- sigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must be tired after that ride,” said Alan, coldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's a fact, you must be,” echoed Miller. “Well, if you have to go, you
- can finish telling me in the morning. You know I'm going to spend the
- night here, where I have a regular room, and I 'll see you at breakfast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I'm so glad,” said Adele. “Yes, I can finish telling you in the
- morning.” Then she seemed to notice her brother's long face, and she
- laughed out teasingly: “I 'll bet he and Dolly are no nearer together than
- ever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right,” Miller joined in her mood; “the Colonel still has his
- dogs ready for Alan, but they 'll make it up some day, I hope. Dolly is <i>next</i>
- to the smartest girl I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you <i>are</i> a flatterer,” laughed Adele, and she gave Miller her
- hand. “Don't forget to be up for early breakfast. We must start soon in
- the morning. I'm dying to see the home folks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan was glad that Miller had a room of his own, for he was not in a mood
- to converse with him; and when Adele had retired he refused Miller's
- proffered cigar and went to his own room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller grunted as Alan turned away. “He's had bad news of some sort,” he
- thought, “and it's about Dolly Barclay. I wonder, after all, if she would
- stick to a poor man. I begin to think some women would. Adele is of that
- stripe—yes, she is, and isn't she stunning-looking? She's a gem of
- the first water, straight as a die, full of pluck and—she's all
- right—all right!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went out on the veranda to smoke and enjoy repeating these things over
- to himself. The bonfires in the street were dying down to red embers,
- around which stood a few stragglers; but there was a blaze of new light
- over the young man' s head. Along his horizon had dawned a glorious reason
- for his existence; a reason that discounted every reason he had ever
- entertained. “Adele, Adele,” he said to himself, and then his cigar went
- out. Perhaps, his thoughts ran on in their mad race with happiness—perhaps,
- with her fair head on her pillow, she was thinking of him as he was of
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Around the corner came a crowd of young men singing negro songs. They
- passed under the veranda, and Miller recognized Frank Hillhouse's voice.
- “That you, Frank?” Miller called out, leaning over the railing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes—that you, Ray?” Hillhouse stepped out into view. “Come on; we
- are going to turn the town over. Every sign comes down, according to
- custom, you know. Old Thad Moore is drunk in the calaboose. They put him
- in late this evening. We are going to mask and let him out. It's a dandy
- racket; we are going to make him think we are White Caps, and then set him
- down in the bosom of his family. Come on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can't to-night,” declined Miller, with a laugh. “I'm dead tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, if you hear all the church bells ringing, you needn't think it's
- fire, and jump out of your skin. We ain't going to sleep to-night, and we
- don't intend to let anybody else do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, go it while you are young,” Miller retorted, with a laugh, and
- Hillhouse joined his companions in mischief and they passed on singing
- merrily.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller threw his cigar away and went to his room. He was ecstatically
- happy. The mere thought that Adele Bishop was under the same roof with
- him, and on the morrow was going to people who liked him, and leaned on
- his advice and experience, gave him a sweet content that thrilled him from
- head to foot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I ought to tell Alan,” he mused, “but he 'll find it out soon
- enough; and, hang it all, I can' t tell him how I feel about his own
- sister, after all the rot I've stuffed into him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXX
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0029" id="linkimage-0029"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9260.jpg" alt="9260 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9260.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE next morning, as soon as he was up, Alan went to his sister's room. He
- found her dressed and ready for him. She was seated before a cheerful
- grate-fire, looking over a magazine she had brought to pass the time on
- the train.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come in,” she said, pleasantly enough, he reflected, now that Miller was
- not present to absorb her attention. “I expected you to get up a little
- earlier. Those guns down at the bar-room just about daybreak waked me, and
- I couldn't go to sleep again. There is no use denying it, Al, we have a
- barbarous way of amusing ourselves up here in North Georgia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went in and stood with his back to the fire, still unable to rid his
- brow of the frown it had worn the night before.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I reckon you've got too citified for us,” he said, “along with other
- accomplishments that fast set down there has taught you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Adele laid her book open on her lap.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here, Alan,” she said, quite gravely. “What's the matter with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing, that I know of,” he said, without meeting her direct gaze.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, there is,” she said, as the outcome of her slow inspection of his
- clouded features.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shrugged his shoulders and gave her his eyes steadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't like the way you and Miller are carrying on.” He hurled the words
- at her sullenly. “You see, I know him through and through.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that's all right,” she replied, not flinching from his indignant
- stare; “but what's that got to do with my conduct and his?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You allow him to be too familiar with you,” Alan retorted. “He's not the
- kind of a man for you to—to act that way with. He has flirted with a
- dozen women and thrown them over; he doesn't believe in the honest love of
- a man for a woman, or the love of a woman for a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, I am at the first of this!” Adele, instead of being put down by his
- stormy words, was smiling inwardly. Her lips were rigid, but Alan saw the
- light of keen amusement in her eyes. “Is he <i>really</i> so dangerous?
- That makes him doubly interesting. Most girls love to handle masculine
- gunpowder. Do you know, if I was Dolly Barclay, for instance, an affair
- with you would not be much fun, because I'd be so sure of you. The dead
- level of your past would alarm me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank Heaven, all women are not alike!” was the bolt he hurled at her.
- “If you knew as much about Ray Miller as I do, you'd act in a more
- dignified way on a first acquaintance with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “On a first—oh, I see what you mean!” Adele put her handkerchief to
- her face and treated herself to a merry laugh that exasperated him beyond
- endurance. Then she stood up, smoothing her smile away. “Let's go to
- breakfast. I'm as hungry as a bear. I told Rayburn—I mean your
- dangerous friend, Mr. Miller—that we'd meet him in the dining-room.
- He says he's crazy for a cup of coffee with whipped cream in it. I ordered
- it just now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The dev—” Alan bit the word in two and strode from the room, she
- following. The first person they saw in the big dining-room was Miller,
- standing at the stove in the centre of the room warming himself. He
- scarcely looked at Alan in his eagerness to have a chair placed for Adele
- at a little table reserved for three in a corner of the room, which was
- presided over by a slick-looking mulatto waiter, whose father had belonged
- to Miller's family.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've been up an hour,” he said to her. “I took a stroll down the street
- to see what damage the gang did last night. Every sign is down or hung
- where it doesn't belong. To tease the owner, an old negro drayman, whom
- everybody jokes with, they took his wagon to pieces and put it together
- again on the roof of Harmon's drug-store. How they got it there is a
- puzzle that will go down in local history like the building of the
- Pyramids.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whiskey did it,” laughed Adele; “that will be the final explanation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you are right,” agreed Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan bolted his food in grum silence, unnoticed by the others. Adele's
- very grace at the table, as she prepared Miller's coffee, and her apt
- repartee added to his discomfiture. He excused himself from the table
- before they had finished, mumbling something about seeing if the horses
- were ready, and went into the office. The last blow to his temper was
- dealt by Adele as she came from the dining-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Miller wants to drive me out in his buggy to show me his horses,” she
- said, half smiling. “You won't mind, will you? You see, he 'll want his
- team out there to get back in, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don't mind,” he told her. “I see you are bent on making a goose of
- yourself. After what I've told you about Miller, if you still—”
- </p>
- <p>
- But she closed his mouth with her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Leave him to me, brother,” she said, as she turned away. “I'm old enough
- to take care of myself, and—and—well, I know men better than
- you do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Alan reached home he found that Miller and Adele had been there half
- an hour. His mother met him at the door with a mysterious smile on her
- sweet old face, as she nodded at the closed door of the parlor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't go in there now,” she whispered. “Adele and Mr. Miller have been
- there ever since they come. I railly believe they are in love with each
- other. I never saw young folks act more like it. When I met 'em it looked
- jest like he wanted to kiss me, he was so happy. Now wouldn't it be fine
- if they was to get married? He's the nicest man in the State, and the best
- catch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, mother,” said Alan, “you don't understand. Rayburn Miller is—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Adele will know how to manage him,” broke in the old lady, too full
- of her view of the romance to harken to his; “she ain't no fool, son. She
- 'll twist him around her finger if she wants to. She's pretty, an'
- stylish, an' as sharp as a brier. Ah, he's jest seen it all and wants her;
- you can't fool me! I know how people act when they are in love. I've seen
- hundreds, and I never saw a worse case on both sides than this is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Going around to the stables to see that his horses were properly attended
- to, Alan met his uncle leaning over the rail-fence looking admiringly at a
- young colt that was prancing around the lot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Christmas gift,” said the old man, suddenly. “I ketched you that time
- shore pop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you got ahead of me,” Alan admitted.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man came nearer to him, nodding his head towards the house. “Heerd
- the news?” he asked, with a broad grin of delight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What news is that?” Alan asked, dubiously. “Young Miss,” a name given
- Adele by the negroes, and sometimes used jestingly by the family—“Young
- Miss has knocked the props clean from under Miller.” Alan frowned and hung
- his head for a moment; then he said:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Uncle Ab, do you remember what I told you about Miller's opinion of love
- and women in general?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man saw his drift and burst into a full, round laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know you told me what he said about love an' women in general, but I
- don't know as you said what he thought about women in <i>particular</i>.
- This heer's a particular case. I tell you she's fixed 'im. Yore little sis
- has done the most complete job out o' tough material I ever inspected.
- He's a gone coon; he 'll never make another brag; he's tied hand an'
- foot.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan looked straight into his uncle's eyes. A light was breaking on him.
- “Uncle Ab,” he said, “do you think he is—really in love with her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ef he ain't, an' don't ax yore pa an' ma fer 'er before a month's gone, I
- 'll deed you my farm. Now, look heer. A feller knows his own sister less'n
- he does anybody else; that's beca'se you never have thought of Adele
- follerin' in the trail of womankind. You'd hate fer a brother o' that town
- gal to be raisin' sand about you, wouldn't you? Well, you go right on an'
- let them two kill the'r own rats.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan and his uncle were returning to the house when Pole Baker dismounted
- at the front gate and came into the yard.
- </p>
- <p>
- Since becoming a landed proprietor his appearance had altered for the
- better most materially. He wore a neat, well-fitting suit of clothes and a
- new hat, but of the same broad dimensions as the old. Its brim was pinned
- up on the right side by a little brass ornament.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I seed Mr. Miller drive past my house awhile ago with Miss Adele,” he
- said, “an' I come right over. I want to see all of you together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just then Miller came out of the parlor and descended the steps to join
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Christmas gift, Mr. Miller!” cried Pole. “I ketched you that time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if I paid up, you'd cuss me out,” retorted the lawyer, with a laugh.
