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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..dcd2a3c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53031 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53031) diff --git a/old/53031-0.txt b/old/53031-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c631a48..0000000 --- a/old/53031-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4628 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Barton Experiment, by John Habberton - -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: The Barton Experiment - -Author: John Habberton - -Release Date: September 11, 2016 [EBook #53031] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTON EXPERIMENT *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - - THE - BARTON EXPERIMENT - - BY THE AUTHOR OF “HELEN’S BABIES” - - NEW YORK - G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - 182 FIFTH AVENUE - 1877 - - Copyright - BY G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - 1876 - - - - -PREFACE. - - -This book is not offered to the public as a finished romance, or even -as an attempt at one; the persons who appear on its pages are not -only not those who inspire pretty stories, but they are so literally -the representatives of individuals who have lived that they cannot -well be separated from their natural surroundings. It has seemed -to the author that if American people could behold some of the -men who have astonished themselves and others by their success as -reformers, individual effort would not be so rare in communities where -organization is not so easily effected, and where unfortunates are -ruined in the midst of their neighbors, while organization is being -hoped for. It is more than possible, too, that the accepted business -principle that the pocket is the source of power, is not as clearly -recognized as it should be in reform movements, and that the struggles -of some of the characters outlined herein may throw some light upon -this unwelcome but absolute fact. - -The ideal reformer, the man of great principles and eloquent arguments, -fails to appear in these pages, not because of any doubts as to his -existence, but because his is a mental condition to which men attain -without much stimulus from without, while it need not be feared that in -the direction of individual effort and self-denial, the greatest amount -of suggestion will ever urge any one too far. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER I. - - REFORMERS AT WHITE HEAT 1 - - CHAPTER II. - - BUSINESS _VS._ PHILANTHROPY 13 - - CHAPTER III. - - A WET BLANKET 23 - - CHAPTER IV. - - REFORM WITH MONEY IN IT 34 - - CHAPTER V. - - AN ASTONISHED VIRGINIAN 46 - - CHAPTER VI. - - A COURSE NEVER SMOOTH 59 - - CHAPTER VII. - - SOME NATURAL RESULTS 73 - - CHAPTER VIII. - - AN ESTIMABLE ORGANIZATION CRITICISED 83 - - CHAPTER IX. - - SOME VOLUNTEER SHEPHERDS 96 - - CHAPTER X. - - BRINGING HOME THE SHEEP 105 - - CHAPTER XI. - - DOCTORS AND BOYS 113 - - CHAPTER XII. - - TWO SIDES OF A CLOUD 122 - - CHAPTER XIII. - - A PHENOMENON IN EMBRYO 132 - - CHAPTER XIV. - - SAILING UP STREAM 146 - - CHAPTER XV. - - A FIRST INWARD PEEP 161 - - CHAPTER XVI. - - A REFORMER DISAPPOINTED 174 - - CHAPTER XVII. - - THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER 186 - - - - -THE BARTON EXPERIMENT. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -REFORMERS AT WHITE HEAT. - - -Long and loud rang all the church bells of Barton on a certain summer -evening twenty years ago. It was not a Sunday evening, for during -an accidental lull there was heard, afar off yet distinctly, the -unsanctified notes of the mail-carrier’s horn. And yet the doors of -the village stores, which usually stood invitingly open until far into -the night, were now tightly closed, while the patrons of the several -drinking-shops of Barton congregated quietly within the walls of their -respective sources of inspiration, instead of forming, as was their -usual wont, lively groups on the sidewalk. - -The truth was, Barton was about to indulge in a monster temperance -meeting. The “Sons of Temperance,” as well as the “Daughters” and -“Cadets” thereof, the “Washingtonians,” the “Total Abstinence Society,” -and all various religious bodies in the village had joined their forces -for a grand demonstration against King Alcohol. The meeting had been -appropriately announced, for several successive Sundays, from each -pulpit in Barton; the two school-teachers of Barton had repeatedly -informed their pupils of the time and object of the meeting; the -“Barton Register” had devoted two leaders and at least a dozen items -to the subject; and a poster, in the largest type and reddest ink -which the “Register” office could supply, confronted one at every -fork and crossing of roads leading to and from Barton, and informed -every passer-by that Major Ben Bailey, the well-known champion of the -temperance cause, would address the meeting, that the “Crystal Spring -Glee Club” would sing a number of stirring songs, and that the Barton -Brass Band had also been secured for the evening. The only inducement -which might have been lacking was found at the foot of the poster, in -the two words, “Admittance Free.” - -No wonder the villagers crowded to the Methodist Church, the most -commodious gathering-place in the town. Long before the bells had -ceased clanging the church was so full that children occupying full -seats were accommodatingly taken on the laps of their parents, larger -children were lifted to the window-sills, deaf people were removed from -the pews to the altar steps, and chairs were brought from the various -residences and placed in the aisles. Outside the church, crowds stood -about near the windows, while more prudent persons made seats of logs -from the woodpile which the country members of the congregation had -already commenced to form against the approaching winter. - -A sudden hush of the whispering multitude ushered in the clergy of -Barton, and, for once, the four reverend gentlemen really seemed -desirous of uniting against a common enemy instead of indulging in -their customary quadrangular duel. Then, amid a general clapping of -hands, the members of the Crystal Spring Glee Club filed in and took -reserved seats at the right of the altar; while the Barton Brass Band, -announced by a general shriek of “Oh!” from all the children present, -seated themselves on a raised platform on the left. - -Squire Tomple, the richest and fattest citizen of the town, was -elected chairman, and accepted with a benignant smile. Then the -Reverend Timotheus Brown, the oldest pastor in the village, prayed -earnestly that intemperance might cease to reign. Squire Tomple then -called on the band for some instrumental music, which was promptly -given and loudly applauded, after which the Crystal Spring Glee Club -sang a song with a rousing chorus. Then there was a touching dialogue -between a pretended drunkard and his mother, in which the graceless -youth was brought to a knowledge of the error of his ways, and moved -to make a very full and grammatical confession. Then the band played -another air, and the Glee Club sang “Don’t you go, Tommy,” and -there was a tableau entitled “The First Glass,” and another of “The -Drunkard’s Home,” after which the band played still another air. Then a -member of the Executive Committee stepped on tiptoe up to the chairman -and whispered to him, and the chairman assumed an air of dignified -surprise, edged expectantly to one side of his chair, and finally arose -suddenly as another member of the Executive Committee entered the rear -door arm-in-arm with the great Major Ben Bailey himself. - -The committee-man introduced the Major to the chairman, who in turn -made the Major acquainted with the reverend clergy; the audience -indulged in a number of critical and approving glances and whispers, -and then the chair announced that the speaker of the evening would now -instruct and entertain those there present. The speaker of the evening -cleared his throat, took a swallow of water, threw his head back, -thrust one hand beneath his coat-tails, and opened his discourse. - -He was certainly a very able speaker. He explained in a few words the -nature of alcohol, and what were its unvarying effects upon the human -system; proved to the satisfaction and horror of the audience, from -reports of analyses and from liquor-dealers’ handbooks, that most -liquors were adulterated, and with impure and dangerous materials; -explained how the use of beer and light wines created a taste for -stronger liquors; showed the fallacy of the idea that liquor was in -any sense nutritious; told a number of amusing stories about men who -had been drunk; displayed figures showing how many pounds of bread and -meat might be bought with the money spent in the United States for -liquor, how many comfortable homes the same money would build, how many -suits of clothing it would pay for, how many churches it would erect, -and how soon it would pay the National Debt (which in those days was -foolishly considered large enough to be talked about). Then, after -drawing a touching picture of the drunkard’s home, and dramatically -describing the horrors of the drunkard’s death, the gallant Major made -an eloquent appeal to all present to forsake forever the poisonous -bowl, and dropped into his seat amid a perfect thunder of applause. - -The lecture had been a powerful one; it was evident that the speaker -had formed a deep impression on the minds of his hearers, for when -the pledge was circulated, men and women who never drank snatched it -eagerly and appended their names, some parents even putting pencils -into baby fingers, and with devout pride helping the little ones -to trace their names. Nor were the faithful alone in earnestness, -for a loud shout of “Bless the Lord!” from Father Baguss, who was -circulating one of the pledges, attracted attention to the fact that -the document was being signed by George Doughty, Squire Tomple’s own -book-keeper, one of the most promising young men in Barton, except that -he occasionally drank. Then the list of names taken in the gallery was -read, and it was ascertained that Tom Adams, who drove the brick-yard -wagon, and whose sprees were mighty in length and magnitude, had also -signed. Half a dozen men hurried into the gallery to congratulate -Tom Adams, and so excited that gentleman that he took a pledge and a -pencil, went into the crowd outside the church, and soon returned with -the names of some of the heaviest drinkers in town. - -The excitement increased. Cool-headed men--men who rarely or never -drank, yet disapproved of binding pledges--gave in their names almost -before they knew it. Elder Hobbedowker moved a temporary suspension -of the circulation of the pledges until the Lord could be devoutly -thanked for this manifestation of his grace; then the good elder -assumed that his motion had been put and carried, and he immediately -made an earnest prayer. During the progress of the prayer the leader -of the band--perhaps irreverently, but acting under the general -excitement--brought his men to attention, and the elder’s “Amen” was -drowned in the opening crash of a triumphal march. Then the Glee -Club sang “Down with Rum,” but were brought to a sudden stop by the -chairman, who excused himself by making the important announcement -that their fellow-citizen, Mr. Crupp, who had been a large vender of -intoxicating beverages, had declared his intention to abandon the -business forever. The four pastors shook hands enthusiastically with -each other; while, in response to deafening cheers, the heroic Crupp -himself was thrust upon the platform, where, with a trembling voice -and a pale though determined face, he reaffirmed his decision. Old -Parson Fish hobbled to the front of the pulpit, straightened his bent -back until his mien had at once some of the lamb and the lion about -it, and, raising his right hand authoritatively, started the doxology, -“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” in which he was devoutly and -uproariously joined by the whole assemblage. This done, the people, -by force of habit, waited a moment as if expecting the benediction; -then remembering it was not Sunday, they broke into a general and -very enthusiastic chat, which ceased only when the sexton, who was a -creature of regular habits, announced from the pulpit that the oil -in the lamps would last only a few minutes longer, and that _he_ had -promised to be at home by ten o’clock. - -Squire Tomple took the arm of the penitent Crupp and appropriated him -in full. There was a great deal to Squire Tomple besides avoirdupois, -and when thoroughly aroused, his enthusiasm was of a magnitude -consistent with his size. Besides, Squire Tomple was in the habit -of having his own way, as became the richest man in Barton, and he -appropriated Mr. Crupp as a matter of course. With Mr. Crupp on his -arm and the great cause in his heart, he appeared to himself so fully -the master of the situation that the foul fiend of drunkenness seemed -conquered forever, and the Squire swung his cane with a triumphal -violence which seriously threatened the safety of the villagers in -front of and behind him. - -The Squire held his peace while surrounded by the home-going crowd, as -rightly became a great man; but when he had turned into the street in -which Mr. Crupp lived, he said, with due condescension, - -“Crupp, you’ve done the right thing; you _might_ have done it sooner, -but you can do a great deal of good yet.” - -The ex-rumseller quietly replied, - -“Yes, if I’m helped at it.” - -“Helped? Of course you’ll be helped, if you pray for it. You’ve -repented; now address the throne of grace, and----” - -“Yes, I know,” interrupted Mr. Crupp. “I’m not entirely unacquainted -with the Lord, if I _have_ sold rum. You know his sun shines on the -just and the unjust, and I’ve had a good share of it. It’s help from -men that I want, and am afraid that I can’t get it.” - -“Why, Crupp,” remonstrated the Squire, “you must have made something -out of your business, if it _is_ an infernal one.” - -“I don’t mean that,” replied Mr. Crupp, a little tartly. “You’ve been -on your little drunks when you were young, of course?” - -The Squire almost twitched Mr. Crupp off the sidewalk, as he exclaimed, -with righteous indignation, - -“I never was drunk in my life.” - -“Oh!” said the convert. “Well, some have, and pledges won’t quiet an -uneasy stomach, no way you can fix ’em. Them that never drank are all -right, but the drinking boys that signed to-night’ll be awful thirsty -in the morning.” - -“Well,” said the Squire, “_they_ must pray, and act like men.” - -“Some of ’em don’t believe in prayin’, and some of ’em can’t act like -men, because ’tisn’t in ’em. There’s men that seem to need whisky as -much as they need bread; leastways, they don’t seem able to do without -it.” - -“If I’d been you, and believed that, Crupp,” replied the Squire, with -noticeable coolness and deliberation, “I wouldn’t have signed the -pledge; that is, I wouldn’t have stopped selling liquor.” - -“P’r’aps not,” returned the ex-rumseller; “but with me it’s different. -There’s some men that b’lieves that sellin’ a woman a paper of pins, -and measurin’ out a quart of tar for a farmer, is small business, an’ -beneath ’em, but they stick to it. Now I believe I’m too much of a man -to sell whisky, so I’ve stopped.” - -The Squire took the rebuke in silence; however much his face may -have flushed, there were in Barton no tell-tale gas-lamps to make -his discomfort visible. The Squire had grown rich as a vender of the -thousand little things sold in country stores; he had many a time -declared that storekeeping was a dog’s life, and that he, Squire -Tomple, was everybody’s nigger--but he made no attempt to change his -business. - -“What I mean,” continued Mr. Crupp, “by needin’ help, is this: I know -just about how much every drinkin’ man in town takes, an’ when he takes -it, an’ about when he gets on his sprees. Now, if there’s anybody to -take an interest in these fellows at such times, they’re going to have -plenty of chances mighty soon.