- “I haven't forgotten the row you raised about that suit of clothes. Well,
- what's the news? How's your family?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About as common, Mr. Miller,” said Pole. “My wife's gittin' younger an'
- younger ever'day. Sence she moved in 'er new house, an' got to
- whitewashin' fences an' makin' flower-beds, an' one thing another, she
- looks like a new person. I'd 'a' bought 'er a house long ago ef I'd 'a'
- knowed she wanted it that bad. Oh, we put on the lugs now! We wipe with
- napkins after eatin', an' my littlest un sets in a high-chair an' says
- 'Please pass the gravy,' like he'd been off to school. Sally says she's
- a-goin' to send 'em, an' I don't keer ef she does; they 'll stand head, ef
- they go; the'r noggin' s look like squashes, but they're full o' seeds,
- an' don't you ferget it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That they are!” intoned Abner Daniel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've drapped onto a little news,” said Pole. “You know what a old
- moonshiner cayn't pick up in these mountains from old pards ain't wuth
- lookin' fer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Railroad?” asked Miller, interestedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's fer you-uns to make out,” said Baker. “Now, I ain't a-goin' to
- give away my authority, but I rid twenty miles yesterday to substantiate
- what I heerd, an' know it's nothin' but the truth. You all know old Bobby
- Milburn's been buyin' timber-land up about yore property, don't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn't know how much,” answered Miller, “but I knew he had secured
- some.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fust and last in the neighborhood o' six thousand acres,” affirmed Pole,
- “an' he's still on the war-path. What fust attracted my notice was findin'
- out that old Bobby hain't a dollar to his name. That made me suspicious,
- an' I went to work to investigate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good boy!” said Uncle Abner, in an admiring undertone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I found out he was usin' Wilson's money, an' secretly buyin' fer
- him; an' what's more, he seems to have unlimited authority, an' a big bank
- account to draw from.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a startled pause. It was broken by Miller, whose eyes were
- gleaming excitedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's blame good news,” he said, eying Alan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think so?” said Alan, who was still under his cloud of displeasure
- with his friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; it simply means that Wilson intends to build that road. He's been
- quiet, and pretending indifference, for two reasons. First, to bring us to
- closer terms, and next to secure more land. Alan, my boy, the plot
- thickens! I'm getting that fellow right where I want him. Pole, you have
- brought us a dandy Christmas gift, but I 'll be blamed if you get a thing
- for it. I don't intend to get shot.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then they all went to find Bishop to tell him the news.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXXI
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0030" id="linkimage-0030"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9267.jpg" alt="9267 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9267.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- T was a cold, dry day about the middle of January. They were killing hogs
- at the farm. Seven or eight negroes, men and women, had gathered from all
- about in the neighborhood to assist in the work and get the parts of the
- meat usually given away in payment for such services.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two hogsheads for hot water were half buried in the ground. A big iron pot
- with a fire beneath it was heating water and a long fire of logs heaped
- over with big stones was near by. When hot, the stones were to be put into
- the cooling water to raise the temperature, it being easier to do this
- than to replace the water in the pot. The hogs to be killed were grunting
- and squealing in a big pen near the barn.
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner Daniel and old man Bishop were superintending these preparations
- when Alan came from the house to say that Rayburn Miller had just ridden
- out to see them on business. “I think it's the railroad,” Alan informed
- his father, who always displayed signs of almost childish excitement when
- the subject came up. They found Miller in the parlor being entertained by
- Adele, who immediately left the room on their arrival. They all sat down
- before the cheerful fire. Miller showed certain signs of embarrassment at
- first, but gradually threw them off and got down to the matter in hand
- quite with his office manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've got a proposition to make to you, Mr. Bishop,” he opened up, with a
- slight flush on his face. “I've been making some inquiries about Wilson,
- and I am more and more convinced that he intends to freeze us out—or
- you rather—by holding off till you are obliged to sell your property
- for a much lower figure than you now ask him for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think so,” grunted Bishop, pulling a long face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; but what I now want to do is to show him, indirectly, that we are
- independent of him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh!” ejaculated Bishop, even more dejectedly—“huh! I say!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan was looking at Miller eagerly, as if trying to divine the point he
- was about to make. “I must confess,” he smiled, “that I can' t well see
- how we can show independence right now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I think I see a way,” said Miller, the flush stealing over his face
- again. “You see, there is no doubt that Wilson is on his high horse simply
- because he thinks he could call on you for that twenty-five thousand
- dollars and put you to some trouble raising it without—without, I
- say, throwing your land on the market. I can' t blame him,” Miller went
- on, smiling, “for it's only what any business man would do, who is out for
- profit, but we must not knuckle to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh, huh!” Bishop grunted, in deeper despondency.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you propose to get around the knuckling process?” asked Alan, who
- had caught the depression influencing his parent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd simply take up that note,” said the lawyer. “You know, under the
- contract, we are privileged to pay it to-morrow if we wish. It would
- simply paralyze him. He's so confident that you can' t take it up that he
- has not even written to ask if you want to renew it or not. Yes; he's
- confident that he 'll rake in that security—so confident that he has
- been, as you know, secretly buying land near yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Old Bishop's eyes were wide open. In the somewhat darkened room the
- firelight reflected in them showed like illuminated blood-spots. He said
- nothing, but breathed heavily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But,” exclaimed Alan, “Ray, you know we—father has invested that
- money, and the truth is, that he and mother have already had so much worry
- over the business that they would rather let the land go at what was
- raised on it than to—to run any more risks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop groaned out his approval of this elucidation of his condition and
- sat silently nodding his head. The very thought of further risks stunned
- and chilled him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller's embarrassment now descended on him in full force.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was not thinking of having your father disturb his investments,” he
- said. “The truth is, I have met with a little financial disappointment in
- a certain direction. For the last three months I have been raking and
- scraping among the dry bones of my investments to get up exactly
- twenty-five thousand dollars to secure a leading interest in a cotton mill
- at Darley, of which I was to be president. I managed to get the money
- together and only yesterday I learned that the Northern capital that was
- to guarantee the thing was only in the corner of a fellow's eye up in
- Boston—a man that had not a dollar on earth. Well, there you are!
- I've my twenty-five thousand dollars, and no place to put it. I thought,
- if you had just as soon owe me the money as Wilson, that you'd really be
- doing me a favor to let me take up the note. You see, it would actually
- floor him. He means business, and this would show him that we are not
- asking any favors of him. In fact, I have an idea it would scare him out
- of his skin. He'd think we had another opportunity of selling. I'm dying
- to do this, and I hope you 'll let me work it. Really, I think you ought
- to consent. I'd never drive you to the wall and—well—<i>he</i>
- might.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All eyes were on the speaker. Bishop had the dazed expression of a
- bewildered man trying to believe in sudden good luck. Abner Daniel lowered
- his head and shook with low, subdued laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a jim-dandy, young man,” he said to Miller. “That's all there is
- about it. You take the rag off the bush. Oh, my Lord! They say in Alt's
- meeting-house that it's a sin to play poker with no stakes, but Alf's in a
- game with half the earth put up agin another feller's wad as big as a bale
- o' hay. Play down, Alf. Play down. You've got a full hand an' plenty to
- draw from.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We couldn't let you do this, Ray,” expostulated Alan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I assure you it is merely a matter of business with me,” declared the
- lawyer. “You know I'm interested myself, and I believe we shall come out
- all right. I'm simply itching to do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bishop's face was ablaze. The assurance that a wise young business man
- would consider a purchase of his of sufficient value to put a large amount
- of money on pleased him, banished his fears, thrilled him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you feel that way,” he said, smiling at the corners of his mouth, “go
- ahead. I don't know but what you are plumb right. It will show Wilson that
- we ain't beholden to him, an' will set 'im to work ef anything will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So it was finally settled, and no one seemed so well pleased with the
- arrangement as Miller himself. Adele entered the room with the air of one
- half fearful of intruding, and her three relatives quietly withdrew,
- leaving her to entertain the guest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder what's the matter with your brother,” Miller remarked, as his
- eyes followed Alan from the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, brother?” laughed Adele. “No one tries to keep up with his whims and
- fancies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, really,” said Miller, in a serious tone, “he has mystified me
- lately. I wonder if he has had bad news from Dolly. I've tried to get into
- a confidential chat with him several times of late, but he seems to get
- around it. Really, it seems to me, at times, that he treats me rather
- coldly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, if you waste time noticing Al you 'll become a beggar,” and Adele
- gave another amused laugh. “Take my advice and let him alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I almost believe you know what ails him,” said Miller, eying her closely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know what he <i>thinks</i> ails him,” the girl responded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And won't you tell me what—what he thinks ails him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I couldn't do that,” answered our young lady, with a knowing smile.
- “If you are ever any wiser on the subject you will have to get your wisdom
- from him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned to the piano and began to arrange some scattered pieces of
- music, and he remained on the hearth, his back to the fire, his brow
- wrinkled in pleased perplexity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll have to get my wisdom from him,” repeated Miller, pronouncing each
- word with separate distinctness, as if one of them might prove the key to
- the mystery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I should think two wise men could settle a little thing like that.
- If not, you may call in the third—you know there were three of you,
- according to the Bible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, so there were,” smiled Miller; “but it's hard to tell when we three
- shall meet again. The last time I saw the other two they were having their
- sandals half-soled for a tramp across the desert. I came this way to build
- a railroad, and I believe I'm going to do it. That's linking ancient and
- modern times together with a coupling-pin, isn't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She came from the piano and stood by him, looking down into the fire.
- “Ah,” she said, seriously, “if you could <i>only</i> do it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you like it very much?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very, very much; it means the world to us—to Alan, to father and
- mother, and—yes, to me. I hunger for independence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it shall be done,” he said, fervently.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXXII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0031" id="linkimage-0031"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9273.jpg" alt="9273 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9273.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- S the elevator in the big building was taking Rayburn Miller up to the
- offices of the Southern Land and Timber Company, many reflections passed
- hurriedly through his mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are going to get the usual cold shoulder from Wilson,” he mused; “but
- he 'll put it up against something about as warm as he's touched in many a
- day. If you don't make him squirm, it will be only because you don't want
- to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson was busy at his desk looking over bills of lading, receipts, and
- other papers, and now and then giving instructions to a typewriter in the
- corner of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ahl how are you, Miller?” he said, indifferently, giving the caller his
- hand without rising. “Down to see the city again, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Rayburn leaned on the top of the desk, and knocked the ashes from his
- cigar with the tip of his little finger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Partly that and partly business,” he returned, carelessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Two birds, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's about it. I concluded you were not coming up our way soon, and so
- I decided to drop in on you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, glad you did.” Wilson glanced at the papers on his desk and frowned.
- “Wish I had more time at my disposal. I'd run up to the club with you and
- show you my Kentucky thoroughbreds, but I realty am rushed, to-day
- particularly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I haven't a bit of time to spare myself! I take the afternoon train
- home. The truth is, I came to see you for my clients, the Bishops.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, I see.” Wilson's face clouded over by some mechanical arrangement
- known only to himself. “Well, I can' t realty report any progress in that
- matter,” he said. “All the company think Bishop's figures are away out of
- reason, and the truth is, right now, we are over head and ears in
- operations in other quarters, and—well, you see how it is?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I think I do.” Miller smoked a moment. “In fact, I told my clients
- last month that the matter was not absorbing your attention, and so they
- gave up counting on you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson so far forgot his pose that he looked up in a startled sort of way
- and began to study Miller's smoke-wrapped profile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say they are not—have not been counting on my company to—to
- buy their land?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, no,” said Miller, in accents well resembling those of slow and
- genuine surprise. “Why, you have not shown the slightest interest in the
- matter since the day you made the loan, and naturally they ceased to think
- you wanted the land. The only reason I called was that the note is payable
- to-day, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes, by Jove! that was careless of me. The interest is due. I knew it
- would be all right, and I had no idea you would bother to run down for
- that. Why, my boy, we could have drawn for it, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller smiled inwardly, as he looked calmly and fixedly through his smoke
- into the unsuspecting visage upturned to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the note itself is payable to-day,” he said, closely on the alert for
- a facial collapse; “and, while you or I might take up a paper for
- twenty-five thousand dollars through a bank, old-fashioned people like Mr.
- and Mrs. Bishop would feel safer to have it done by an agent. That's why I
- came.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller, in silent satisfaction, saw the face of his antagonist fall to
- pieces like an artificial flower suddenly shattered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pay the note?” gasped Wilson. “Why—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller puffed at his cigar and gazed at his victim as if slightly
- surprised over the assumption that his clients had not, all along,
- intended to avail themselves of that condition in their contract.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that the Bishops are ready to—” Wilson began again on
- another breath—“to pay us the twenty-five thousand dollars?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the interest for six months,” quietly added Miller, reaching for a
- match on the desk. “I reckon you've got the note here. I don't want to
- miss my train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson was a good business man, but his Puritanical training in New
- England had not fitted him for wily diplomacy; besides, he had not
- expected to meet a diplomat that day, and did not, even now, realize that
- he was in the hands of one. He still believed that Miller was only a
- half-educated country lawyer who had barely enough brains and experience
- to succeed as a legal servant for mountain clients. Hence, he now made
- little effort to conceal his embarrassment into which the sudden turn of
- affairs had plunged him. In awkward silence he squirmed in his big chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, they can take up their note to-day if they wish,” he said,
- with alarmed frankness. “I was not counting on it, though.” He rose to his
- feet. Miller's watchful eye detected a certain trembling of his lower lip.
- He thrust his hands into his pockets nervously; and in a tone of open
- irritation he said to the young man at the typewriter: “Brown, I wish
- you'd let up on that infernal clicking; sometimes I can stand it, and then
- again I can' t. You can do those letters in the next room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When the young man had gone out, carrying his machine, Wilson turned to
- Miller. “As I understand it, you, personally, have no interest in the
- Bishop property?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, not a dollar!” smiled the lawyer. “I'm only acting for them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then”—Wilson drove his hands into his pockets again—“perhaps
- you wouldn't mind telling me if the Bishops are on trade with other
- parties. Are they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller smiled and shook his head. “As their lawyer, Mr. Wilson, I simply
- couldn't answer that question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The blow was well directed and it struck a vulnerable spot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon,” Wilson stammered. “I did not mean to suggest that you
- would betray confidence.” He reflected a moment, and then he said, in a
- flurried tone, “They have not actually sold out, have they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller was silent for a moment, then he answered: “I don't see any reason
- why I may not answer that question I don't think my clients would object
- to my saying that they have not yet accepted any offer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of relief suffused itself over Wilson's broad face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then they are still open to accept their offer to me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller laughed as if highly amused at the complication of the matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are bound, you remember, only so long as you hold their note.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I tell you what to do,” proposed Wilson. “Go back and tell them not
- to bother about payment, for a few days, anyway, and that we will soon
- tell them positively whether we will pay their price or not. That's fair,
- isn't it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It might seem so to a man personally interested in the deal,” admitted
- Miller, as the introduction to another of his blows from the shoulder;
- “but as lawyer for my clients I can only obey orders, like the boy who
- stood on the burning deck.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson's face fell. The remote clicking of the typewriter seemed to grate
- upon his high-wrought nerves, and he went and slammed the partly opened
- door, muttering something like an oath. On that slight journey, however,
- he caught an idea.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Suppose you wire them my proposition and wait here for a reply,” he
- suggested.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller frowned. “That would do no good,” he said. “I'm sorry I can' t
- explain fully, but the truth is this: I happen to know that they wish, for
- reasons of their own, to take up the note you hold, and that nothing else
- will suit them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this juncture Wilson lost his grip on all self-possession, and
- degenerated into the sullen anger of sharp and unexpected disappointment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't feel that we are being fairly treated,” he said. “We most
- naturally assumed that your clients wanted to—to extend our option
- on the property for at least another six months. We assumed that from the
- fact that we had no notification from them that they would be ready to pay
- the note to-day. That's where we feel injured, Mr. Miller.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Rayburn threw his cigar into a cuspidor; his attitude of being a
- non-interested agent was simply a stroke of genius. Behind this plea he
- crouched, showing himself only to fire shots that played havoc with
- whatever they struck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe my clients <i>did</i> feel, I may say, honor bound to you to
- sell for the price they offered; but—now I may be mistaken—but
- I'm sure they were under the impression, as I was, too, that you only
- wanted the property provided you could build a railroad from Dar-ley to
- it, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that's true,” broke in Wilson. “That's quite true.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And,” finished Miller, still behind his inevitable fortification, “they
- tell me that you have certainly shown indifference to the project ever
- since the note was given. In fact, they asked me pointedly if I thought
- you meant business, and I was forced, conscientiously, to tell them that I
- thought you seemed to have other fish to fry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson glared at the lawyer as if he wanted to kick him for a stupid idiot
- who could not do two things at once—work for the interests of his
- clients and not wreck his plans also. It had been a long time since he had
- found himself in such a hot frying-pan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you think the thing is off,” he said, desperately, probably recalling
- several purchases of land he had made in the section he had expected to
- develop. “You think it's off?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hardly know what to say,” said Miller. “The old gentleman, Mr. Bishop,
- is a slow-going old-timer, but his son is rather up to date, full of
- energy and ambition. I think he's made up his mind to sell that property.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson went to his desk, hovered over it like a dark, human cloud, and
- then reluctantly turned to the big iron safe against the wall, obviously
- to get the note. His disappointment was too great for concealment. With
- his fat, pink hand on the silver-plated combination-bolt he turned to
- Miller again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you mind sitting down till I telephone one or two of the
- directors?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all,” said Miller, “if you 'll get me a cigar and the <i>Constitution</i>.
- The Atlanta baseball team played Mobile yesterday, and I was wondering—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't keep track of such things,” said Wilson, coming back to his desk,
- with an impatient frown, to ring his call-bell for the office-boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes, I believe football is your national sport,” said Miller, with a
- dry smile. “Well, it's only a difference between arms and legs—whole
- bones and casualties.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson ordered the cigar and paper when the boy appeared, and, leaving the
- lawyer suddenly, he went into the room containing the telephone, closing
- the door after him.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few minutes he reappeared, standing before Miller, who was chewing a
- cold cigar and attentively reading. He looked up at Wilson abstractedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bully for Atlanta!” he said. “The boys made ten runs before the Mobiles
- had scored—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come down to business!” said the New-Eng-lander, with a ready-made
- smile. “Honestly, I don't believe you drowsy Southerners ever will get
- over your habit of sleeping during business hours. It seems to be bred in
- the bone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller laughed misleadingly. “Try to down us at a horse-race and we 'll
- beat you in the middle of the night. Hang it all, man, you don't know
- human nature, that's all! How can you expect me, on my measly fees, to
- dance a breakdown over business I am transacting for other people?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that may account for it,” admitted Wilson, who seemed bent on being
- more agreeable in the light of some fresh hopes he had absorbed from the
- telephone-wires. “See here, I've got a rock-bottom proposal to make to
- your people. Now listen, and drop that damned paper for a minute. By Jove!
- if I had to send a man from your State to attend to legal business I'd
- pick one not full of mental morphine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you wouldn't?” Miller laid down the paper and assumed a posture
- indicative of attention roused from deep sleep. “Fire away. I'm
- listening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I already had authority to act for the company, but I thought it best to
- telephone some of the directors.” Wilson sat down in his chair and leaned
- towards the lawyer. “Here's what we will do. The whole truth is, we are
- willing to plank down the required one hundred thousand for that property,
- provided we can lay our road there without incurring the expense of
- purchasing the right of way. Now if the citizens along the proposed line
- want their country developed bad enough to donate the right of way through
- their lands, we can trade.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause. Then Miller broke it by striking a match on the sole of
- his boot. He looked crosseyed at the flame as he applied it to his cigar.