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -BUSINESS _vs._ PHILANTHROPY. - - -On the morning after the meeting the happiest man in all Barton -was the Reverend Jonas Wedgewell. He had been one of the first to -agitate the subject of a grand temperance demonstration; in fact, he -had, while preaching the funeral sermon of a young man who had been -drowned while drunk, prophesied that the sad event which had on that -occasion drawn his hearers together would give a mighty impetus to the -temperance movement; then like a sensible, matter-of-fact prophet, he -exerted himself to the uttermost that his prophecy might be fulfilled. -He subscribed liberally to the fund which paid for advertising the -meeting; he labored personally a full hour with the performer on the -big drum, and ended by persuading him to forego a coon-hunt on that -particular night, that he might take part in a hunt for nobler game. -The Reverend Jonas had drafted all the pledges which were circulated -during the meeting, and had seen to it that they contained no weak -or ungrammatic expressions which might tempt thirsty souls to treat -disrespectfully the documents and the principles they embodied. He had -reached the church door at the third tap of the bell, had greeted all -his reverend brethren with a hearty shake with both his own hands, and -had offered the Reverend Timotheus Brown so many pertinent suggestions -as to the prayer which that gentleman had been requested to make that -the ancient divine remarked, with a touch of saintly sarcasm, that he -did not consider that the occasion justified him in making a departure -from his habit of offering strictly original prayers. - -Through the whole course of the meeting good Pastor Wedgewell sat -expectantly on the extreme end of the pulpit sofa, his body inclined a -little forward, his hands upon his knees, his eyes gleaming brightly -through polished glasses, and his whole pose suggesting the most -intense earnestness. He discerned a telling point before its verbal -expression was fully completed, his hands commenced to applaud the -moment the point was announced; his varnished boots and well-stored -head beat time alike to “Lily Dale,” the march from “Norma,” “Sweet -Spirit, hear my prayer,” and such other airs as the band was not -ashamed to play in public; he sprang from his seat and approvingly -patted the youthful backs of the pretended drunkard and his mother, he -laughed almost hysterically at the wit of the lecturer, and moistened -handkerchief after handkerchief as the able speaker depicted the sad -results of drunkenness. While the pledges were being circulated, the -reverend man occupied a position which raked the house, and he was the -first to announce to the faithful in the front seats the capture of any -drinking man. He intercepted Tom Lyker, a tin-shop apprentice, who had -signed the pledge, in the aisle, immediately after the audience was -dismissed, and suggested that they should together hold a season of -prayer in the study attached to the church; and the rather curt manner -in which the repentant but not altogether regenerate Thomas declined -the invitation did not abash the holy man in the least; for, as the -audience finally dispersed, he secured a few faithful ones, with whom -he adjourned to the study, and enjoyed what he afterward referred to as -a precious season. - -Mrs. Wedgewell, who rendered but feeble reverence unto him who was -at once her spouse and her spiritual adviser, had been known to say -that when the old gentleman was wound up there was no knowing when -he would run down again; and all who saw the good man on the morning -after the meeting, admitted that his wife’s simile was an uncommonly -apt one. Squire Tomple believed so fully in the advantages of the -early bird over all others in search of sustenance, that his store was -always opened at sunrise; yet George Doughty had just taken the third -shutter from the front window, when a gentle tap on the shoulder caused -him to drop the rather heavy board upon his toes. As he wrathfully -turned himself, he beheld the approving countenance and extended -congratulatory hand of the Reverend Wedgewell. - -“George, my dear, my noble young friend,” said he, as the irate -youth squeezed his agonized toes, “you have performed a most noble -and meritorious action--an action which you will never have cause to -regret.” - -For a moment or two the young man’s face said many things not seemly to -express in appropriate words to a clergyman; but he finally recovered -his sense of politeness, and replied: - -“I hope I shan’t repent of it, but I don’t know. It may be noble and -meritorious to sign the pledge, but a fellow needs to have twenty times -as much man in him to keep it.” - -“Now you don’t mean to say, George, that you’ll allow such a vile -appetite to regain its ascendency over you?” pleaded the preacher. - -“_’Tisn’t_ a vile appetite,” quickly replied the young man. “I need -whisky as much as I need bread and butter--yes, and a great deal more, -too. I have to open the store at sunrise, and keep it open till nine -o’clock and after, have to make myself agreeable to anywhere from two -to twenty people at a time, sell all I can, watch people who will steal -the minute your eye is off of them, not let anybody feel neglected, and -see that I get cash from everybody who isn’t good pay. When there isn’t -anybody here, I’ve got to keep the books, see that the stock don’t run -down in spots, and stir up people that are slow pay. The only way I can -do it all is by taking something to help me. I _hate_ whisky--I’m going -to try to leave it alone; but I tell you, Dominie, it’s going to be one -of the biggest fights you ever knew a young man to go into.” - -The reverend listener was as easily depressed as he was exalted, and -Doughty’s short speech had the effect of greatly elongating the -minister’s countenance. Yet he had a great deal of that pertinacity -which is as necessary to soldiers of the cross as it is to those of the -bayonet; so he began manfully to search his mind for some weapon or -means of defense which the clerk could use. Suddenly his countenance -brightened, his benevolent eyes enlarged behind his glasses, and he -exclaimed: - -“Just the thing! My dear young friend, the hand of Providence is in -this matter. Your worthy employer was the chairman of our meeting last -night; certainly he will be glad to give you such assistance as shall -lessen the amount of your labors. Here he comes now. Let _me_ manage -this affair; I really ask it as a favor.” - -“I’m much obliged, but I think--confound it!” ejaculated the young -man, as his companion hastened out of earshot and buttonholed Squire -Tomple. Half smiling and half frowning Doughty retired from the door, -but took up a new position, from which he could see the couple. To -the eyes of the clerk, his employer seemed a rock in his unchanging -pose, while the old preacher, rich in many a grace not peculiar to -country storekeepers, yet utterly ignorant of business and such of -its perversions as are called requirements, seemed a mere lamb--a -fancy which was strengthened by the incessant gesturing and change -of position in which he indulged when in conversation. The pair soon -separated; the minister walked away, his step seeming not so exultant -as when he approached the merchant; while the latter, appearing to his -clerk to be broader, deeper, and more solid than ever, approached the -store, lifted up his head, displayed the face he usually wore when he -found he had made a bad debt, and said, - -“George, I wish you wouldn’t try to talk about business to ministers. -Old Wedgewell has just pestered me nearly to death; says you complain -of having too much to do, and that you have to drink to keep up. It’ll -be just like him to tell somebody else, and a pretty story that’ll be -to go around about the chairman of a temperance meeting.” - -“I didn’t mean to say anything to him,” replied the clerk; “but he -made me drop a shutter on my toes, and I guess that loosened my tongue -a little. I didn’t tell him anything but the truth, though, Squire. I -signed the pledge, last night, hoping you’d help me through.” - -“What--what do you mean, George?” asked the merchant, in a tone which -defined the word “conservative” more clearly than lexicographer ever -did. - -“I can’t work so many hours a day without drinking sometimes,” replied -the clerk. “What I ask of you is to take a boy. If I could come in a -couple of hours later every morning--and there’s next to nothing done -in the first two hours of the day--I could have a decent amount of -rest, not have to hurry so much, and wouldn’t break down so often, and -have to go to whisky to be helped up again.” - -“A boy would have to be paid,” remarked the Squire in the tone he -habitually used when making a penitential speech in class-meeting; “and -here’s summer-time coming; there isn’t much business done in summer, -you know.” - -“A boy won’t cost more than a dollar a week the first year,” replied -the clerk, “and you’d make that out of the people who sometimes _have_ -to go somewhere else and trade on days when you’re not here and I’m -too busy to wait on them. There _isn’t_ so much money made in summer; -but women come to the store then a good deal more than they do in the -winter, and they take up an awful amount of time. Besides, the store -has to be opened about two hours earlier every morning than it does in -winter.” - -The merchant pinched his gloomy brow and reflected. Doughty looked at -him without much hopefulness. The Squire’s heart might be all right, -but his pocket-book was by far the more sensitive and controlling -organ. At last the Squire said, - -“Well, if it’s for _your_ good that you want the boy, you ought to be -willing to pay his salary. Besides----” - -“Excuse me, Squire Tomple,” interrupted Doughty; “’tisn’t for my good -alone. ‘Accursed be he who putteth the bottle to his brother’s lips.’ -I’ve heard you quote that to more than one man right in this store. -That’s what you’re doing to me if you keep on. You sell half as much -again as any other storekeeper in town, and why? Because I am smart -enough to hold custom. I haven’t cared to do anything else. I’ve given -myself up to making and holding custom for you, and I took to whisky to -keep me up to my work.” - -“Well, haven’t I paid you for all you’ve done?” demanded the proprietor. - -“Yes; but now I ask you to pay a little more. I’ve told you why; and -now the case stands just here: which do you care for most, the price -of a boy or the soul of your faithful clerk? _You_ say a man’s soul’s -in danger if he drinks.” - -“Well, I’ll tell you, George,” replied the Squire, “I’ll think about -it. I want to do what’s right; but I--I don’t like to have other -people’s sins fastened on me.” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -A WET BLANKET. - - -The first task to which the penitent Crupp devoted himself on the -morning after the meeting was hardly that which his new admirers had -supposed he would attempt. They imagined he would knock in the heads -of his barrels, and allow the accursed contents to flood his cellar; -but Crupp, on the contrary, closed out the entire lot, for cash, at the -highest prices he could exact from dealers with whom he had lately been -in competition. “’Twas a splendid lot of liquors,” said Crupp, in the -course of an explanatory speech at the post-office, while every one was -waiting for the opening of the regular daily mail; “and though I _do_ -feel above sellin’ ’em over the counter, they’re better for men that -_will_ drink than any that have ever come into Barton since I’ve been -here.” - -With easier mind and heavier pocket, the ex-rumseller then called upon -the Rev. Jonas Wedgewell. That good man’s domestic, although from an -ever-green isle whose children do not generally regard whisky with -abhorrence, had sympathetically caught the spirit of her employers, -and as she had not heard of Mr. Crupp’s change of mind, she left him -standing on the piazza while she called Mr. Wedgewell. The divine -descended the stairway two steps at a time, dived into the parlor, and -had a congratulatory speech half delivered before he discovered that -the new convert was not there. He wildly shouted, “Mr. Crupp!” traced -the penitent by his voice, escorted him to the parlor with a series of -hand-shakings, shoulder-pattings, and bows, and forcibly dropped him -into an elegant chair which Mrs. Wedgewell had bought only to show, and -in which no member of the family had ever dared to sit. - -“Ah, my valiant friend,” said the Rev. Jonas, hastily drawing a -chair near Mr. Crupp, and shedding upon him the full effulgence of a -countenance beaming with enthusiastic adoration; “the morning songs of -the angels of God must have been sweeter this morning as they thought -of your noble deed. You have cast off the shackles of a most accursed -bondage. Doubtless you wish to fulfill all of the conditions of the -liberty with which Christ hath made you free. The church----” - -“Excuse me, parson,” interrupted Mr. Crupp; “but I don’t want to join -the church--not just now, anyhow. I----” - -“Wish to consecrate your ill-gotten gains to the service of the Lord,” -broke in the good pastor; but Mr. Crupp frowned, then pouted, then -compressed his lips tightly, and gave so sudden a twitch as to wrench -one of the joints of the sacred chair, as he replied: - -“No, sir, I don’t, for I haven’t any ill-gotten gains. I never sold -anything but good liquor, and the price was always fair. I never sold -any liquor to a drunken man, either. What I came to you for is this: -I know who drinks, when they drink, what they take, and I know pretty -well _why_ they drink. Some of them signed the pledge last night, and -they’re going to have an awful hard job in keeping it.” - -“Prayer----” interrupted the minister, but the hard-headed Crupp -quickly completed the sentence. - -“Prayer never cured a dyspeptic stomach, that I’ve heard of, and -I don’t believe it’ll take away a man’s hunger for whisky. These -fellows that’s been drinking, and have got anything to ’em, _can_ be -kept from falling into the old ways again; but they’ve got to be -handled carefully, and what I came to you for was to ask who was going -to do the handling? You know who’s free-handed with money in your -congregation, and free-handed men ought to be free-hearted. I’m going -to Dominie Brown on the same errand, and to the other preachers, too.” - -Mr. Crupp’s speech consumed only a moment of time, but its effect -upon the preacher was wonderful--and depressing. From being a mirror -of irrepressible Christian exultation, Mr. Wedgewell’s face became as -solemn as it ever was when he bemoaned from the pulpit the apathy of -the elect. His eyes enlarged behind his glasses, and he stared for a -moment in an abstracted manner at a dreadful chromo which