- “Don't you think your people could stand whatever value is appraised by
- law in case of refusals along the line?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Wilson. “The price for the land is too steep for that. Your
- clients have our ultimatum. What do you say? We can advertise a meeting of
- citizens at Springtown, which is about the centre of the territory
- involved, and if all agree to give the right of way it will be a trade. We
- can have the meeting set for to-day two weeks. How does that strike you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'd have to wire my clients.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When can you get an answer?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller looked at his watch. “By five o' clock this afternoon. The message
- would have to go into the country.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then send it off at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A few minutes after five o' clock Miller sauntered into the office. Wilson
- sat at his desk and looked up eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” he asked, almost under his breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lawyer leaned on the top of the desk. “They are willing to grant you
- the two weeks' time, provided you sign an agreement for your firm that you
- will purchase their property at the price named at the expiration of that
- time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With the provision,” interpolated Wilson, “that a right of way is
- donated.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, with that provision,” Miller nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then sit down here and write out your paper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller complied as nonchalantly as if he were drawing up a bill of sale
- for a worn-out horse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There you are,” he said, pushing the paper to Wilson when he had
- finished.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson read it critically. “It certainly is binding,” he said. “You people
- may sleep during business hours, but you have your eyes open when you draw
- up papers. However, I don't care; I want the Bishops to feel secure. They
- must get to work to secure the right of way. It will be no easy job, I 'll
- let you know. I've struck shrewd, obstinate people in my life, but those
- up there beat the world. Noah couldn't have driven them in the ark, even
- after the Flood set in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know something about them, then?” said Miller, laughing to himself
- over the implied confession.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson flushed, and then admitted that he had been up that way several
- times looking the situation over.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How about the charter?” asked Miller, indifferently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's fixed. I have already seen to that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it all depends on the right of way,” remarked the lawyer as he drew
- a check from his pocket and handed it to Wilson. “Now get me that note,”
- he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson brought it from the safe.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Turning this over cuts my option down to two weeks,” he said. “But we 'll
- know at the meeting what can be done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we 'll know then what they can do with <i>you</i>,” said Miller,
- significantly, as he put the cancelled note in his pocket and rose to go.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXXIII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0032" id="linkimage-0032"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9283.jpg" alt="9283 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9283.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HEN Miller's train reached Darley and he alighted in the car-shed, he was
- met by a blinding snow-storm. He could see the dim lantern of the hotel
- porter as he came towards him through the slanting feathery sheet and the
- yet dimmer lights of the hotel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heer! Marse Miller!” shouted the darky; “look out fer dat plank er you
- 'll fall in er ditch. Marse Alan Bishop is at de hotel, an' he say tell
- you ter stop dar—dat you couldn't git home in dis sto'm no how.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he's in town,” said Miller. “Well, I was thinking of spending the
- night at the hotel, anyway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the office of the hotel, almost the only occupant of the room besides
- the clerk, sat Abner Daniel, at the red-hot coal stove.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why,” exclaimed Miller, in surprise, “I didn't know you were in town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fact is, we're all heer,” smiled the old man, standing up and
- stretching himself. He looked as if he had been napping. “We fetched the
- women in to do some tradin', an' this storm blowed up. We could 'a' made
- it home all right,” he laughed out impulsively, “but the last one of 'em
- wanted a excuse to stay over. They are et up with curiosity to know how
- yore trip come out. They are all up in Betsy an' Alf's room. Go up?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I reckon I'd better relieve their minds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Abner offered to pilot him to the room in question, and when it was
- reached the old man opened the door without knocking. “Heer's the man
- you've been hankerin' to see all day,” he announced, jovially. “I fetched
- 'im straight up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They all rose from their seats around the big grate-fire and shook hands
- with the lawyer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He looks like he has news of some kind,” said Adele, who was studying his
- face attentively. “Now, sir, sit down and tell us are we to be rich or
- poor, bankrupt or robber.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't put the most likely word last,” said Abner, dryly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” began Miller, as he sat down in the semicircle. “As it now stands,
- we've got a chance to gain our point. I have a signed agreement—and
- a good one—that your price will be paid if we can get the citizens
- through whose property the road passes to donate a right of way. That's
- the only thing that now stands between you and a cash sale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They 'll do it, I think,” declared Alan, elatedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dunno about that,” said Abner. “It's owin' to whose land is to be
- donated. Thar's some skunks over in them mountains that wouldn't let the
- gates o' heaven swing over the'r property except to let themselves
- through.”
- </p>
- <p>
- No one laughed at this remark save Abner himself. Mrs. Bishop was staring
- straight into the fire. Her husband leaned forward and twirled his stiff
- fingers slowly in front of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh! So it depends on <i>that</i>,” he said. “Well, it <i>does</i> look
- like mighty nigh anybody ud ruther see a railroad run out thar than not,
- but I'm no judge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it is to be tested two weeks from now,” Miller said. And then he
- went into a detailed and amusing account of how he had brought Wilson to
- terms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, that beats the Dutch!” laughed Abner. “I'd ruther 'a' been thar 'an
- to a circus. You worked 'im to a queen's taste—as fine as split
- silk. You 'n' Pole Baker'd make a good team—you to look after the
- bon-tons an' him to rake in the scum o' mankind. I don't know but Pole
- could dress up an' look after both ends, once in a while, ef you wanted to
- take a rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm always sorry when I heer of it bein' necessary to resort to
- trickery,” ventured Mrs. Bishop, in her mild way. “It don't look exactly
- right to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't like it, nuther,” said Bishop. “Ef the land's wuth the money, an'—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The trouble with Alf,” broke in Abner, “is that with all his Bible
- readin' he never seems to git any practical benefit out'n it. Now, when
- I'm in doubt about whether a thing's right or wrong, I generally find some
- Scriptural sanction fer the side I want to win. Some'rs in the Bible thar
- was a big, rich king that sent a pore feller off to git 'im kilt in battle
- so he could add his woman to his collection. Now, no harm ever come to the
- king that I know of, an', fer my part, I don't think what you did to yank
- Wilson into line was nigh as bad, beca'se you was work-in' fer friends.
- Then Wilson was loaded fer bear his-se'f. War's over, I reckon, but when
- Wilson's sort comes down heer expectin' to ride rough-shod over us agin, I
- feel like givin' a war-whoop an' rammin' home a Minié ball.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I sha 'n't worry about the morality of the thing,” said Miller. “Wilson
- was dead set on crushing you to powder. I saw that. Besides, if he takes
- the property and builds the road, he 'll make a lot of money out of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After this the conversation languished, and, thinking that the old people
- might wish to retire, Miller bade them good-night and went to his own
- room.
- </p>
- <p>
- A snow of sufficient thickness for sleighing in that locality was a rare
- occurrence, and the next morning an odd scene presented itself in front of
- the hotel. The young men of the near-by stores had hastily improvised
- sleds by taking the wheels from buggies and fastening the axles to rough
- wooden runners, and were making engagements to take the young ladies of
- the town sleighing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you ever ridden in a sleigh?” Miller asked Adele, as they stood at a
- window in the parlor witnessing these preparations.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never in my life,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you shall,” he said. “I 'll set a carpenter at work on my buggy,
- and be after you in an hour. Get your wraps. My pair of horses will make
- one of those sleds fairly spin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- About eleven o' clock that morning Alan saw them returning from their
- ride, and, much to his surprise, he noted that Dolly Barclay was with
- them. As they drew up at the entrance of the hotel, Alan doffed his hat
- and stepped forward to assist the ladies out of the sled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Dolly won't stop,” said Miller. “Get in and drive her around. She's
- hardly had a taste of it; we only picked her up as we passed her house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan's heart bounded and then it sank. Miller was smiling at him
- knowingly. “Go ahead,” he said, pushing him gently towards the sled. “It's
- all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hardly knowing if he were acting wisely, Alan took the reins and sat down
- by Dolly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Adele stepped up behind to say good-bye to Dolly, and they kissed each
- other. It was barely audible, and yet it reached the ears of the restive
- horses and they bounded away like the wind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A peculiar way to start horses,” Alan laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A pleasant way,” she said. “Your sister is a dear, dear girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he told her his fears in regard to what her father would think of his
- driving with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's out of town to-day,” she answered, with a frank upward glance, “and
- mother wouldn't care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I'm going to enjoy it fully,” he said. “I've been dying to see you,
- Dolly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And do you suppose I haven't wanted to see you? When Mr. Miller proposed
- this just now it fairly took my breath away. I was afraid you might happen
- not to be around the hotel. Oh, there is so much I want to say—and
- so little time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I'm with you I can' t talk,” he said. “It seems, in some way, to
- take up time like the ticking of a clock. I simply want to close my eyes,
- and—be with you, Dolly—<i>YOU</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know, but we must be practical, and think of the future. Mr. Miller
- tells me there is a chance for your big scheme to succeed. Oh, if it only
- would!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, a pretty good chance,” he told her; “but even then your father—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'd not hold out against you then,” said Dolly, just for an impulsive
- moment clasping his arm as they shot through a snow-drift and turned a
- corner of the street leading into the country.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it must succeed,” he said, looking at her tenderly. “It <i>must</i>,
- Dolly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall pray for it—that and nothing else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Feeling the slack reins on their backs, the horses slowed up till they
- were plodding along lazily. Suddenly the sled began to drag on the clay
- road where the wind had bared it of snow, and the horses stopped of their
- own accord, looking back at their increased burden inquiringly. Alan made
- no effort to start them on again. It was a sequestered spot, well hidden
- from the rest of the road by an old hedge of Osage orange bushes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We must not stop, <i>dear</i>,” Dolly said, laying her hand again on his
- arm. “You know driving is—is different from this. As long as we are
- moving in any direction, I have no scruples, but to stop here in the road—no,
- it won't do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was just wondering if we can start them,” he said, a mischievous look
- in his laughing eye.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Start them?” She extended her hand for the reins, but he held them out of
- her reach. “Why, what do you mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, you saw the way they were started at the hotel,” he answered, in
- quite a serious tone. “Ray has trained them-that way. They won't budge an
- inch unless—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you silly boy!” Dolly was flushing charmingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's true,” he said. “I'm sorry if you object, for it's absolutely the
- only available way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She raised her full, trusting eyes to his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You make me want to kiss you, Alan, but—”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not let her finish. Putting his arm around her, he drew her close
- to him and kissed her on the lips. “Now, darling,” he said, “you are
- mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I am yours, Alan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As they were nearing her house he told her that Wilson had agents out
- secretly buying land, and that she must not allow her father to dispose of
- his timbered interests until it was decided whether the railroad would be
- built.
- </p>
- <p>
- She promised to keep an eye on the Colonel's transactions and do all she
- could to prevent him from taking a false step. “You may not know it,” she
- said, “but I'm his chief adviser. He 'll be apt to mention any offer he
- gets to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, don't tell him about the railroad unless you have to,” he said, in
- parting with her at the gate. “But it would be glorious to have him profit
- by our scheme, and I think he will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are going to hope for success, anyway, aren't we?” she said, leaning
- over the gate. “I have believed in you so much that I feel almost sure you
- are to be rewarded.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miller thinks the chances are good,” he told her, “but father is afraid
- those men over there will do their best to ruin the whole thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly waved her handkerchief to some one at a window of the house. “It's
- mother,” she said. “She's shaking her finger at me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon she's mad at me,” said Alan, disconsolately.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not much,” Dolly laughed. “She's simply crazy to come out and gossip with
- us. She would, too, if she wasn't afraid of father. Oh, young man, you 'll
- have a mother-in-law that will reverse the order of things! Instead of her
- keeping you straight, you 'll have to help us manage her. Father says
- she's 'as wild as a buck.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- They both laughed from the fulness of their happiness. A buggy on runners
- dashed by. It contained a pair of lovers, who shouted and waved their
- hands. The sun was shining broadly. The snow would not last long. The
- crudest sled of all passed in the wake of the other. It was simply a plank
- about twelve inches wide and ten feet long to which a gaunt, limping horse
- was hitched. On the plank stood a triumphant lad balancing himself with
- the skill of a bareback rider. His face was flushed; he had never been so
- full of joy and ozone. From the other direction came a gigantic concern
- looking like a snow-plough or a metropolitan street-sweeper. It was a
- sliding road-wagon to which Frank Hillhouse had hitched four sturdy mules.
- The wagon was full of girls. Frank sat on the front seat cracking a whip
- and smoking. A little negro boy sat astride of the leading mule, digging
- his rag-clothed heels into the animal's side. Frank bowed as he passed,
- but his face was rigid.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He didn't intend to ask me,” said Dolly. “He hardly speaks to me since—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Since what?” Alan questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Since I asked him not to come to see me so often. I had to do it. He was
- making a fool of himself. It had to stop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You refused him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; but you must go now.” Dolly was laughing again. “Mother will be out
- here in a minute; she can't curb her curiosity any longer. She'd make you
- take her riding, and I wouldn't have you do it for the world. Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, you must hope for the best, Alan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm going to. Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXXIV
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0033" id="linkimage-0033"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9292.jpg" alt="9292 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9292.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- OLLY had the opportunity to warn her father in regard to his financial
- interests sooner than she expected. The very next morning, as she sat
- reading at a window in the sitting-room, she overheard the Colonel
- speaking to her mother about an offer he had just had for his mountain
- property.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe it's a good chance for me to get rid of it,” he was saying, as
- he stood at the mantel-piece dipping his pipe into his blue tobacco-jar.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never did see any sense in paying taxes on land you have never seen,”
- said Mrs. Barclay, at her sewing-machine. “Surely you can put the money
- where it will bring in something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Milburn wants it because there is about a hundred acres that could be
- cleared for cultivation. I'm of the opinion that it won't make as good
- soil as he thinks, but I'm not going to tell him that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you be getting as much as it cost you?” asked Mrs. Barclay,
- smoothing down a white hem with her thumb-nail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “About five hundred more,” her husband chuckled. “People said when I
- bought it that I was as big a fool as old Bishop, but you see I've already
- struck a purchaser at a profit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Dolly spoke up from behind her newspaper: “I wouldn't sell it, papa,”
- she said, coloring under the task before her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you wouldn't?” sniffed her father. “And why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because it's going to be worth a good deal more money,” she affirmed,
- coloring deeper and yet looking her parent fairly in the eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Barclay broke into a rippling titter as she bent over her work. “Alan
- Bishop put that in her head,” she said. “They think, the Bishops do, that
- they've got a gold-mine over there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must not sell it, papa,” Dolly went on, ignoring her mother's thrust.
- “I can't tell you why I don't want you to, but you must not—you 'll
- be sorry if you do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't know how I'm to keep on paying your bills for flimflam frippery
- if I don't sell something,” retorted the old man, almost and yet not quite
- angry. Indirectly he was pleased at her valuation of his property, for he
- had discovered that her judgment was good.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she won't let Frank Hillhouse help,” put in Mrs. Barclay, teasingly.
- “Poor fellow! I'm afraid he 'll never get over it. He's taken to running
- around with school-girls—that's always a bad sign.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A girl ought to be made to listen to reason,” fumed Barclay, goaded on to
- this attack by his wife, who well knew his sore spots, and liked to rasp
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A girl will listen to the right sort of reason,” retorted Dolly, who was
- valiantly struggling against an outburst. “Mamma knows how I feel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know that you are bent on marrying a man without a dollar to his name,”
- said her father. “You want to get into that visionary gang that will spend
- all I leave you in their wild-cat investments, but I tell you I will cut
- you out of my property if you do. Now, remember that. I mean it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly crushed the newspaper in her lap and rose. “There is no good in
- quarrelling over this again,” she said, coldly. “Some day you will
- understand the injustice you are doing Alan Bishop. I could make you see
- it now, but I have no right to explain.” And with that she left the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Half an hour later, from the window of her room up-stairs, she saw old
- Bobby Milburn open the front gate. Under his slouch hat and big gray shawl
- he thumped up the gravelled walk and began to scrape his feet on the
- steps. There was a door-bell, with a handle like that of a coffee-mill, to
- be turned round, but old Bobby, like many of his kind, either did not know
- of its existence, or, knowing, dreaded the use of innovations that
- sometimes made even stoics like himself feel ridiculous. His method of
- announcing himself was by far more sensible, as it did not even require
- the removal of his hands from his pockets; and, at the same time, helped
- divest his boots of mud. He stamped on the floor of the veranda loudly and
- paused to listen for the approach of some one to admit him. Then, as no
- one appeared, he clattered along the veranda to the window of the
- sitting-room and peered in. Colonel Barclay saw him and opened the door,
- inviting the old fellow into the sitting-room. Old Bobby laid his hat on
- the floor beside his chair as he sat down, but he did not unpin his shawl.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I've come round to know what's yore lowest notch, Colonel,” he
- said, gruffly, as he brushed his long, stringy hair back from his ears and
- side whiskers. “You see, it's jest this way. I kin git a patch o' land
- from Lank Buford that will do me, in a pinch, but I like yore'n a leetle
- grain better, beca'se it's nigher my line by a quarter or so; but, as I
- say, I kin make out with Buford's piece; an' ef we cayn't agree, I 'll
- have to ride over whar he is workin' in Springtown.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this juncture Dolly came into the room. She shook hands with the
- visitor, who remained seated and mumbled out some sort of gruff greeting,
- and went to her chair near the window, taking up her paper again. Her
- eyes, however, were on her father's face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hardly know what to say,” answered Barclay, deliberately. “Your price
- the other day didn't strike me just right, and so I really haven't been
- thinking about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was concession enough, Dolly thought, in Milburn's eye, if not in
- his voice, when he spoke. “Well,” he said, carelessly, “bein' as me'n you
- are old friends, an' thar always was a sort o' neighborly feelin' betwixt
- us, I 'll agree, if we trade, to hire a lawyer an' a scribe to draw up the
- papers an' have 'em duly recorded. You know that's always done by the
- party sellin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that's a <i>little</i> thing,” said the Colonel; but his watchful
- daughter saw that the mere smallness of Milburn's raise in his offer had
- had a depressing effect on her father's rather doubtful valuation of the
- property in question. The truth was that Wilson had employed the shrewdest
- trader in all that part of the country, and one who worked all the more
- effectively for his plainness of dress and rough manner. “That's a little
- thing,” went on the Colonel, “but here's what I 'll do—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father,” broke in Dolly, “don't make a proposition to Mr. Milburn. Please
- don't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Milburn turned to her, his big brows contracting in surprise, but he
- controlled himself. “Heigho!” he laughed, “so you've turned trader, too,
- Miss Dolly? Now, I jest wish my gals had that much enterprise; they git
- beat ef they buy a spool o' thread.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Colonel frowned and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly with a real tone of
- reproof. “Don't interfere in your father's business,” she said. “He can
- attend to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Colonel was not above making capital of the interruption, and he
- smiled down on the shaggy visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's been deviling the life out of me not to part with that land. They
- say women have the intuition to look ahead better than men. I don't know
- but I ought to listen to her, but she ain't running me, and as I was about
- to say—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait just one minute, papa!” insisted Dolly, with a grim look of
- determination on her face. “Just let me speak to you a moment in the
- parlor, and then you can come back to Mr. Milburn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The face of the Colonel darkened under impatience, but he was afraid
- failure to grant his daughter's request would look like over-anxiety to
- close with Mil-burn, and so he followed her into the parlor across the
- hallway.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, what on earth is the matter with you?” he demanded, sternly. “I have
- never seen you conduct yourself like this before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She faced him, touching his arms with her two hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father, don't be angry with me,” she said, “but when you know what I do,
- you will be glad I stopped you just now. Mr. Milburn is not buying that
- land for his own use.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He isn't?” exclaimed the Colonel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; he's secretly employed by a concern worth over two million dollars—the
- Southern Land and Timber Company of Atlanta.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What?” the word came out as suddenly as if some one had struck him on the
- breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” answered the girl, now pale and agitated. “To save Mr. Bishop from
- loss, Alan and Rayburn Miller have worked up a scheme to build a railroad
- from Darley to the Bishop property. All arrangements have been made. There
- can be no hitch in it unless the citizens refuse to grant a right of way.
- In a week from now a meeting is to be advertised. Of course, it is not a
- certainty, but you can see that the chance is good, and you ought not to
- sacrifice your land.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good Heavens!” ejaculated Barclay, his eyes distended, “is this a fact?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am telling you what I have really no right to reveal,” said Dolly, “but
- I promised Alan not to let you sell if I could help it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Colonel was staggered by the revelation; his face was working under
- strong excitement. “I thought that old rascal”—he meant Milburn—“was
- powerfully anxious to trade. Huh! Looky' here, daughter, this news is
- almost too good to be true. Why, another railroad would make my town-lots
- bound up like fury, and as for this mountain-land—whew! It may be as
- you say. Ray Miller certainly is a wheel-horse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was not his idea,” said Dolly, loyally. “In fact, he tried his best to
- discourage Alan at first—till he saw what could be done. Since then
- he's been secretly working at it night and day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whew!” whistled the Colonel. “I don't care a cent <i>whose</i> idea it
- is; if it goes through it's a good one, and, now that I think of it, the
- necessary capital is all that is needed to make a big spec' over there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you won't sell to Mr. Milburn, then?” asked Dolly, humbly grateful for
- her father's change of mood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sell to that old dough-faced scamp?” snorted Barclay. “Well, he 'll think
- I won't in a minute! Do you reckon I don't want to have some sort o'
- finger in the pie? Whether the road's built or not, I want my chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But remember I am giving away state secrets,” said Dolly. “He must not
- know that you have heard about the road.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll not give that away,” the old man promised, with a smile, and he
- turned to the door as if eager to face Milburn. “Huh! That old scamp
- coming here to do me one! The idea!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two men, as they faced each other a moment later, presented an
- interesting study of human forces held well in check. The Colonel leaned
- on the mantel-piece and looked down at the toe of his boot, with which he
- pushed a chunk of wood beneath the logs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You never can tell about a woman' s whims, Mil-burn,” he said. “Dolly's
- set her heart on holding onto that land, and I reckon I'm too easily
- wriggled about by my women folks. I reckon we'd better call it off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, all right—all right!” said Milburn, with a start and a sharp
- contraction of his brows. “I'm that away some myse'f. My gals git me into
- devilish scrapes sometimes, an' I'm always sayin' they got to stop it. A
- man loses too much by lettin' 'em dabble in his business. But I was jest
- goin' to say that I mought raise my bid fifty cents on the acre ruther
- than trapse away over to Springtown to see Buford.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was silence through which several kinds of thoughts percolated. The
- raise really amounted to so much that it materially increased Barclay's
- growing conviction that the railroad was next to a certainty. “Huh!” he
- grunted, his eyes ablaze with the amusement of a winner. “I wouldn't
- listen to less than a dollar more on the acre.” And as the gaze of Milburn
- went down reflectively the Colonel winked slyly, even triumphantly, at his
- smiling daughter and said: “Dolly thinks it will make good land for a
- peach-orchard. Lots of money is being made that way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bosh!” grunted Milburn. “It don't lie right fer peaches. You kin git jest
- as much property nigh the railroad as you want fer peaches. You are a hard
- man to trade with, but I reckon I 'll have to take yore offer of—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold on, hold on!” laughed the Colonel, his hand upraised. “I didn't say
- I'd <i>take</i> that price. I just said I wouldn't listen to less than a
- dollar raise. I've listened to many a thing I didn't jump at, like a frog
- in muddy water, not knowing what he's going to butt against.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Under his big shawl Milburn rose like a tent blown upward by wind. He was
- getting angry as he saw his commission money taking wing and flitting out
- of sight. He had evidently counted on making an easy victim of Barclay.