hung upon -his wall--a chromo at which no one in active possession of his mental -faculties could possibly have looked so long. But the old pastor had a -heart so great that even his theology had been unable to wall it in, -and after a moment of inevitable despondency he realized that Crupp was -intent upon doing good. - -“Mr. Crupp,” said he, turning his head suddenly, and regaining a -portion of his earlier expression of countenance, “I do not fully -comprehend your intention, but I can see that it is good. May I ask -what the people of God can do for these beings who have been under the -dominion of alcohol?” - -“Well, it’s a long story,” replied the old bartender. “Among them that -signed, there isn’t one in ten that ever drank, and of them that drank, -half of ’em’ll take something before night.” - -“And break their solemn vow! Awful! awful!” ejaculated the minister. - -“Yes,” said Crupp, “_’tis_ awful; but, on the other hand, there’s -some that’s in earnest. There’s Tom Adams, now--he that drives the -brick-yard team. Tom’s a good, square, honest fellow, and he loves his -family, but I don’t see how he’s going to stop drinking. He can’t work -without it; leastways, he can’t work along the way he’s working now. -Deacon Jones ought to give him easier work to do until he can bring -himself around; but Deacon Jones won’t waste his money in that way, -if he _is_ a member of your church. Then there’s old Bunley: there -isn’t anything _to_ him. He’s been drinking and drinking and drinking -this forty year, he says, and yet he was well brought up, and he can’t -keep himself from going to church every Sunday. He’s got some children -that ain’t grown yet, and if some of the storekeepers would only give -him credit without ever expecting to see their money again, the old -fellow wouldn’t get down-hearted so often, and maybe he could quit -drinking. As far as taking care of his family goes, he isn’t good for -much the way he is; he borrows from soft-hearted fellows who can’t -afford to lose as well as the storekeepers can, and _maybe_ he steals -sometimes--I don’t say he _does_, mind. At any rate, the biggest part -of his support comes out of the public, and as the public can’t help -itself, it ought to be sensible enough to try to make the old chap feel -and act like a man.” - -“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Wedgewell, who had through all Mr. Crupp’s -delivery sat erect with his hands upon his knees, and his eyes and -mouth wide open. “I assure you, my dear sir, that I never had an -idea that the success of the temperance cause depended upon so many -conditions, and I also beg to assure you”--here the Reverend Jonas -hastily proffered his right hand--“that I appreciate and admire the -spirit which has prompted you to examine this subject in so many of -its bearings, and to endeavor to throw light upon it. But surely all -the--the men who, as you express it, have been drinking--surely these -cannot be constrained to continue by conditions similar to those which -you have instanced? There must be some who, if only they exercise their -will-power, will succeed in putting their vile enemy under their feet?” - -“Yes,” replied Crupp, “there _are_ such. Lots of young fellows drink -only because they think it’s smart, and because they haven’t got -man enough in them to stop when they want to. They’re like a lot of -wolves--plucky enough when they’re together, but a live rooster could -scare one of them if he caught him alone. _I’m_ going to look out for -_that_ crowd myself; they need somebody to preach to ’em wherever he -can catch ’em, and I know where they hang out. But I’m not through -with the other kind yet. There’s Fred Macdonald, he’s going to be the -hardest man to manage in the whole lot. Good family, you know--got -a judge for a father, and ambitious as the----ambitious as Napoleon -Bonaparte. He’s in with all the steamboat fellows, and whisky is an -angel alongside of some things they carry. They’ll ruin him, sure. -Steamboating looks like something big to him, you know; it shows off -better than country stores and saw-mills. It’s no use talkin’ to him; -I’ve tried it once or twice, for I know the steamboat people of old; -but he as good as told me to mind my own business. Now if some of the -business men could get up something enterprising, and put Fred at the -head of it, on condition that he wouldn’t drink any more, they might -make money and save him from going to the--the bad. _I’ll_ put some -money into the thing, for I believe in Fred. Of course he’ll have to -be watched a little, for he may be too venturesome; but he can get -more trade and get more work out of his men than any other man in this -county.” - -“Mr. Crupp,” said the minister, again taking the hand of the newly-made -reformer, and laying his own left hand affectionately upon Mr. Crupp’s -right elbow, “I cannot find words adequate to the expression of my -admiration of your earnestness in this great moral movement. But I must -confess that your treatment of the subject is one to which I am utterly -unaccustomed. I have been wont to regard intemperance solely as an -indication of an infirm will and a depraved appetite, but your theory -seems plausible; indeed, I do not see that either of our respective -standpoints need be wrong. But, with regard to the employment of the -reformatory means you suggest, I am not a capable adviser. It might be -well for you to consult some of our leading business men.” - -“That’s what I am going to do,” replied Crupp. “And I am going to see -the doctors, too, and all the other ministers. What I want of _you_ is, -to back me up; preach at these fellows that are well enough off to make -themselves useful.” - -“I’ll do it!” replied the minister with emphasis. “A suitable text -has already providentially entered my mind: ‘Am I my brother’s -keeper?’ Three heads and application: _First_, demonstrate that every -man _is_ his brother’s keeper; _second_, show how in the divine -economy it is wise that this should be so; _third_, the example of -Christ; _application_, our duty to the needy in our midst. Another -text suggests itself: ‘We, then, that are strong ought to bear the -infirmities of the weak.’ And yet another: ‘Give strong drink unto him -that is ready to perish;’ argument to be that if the Inspired Word -justifies such action as that implied by the text, and if alcohol is -the demon we believe it to be, it is our duty to prevent, by any means -in our power, people from reaching a condition in which such a terrible -remedy must be used. I beg your pardon, my dear Mr. Crupp,” exclaimed -the minister, springing excitedly from his chair; “but if you have any -other calls to make, I will repair at once to my study and prepare a -discourse based upon one of these texts. Excuse my seeming rudeness in -thus abruptly closing our interview, but my soul is on fire--on fire -with ardor which I cannot but believe is from heaven.” - -“Oh, certainly,” replied Mr. Crupp, rising quite briskly. “Business is -business; it’s so in the liquor trade, I know, and I suppose it is in -preaching. I’ll go down and see Squire Tomple, I guess.” - -The Rev. Jonas Wedgewell dropped abruptly into a chair, and the fire -with which his soul had been consuming seemed suddenly to expire. His -face became blank and expressionless, his lower jaw dropped a little, -and he gasped, - -“Squire Tomple? I had a discouraging conversation with him only -yesterday morning on a subject involving very nearly the ideas which -you have advanced. His very estimable clerk, George Doughty, who -signed the pledge at our meeting, asserted that his work must decrease -in volume in order that he might continue faithful; so I made haste -to intercede for him with his employer, but I did not meet with that -encouragement which I had hoped for. Brother Tomple intimated that -temperance was temperance and business was business, and even made some -remarks which have since seemed to me to contain implications that I -was unduly concerned about his affairs.” - -“Tomple’s a--a hog, if he _is_ a church member,” replied the irreverent -Crupp; “but he’s got to make himself useful if plain talk will do it. -It takes all kinds of men to make a world, parson, or to make men act -like men to their neighbors. Perhaps if you preachers come down on rich -men who hoard their money, and poor men that are about as stingy with -how-d’ye-do’s, and if business men show the public that it’s as cheap -to reform a pauper as it is to support him, and that it isn’t the thing -to stand by, while a man’s killing himself, without sayin’ a word or -spendin’ a cent to prevent him--perhaps we can be of some use in the -world. Good day, parson.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -REFORM WITH MONEY IN IT. - - -Tom Adams, driver of the brick-yard wagon, and signer of one of the -pledges circulated at the great temperance meeting, was certainly -a man worth saving. He had a wife and was rich in children. His -wife was faithful, good-natured, and industrious, and his children -were of that bright, irrepressible nature which is about the most -valuable of inheritances in this land where other inheritances do not -average largely in money value. For the good of such a group it was -very desirable that the head of the family should be in the constant -possession of strong arms and all his wits. And even for his own -sake Tom was worth a great deal more attention than men of his kind -ever receive. He was perfectly honest, a hard worker, cheerier in -temperament than any pastor in the village, quicker-witted than most of -the lawyers within the judicial circuit upon which the town of Barton -was situated, and more generous in proportion to his means than any -of his well-to-do fellow-citizens. During the season for making and -delivering bricks he worked from sunrise to sunset, rendered fair -count to seller and buyer, and never abused his employer’s horses. -His regular pay was seventy-five cents per day, which sum, in a land -where flour was sold at two cents per pound and meat was only twice as -high as flour, and a comfortable house could be hired at four dollars -per month, paid his family expenses. But the season at the brick-yard -lasted only during six months of the twelve. During the remaining six -months Tom gladly did any work he could find: he drove teams where any -hauling was to be done, chopped wood, worked in the pork-houses where -merchants prepared for the Southern market the fatted hogs which were -the principal legal-tenders for the indebtedness of farmer customers, -formed part of the crew of one of the many flatboats which conveyed the -meat to market, and did whatever other work he could find. But in the -winter season, when the family appetite was most industrious, Tom could -not find employment for all his time, while the merchants who trusted -him made more frequent requests for money than Tom was able to honor. -When he was idle, he found himself more welcome at the liquor-shops -than anywhere else; when he grew despondent at his inability to pay, he -sought solace at these same places; when in the steady work and long -hours of the summer season he became gradually “worked out” and “used -up”--experiences not infrequent with Tom--he went to the liquor-shops -for the only relief he had ever been able to find. His experience did -not differ greatly from that of men of higher social standing, who, -under similar mental and physical conditions, drink high-priced wines. -He gradually increased the quantity of his potations, and went through -the successive experiences of being unmanned by liquor, striving to -rebuild himself by the power which had broken him, becoming by turns -gay, silly, boisterous, pugnacious, sullen, apathetic, and finally -penitent. Each of his sprees cost him several days in time and several -dollars in money--a fact which no one realized more clearly than Tom -himself; yet the feeling which had made him take the first drinks of -these frightful series was one which had its seat in his own better -nature, and which he had many times found more powerful than every -influence he could bring to bear against it. He had listened to many -a private lecture on the subject of his weakness, and had honestly -admitted the truth of all that was said to him on the subject; he had -signed many a pledge in the most agonized earnest, and had broken every -one of them. - -On the Monday which followed the temperance meeting Tom Adams was -nearly frantic with his old longing. The rest of Sunday had been a -hindrance rather than a help to him, for he had already suffered -several days from the effects of abstaining from his usual after-dinner -and after-supper potations. The amount usually drank on these occasions -had not been great, but the habit had for some years been so regular -that his amazed and indignant physique protested against the change. -Had he been capable of spiritually withdrawing himself from the -world on the day of the Lord, he might have found help and strength; -but he was as incapable of such a thing as were nine-tenths of the -church-members in Barton. While he remained at home, his children were -noisy enough to have hurried a rapt seer back to the realization of -earthly things; when he went abroad he could not, as was his usual -Sunday habit, step quietly into the back door of Bayne’s liquor-store. -He strolled down to the stable-yard of the Barton House, hoping to -find some one with whom he could talk horse; but the hostler was not -in sight, and the stable-boy, who had been heard to say he “didn’t -count much on them fellers what signed the pledge and went back on -their friends,” eyed him with evident disgust. In the street he met -people going to and from church and Sunday-school, and they looked at -him as if their eyes were asking, “Are you keeping your pledge?” Then, -to crown all, his wife gave him such a beseeching and yet doubting look -every time he left the house and returned to it that he almost hated -the good woman for her affectionate anxiety. - -Tom was up bright and early Monday morning, and though he soon mounted -his wagon and left his wife’s eyes behind him, he found his longing for -liquor as close to him as ever. Reaching the brick-yard, he was rather -startled to find there Deacon Jones, his employer, and owner of a store -as well as the kilns. The deacon looked at him as all the religious -people had done on Sunday, and Tom inwardly cursed him. - -“How are you, Tom?” inquired the deacon, and then, without waiting for -a reply, remarked: - -“There’s somethin’ I’ve been a-wantin’ to talk to you ’bout, Tom, an’ -I was sure o’ catchin’ you here, so I came over before breakfast. You -signed the pledge t’other night.” - -This latter clause was delivered with an accompanying glance which -caused Tom to put a great deal of anger into his reply, although his -words were few. - -“Yes, an’ kep’ it, too.” - -“I’m glad of it, Tom. There’s been times when you didn’t, you know. -Well, what I want to say is this: Some folks say that some men drink -because they have to work too hard, an’ because they have trouble. -Now, mebbe--I only say mebbe, mind--_mebbe_ that’s what upset you -those other times. Now, if I was to give you work all the year round -at seventy-five cents a day, an’ not work you more’n ten hours a day, -would it help you to keep straight?” - -“Would it?” said Tom, scratching his head, wrinkling his brows, and -eying the deacon incredulously “Why, of course it would.” - -“Well, then,” said the deacon, “I’ll