- For a moment he stood twisting his heavy, home-knit gloves in his horny
- hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now if it's a fair question,” he said, as the last resort of a man ready
- and willing to trade at any reasonable cost, “what <i>will</i> you take,
- cash down, on your honor between us—me to accept or decline?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Colonel's pleasure was of the bubbling, overflowing kind. Every move
- made by Milburn was adding fuel to his hopes of the proposed railroad, and
- to his determination to be nobody's victim.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here,” he said, “that land has been rising at such a rate since you
- came in that I'm actually afraid to let it go. By dinner-time it may make
- me rich. Dolly, I believe, on my word, Milburn has discovered gold over
- there. Haven't you, Milburn? Now, honor bright.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be a long time before you find gold or anything else on that
- land,” Milburn retorted, as he reached for his hat and heavily strode from
- the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well! I do declare,” and Mrs. Barclay turned to Dolly and her father.
- “What on earth does this mean?” The Colonel laughed out, then slapped his
- hand over his mouth, as he peered from the window to see if Milburn was
- out of hearing. “It's just this way—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mind, father!” cautioned Dolly. “Do you want it to be all over town by
- dinner-time?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dolly!” cried Mrs. Barclay, “the idea of such a thing!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dolly smiled and patted her mother on the cheek.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't tell her, papa,” she said, with decision.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The truth is,” said the Colonel, “Dolly really wants to plant peaches. I
- don't think there's much in it, but she will have her way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I call that <i>mean</i> of you,” retorted Mrs. Barclay, dark with
- vexation. “Well, miss, I 'll bet you didn't tell your father who you went
- sleigh-riding with.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man frowned suddenly. “Not with Alan Bishop,” he said, “after my
- positive orders?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He came to tell me about the—the”—Dolly glanced at her mother
- suddenly—“about the peaches, papa.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well”—the Colonel was waxing angry—“I won't have it—that's
- all. I won't have you—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait, papa,” entreated the girl, sweetly, “wait till we see about the—peaches!”
- And, with a little teasing laugh, she left the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- XXXV
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0034" id="linkimage-0034"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:10%;">
- <img src="images/9300.jpg" alt="9300 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9300.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE mass-meeting at Springtown was a most important event. It was held in
- the court-house in the centre of the few straggling houses which made up
- the hamlet. The entire Bishop family, including the servants, attended.
- Pole Baker brought his wife and all the children in a new spring-wagon.
- Darley society was represented, as the Springtown <i>Gazette</i>
- afterwards put it, by the fairest of the fair, Miss Dolly Barclay,
- accompanied by her mother and father.
- </p>
- <p>
- The court-house yard was alive with groups of men eagerly talking over the
- situation. Every individual whose land was to be touched by the proposed
- road was on hand to protect his rights. Pole Baker was ubiquitous, trying
- to ascertain the drift of matters. He was, however, rather unsuccessful.
- He discovered that many of the groups ceased to talk when he entered them.
- “Some 'n' s up,” he told Alan and Miller in the big, bare-looking
- court-room. “I don't know what it is, but I smell a rat, an' it ain't no
- little one, nuther.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Opposition,” said Miller, gloomily. “I saw that as soon as I came. If
- they really were in favor of the road they'd be here talking it over with
- us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm afraid that's it,” said Alan. “Joe Bartell is the most interested,
- and he seems to be a sort of ringleader. I don't like the way he looks. I
- saw him sneer at Wilson when he drove up just now. I wish Wilson hadn't
- put on so much style—kid gloves, plug hat, and a negro driver.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, that won't go down with this crowd,” agreed Miller. “It might in the
- slums of Boston, but not with these lords of the mountains. As for
- Bartell, I think I know what ails him. He's going to run for the
- legislature and thinks he can make votes by opposing us—convincing
- his constituency that we represent moneyed oppression. Well, he may down
- us, but it's tough on human progress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan caught Dolly's eye and bowed. She was seated near her father and
- mother, well towards the judge's stand. She seemed to have been observing
- the faces of the two friends, and to be affected by their serious
- expressions. Adele sat at the long wood stove, several yards from her
- parents, who appeared quite as if they were in church waiting for service
- to begin. Abner Daniel leaned in the doorway opening into one of the
- jury-rooms. Wilson had given him a fine cigar, which he seemed to be
- enjoying hugely.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the hour appointed for the meeting, to open, a young man who held the
- office of bailiff in the county, and seemed proud of his stentorian voice,
- opened one of the windows and shouted:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come in to court! Come in to court!” and the motley loiterers below began
- to clatter up the broad stairs and fall into the seats. Joe Bartell, a
- short, thick-set man in the neighborhood of fifty, with a florid face and
- a shock of reddish hair, led about twenty men up the aisle to the
- jury-benches at the right of the stand. They were the land-owners whose
- consent to grant the right of way was asked. Stern opposition was clearly
- written on the leader's brow and more or less distinctly reflected on the
- varying faces of his followers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ef we needed it, it ud be a different matter,” Miller overheard him say
- in a sudden lull, as the big room settled down into sudden quiet, “but we
- kin do without it. We've got along so fur an' we kin furder. All of us has
- got good teams.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Wilson, in his crisp, brusque way, made the opening speech. He told his
- hearers just what his company proposed to do and in much the same
- cold-blooded way as he would have dictated a letter to his stenographer,
- correctly punctuating the text by pauses, and yet, in his own way,
- endeavoring to be eloquent. He and his capital were going to dispel
- darkness where it had reigned since the dawn of civilization; people
- living there now would not recognize the spot ten years from the day the
- first whistle of a locomotive shrilled through those rocky gorges and
- rebounded from those lofty peaks—silent fingers pointing to God and
- speaking of a past dead and gone. All that was needed, he finished, was
- the consent of the property-owners appealed to; who, he felt confident,
- would not stand in their own light. They looked like intelligent men, and
- he believed they did not deceive appearances.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had hardly taken his seat when Joe Bartell stood up. Alan and Miller
- exchanged ominous glances. They had at once recognized the
- inappropriateness of Wilson's speech, and did not like the white,
- twitching sneer on Bartell's smooth-shaven face. It was as if Bartell had
- been for a long time seeking just such an opportunity to make himself felt
- in the community, and there was no doubt that Wilson's almost dictatorial
- speech had made a fine opening for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fellow-citizens, an' ladies an' gentlemen,” he began, “we are glad to
- welcome amongst us a sort of a second savior in our Sodom an' Gomorry of
- cracker-dom. What the gentleman with the plug hat an' spike-toe shoes
- ain't a-goin' to do fer us the Lord couldn't. He looks nice an' talks
- nice, an', to use his words, I don't believe he deceives appearances. I
- 'll bet one thing, an' that is 'at he won't deceive us. Accordin' to him
- we need 'im every hour, as the Sunday-school song puts it. Yes, he's
- a-goin' to he'p us powerful an' right off. An', fellow-citizens, I'm heer
- to propose a vote o' thanks. He's from away up in Boston, whar, they tell
- me, a nigger sets an' eats at the same table with the whites. When his
- sort come this away durin' the war, with all the'r up-to-date impliments
- of slaughter, they laid waste to ever'thing they struck, shot us like
- rabbits in holes, an' then went back an' said they'd had a good hunt. But
- they've been livin' high up thar sence the war an' the'r timber is
- a-playin' out, an' they want some more now, an' they <i>want it bad</i>.
- So they send the'r representatives out to find it an' lay hold of it. How
- does he happen to come heer? As well as I kin make out, old Alf Bishop, a
- good man an' a Southern soldier—a man that I hain't got nothin'
- agin, except maybe he holds his head too high, made up his mind awhile
- back that lumber would be in demand some day, an' he set to work buyin'
- all the timber-land he could lay his hands on. Then, when he had more'n he
- could tote, an' was about to go under, he give this gentleman a' option on
- it. Well, so fur so good; but, gentlemen, what have <i>we</i> got to do
- with this trade? Nothin' as I kin see. But we are expected to yell an'
- holler, an' deed 'em a free right of way through our property so they kin
- ship the timber straight through to the North an' turn it into cold Yankee
- coin. We don't count in this shuffle, gentlemen. We git our pay fer our
- land in bein' glad an' heerin' car-bells an' steam-whistles in the middle
- o' the night when we want to sleep. The engynes will kill our hogs,
- cattle, an' hosses, an' now an' then break the neck o' some chap that
- wasn't hit in the war, but we mustn't forget to be glad an' bend the knee
- o' gratitude. Of course, we all know the law kin compel us to give the
- right of way, but it provides fer just and sufficient payment fer the
- property used; an', gentlemen, I'm agin donations. I'm agin' em tooth an'
- toe-nail.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was thunderous and ominous applause when Bartell sat down. Wilson
- sat flushed and embarrassed, twirling his gloves in his hands. He had
- expected anything but this personal fusillade. He stared at Miller in
- surprise over that gentleman's easy, half-amused smile as he stood up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gentlemen,” he began, “and ladies,” he added, with a bow to the right and
- left. “As many of you know, I pretend to practise law a little, and I want
- to say now that I'm glad Mr. Bartell ain't in the profession. A lawyer
- with his keen wit and eloquence could convict an innocent mother before a
- jury of her own children. [Laughter.] And that's the point, gentlemen; we
- are innocent of the charges against us. I am speaking now of my clients,
- the Bishops. They are deeply interested in the development of this
- section. The elder Bishop does hold his head high, and in this case he
- held it high enough to smell coming prosperity in the air. He believed it
- would come, and that is why he bought timber-lands extensively. As for the
- accused gentleman from the Hub of the Universe, I must say that I have
- known of him for several years and have never heard a word against his
- character. He is not a farmer, but a business man, and it would be unfair
- to judge him by any other standard. He is not only a business man, but a
- big one. He handles big things. This railroad is going to be a big thing
- for you and your children. Yes, Wilson is all right. He didn't fight in
- the late unpleasantness. He tells the women he was too young; but I
- believe he hadn't the heart to fight a cause as just as ours. His only
- offence is in the matter of wearing sharp-toed shoes. There is no law
- against 'em in Atlanta, and he's simply gotten careless. He is ignorant of
- our ideas of proper dress, as befitting a meek and lowly spirit, which, in
- spite of appearances, I happen to know Wilson possesses. However, I have
- heard him say that these mountains produce the best corn liquor that ever
- went down grade in his system. He's right. It's good. Pole Baker says it's
- good, and he ought to know. [Laughter, in which Pole joined
- good-naturedly.] That reminds me of a story,” Miller went on. “They tell
- this of Baker. They say that a lot of fellows were talking of the
- different ways they would prefer to meet death if it had to come. One said
- drowning, another shooting, another poisoning, and so on; but Pole
- reserved his opinion to the last. When the crowd urged him to say what
- manner of death he would select, if he had to die and had his choice, he
- said: 'Well, boys, ef I had to go, I'd like to be melted up into puore
- corn whiskey an' poured through my throat tell thar wasn't a drap left of
- me.'[Laughter and prolonged applause.] And Wilson said further, gentlemen
- and ladies, that he believed the men and women of this secluded section
- were, in their own way, living nearer to God than the inhabitants of the
- crowded cities. Wilson is not bad, even if he has a hang-dog look. A
- speech like Bartell's just now would give a hang-dog look to a
- paling-fence. Wilson is here to build a railroad for your good and
- prosperity, and he can' t build one where there is nothing to haul out. If
- he buys up timber for his company, it is the only way to get them to back
- him in the enterprise. Now, gentlemen of the opposition, if there are any
- here to-day, don't let the thought of Wilson's possible profit rob you of
- this golden opportunity. I live at Darley, but, as many of you know, this
- is my father's native county, and I want to see it bloom in progress and
- blossom like the rose of prosperity. I want to see the vast mineral wealth
- buried in these mountains dug out for the benefit of mankind wherever
- God's sunlight falls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller sat down amid much applause, a faint part of which came even from
- the ranks of Bartell's faction. After this a pause ensued in which no one
- seemed willing to speak. Colonel Barclay rose and came to Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was a good talk,” he whispered. “You understand how to touch 'em up.
- You set them to laughin'; that's the thing. I wonder if it would do any
- good for me to try my hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do they know you have any timber-land over here?” asked Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes, I guess they do,” replied the Colonel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I don't believe I'd chip in,” advised Miller. “Bartell would throw
- it up to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon you are right,” said Barclay, “but for the Lord's sake do
- something. It never will do to let this thing fall through.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've done all I can,” said Miller, dejectedly. “Bartell's got the whole
- gang hoodooed—the blasted blockhead! Wouldn't he make a fine
- representative in the legislature?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Colonel went back to his seat, and Wilson came to Miller, just as Alan
- approached.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's going to fall flatter than a pancake,” said Wilson. “My company
- simply cannot afford to buy the right of way. Can' t you choke that
- illiterate fellow over there or—or buy him off?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He ain't that sort,” said Miller, disconsolately.
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan glanced at his father and mother. On their wrinkled faces lay ample
- evidences of dejection. The old man seemed scarcely to breathe. Up to
- Bartell's speech he had seemed buoyantly hopeful, but his horizon had
- changed; he looked as if he were wondering why he had treated himself to
- such a bright view of a thing which had no foundation at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- At this juncture Abner Daniel rose from his seat near the stove and slowly
- walked forward till he stood facing the audience. Immediately quiet
- reigned, for he was a man who was invariably listened to.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gentlemen an' ladies,” he began, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth
- with his long hand. “This ain't no put-in o' mine, gracious knows! I
- hain't got nothin', an' I don't expect to lose or gain by what is done in
- this matter, but I want to do what I kin fer what I think is right an'
- proper. Fer my part, I don't think we kin do without a railroad much
- longer. Folks is a-pokin' fun at us, I tell you. It's God's truth. T'other
- day I was over at Darley a-walkin' along the railroad nigh the
- turnin'-table, whar they flirt engynes round like children on a
- flyin'-jinny, when all at once a big strappin' feller with a red flag in
- his hand run up an' knocked me off'n the track kerwhallop in a ditch. It
- was just in time to keep me from bein' run over by a switch-engyne. He was
- as mad as Tucker. 'Looky' heer,' ses he, 'did you think that thing was
- playin' tag with you an' ud tap you on the shoulder an' run an' hide
- behind a tree? Say, ain't you from Short Pine Destrict, this side o' the
- mountains?' I told 'im he'd guessed right, an' he said, 'I'lowed so, fer
- thar ain't no other spot on the whirlin' globe that produces folks as
- green as gourds.' Well, gentlemen, that floored me; it was bad enough to
- be jerked about like a rag doll, but it was tough to heer my section
- jeered at. 'What makes you say that?' I axed 'im, as I stood thar tryin'
- to git a passle o' wet glass out o' my hip-pocket without cuttin' my
- fingers. [Laughter, led by Pole Baker, who sensed the meaning of the
- reference.] 'Beca'se,' ses he, 'you moss-backs over thar don't know the
- war's over; a nigger from over thar come in town t'other day an' heerd fer
- the fust time that he was free. Two men over thar swapped wives without
- knowin' thar was a law agin it. Half o' you-uns never laid eyes on a
- railroad, an' wouldn't have one as a free gift.' I turned off an' left 'im
- an' went up on the main street. Up thar a barber ketched me by the arm an'
- said, ses he: 'Come in an' le' me cut that hair. You are from Short Pine,
- ain't you?' I axed him why he thought so, an' he said, ses he, 'beca'se
- you got a Short Pine hair-cut.'' What's that?' ses I. An' he laughed at a
- feller cocked up in a cheer an' said: 'It's a cut that is made by the
- women out yore way. They jest turn a saucer upside down on the men's heads
- an' trim around the edges. I could tell one a mile; they make a man look
- like a bob-tailed mule.'[Laughter, loud and prolonged.] Yes, as I said,
- they are a-pokin' all manner o' fun at us, an' it's chiefly beca'se we
- hain't got no railroad. The maddest I ever got on this line was down at
- Filmore's store one day. A little, slick chap come along sellin' maps of
- the United States of America. They was purty things on black sticks, an' I
- wanted one fer the wall o' my room. I was about to buy one, but I thought
- I'd fust make shore that our county was on it, so I axed the peddler to
- p'int it out to me. Well, after some s'arch, he put his knife-blade on
- what he called this county, but lo an' behold! it was mighty nigh kivered
- with round dots about the size of fly-specks. 'What's the matter with
- it?' I axed 'im. 'Oh, you mean them dots,' ses he, an' he turned to a lot
- o' reference words in the corner of the map. 'Them,' ses he, 'them's put
- thar to indicate the amount o' ignorance in a locality. You 'll find 'em
- in all places away from the railroads; a body kin say what they please
- agin railroads, but they fetch schools, an' books, an' enlightenment.
- You've got a good many specks' ses he, kinder comfortin' like, 'but some
- o' these days a railroad will shoot out this away, an' them brainy men
- amongst you will git the chance God intends to give 'em,' Gentlemen, I
- didn't buy no map. I wouldn't 'a' had the thing on my wall with them
- specks a-starin' me in the face. It wouldn't 'a' done any good to scrape
- 'em off, fer the'r traces would 'a' been left. No, friends, citizens, an'
- well-wishers, thar ain't but one scraper that will ever rake our specks
- off, an' that's the cow-catcher of a steam-engyne. I say let 'er come.
- Some objection has been raised on the score o' killin' cattle. That
- reminds me of a story they tell on old Burt Preston, who has a farm on the
- main line beyant Darley. He was always a-gittin' his stock killed so fast,
- an' a-puttin' in heavy claims fer damages, until folks begun to say he
- made his livin' by buyin' scrub cattle an' sellin' mashed beef to the
- corporation. One day the road sent out a detective to watch 'im, an' he
- seed Burt drive a spindlin' yeerlin' out o' the thicket on the track jest
- in time to get it knocked off by a through freight. The detective went
- back an' reported, an' they waited to see what Preston ud do. By the next
- mail they got a claim in which Preston said the yeerlin' weighed eight
- hundred pound an' was a fine four-gallon milch-cow. They threatened to
- jail 'im, an' Preston agreed to withdraw his claim. But he got
- down-hearted an' traded his place fer a farm on t'other railroad, an' the
- last I heerd o' him he was at his old trade agin. I reckon that's about
- the way we 'll be damaged by gettin' our stock killed. That's all I got to
- say, gentlemen. Let's git this road an' scrape our fly-specks off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The big house shook with the applause that greeted this speech. Even the
- opposition seemed to be wavering. Only Bartell kept a rigid countenance.
- He rose and in a low voice invited his group to repair with him to one of
- the jury-rooms. They got up and followed him out. As he was about to close
- the door after them he nodded to Miller. “We 'll take a vote on it an' let
- you know,” he said, coldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He's going to talk to them,” said Miller, aloud to Wilson. “Mr. Daniel's
- speech almost shook them out of their boots, and he saw he was losing
- ground. It looks squally.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right,” said Wilson, gloomily. “Our chances are very slim.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miller caught Adele's eye and went to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I'm bound to say the outlook is not so favorable,” he said. “If we could
- have put it to a vote just after your uncle spoke we would have clinched
- them, but Bartell thinks his election depends on beating us today, and
- being the chief land-owner he has influence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will break my heart,” said the girl, tremulously. “Poor father and
- mother! They look as if they were on trial for their lives. Oh, I had so
- much hope as we drove over here this morning, but now—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can' t bear to see you take it that way,” said Miller, tenderly. “I did
- not intend to speak to you so soon about another matter, but I can' t put
- it off. You have become very, very dear to me, little girl. In fact, I
- never dreamed there was such a thing as genuine, unselfish love till I
- knew you. It seems to me that you were actually created for me. I want you
- to be my wife. Somehow I feel that you care for me, at least a little, and
- I believe when you realize how much I love you, and how devoted I shall
- be, you will love me as I do you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To his surprise she averted her face and said nothing, though he remarked
- that she had paled a little and compressed her lips. He waited a moment,
- then said, anxiously:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Haven't you something to say, Adele? Perhaps I have misread you all along
- and really have no right to hope. Oh, that would be hard to bear!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not that,” she said, her breast heaving suddenly. “It is not that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not that?” he repeated, his wondering eyes fixed on hers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she turned to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alan has told me of some of your talks to him about love, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he has!” Miller laughed out uneasily. “But surely you wouldn't hold
- anything against me that I said before I met you in Atlanta and fell heels
- over head in love with you. Besides, I was simply stretching my
- imagination to save him from making a serious mistake. But I know what it
- is to care for a girl now, and I have wanted to tell him so, but simply
- could not face him with my confession—when—when his own sister
- was in question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have tried to believe,” Adele hesitated, “that you had changed in your
- ideas of love since—since we learned to know each other, and I
- confess I succeeded to some extent, but there was one thing that simply
- sticks and refuses to be eradicated. It sticks more right now than ever. I
- mean this morning, since—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now you <i>do</i> surprise me,” declared Miller. “Please explain. Don't
- you see I'm simply dying with impatience?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You pressed the point in one of those talks with brother,” said Adele,
- quite firmly, “that it was impossible for two people of unequal fortune to
- be happy together, and—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now you wouldn't surely hurl that rubbish at me,” broke in Miller. “I
- never would have dreamed of saying such a thing if I had not thought Alan
- was about to butt his head against a stone wall in the hostility of
- Colonel Barclay. If he had been fairly well off and she had been without
- money I'd have said sail in and take her, but I knew what a mercenary old
- man Barclay is, and I thought I could save the boy from a good many
- heartaches.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That—even as you now put it—would be hard for a girl in my
- position to forget,” Adele told him. “For if this enterprise fails to-day,
- I shall—just think of it!—I shall not only be penniless, but
- my father will owe you a large amount of money that he never will be able
- to pay. Oh, I could not bear to go to you under such circumstances! I have
- always wanted my independence, and this grates on my very soul.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Their eyes met in a long, steady stare. “Oh, you must—you really
- must not see it that way,” floundered the young man. “You will make me
- very miserable. I can' t live without you, Adele. Besides, I shall not
- lose by the loan I made to your father. The land will bring the money back
- sooner or later, and what will it matter? You will be my wife and your
- parents will be my parents. Already I love them as my own. Oh, darling,
- don't turn me down this way! Really I can' t help the turn matters have
- taken, and if you care for me you ought not to wreck our happiness for a
- silly whim like this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat unmoved for a moment, avoiding the fervid glow of his
- passion-filled eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If this thing fails I shall be very unhappy,” she finally said. “Its
- success would not make me rich, but it would remove a debt that has nearly
- killed me. I have never mentioned it, but it has been like a sword hanging
- over my happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it shall not fail,” he told her. “It shall not fail! If those
- blockheads vote against it, I 'll buy the right of way, if it takes the
- last cent I've got.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This forced a smile to Adele's lips. “Then we'd be as deep in the mud as
- we now are in the mire,” she said. Just then Pole Baker came to Miller.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't want to make no break,” he said, “but I've got a idea I'd like to
- work on them hill-Billies in the jury-room if you hain't no objections. I
- hain't got time to tell you about it, but as you are a-runnin' the shebang
- I thought I'd ax permission.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go and do what you think best, Pole,” said Miller, recklessly. “We can
- trust to your head, and anything is better than nothing just now. I really
- think it's gone by the board.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, thanky',” said Pole, as he shuffled away. He marched straight
- to the jury-room, and, without rapping, opened the door and went in,
- closing the door after him. He found the men all discussing the matter and
- was delighted to find that the strength of the opposition now rested
- chiefly in Bartell and a few men who seemed afraid to pull away from him.