do it. As long as the brick -business is good you can work at haulin’ from seven to twelve, an’ -one to six. Don’t you s’pose you could put two or three hundred more -brick on a load without hurtin’ the hosses? I don’t want to lose any -more’n I can help, you know, by cuttin’ down your time. Rainy days I’ll -keep you busy at the store some way; them’s the days farmers can’t do -much on the farm, so they bring their butter and eggs to town, and -there’s a sight of measurin’ an’ weighin’ to be done. An’ after the -brick season’s over I’ll find you somethin’ to do at the store. You can -put the pork-house an’ warehouse to rights before the packin’ season -begins, an’ you can weigh the corn an’ wheat an’ oats an’ pork when -they come in, and mend bags, and work in the pork-house three months -out of the six. You wouldn’t object to takin’ night-spells in the -pork-house instead of day-spells, would you, when we have to work day -_and_ night? Night-wages costs us most, you know, an’ you ought to help -us make up what we lose on you when there’s nothin’ doin’.” - -“Just as _you_ say,” replied Tom. He did not clasp the deacon in a -grateful embrace, for the deacon had, in his thrifty way, prevented -Tom from feeling especially grateful. The owner of the brick-yard had -intimated that the new arrangement was for Tom’s especial benefit, but -his later remarks caused this feature of the arrangement to speedily -disappear from view. But, although not doubting for an instant that -the deacon meant to get his money back with usury, Tom felt his heart -growing lighter every moment. At the same time he felt angry at the -deacon’s occasional suggestions that the arrangements were partly of -the nature of charity. So he replied: - -“Just as _you_ say; but, deacon, I ain’t the feller that wants money -for work I don’t do, _you_ know that. The arrangement suits me -first-rate, but I’m goin’ to work hard for my money; you can bet all -your loose change on _that_.” - -“Thomas!” ejaculated the deacon sternly, “I am not in the habit of -betting. It’s a careless, foolish, wasteful, sinful way of using money.” - -“That’s so,” replied Tom reflectively; “unless,” he continued, “you’re -one of the winnin’ kind.” - -“It is a business I don’t intend to go into, so the less said of it the -better. So my offer suits you, does it?” - -“I’ll shake hands on it,” replied Tom, extending his hand. - -“Wait a moment,” said the deacon, retiring his own right hand to a -conservative position behind his back. “If it suits you,” continued -the deacon impressively, “you agree to stick to your pledge; no foolin’ -with whisky again, mind.” - -“Nary drop,” said Tom, with great emphasis. “Ten minutes ago I wouldn’t -have given a pewter dime for my chance of sticking it out through the -day, but now I wouldn’t give a cent for a barr’l full of ten-year-old -rye.” - -“All right, then--shake hands. And we begin to-day--or say -to-morrow--there’s lots of bricks wanted to-day--here’s the orders. And -may the Lord help you, Thomas--help you to hold out steadfast unto the -end. Now I reckon I’ll get home to breakfast.” - -As the deacon walked off he soliloquized in this manner: - -“There! I wonder if that’ll suit Crupp an’ Brother Wedgewell? What a -queer team them two fellows make! Queer that Crupp should have bothered -me two hours Saturday night, an’ the preacher should have come out -so strong about bein’ our brothers’ keepers the very next day. ’Twas -a Christian act for me to do, too. ‘He that converteth a sinner from -the error of his ways’--ah! blessed be the promises. An’ I won’t lose -a cent by the operation--_I_ can keep him busy enough. When folks -know what I’ve done an’ what I done it for, I guess they’ll think -I’ve got my good streaks after all. I declare, I ought to have told -him I couldn’t pay for days when he was sick; ’tain’t too late yet, -though--he won’t back out on _that_ account. Mebbe I can talk him into -j’ining the church, too--who knows, an’ some day in ’xperience meetin’ -mebbe he’ll tell how it all came about through me. He must bring his -dinners with him when he’s workin’ about the store. I ought to have -done that with my clerk before he took to lunchin’ off the crackers and -cheese busy days--these little things all cost. But it _does_ make a -man feel good to do kindnesses to his fellow-men.” - -As for Tom Adams, he mounted the wagon, seized the reins, and exclaimed, - -“By thunder! ’fore I haul a durned brick, I’ll just drive home by the -back way and tell the old woman. Reckon she won’t look at me any more -in _that_ way then. Like enough he’s right when he says _some_ says -mebbe workin’ too hard makes fellows drink. It never got into _my_ head -before, though.” - -As Tom drove through a back street in which Mr. Crupp lived, that -worthy stared at the empty wagon inquiringly. - -“The old man’s engaged me for a year, at six bits a day, and only ten -hours a day to work,” shouted Tom in explanation. - -“The devil!” replied the new reformer, and seizing his hat he hurried -off to the Rev. Jonas Wedgewell. The pastor was discovered through an -open window at his matutinal repast, and the eager Crupp thrust his -head in the window and shouted, - -“First blood, parson! Old Jones has hired Tom for a year, and he’s only -got ten hours a day to work.” - -The holy man raised his hands, despite the incumbrances of half a -biscuit and a coffee cup, and exclaimed, - -“Bless the Lord for the first fruits of the seed so newly sown. Who -would have thought so undemonstrative a man would have been the first -to heed the word of exhortation?” - -“He’s the first to see money in it--that’s why,” explained Crupp. - -“My dear sir, do you really ascribe Deacon Jones’s meritorious action -to sordid motives?” asked the old pastor, opening his mouth and eyes as -if the answer for which he waited was to come through them. - -“Hum--well, no--I reckon ’twas a little mixed,” replied Mr. Crupp, -meditatively analyzing a blossom of a honeysuckle growing by the -pastor’s window. “I dinged at him, you preached at him, he thought it -over, and whatever Jonathan Jones thinks over long is pretty sure to -have money in it somewhere in the end. He’ll make mor’n he’ll lose on -Tom, an’ it’s best he should--he’ll have a better heart to try another -experiment of the same sort one of these days. But I didn’t mean to -interrupt your breakfast--beg your pardon, Mrs. Wedgewell and young -ladies, for not ringing the bell, but I was too full of the news to -behave myself. Good by.” - -And Mr. Crupp started for his own breakfast-table, while the Reverend -Jonas’s eyes seemed directed at some object just out of sight, as he -abstractedly raised his coffee cup to his lips. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -AN ASTONISHED VIRGINIAN. - - -Why old Bunley had made Barton his place of residence nobody knew. -The most plausible theory ever advanced on the subject came from the -former proprietor of the Barton House, who said that Bunley, happening -to be traveling that way, had found the brandy at the Barton House -so good that he hadn’t the heart to leave it. The brandy lasted so -long that old Bunley--then twenty years younger--while consuming it -became acquainted with nearly everybody in the town; and as he had -no engagements that restrained him from making himself agreeable, he -found himself well liked, and entreated to make his home at Barton. -He reported--and his report was afterward verified--that he was the -son of a Virginia planter, and was unpopular at home because he had -made a runaway match with a splendid girl, whose only fault was that -her family did not rank very high. Bunley’s father had cut his son off -with a thousand dollars, but had considerately sent the money with the -letter of dismissal; so the happy couple were leisurely spending the -money and waiting for the old gentleman to relent, as irate fathers -always do in books. But while Bunley was enjoying the hospitalities -of Barton, annoyed only by the fact that his purse was growing light, -he heard of his father’s sudden death and of the inheritance by an -unloving brother of the entire estate. Then the young bridegroom -attempted to obtain money by borrowing, for this was the only method of -money-getting he understood; but the small success which attended his -efforts did not pay for the annoyance which his soulless creditors gave -him. Then he tried gambling, and, by devoting his mind to it, succeeded -so well that no one but an occasional commercial traveler, to whom -Bunley’s ways were unknown, would play with him. Then, under the guise -of being clerk of the Barton House, he became its actual barkeeper, and -attracted so much custom away from the other liquor-sellers that the -grateful proprietor took him into partnership, and, dying a year later, -bequeathed the whole business to him. But the good brandy which had -first persuaded Bunley to stop at Barton continued its fascinations, -and the new proprietor of the Barton House, while liked by all -travelers, grew so unpopular with purveyors of flour, meat, and other -hotel necessities that the sheriff was finally called upon to settle -the differences between them by disposing of the hotel property at -auction. - -After that Bunley ran to seed, to use an expression common in Barton. -How he lived during the twenty years which followed was not well -understood. His wife died, and it was understood that he married -some money the second time; but it was none the less whispered about -town that Bunley had been seen at night to borrow at woodpiles whose -owners he had not consulted. He went upon mighty sprees, and carried -the bouquet of liquor wherever he went. He started a small groggery -of his own, in which many bright boys learned to drink. He had long -since ruined the credit which he obtained on the strength of his second -wife’s property, for he never paid an account. - -And yet the most aggrieved of Bunley’s creditors could not help being -soft-hearted when they saw the old man in church, as he was every -Sunday morning with his two boys. The gentleman which was in old Bunley -then showed itself in his face and manner, and it _did_ seem too bad -that any one who could look and act so much like a man should not be -trusted to the extent of a dollar’s worth of sugar or a hundred pounds -of flour. Squire Tomple had thought so one Sunday, and as the Squire -strove to keep worldly thoughts out of his mind on the Lord’s day, his -mind became filled with old Bunley--so much so, that on the following -Monday he decoyed Bunley into his store, and talked so pleasantly to -him that the old gentleman actually made the request for which the -Squire hoped. He bought rather more than the Squire had meant to sell -him on credit, but his promise of early payment was so distinct and -emphatic that the Squire’s doubt was not fairly established for many -months. This story in all its details was told by the Squire to Mr. -Crupp, after that gentleman announced to him that something should be -done for old Bunley. - -“That was because you didn’t go about the job in the right way,” said -Crupp. “He’s got just enough conceit to suppose that he’s going to pay -all his bills some day, and he feels that when the time comes your -profit’ll pay for your kindness. That conceit of his is just what needs -to be taken down--it’s got to be done kindly--so that he understands -that whatever he gets comes out of pure charity and the desire to make -him comfortable, even at a loss. Now, he and his little family can live -on about a dollar a day. I’ll stand half the expense of supporting him -for three months if you’ll do the other half, and we’ll talk plain, -good-natured English to him, and let him understand he’s a pauper. -That’ll put him on his mettle. What do you say?” - -The Squire looked grave at once--as grave as he had appeared when -an uninsured hogshead of sugar belonging to him had fallen from a -steamboat gang-plank into the river, and melted. The proposition seemed -to take his breath away, in fact; but in a moment or two he regained it. - -“Look here, Crupp,” said he, “temperance is all very well; but I don’t -think it’s my business to stand part of the expenses of reforming -everybody, when I haven’t had anything to do with making drunkards. -With you the case is different. You say your liquors were always good; -but, like enough, that made men all the fonder of drinking the infernal -things. You’re a public-spirited citizen, but you can’t deny that -you’ve had a thousand times more to do with making drunkards than I -have. The very fact that you _are_ a decent fellow yourself has made -drinking halfway respectable in Barton. The crime’s right at your own -door, and you ought to pay for it. You----” - -The Squire paused. Mr. Crupp’s face was very white and his teeth were -tightly set. Mr. Crupp _had_ been known to throw a disorderly visitor -at his bar halfway across the street; and although the Squire knew that -his own avoirdupois was too great to be treated so contemptuously, he -had no desire to feel the weight of Crupp’s fist. Besides, Crupp was a -customer who bought a great deal and paid promptly, and the Squire did -not like to offend him and lose his custom. So the Squire paused. - -“Go right on,” said Mr. Crupp very quietly. “I’ll not bear any malice. -I’ve said a great many worse things to myself. Don’t hold in anything -you’ve got on your mind.” - -“I’m done,” said the Squire, looking relieved and extending his hand. -“Crupp, I think a good deal of you, and I’m ashamed of myself for -boiling over as I did. But folks talk to me as if I was made of money. -I paid out a good deal on the expense of the meeting; the parson’s -been at me to help every lazy drunkard to get work; George Doughty -wants more pay or less work, so he won’t have such a hankering after -liquor; and now to be asked to help old Bunley, that’s owed me money a -long time and never paid it, that came near helping one of my boys to a -taste for liquor, that helps himself at my woodpile--it’s _too_ much, -that’s all.” - -“Squire,” said Crupp, “isn’t there something in your Bible that’s not -complimentary to men who say to the needy, ‘Depart: be ye warmed and -fed,’ but don’t put their hands into their pockets to help the poor -wretches along? I tell you that a man that’s got the love of drink -fixed in every muscle in his body and every drop of his blood is worse -off than any cold and hungry man you ever saw. Such men _sometimes_ -help themselves out of their trouble, and stick to cold water; but -the man that does it is more of a hero, and he’s got better stuff in -him, than any other sort of sinner that ever repents. He’s got to be -helped just like drowning men have to be, and you’ve got to take hold -of him just as you do of a drowning man, by whatever part you can get -the tightest grip on. Bunley’s pride’s the only handle you can find on -_him_, and you can’t get at _that_ except by showing that you think -enough of him to sink money in him.” - -The Squire cast about in his mind for some argument in defense of his -money; but, as he found none, he acted like a good diplomatist, and -started to talk against time by uttering some promising generalizations. - -“I always meant, and I still mean,” said he, “to do good with my money. -That’s what it was given me for. I’m only the Lord’s steward----” - -“And right here in Barton is where the Lord put you to do it,” said -Crupp. “Here’s where you made your money; here are the people who know -you and don’t suspect you of caring