- Pole slid up to Bartell and said, as he drew him to one side: “Say, Mr.
- Bartell, what on earth have you got agin Alan Bishop?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, nothin', Pole, as I know of,” said Bartell, rather sheepishly.
- “Nothin' as I know of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it looks to me like you got a mighty pore way o' showin' good-will.
- Why, he's the best friend you got, Mr. Bartell, an' totes more votes in
- his vest-pocket fer you than any man in this county.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huh! You don't say!” grunted Bartell, in slow surprise. “Well, he never
- told <i>me</i> about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beca'se you hain't announced yorese'f yet,” said Pole, with a steady eye
- and a set face. “Why, he said t'other day to several of us at the
- log-rollin'—you remember you rid by on yore bay, leadin' a milch-cow
- by a rope. Well, after you passed Alan Bishop said: 'Boys, thar goes the
- only man in this county that has convictions an' the courage to stand by
- 'em. They say he's goin' to run fer the legislature an' ef he does, I 'll
- do all I kin to elect 'im. He 'll make the best representative that we
- ever had. He's got brains, <i>he</i> has.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don't say!” Bartell's face beamed, his eye kindled and flashed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That's jest what!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hadn't the least idea he was fer me,” said Bartell, drawing a deep
- breath. “In fact, I 'lowed he would be agin anybody but a town man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alan never talks much,” said Pole, in a tone of conviction; “he <i>acts</i>
- when the time comes fer it. But, la me, Mr. Bartell, this is agoin' to
- break him all to pieces. He's in love with old Barclay's gal, an' she is
- with him. Ef he puts this road through to-day he 'll git his daddy out o'
- debt an' Barclay will withdraw his opposition. I don't know how you feel,
- but I'd hate like smoke to bu'st a man all to flinders that thought as
- much o' me as Alan does o' you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never knowed he was fer me,” was Bartell's next tottering step in the
- right direction.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, vote fer the right o' way, an' you kin ride to an' from Atlanta
- durin' session all rail. Me'n Alan will pull fer you like a yoke o' steers—me
- with the moonshiners, an' my mountain clan, that ain't dead yet, an' him
- with his gang. What you say? Put up or shet up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll do what I kin,” said Bartell, a new light on his face, as he turned
- to the others. “Gentlemen,” he began, “listen to me a minute. I see a good
- many of you was affected by Ab Daniel's speech an' sort o' want the road,
- anyway, so if—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't exactly like them specks,” broke in a fat, middle-aged man at a
- window. “By gum! I believe old Ab had us down about right. Ef we kin git
- sort o' opened up along with the rest o' creation, I say le's git in the
- game. Huh!”—the man finished, with a laughing shrug—“I don't
- like them fly-specks one bit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Me nuther,” said a man beside him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nur me!” came from some one else.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I'm willin' ef the rest are,” announced Bar-tell. “All in favor
- hold up yore hands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole Baker grinned broadly as he counted them. “All up—the last
- one,” he said, then he sprang for the door and stood before the expectant
- audience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Toot! toot!” he cried, imitating the whistle of a locomotive. “All
- aboard! The road's a settled thing. They say they don't want no specks,
- an' they ain't agoin' to have 'em. Hooray!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The audience was electrified by the announcement. For an instant there was
- a pause of incredulous astonishment, and then the floor resounded from the
- clatter of feet and glad shouts filled the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan, his face ablaze with startled triumph, came towards Adele and
- Miller. “Pole worked the rabbit-foot on them back there,” he said. “I
- don't know what he did, but he did something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He told me he had a card left,” laughed Miller. “I 'll bet he had it up
- his sleeve. There he is now. Oh, Pole, come here!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man thus addressed slouched down the aisle to them, his big, brown
- eyes flashing merrily under his heavy brows, his sun-browned face dark
- with the flush of triumph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Out with it, you rascal,” said Alan. “What did you say to them? Whatever
- it was it knocked their props clean from under them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ef you don't back me in it, I'm a gone dog,” said Pole to Alan. “All I
- want you to do is to vote for Bartell, ef you kin possibly swallow the
- dose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A light broke on the two men. “I 'll do it if you say so, Pole,” said
- Alan. “Not only that, but I 'll work for him if you wish it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pole looked down and pulled at his heavy mustache. “Well,” he smiled, “I
- reckon he won't harm us any more in the legislatur' than the road 'll do
- us good, so you'd better support 'im. I seed the bars down a minute ago,
- an' I didn't have no time to consult you. I'd 'a' told a bigger lie 'an
- that to clinch this thing.” Abner Daniel joined them, smiling broadly, his
- eyes twinkling joyously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We've won, Uncle Ab,” exclaimed Alan; “what do you think of that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old jester stroked his face and swung his long body back and forth in
- the wind of his content. “I've always argued,” said he, “that what is to
- be <i>will</i> be, an' it <i>will</i> be a sight sooner 'n most of us
- count on, ef we 'll jest keep our sperits up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The others moved on, leaving Adele and Miller together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, just look at mamma and papa,” she said, in the round, full voice
- indicative of deep emotion. “They are so glad they are about to cry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a dear, dear girl you are,” said Miller, softly. “There is nothing
- to separate us now, is there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment they met in a full look into each other's eyes. Adele's voice
- shook when she replied: “I believe I'm the happiest, proudest girl in all
- the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you love me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe I've loved you from the very minute I met you in Atlanta last
- summer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan saw Dolly looking at him and waving her handkerchief, her face warm
- and flushed. He was tempted to go to her, but she still sat by her father
- and mother, and that fact checked him. Mrs. Barclay caught his eye, and,
- rising suddenly, came through the crowd to him. She extended her gloved
- hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You and Dolly must stop your foolishness,” she said. “I've been thinking
- of a plan to help you two out. If I were you I wouldn't say a word to her
- now, but next Sunday night come and take her to church just like you used
- to. I 'll attend to Colonel Barclay. He is just tickled to death over this
- thing and he won't make any fuss. He is as stubborn as a mule, though, and
- when he has to give in, it's better not to let him think you are gloating
- over him. He won't bother you any more; I 'll see to that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Alan thanked her. He was so full of happiness that he was afraid to trust
- his voice to utterance. As Mrs. Barclay was going back to her husband and
- daughter, Pole Baker passed. Alan grasped him by the hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Say, Pole,” he said, his voice full and quavering, “I want to tell you
- that I think more of you than I do of any man alive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Alan,” said Pole, awkwardly, yet with an eye that did not waver, “I
- kin shore return the compliment. Ef it hadn't been fer you an' yore advice
- I'd 'a' been in hell long ago, an' as it is, I feel more like livin' a
- straight, honest life than I ever did. You never axed me but one thing
- that I didn't grant, an' that was to give up whiskey. I don't know whether
- I ever will be able to do it or not, but, by the great God above, I'm
- agoin' to keep on tryin', fer I know you want it jest fer my good. I don't
- want a dram to-day, fer a wonder, an' maybe in time I 'll git over my
- thirst.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As Alan was about to get into his buggy with his uncle, the Colonel and
- his wife and daughter passed. With a sheepish look on his face the old man
- bowed to the two men, but Dolly stopped before Alan and held out her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were going away without even speaking to me,” she said, a catch in
- her voice. “Think of it—to-day of all days to be treated like that!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But your mother told me—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn't I tell you she couldn't be relied on?” broke in Dolly, with a
- smile. “I have more influence with papa than she has. I know what she told
- you. I made her confess it just now. Are you going to town to-day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he informed her; “we shall complete the arrangements there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then come right down to see me as soon as you possibly can,” Dolly said.
- “I'm dying to see you—to talk with you. Oh, Alan, I'm so—<i>so</i>
- happy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So am I,” he told her, as he pressed her hand tenderly. “Then I shall see
- you again to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, to-day, sure,” she said, and she moved on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She's all right,” said Abner Daniel, as Alan climbed in the buggy beside
- him. “She's all wool an' a yard wide.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I reckon you are satisfied with the way it come out, Uncle Ab,” said his
- nephew, flushing over the compliment to Dolly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jest want one thing more,” said the old man, “an' I can't make out
- whether it's a sin or not. I want to face Perkins an' Abe Tompkins. I'd
- give my right arm to meet 'em an' watch the'r faces when they heer about
- the railroad, an' the price yore pa's land fetched.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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