any less for your money than other -folks do for theirs; here are the people you know all about; you know -their weaknesses and their good points, and every dollar you spend on -them you can watch, and see that it does its duty.” - -“When I _know_ that helping a man will be sure to reform him,” began -the Squire, when again his companion interrupted him: - -“Did you ever read of Christ’s letting a man suffer for fear that if -he cured him or fed him he might get sick or hungry again? If I read -straight, _he_ helped everybody that came to him, and everybody that -needed help. I suppose loafers were as thick in Judæa as they are in -Barton; why, when he healed those ten lepers there was only one of -them decent enough to come back and say “Thank you.” _I’ve_ got money -enough to take Bunley on my own shoulders for a little while, and I’m -going to spend a good deal on such fellows; but they want to see that -they’re thought something of by men who never sold whisky, who never -made anything out of them, who are enough in earnest to do something -for them that costs more than talk does. I know it isn’t easy, but it’s -got to be done--that is, if Christianity is true.” - -Crupp’s last shot told. Squire Tomple was orthodox, but he was -not without reflective capacity, and many had been his twinges of -conscience at his practical rejection of undoubted deductions which he -had drawn from Christ’s teachings and example. But on this particular -occasion, as on many others, he was not defeated; he was only -temporarily demoralized. In a moment he was on the defensive again, -and suddenly raised his head and opened his lips; but, whatever his -idea was, it remained unspoken; for in the eye of Crupp, which had been -intently scrutinizing his face and through it his heart, he detected -a softness and haziness unusual in the eyes of men. The Squire, not -without a struggle, became at once shamefaced and obedient, and said -hurriedly, - -“Crupp, you’re a good, square man; I’m proud to know you, and I’ll do -what you like--for old Bunley, that is.” - -Great was the surprise of Bunley himself, when he answered a knock -at his door a few minutes later, to find Squire Tomple and Mr. Crupp -upon his front stoop, both of them looking and acting as if extremely -embarrassed. But old Bunley never forgot his Virginia breeding, not -even before a couple of creditors; so he invited both gentlemen to -seats on the top step, and then sat down between them. - -The Squire looked appealingly at Crupp; Crupp winked encouragingly -at the Squire; the Squire coughed feebly; Crupp plucked a stem of -timothy grass, and gazed at it as if he had never seen such a thing -before; the Squire took out a pocket-knife, and began to scrape his -finger-nails, and then Crupp remarked that it was a fine day. Bunley -having cheerfully assented to this expression of opinion, there was -a moment or two of awkward silence, which was finally relieved by -Bunley, who drew from his pocket a plug of tobacco, from which he took -a bite, after first offering it to his visitors. A little more facial -pantomime went on between Tomple and Crupp, and then the Squire spoke. - -“Bunley,” said he, “you don’t seem to get along very fast in the world.” - -“That’s a fact,” answered Bunley with hearty emphasis. “Luck seems to -go against me, no matter how I lay myself out. There ain’t a man in -this town that wants to do the right thing any more than I do, but -somehow I don’t get the chance. I signed the pledge t’other night at -the meetin’; but how I’m goin’ to stick to it, with all the trouble I’m -in, is more than I can see through.” - -“We’ve come down to help you do it,” said the Squire. - -“To help you with money--not talk,” supplemented Crupp. - -Bunley looked at both men quickly, from under the extreme inner edge of -his upper eyelid. - -“We propose, between us, to show you that we’re in dead earnest to -help you keep the pledge,” continued the Squire. “We’re going to give -you, week after week, whatever you need to live on for the next three -months, so you won’t have any excuse for drinking to drown trouble, and -so you’ll have a chance to find something to do.” - -Old Bunley sprang to his feet. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you’re--you’re -_gentlemen_. It’s the first time in my life that anybody ever cared -_that_ much for me, though. You shan’t lose anything by it, I promise -you _that_; I’ll pay you back again the first chance I get to make -anything.” - -“We don’t _want_ it back,” said Crupp. “We won’t _take_ it back. We -want to _give_ it to you, out and out----” - -“To show you that it’s _you_ that we’re interested in, not ourselves,” -interrupted the Squire. - -Then Old Virginia came to the surface again; Bunley seemed to grow an -inch or two, and to swell several more as he replied, - -“I’m not a pauper, gentlemen.” - -“Certainly not,” said the Squire hastily; “but you can’t pay your debts -nor your current expenses, and Crupp and I are a little ahead in the -world, and willing to give you a hundred, say--a little at a time.” - -“You’ve got a couple of boys to bring up, you know, Bunley,” suggested -Crupp. - -“And they ought to go among the best people, too,” said the Squire. -“You came of a good family----” - -“And their mother was a lady, too--every inch of her!” exclaimed Bunley. - -“Of course she was,” said Crupp. “But, to come back to business, we -don’t want you to have any excuse to touch whisky again, and we want -you to live on us for the next three months as a personal favor. After -that, if you make any money, I s’pose the Squire’ll be glad to sell you -anything he keeps in his store; I know _I_ will, if I’m in business -then. But you mustn’t talk about paying now, ’cause it’s all nonsense. -Come up to the Squire’s store when you want anything. Good-by.” - -Bunley drew himself up with great solemnity and old-time courtesy as -he shook hands with both men. When his visitors reached the friendly -angle of an old, abandoned barn, both turned hastily, gazed through -cracks between the boards, and saw the old man sitting in a meditative -attitude, with his lower jaw in both his hands. - -“_Don’t_ that look good?” whispered Crupp, his face all animation. - -“It does that,” replied the Squire; “there’s no dodging the question; -it _does_ look good.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -A COURSE NEVER SMOOTH. - - -On a pleasant August evening, at that particular portion of the day -in which twilight shades into night, Fred Macdonald left his father’s -house and walked toward the opposite portion of the village. From his -leisurely, elastic gait, the artistic effect of his necktie, the pose -of his hat, the rose-bud in his button-hole, and the graceful carriage -of his cane, it was very evident that Frederick’s steps did not tend -toward the fulfillment of any prosaic business engagement. It was not -so dark that he could not recognize, in occasional unlighted windows, -certain faces well known, some of them handsome, all of them pleasing; -nor was it too dark, just after Fred had bestowed a bow and a smile -upon the occupant of each of these windows, and passed on, for one to -discern, by the expressions upon most of the faces that slowly turned -and looked after the young man, that Fred need not have gone farther -in search of a cordial welcome. But he walked on until he reached the -residence of the Rev. Jonas Wedgewell. To any one not a resident of -Barton the house might have seemed a strange one to be visited by a -young man fond of liquor and the company frequently found on Western -steamboats; and the stranger’s surprise might have increased, at -finding that Fred had been so frequent a visitor that even the house -itself seemed glad to see him, and that the heavy old door seemingly -opened of its own accord, before Fred’s fingers had time to touch its -antique knocker. But had the supposititious observer possessed good -eyes, whose actual powers were temporarily increased by the stimulus of -curiosity, his bewilderment would have ended a second later; for, as -Fred stepped inside the hall, there came from behind the door a small -hand, and then a dainty ruffle, and then a muslin sleeve, and these all -took their direction toward the shoulder of Fred’s coat; while there -followed a profile which the beholder would have willingly gazed upon -longer, had it not almost instantaneously disappeared behind that side -of Fred’s face which was farthest from the door. - -Could the observer’s gaze have penetrated the window shades of Parson -Wedgewell’s little parlor, he would have seen a face, not girlish -or of regular features, and yet so full of happiness that its effect -was that of absolute beauty and the innocence of youth. There were -estimable maidens in Barton who, scorning the thought that they -could be either jealous or envious, had frequently remarked to their -intimates that they could _not_ see what men found in Esther Wedgewell -to rave about, and it was well known that the mystery had never been -satisfactorily explained to such young ladies as had become the wives -of men who had been among Miss Esther’s admirers. It is even to be -doubted whether Fred Macdonald himself could have verbally elucidated -the matter; there _have_ been such cases where long and joyous -lifetimes have not sufficed in which to frame such an explanation, and -when the person most blessed has had to journey into another world in -search of adequate power of expression. Ordinarily Esther Wedgewell -was a young lady the pleasantness of whose face did not hide the fact -that its owner’s forehead was too high, the nose too short, the mouth -too large, and the complexion too pale for perfect beauty. But somehow -young men noticed first of all Miss Esther’s eyes, and these, though -neither of heavenly blue, nor violet, nor the brownness of nuts, nor -large, nor melting, but only plain gray, were so honest in themselves, -and so sympathetic for others, that no one of any character cared to -gaze from them to any other of the young woman’s features. - -What Fred and Esther said to each other during the first few minutes -after their meeting, was of a nature which never shows to full -advantage in print; besides, it was in the nature of things that they -should say very little. In spite of the experience accumulated during -a hundred or more of just such meetings, it seemed necessary that a -few minutes should be consumed by Fred in assuring himself that it -was really Esther who sat in the rocking-chair in front of him; and -the same time was used by the lady in determining that the handsome, -intelligent face in front of her was that of the only lover she had -ever accepted. Gradually, however, the sentences spoken by the couple -became longer and more frequent; their subjects were ordinary enough; -being the mutual acquaintances they had met during the day; the -additions which had been made to the embroidery on the pair of slippers -which Esther, after the manner of most other betrothed maidens in -America, had begun to make for her lover; the quality of the singing -in church on the preceding Sunday; the latest news from Captain Hall’s -expedition to the North Pole; the character of Shakespeare’s Portia; -and yet one would have supposed, from the countenances of both of these -young people, that in each of these topics there was some underlying -motive of the most delightful import; while their remarks seemed -to indicate that there was but one side to either of the subjects -discussed, and that both Fred and Esther saw it with the extreme -clearness of earthly comprehension. - -Then, in a lull in the conversation, Fred asked, with a courtesy and -minuteness inherited from aristocratic parents, about Mr. and Mrs. -Wedgewell, and elicited the information that Esther’s father was -composing a second sermon on intemperance. - -“Your father undoubtedly is himself the best judge of the needs of his -congregation,” said Fred, dropping his eyes a little and playing with -a bit of paper; “but I can’t help feeling that he is wasting his fine -talents in preaching on intemperance. If his sermons could be heard and -applied by the proper persons, they might do a great deal of good; but -what drunkard goes to church? Only moderate drinkers and people who -don’t drink at all ever hear your father’s sermons, and none of them -have any need for such instructions.” - -Esther brushed an imaginary thread or mote from her dress, and said, -with some embarrassment, - -“Father believes that the moderate drinkers are those who most need to -be warned.” - -“Why, Ettie!” exclaimed Fred, “how can he believe that? He must know -that I occasionally--that is, he knows that I am not one of the Sons of -Temperance; yet he gave me you”--here conversation ceased a moment as -Fred stepped toward Esther, conveying unto that lady an affectionate -testimonial whose exact nature will be understood--“and he certainly -would not have done so had he supposed I was in any danger of being -injured by liquor.” - -Esther did not wait even until she had finished rearranging a -disordered tress or two to reply. - -“He said ‘yes,’ only after I told him of your promise to me that you -would not drink any more after we were married. He said you were the -best born and best bred young man he had ever met--as if I didn’t -already know it, you dear boy--but that he would rather bury me than -let me marry a drinking man.” - -During the delivery of this short speech Fred looked by turns -astonished, sober, flattered, sullen, indignant, and finally -business-like and judicial. Then he said: - -“Darling, you must let me believe that your father is not fully posted -about men who take an occasional glass. It’s no fault of his; he -probably never tasted a drop of liquor in his life--he may never have -felt the need of it. But believe me when I tell you that many of the -smartest men drink sometimes, and are greatly helped by it. A business -man whose daily life can’t help being often irregular, sometimes finds -he can’t get along without something to help him through the day. Why, -a few days ago I helped Sam Crayme, captain of the “Excellence,” you -know, at a difficult bit of business; I worked thirty-six hours on a -stretch, and made fifty dollars by it. That’s more money than any of -your young temperance men of Barton ever make in a month, but I never -could have done it if it hadn’t been for an occasional drink.” - -“But,” said Esther, “you know I don’t say it by way of complaint, Fred -dear, but for a week after that you felt dull and didn’t say much, and -didn’t care to read, and one evening when I expected you you didn’t -come.” - -“But think how tired a man must be after such a job, Ettie,” pleaded -Fred in an injured tone. - -“You poor old fellow, I know it,” said Esther; “but you wouldn’t have -been so if you hadn’t done the work, and you yourself say you couldn’t -have done the work if you hadn’t drunk the liquor, and you know you -didn’t need the money so badly as to have had to do so much. Any -merchant in the town would be glad to give you employment at which you -would be your own natural self.” - -“And I would always be a poor man if I worked for our plodding, -small-paying merchants,” said Fred. “Why, Ettie, who own the handsomest -houses in town, who have the best horses, who set the best tables, -whose wives and children wear the best clothes? Why, Moshier and Brown -and Crayme and Wainright, every one of them moderate drinkers; I never -in my life saw one of them drunk.” - -“And I would rather be dead than be the wife of any one of them,” -said Esther with an energy which startled Fred. “Mrs. Moshier used to -be such a happy-looking woman, and now she is so quiet and has such -sad eyes. Brown seems to spend no end of money on his family; but his -children are always put to bed before he comes home, because he is as -likely as not to be cross and unkind to them; when they meet him on -the street they never shout ‘Papa!’ and rush up to him as your little -brothers and sisters do to _your_ father; but they look at him first -with an anxious look that’s enough to break one’s heart, and as likely -as not cross the street to avoid meeting him. Mrs. Crayme was having -_such_ a pleasant time at Nellie Wainright’s party the other night, -when her husband, who she seldom enough has a chance to take into -society with her, said such silly things and stared around with such -an odd look in his eye that she made some excuse to take him home. And -Nellie Wainright--she was my particular friend before she was married, -you know--was here a few days ago, and I was telling her how happy I -was, when suddenly she threw both arms around my neck and burst out -crying, and told me that she hoped that my husband would never drink -after I was married. She insists upon it that her husband is the best -man that ever lived, and that if she only mentions anything she would -like, she has it at once if money can buy it, and yet she is unhappy. -She says there’s always a load on her heart, and though she feels real -wicked about it, she can’t get rid of it.” - -Fred Macdonald was unable for some moments to reply to this unexpected -speech; he arose from his chair, and walked slowly up and down the -room, with his hands behind him, and with the countenance natural to -a man who has heard something of which he had previously possessed no -idea. Esther looked at him, first furtively, then tenderly; then she -sprang to his side and leaned upon his shoulder, saying, - -“Dear Fred, I know _you_ could never be that way; but then all these -women were sure they knew just the same about their lovers, before they -were married.” - -“Well, Ettie,” said Fred, passing an arm about the young lady, “I -really don’t know what’s to be done about it, if drinking moderately is -the cause of all these dreadful things; I’m bound to _be_ somebody; I’m -in the set of men that make money; they like me, and I understand them. -But they all take something, and you don’t know how they look at a man -who refuses to drink with them; all of them think he don’t amount to -much, and some of them actually feel insulted. What is a fellow to do?” - -“Go into some other set, I suppose,” said Esther very soberly. - -“You don’t know what you’re saying, my dear girl,” said Fred. “What -else is there for a man to do in a dead-and-alive place like Barton? -you don’t want to be the wife of a four-hundred-dollar clerk, and live -in part of a common little house, do you?” - -“Yes,” said Esther, showing her lover a rapturous face whose -attractiveness was not marred by a suspicion of shyness. “I do, if Fred -Macdonald is to be my husband.” - -“Then if either of us should have a long illness, or if I should lose -my position, we would have to depend on your parents and mine,” said -Fred. - -“Let us wait, then,” said Esther, “until you can have saved something, -before we are married.” - -“And be like Charley Merrick and Kate Armstrong, who’ve been engaged -for ten years, and are growing old and doleful about it.” - -“_I’ll_ never grow old and doleful while waiting for _my_ lover to -succeed,” said Esther, in a tone which might have carried conviction -with it had Fred been entirely in a listening humor. But as Fred -imagined himself in the position of the many unsuccessful young men -in Barton, and of the anxious-looking husbands who had once been as -spirited as himself, he fell into a frame of mind which was anything -but receptive. In his day-dreams marriage had seemed made up of many -things beside the perpetual companionship of Esther: it had among its -very desirable components a handsome, well-furnished house, a carriage -of the most approved style, an elegant wardrobe for Esther, and one -of faultless style for himself, a prominent pew in church, and, not -least of all, a sideboard which should be better stocked than that of -any of his friends. To banish these from his mind for a moment, and -imagine himself living in two or three rooms; cheapening meat at the -butcher’s; never driving out but when he could borrow somebody’s horse -and antiquated buggy; wearing a suit of clothes for two or three years -in succession, while Esther should spend hours in making over and over -the dresses of her unmarried days; all this made him almost deaf to -Esther’s loyal words, and nearly oblivious to the fact that the wisest -and sweetest girl in Barton was resting within his arm. Suddenly he -aroused himself from his revery, and exclaimed, in a tone which Esther -did not at first recognize as his own, - -“Ettie, your ideas are honest and lofty, but you must admit that -I know best about matters of business. I can’t deliberately throw -away everything I have done, and form entirely different business -connections. I’ve always regretted my promise to stop drinking after -our marriage; but I’ve trusted that you, with your unusual sense, would -see the propriety of absolving me from it.” - -Esther shrank away from Fred, and hid her face in her hands, whispering -hoarsely, - -“I can’t. I can’t, and I never will.” - -She dropped into a chair and burst into tears. Fred’s momentary -expression of anger softened into sorrow, but his business instinct did -not desert him. “Ettie,” said he tenderly, “I thought you trusted me.” - -“You _know_ I do, Fred,” said the weeping girl; “but my lover and -the Fred who drinks are two different persons, and I _can’t_ trust -the latter. Don’t think me selfish: be always your natural self, and -there’s no poverty or sorrow that I won’t endure to be always with you. -Do you think I hope to marry you for the sake of living in luxury, or -that any pleasures that money will buy will satisfy me any more than -they do Nellie Wainright and Mr. Moshier’s wife? Or do you, professing -to love me, ask me to run even the slightest risk of ever being as -unhappy as the poor women we have been talking about are with their -husbands, who love them dearly? You _must_ keep that promise, or I must -love you apart from you--until you marry some one else! Even then I -could only stop, it seems to me, by stopping to live.” - -Fred’s face, while Esther was speaking, was anything but comely to -look upon, but his intended reply was prevented by a violent knock at -the door. Esther hurriedly dried her eyes, and prepared to vanish, if -necessary, while Fred regained in haste his ordinary countenance; then, -as the servant opened the door, the lovers heard a voice saying, - -“Is Fred Macdonald here? He must come down to George Doughty’s right -away. George is dying!” - -Fred gave Ettie a hasty kiss and a conciliatory caress, after which he -left the house at a lively run. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -SOME NATURAL RESULTS. - - -George Doughty lay propped up in bed; standing beside him, and -clasping his hand tightly, was his wife; near him were his two oldest -children, seemingly as ignorant of what was transpiring as they were -uncomfortable on account of the peculiar influence which pervaded the -room. On the other side of the bed, and holding one of the dying man’s -hands, knelt Parson Wedgewell; beside him stood the doctor; while -behind them both, near the door, and as nearly invisible as a man of -his size could be, was Squire Tomple. The Squire’s face and figure -seemed embodiments of a trembling, abject apology; he occasionally -looked toward the door, as if to question that inanimate object whether -behind its broad front he, the Squire, might not be safe from his own -fears. It was very evident that the Squire’s conscience was making a -coward of him; but it was also evident, and not for the first time -in the world’s history, that cowardice is mightily influential in -holding a coward to the ground that he hates. Had any one spoken to -him, or paid him the slightest attention, the Squire would have felt -better; nothing turns cowards into soldiers so quickly as the receipt -of a volley; but no such relief seemed at all likely to reach him. The -doctor, like a true man, having done all things, could only stand, -and stand he did; Parson Wedgewell, feeling that upon his own efforts -with the Great Physician depended the sick man’s future well-being, -prayed silently and earnestly, raising his head only to search, through -his tears, the face of the patient for signs of the desired answer to -prayer. Mrs. Doughty was interested only in looking into the eyes too -soon to close forever, and the faces of the two children were more than -a man could intentionally look upon a second time. So when Doughty’s -baby, who had been creeping about the floor, suddenly beholding the -glories of the great seal which depended from the Squire’s fob-chain, -tried to climb the leg of the storekeeper’s trousers, the Squire -smiled, as a saint in extremity might smile at the sudden appearance -of an angel, and he stooped--no easy operation for a man of Squire -Tomple’s bulk--and, lifting the little fellow in his arms, put kisses -all over the tiny face, which, in view of the relations of cleanliness -to attractiveness, was not especially bewitching. A moment later, -however, a muffled but approaching step brought back to the Squire his -own sense of propriety, and he dropped the baby just in time to be able -to give a hand to Fred Macdonald, as that young man softly pushed open -the door. The Squire’s face again became apologetic. - -“How did it happen?” whispered Fred. - -“Why,” replied the Squire, “the doctor says it’s a galloping -consumption; _I_ never knew a thing about it. Doctor says it’s the -quickest case he ever knew; he never imagined anything was the matter -with George. If _I’d_ known anything about it, I’d have had the doctor -attending him long ago; but George isn’t of the complaining kind. The -idea of a fellow being at work for me, and dying right straight along. -Why, it’s awful! He says he never knew anything about it himself, so I -don’t see how _I_ could. He was at the store up to four or five days -ago, then his wife came around one morning and told me that he didn’t -feel fit to work that day, but she didn’t say what the matter was. -I’ve been thinking, for two or three weeks, about giving him some help -in the store; but you know how business drives everything out of a -man’s head. First I thought I’d stay around the store myself evenings, -and let George rest; but I’ve had to go to lodge meetings and prayer -meetings, and my wife’s wanted me to go out with her, and so my time’s -been taken up. Then I thought I’d get a boy, and--well, I didn’t know -exactly which to do; but if I’d known----” - -“But can’t something be done to brace him up for a day or two?” -interrupted Fred; “then I’ll take him out driving every day, and -perhaps he’ll pick up.” - -The Squire looked twenty years older for a moment or two as he replied, - -“The doctor says he hasn’t any physique to rally upon; he’s all gone, -muscle, blood, and everything. It’s the queerest thing I ever knew; he -hasn’t had anything to do, these past few years, but just what _I_ did -when I was a young man.” - -The dying man turned his eyes inquiringly, and asked in a very thin -voice, - -“Isn’t Fred here?” - -Fred started from the Squire’s side, but the storekeeper arrested -his progress with both hands, and fixing his eyes on Fred’s necktie, -whispered, - -“You don’t think _I’m_ to blame, do you?” - -“Why--no--I don’t see how, exactly,” said Fred, endeavoring to escape. - -“Fred,” whispered the Squire, tightening his hold on the lapels of -Fred’s coat, “tell _him_ so, won’t you? I’ll be your best friend -forever if you will; it’s dreadful to think of a man going up to God -with such an idea on his mind, even if it _is_ a mistake. Of course, -when he gets there he’ll find out he’s wrong, _if_ he is, as----” - -Fred broke away from the storekeeper, and wedged himself between -the doctor and pastor. Doughty withdrew his wrist from the doctor’s -fingers, extended a thin hand, and smiled. - -“Fred,” said he, “we used to be chums when we were boys. I never took -an advantage of you, did I?” - -“Never,” said Fred; “and we’ll have lots of good times again, old -fellow. I’ve just bought the best spring wagon in the State, and I’ll -drive you all over the country when you get well enough.” - -George’s smile became slightly grim as he replied, - -“I guess Barker’s hearse is the only spring wagon I’ll ever ride in -again, my boy.” - -“Nonsense, George!” exclaimed Fred heartily. “How many times have I -seen you almost dead, and then put yourself together again? Don’t -you remember the time when you gave out in the middle of the river, -and then picked yourself up, and swam the rest of the way? Don’t you -remember the time we got snowed in on Raccoon Mountain, and we both -gave up and got ready to die, and how you not only came to, but dragged -me home besides? The idea of _you_ ever dying! I wish you’d sent for me -when you first took the silly notion into your head.” - -Doughty was silent for a moment; his eyes brightened a little and a -faint flush came to his cheeks; he looked fondly at his wife, and then -at his children; he tried to raise himself in his bed; but in a minute -his smile departed, his pallor returned, and he said, in the thinnest -of voices, - -“It’s no use, Fred; in those days there was something in me to call -upon at a pinch; now there isn’t a thing. I haven’t any time to -spare, Fred; what I want to ask is, keep an eye on my boys, for old -acquaintance’ sake. Their mother will be almost everything to them, -but she can’t be expected to know about their ways among men. I want -somebody to care enough for them to see that they don’t make the -mistakes I’ve made.” - -A sudden rustle and a heavy step was heard, and Squire Tomple -approached the bedside, exclaiming, - -“_I’ll_ do that!” - -“Thank you, Squire,” said George feebly; “but you’re not the right man -to do it.” - -“George,” said the Squire, raising his voice, and unconsciously raising -his hand, “I’ll give them the best business chances that can be had; I -can do it, for I’m the richest man in this town.” - -“You gave _me_ the best chance in town, Squire, and this is what has -come of it,” said Doughty. - -The Squire precipitately fell back and against his old place by the -wall. Doughty continued, - -“Fred, persuade them--tell them that I said so--that a business that -makes them drink to keep up, isn’t business at all--it’s suicide. Tell -them that their father, who was never drunk in his life, got whisky to -help him use more of himself, until there wasn’t anything left to use. -Tell them that drinking for strength means discounting the future, and -that discounting the future always means getting ready for bankruptcy.” - -“I’ll do it, old fellow,” said Fred, who had been growing very solemn -of visage. - -“They shan’t ask you for any money, Fred, explained Doughty, when the -Squire’s voice was again heard saying, - -“And they shan’t refuse it from me.” - -“Thank you, Squire,” said George. “I do think you owe it to them, but I -guess they’ve good enough stuff in them to refuse it.” - -“George,” said the Squire, again approaching the bedside, “I’m going to -continue your salary to your wife until your boys grow big enough to -help her. You know I’ve got plenty of money--’twon’t hurt me; for God’s -sake make her promise to take it.” - -“She won’t need it,” said Doughty. “My life’s insured.” - -“Then what _can_ I do for her--for them--for you?” asked the Squire. -“George, you’re holding your--sickness--against me, and I want to make -it right. I can’t say I believe I’ve done wrong by you, but you think I -have, and that’s enough to make me want to restore good feeling between -us before--in case anything should happen. Anything that money _can_ -do, it _shall_ do.” - -“Offer it to God Almighty, Squire, and buy my life back again,” said -Doughty. “If you can’t do that, your money isn’t good for anything in -this house.” - -The doctor whispered to his patient that he must not exert himself so -much; the Squire whispered to the doctor to know what else a man in his -own position could do? - -Fred Macdonald could think of no appropriate expression with which to -break the silence that threatened. Suddenly Parson Wedgewell raised his -head, and said, - -“My dear young friend, this is a solemn moment. There are others who -know and esteem you, beside those here present; have you no message to -leave for them? Thousands of people rightly regard you as a young man -of high character, and your influence for good may be powerful among -them. I should esteem it an especial privilege to announce, in my -official capacity, such testimony as you may be moved to make, and as -your pastor, I feel like claiming this mournful pleasure as a right. -What may I say?” - -“Say,” replied the sick man, with an earnestness which was almost -terrible in its intensity; “say that whisky was the best business -friend I ever found, and that when it began to abuse me, no one -thought enough of me to step in between us. And tell them that this -story is as true as it is ugly.” - -As Doughty spoke, he had raised himself upon one elbow; as he uttered -his last word, he dropped upon his pillow, and passed into a land to -which no one but his wife manifested any willingness to follow him. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -AN ESTIMABLE ORGANIZATION CRITICISED. - - -The funeral services of George Doughty were as largely attended -as the great temperance meeting had been, and the attendants -admitted--although the admission was not, logically, of particular -force--that they received the worth of their money. The pall-bearers, -twelve in number, were all young men who had been in the habit of -drinking, but who had signed the pledge, some of them having appended -signatures to special pledges privately prepared on the evening before -the service. The funeral anthem was as doleful as the most sincere -mourner could have wished, the music having been composed especially -for the occasion by the chorister of Mr. Wedgewell’s church. As for the -sermon, it was universally voted the most powerful effort that Parson -Wedgewell had ever made. Day and night had the good man striven with -Doughty’s parting injunction, determined to transmit the exact spirit -of it, but horrified at its verbal form. At last he honestly made -George’s own words the basis of his whole sermon; his method being, -first, to show what would have been naturally the last words of a young -man of good birth and Christian breeding, and then presenting George’s -moral legacy by way of contrast. To point the moral without offending -Squire Tomple’s pride, and without inflicting useless pain upon the -Squire’s sufficiently wounded heart, was no easy task; but the parson -was not lacking in tact and tenderness, so he succeeded in making of -his sermon an appeal so powerful and all-applicable that none of the -hearers found themselves at liberty to search out those to whom the -sermon might seem personally addressed. - -Among the hearers was Mr. Crupp, and no one seemed more deeply -interested and affected. He followed the funeral cortege to the -cemetery; but, arrived there, he halted at the gate, instead of -following the example of the multitude by crowding as closely as -possible to the grave. The final services were no sooner concluded, -however, than the object of Mr. Crupp’s unusual conduct became apparent -to one person after another, the disclosure being made to people in the -order of their earthly possessions. The parson was shocked at learning -that Mr. Crupp was importuning every man of means to take stock in a -woolen mill, to be established at Barton; but a whispered word or two -from Crupp caused the parson to abate his displeasure, and finally to -stand near Crupp’s side and express his own hearty approbation of the -enterprise proposed. Then Mr. Crupp whispered a few words to Squire -Tomple, and the Squire subscribed a hundred shares at ten dollars -each, information of which act was disseminated among business men and -well-to-do farmers by Parson Wedgewell with an alacrity which, had -modern business ideas prevailed at Barton, would have laid the parson -open to a suspicion of having accepted a few shares, to be paid for -by his own influence. Then Deacon Jones subscribed twenty shares, and -Judge Macdonald, Fred’s father, promised to take fifty; Crupp’s name -already stood at the head of the list for a hundred. No stock-company -had ever been organized at Barton before, and the citizens had always -manifested a laudable reluctance to allow other people to handle their -money; but this case seemed an exception to all others; confidence in -the enterprise was so powerfully expressed, alike by the mercantile -community, the bar, the church, and the unregenerate (the last-named -class being represented by the ex-vender of liquors), that people who -had any money made haste to participate in what seemed to them a race -for wealth with the odds in everybody’s favor. Crupp neglected no one; -he scorned no subscription on account of its smallness; before he left -the cemetery gate nearly half the requisite capital had been pledged, -and before he slept that night he found it necessary to accept rather -more than the twenty thousand dollars which, it had been decided two -days before, would be needed. Several days later a board of directors -was elected; two or three of the directors informally offered the -superintendency of the mill to Fred Macdonald, on condition that he -would pledge himself to abstain from the use of intoxicating beverage -while he held the position, and then Fred was elected superintendent in -regular form and by unanimous vote of the board of directors. - -Great was the excitement in Barton and the tributary country when -it was announced that the mill needed no more money, and that, -consequently, no more stock would be issued. In that mysterious way in -which such things always happen, the secret escaped, and encountered -every one, that his new position would prevent Fred Macdonald from -drinking; non-stockholders had then the additional grievance that they -had been deprived of taking any part in an enterprise for the good of -a fellow-man, and all because the rich men of the village saw money in -it. None of these injured ones dared to express their minds on this -subject to Squire Tomple, to whom so many of them owed money, or to -Judge Macdonald, who, in his family pride, would have laid himself -liable to action by the grand jury, had any one suggested that his -oldest son had ever been in any danger of becoming a drunkard. But -to Mr. Crupp they did not hesitate to speak freely; Crupp owned no -mortgages, no total abstainers owed him money; besides, he not only -was not a church member, but he had been in that most infernal of all -callings, rum-selling. So it came to pass that when one day Crupp -went into Deacon Jones’s store for a dollar’s worth of sugar, and was -awaiting his turn among a large crowd of customers, Father Baguss -constituted himself spokesman for the aggrieved faction, and said, - -“It ’pears to me, Mr. Crupp, as if reformin’ was a payin’ business.” - -Crupp being human, was not saintly, so he flushed angrily, and replied, - -“It _ought_ to be, if the religion you’re so fond of is worth a row of -pins; but I don’t know what you’re driving at.” - -“Oh! of course you don’t know,” said Father Baguss; “but everybody else -does. You don’t expect to make any money out of that woolen mill, do -you?” - -“Yes I do, too,” answered Crupp quickly. “I’ll make every cent I can -out of it.” - -“Just so,” said Father Baguss, consoling himself with a bite of -tobacco; “an’ them that’s borne the burden and heat of the day can plod -along and not make a cent ’xcept by the hardest knocks. I’ve been one -of the Sons of Temperance ever since I was converted, an’ that’s nigh -onto forty year; I don’t see why I don’t get _my_ sheer of the good -things of this world.” - -“If you mean,” said Crupp, with incomparable deliberation, “that my -taking stock in the mill is a reward to me for dropping the liquor -business, you’re mightily mistaken. I’d have taken it all the same if -anybody had put me up to it when I was in the liquor business.” - -“Yes,” sighed Father Baguss, “like enough you would; as the Bible says, -‘The children of this world are wiser in their generation than the -children of light.’ I can’t help a-gettin’ mad, though, to think it has -to be so.” - -Two or three unsuccessful farmers lounging about the stove sighed -sympathetically, but Crupp indulged in a sarcastic smile, and remarked, - -“_I_ always supposed it was because the children of light had got their -treasure laid up in heaven, and were above such worldly notions.” - -The late sympathizers of Father Baguss saw the joke, and laughed with -unkind energy, upon which the good old man straightened himself and -exclaimed, - -“The children of the kingdom have to earn their daily bread, I reckon; -manna don’t fall nowadays like it used to do for the chosen people.” - -“Exactly,” said Crupp, “and them that ain’t chosen people don’t pick -up their dinners without working for them either, without getting into -jail for it. But, say! I didn’t come in here to make fun of you, Father -Baguss. If you want some of that mill stock so bad, I’ll sell you some -of mine--that is, if you’ll go into temperance with all your might.” - -The old man seemed struck dumb for a moment but when he found his -tongue, he made that useful member make up for lost time. “Go into -temperance!” he shouted. “Did anybody ever hear the like of that? -I that’s been a “Son” more’n half my life; that’s spent a hundred -dollars--yes, more--in yearly dues; that’s been to every temperance -meetin’ that’s ever been held in town, even when I’ve had rheumatiz so -bad I could hardly crawl; that kept the pledge even when I was out in -the Black Hawk War, where the doctors themselves said that I _ort_ to -have drank; that’s plead with drinkers, and been scoffed an’ reviled -like my blessed Master for my pains; that’s voted for the Maine Liquor -Law; that’s been dead agin lettin’ Miles Dalling into the church -because he brews beer for his own family drinkin’, though he’s a good -enough man every other way, as fur as I can see; I that went to see -every member of our church, an’ begged an’ implored ’em not to sell our -old meetin’-house to the feller that’s since turned it into a groggery; -I to be told by a feller like you, that’s got the guilt of uncounted -drunkards on your soul----” - -Crupp, with a very white face, advanced a step or two toward the -old man; but the participator in the Black Hawk War was not to be -frightened, especially when he was so excited as he was now; so he -roared, - -“Come on! come on! perhaps you want _my_ blood on your soul, with all -the others; but just let me tell you, it isn’t easy to get!” - -Crupp recovered himself and replied, “Father Baguss, all that you’ve -done is very well in its way, but it wasn’t going into temperance. -You’ve been a first-rate talker, I know, but talk isn’t cider. Why, -there’s been lots of men in my store after listenin’ to one of your -strong temperance speeches, and laughed about what they’ve heard. I’ve -told them they ought to be ashamed of themselves--don’t shake your -head--I _have_, and all they’d say would be, ‘Talk don’t cost anything, -Crupp.’ But if you’d followed up your tongue with your brains, and most -of all your pocket, not one of them chaps would have opened his head -about you.” - -“Money!” exclaimed the old man; “didn’t I tell you that division -dues alone had cost me more’n a hundred dollars; not to speak of -subscriptions to public meetin’s?” - -“And every cent that didn’t go to pay ‘division’ expenses, that is--for -keeping a lodge-room in shape for you to meet in, and such things--went -to pay for more talk. Did you Sons of Temperance ever _buy_ a man away -from his whisky? It _might_ have been done--done cheap too--in almost -any week since I’ve been in Barton, by helping down-hearted men along. -Did you ever do it yourself?” - -Father Baguss was nonplussed for a moment, noting which a bystander, -also a Son of Temperance, came valiantly to the rescue of his order, by -exclaiming, - -“Tongues was made to use, and the better the cause, the more it needs -to be talked about.” - -“There’s no getting away from that,” said Crupp. “Talk’s all right -in its place; but when anybody’s sick in your family, you don’t hire -somebody to come in and talk him well, do you?” - -The auxiliary replied by pressing perceptibly closer to the bale of -blankets against which he had been leaning, and Crupp was enabled to -concentrate his attention upon Father Baguss. But the old soldier had -in his military days unconsciously acquired a tactical idea or two -which were frequently applicable in real life. One of them was that of -flanking, and he straightway attempted it by exclaiming, - -“I’d use money quick enough on drunkards, if I saw anybody fit to use -it on,” said he; “it would do my old soul good to find a drinking -man that I could be sure money would save. But they’re a shiftless, -worthless pack of shotes, all that I see of ’em. There _wuz_ a young -fellow--Lije Mason his name was--that I once thought seriously of doin’ -somethin’ fur; but he went an’ signed the pledge, an’ got along all -right by himself.” - -“But there’s your own neighbors, old Tappelmine and his family--they -all drink; what have you done for ’em?” asked Crupp. - -“A lot of Kentucky poor white trash!” exclaimed Father Baguss. “What -_could_ anybody do for ’em? Besides, they do for ’emselves; they’ve -stole hams out of my smoke-house more’n once, an’ they know _I_ know -it, too.” - -“Poor white trash is sometimes converted in church, isn’t it?” asked -Mr. Crupp; “and what’s to keep poor white trash from stopping drinking? -what but a good, honest, religious, rum-hating neighbor that looks at -’em so savagely and lets ’em alone so hard that they’d take pains to -get drunk, just to worry him? I know how you feel toward them; I _saw_ -it once: one Sunday I passed you on the road just opposite their place; -you was in your wagon takin’ your folks to church, and I--well, I was -out trying to shoot a wild turkey, which I mightn’t have been on a -Sunday. They were all laughin’ and cuttin’ up in the house--it’s seldom -enough such folks get anything to laugh about--and I could just _see_ -you groan, and your face was as black as a thunder cloud, and as savage -as an oak knot soaked in vinegar. The old man came out just then for -an armful of wood, and nodded at you pleasant enough; but that face of -yours was too much for him, and pretty soon he looked as if he’d have -liked to throw a chunk of wood at your head. I’d have _done_ it, if -I’d been him. The old man was awfully drunk when I came back that way, -two or three hours later. That was a pretty day’s work for a Son of -Temperance, wasn’t it--and Sunday, too?” - -The casing to Father Baguss’s conscience was not as thick as that to -his brain, and he was silent; perhaps the prospect of getting some mill -stock aided the good work in his heart. - -Crupp continued: “I’m a ‘Son’ myself, now, and I know what a man agrees -to when he joins a division. If you think you’ve lived up to it--you -and the other members of the Barton Division--I suppose you’ve a right -to your opinion; but if my ideas, picked up on both sides of the -fence, are worth anything to you, they amount to just this: the Sons -of Temperance in this town haven’t done anything but help each other -not to get back into bad ways again, and to give a welcomin’ hand to -anybody that’s strong enough in himself to come into the division with -you; and that isn’t the spirit of the order.” - -Crupp got his sugar, and no one pressed him to stay longer; but, as he -slowly departed, as became a soldier who was not retreating but only -changing his base, Father Baguss followed him, touched his sleeve as -soon as he found himself outside the store door, and said, - -“Say, Crupp, I’ll try to do something for Tappelmine, though I don’t -know yet what it’ll be, an’ I don’t care if you _do_ let me have about -five sheers of that mill stock; I s’pose you won’t want more than you -paid for it?” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -SOME VOLUNTEER SHEPHERDS. - - -The mail-stage did not make its appearance at the usual hour on the day -following Crupp’s conversation with Father Baguss, and during a lull in -the desultory conversation which prevailed among those who were waiting -for the mail, the postmaster displayed at his window his large, round -face, devoid of its habitual jolly smile, and remarked, - -“Too bad about Wainright, isn’t it?” - -“What’s that?” asked half a dozen at once. - -The postmaster looked infinitely more important all in a second. It -is but seldom in this world that a man can tell a bit of news to -an assembled crowd; and in an inland town, before the day of the -omnipresent telegraph pole, the chances were proportionately fewer than -elsewhere. The postmaster had a generous heart, however, and at the -risk of losing his importance he opened his treasure-house all at once: - -“He’s been pretty high on whiskey for two or three days,” said he, -“and they say he’s got snakes in his boots now; anyhow, he’s made a -sudden break for Louisville; he started on foot, an hour or two ago, -for Brown’s Landing, seven miles below here, to catch a down-river -steamboat; he was clear-headed enough to find out first that it wasn’t -likely that the _Excellence_, that’s about due, wouldn’t have any -freight to stop for here. His wife’s half wild about it, but there’s -nothing the poor thing can do.” - -“Poor, misguided man!” sighed Parson Wedgewell, who had arrived just -in time to hear the story. “The ways of Providence are undoubtedly -wise, but they are indeed mysterious. Judging according to our finite -capacities, it would be natural to suppose that capabilities so unusual -as those of Mr. Wainright would be divinely guided.” - -“I saw him coming down the walk,” observed Squire Tomple, “and I -thought he looked rather peculiar, so I just stepped across the street; -I don’t like to get into a row with men in that fix.” - -“Of course getting into a row was the only thing that could be done,” -said Crupp, who had apparently been carefully reading a posted notice -of a sheriff’s sale. - -The Squire did not enjoy the tone in which Crupp’s remark was -delivered; but before he could reason with the new reformer, the -Reverend Timotheus Brown dashed into the fray in defense of a beloved -idea, which the rival pastor had seemed covertly to assail. - -“The reason such natures aren’t divinely guided,” said he, in a voice -which suggested nutmeg-graters to the acute sensibilities of Parson -Wedgewell, “is that they don’t implicitly submit themselves to the -Divine will.” - -“A man can do nothing unless the Spirit draw him,” said Parson -Wedgewell valiantly. - -“That’s rather hard on a fellow, though, isn’t it?” soliloquized Fred -Macdonald. - -“Not a bit of it,” spoke out Father Baguss, who had been scenting the -battle from an inner room. “Bless the Lord! the parables of the lost -sheep that the shepherd left the rest of the flock to look for, and the -lost coin that the woman hunted for, wasn’t told for nothin’. The Lord -knows how to ’tend to his own business.” - -“And nobody else can do a thing to help the Lord along, can he?” said -Crupp, passing his arm through the postmaster’s window, and extracting -from his box a copy of the Louisville _Journal_ (then the only paper of -prominence in a large section of Western country); “all that men have -to do in such cases is just to talk.” - -Crupp departed, encountering on the way the wide-open countenance of -Tom Adams, who was waiting for Deacon Jones’s mail. The two pastors -preserved silence, that of Mr. Brown being extremely dignified, with -a visible trace of acerbity, while that of Mr. Wedgewell was strongly -suggestive of mental unquiet. The distribution of the small mail, which -had arrived soon after the conversation began, gave everybody an excuse -to depart--an excuse of which most of them availed themselves at once, -Squire Tomple having first changed the direction of the conversation by -inquiring particularly of Father Baguss as to the number and probable -weight of the porkers which the old man was fattening for the winter -market. The subject lasted only until the two men reached the door, -however, and then each sympathized with the other over the wounds -received at the hands, or tongue, of the unsentimental and irreligious -Crupp. Yet the more they talked of Crupp, the less they seemed to -realize their pain. - -Tom Adams went straight to his employer’s store, and exclaimed, not in -his usual ingenuous manner, - -“Deacon, old Berry won’t take that load of bricks unless he gets ’em -right off; I guess I’ll take ’em right out to him. It’s a long trip, -but there’s three hours yet ’fore dark.” - -“Be sure you do, then, Thomas,” said the deacon. - -Tom was soon in his wagon, and going toward the brick-yard at a -livelier rate than was consistent with the proper care of horses with -a long, heavy pull before them. The bricks were loaded with apparent -regard to count, but not in good order, and, as Tom followed the road -to old Berry’s, he soliloquized: - -“I ort to be able to ketch him after I deliver the bricks, but what in -thunder am I to say to him? Like enough he’ll knock me down if I don’t -look out. That’s just the notion, I _de_-clare! I can knock _him_ down, -and put him right in the wagon and bring him back; the joltin’ would -fetch him to and clear his head, like it’s done mine often enough when -I’ve been in his fix. But, hang it, what a ridick’lus goose-chase it -does look like!” - -Meanwhile the Reverend Timotheus Brown had limped down the main -street, looking a little more unapproachable than usual. As he reached -the edge of the town, however, where there began the low plain which -led to the river, he quickened his pace somewhat, and he did not stop -until he reached the river. Upon a raft sat a man fishing, and near by -a canoe was tied; in this latter the preacher seated himself, having -first untied it. - -“Hello, there! What are you a-doin’ with my dug-out?” shouted the -fisherman. - -“The Lord hath need of it!” roared the old divine, picking up the -paddle. - -“Well, I’ll be----!” exclaimed the man; “if that _ain’t_ the coolest! -The Lord’ll get a duckin’, I reckon, for that’s the _wobbliest_ canoe. -I don’t know, though; the old fellow paddles as if he were used to it.” - -Away down the river went the Reverend Timotheus; at the same time Fred -Macdonald, on horseback, hailed the ferry-boat, crossed the river, -and galloped down the opposite bank, and Crupp, a half an hour later, -might have been seen lying on his oars in a skiff in a shallow a mile -above the town, waiting to board the _Excellence_, as she came down the -stream. - -“’Pears to me preachers are out for a walk to-day,” said one old lady -to another across a garden fence, in one edge of the town. “I saw Mr. -Brown ’way down the street ever so far to-day, an’ now here’s Brother -Wedgewell ’way out here. I thought like enough he was goin’ to call, -but he went straight along an’ only bowed, awful solemn.” - -Parson Wedgewell certainly walked very fast, and the more ground he -covered the more rapidly his feet moved, and not his feet only. In long -stretches of road shut in by forest trees he found himself devoid of a -single mental restraint, and he thought aloud as he walked. - -“Rebuked by a sinner! O God! with my whole heart I have sought thee, -and thou hast instead revealed thyself not only unto babes and -sucklings, but unto one who is certainly not like unto one of these -little ones. Teach me thy will, for verily in written books I fear I -have found it not. What if the boat reaches the landing before I do, -and this lost sheep escapes me? Father in Heaven, the shepherd is -astray in his way, even as the sheep is; but O thou! who didst say that -the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, make the -feeble power of man to triumph over great engines and the hurrying of -mighty waters. Fulfill thy promise, O God, for the sake of the soul -thou hast committed to my charge!” - -Then, like a man who believed in helping his own prayers along, the -parson snatched off his coat and hat and increased his speed. He was -far outside of his own parish, for most of his congregation were -townsmen, and the old pastor knew no more of the geography of the -country about him than he did of Chinese Tartary. He had taken what was -known as the “River Road,” and thus far his course had been plain; now, -however, he reached a place where the road divided, and which branch -to take he did not know. Ordinary sense of locality would have taught -him in an instant, but the parson had no such sense; there was no house -in sight at which he could ask his way, and, to add to his anxiety, -the _Excellence_ came down the river to his left and rear, puffing -and shrieking as if the making of hideous noises was the principal -qualification of a river steamer. The old man fell upon his knees, -raised his face and hands toward heaven, and exclaimed, - -“The hosts of hell are pressing hard, O God! Thou who didst guide thy -chosen people with a pillar of fire, show now to thy unworthy servant -that thou art God!” - -What the parson saw he never told, but he sprang to his feet and went -down the left-hand road at a lively run, a moment after Tom Adams, half -a mile in the rear, had shaded his eyes and exclaimed, - -“Blamed if there isn’t a feller a-prayin’ right out in the road; if he -wants anything _that_ bad, I hope he’ll get it. Travel, Selim--_get_ -up, Bill!--let’s see who he is.” - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -BRINGING HOME THE SHEEP. - - -Speaking after the manner of the flesh, the Reverend Timotheus Brown -had found only plain sailing on the river; spiritually, he had a very -different experience. “As stubborn as a mule” was the most common -of the current estimates of Pastor Brown’s character; and if the -conscientious old preacher had ever personally heard this opinion of -himself, the verbal expression thereof would have given him but slight -annoyance, compared with that which he experienced from his own inner -man as he paddled down the stream. To forcibly resist something so -satisfied the strongest demand of his nature that neither shortening -breath nor blistering hands caused him to slacken the speed with which -he forced his paddle against the water. But another contest was going -on, and in this the consistent theologian was not so triumphant as he -liked always to be. Harry Wainright was one of the ungodly; that he -owned (and frequently occupied) a high-priced pew in Mr. Brown’s own -church was only another reason why the preacher should quote concerning -him, “He that being often reproved hardeneth his neck----”--what if -the conclusion of the same passage--“shall suddenly be destroyed, and -that without remedy,” should apply? What could prevent its doing so, -if Wainright had fulfilled the description in the first half? Had not -the same God inspired the whole passage? If so, what right had any -man, least of all a minister of the Gospel, to try to set at naught -the Divine will? Harry Wainright was, according to the decrees of an -unchangeable God, one of the lost--as much so as if he were already in -the bottomless pit. And still the old man’s paddle flew; once on the -trip he had felt as if the weakness of the arm of flesh would decide -the case for him, and in favor of the Word whose expounder he was; -he found himself wishing that it might, so that he could feel that -although God had overruled him, he might have comfort in the assurance -that he had not proved indifferent to his sudden emotion of yearning -for his fellow man. But that mysterious physical readjustment, known in -animals as “second breath,” came to the rescue of his fainting frame, -and then it seemed as if no watery torrent could prevail against the -force of his arm. Oh! if he might but talk to some one of the fathers -of the church; that he might be, even for ten minutes, back in his own -library! But no father of the church resided along the Reverend Brown’s -nautical course, nor was there a theological library nearer than his -own, and there he was, actually bent upon saving one whom the Eternal -pronounced lost! Lost? Hold! “For the Son of Man is come into the -world to save them that are lost.” If Christ had a right to save the -lost, had not an ambassador of Christ the same privilege? was not an -ambassador one who stood in the place--who fulfilled the duties--of an -absent king? “Glory be to God on high!” shouted the Reverend Timotheus, -and the dense woods echoed back “God on high!” as the old man, forty -years a conscientious pastor, but only that instant converted to -Christianity, drove his paddle into the water with a force that nearly -threw the canoe into the air. - -As for Parson Wedgewell, whom we left arising from his knees after -asking information from his Divine guide, he found himself upon the -right road. The river was nearer than he had dared to hope; a run -of half a mile brought him into a clearing, in which stood Brown’s -warehouse, near the river. The _Excellence_ had just put her nose -against the bank, and the clerk at the warehouse was tired of wondering -why Fred Macdonald, on the opposite bank, was shouting so impatiently -to the ferryman, and why an old man in a canoe should be coming down -the river at the rate of fifty-paddle strokes per minute, when he saw -Parson Wedgewell, coatless, hatless, with open shirt, disordered hair, -and face covered with dirt deposited just after an unlucky stumble, -come flying along the road, closely followed by Tom Adams, who was -lashing his horses furiously. A happy inspiration struck the clerk; he -shouted “Horse thief!” and seized the parson, and instantly received a -blow under the chin which rendered him inactive and despondent for the -space of half an hour. The parson saw the gang-plank shoved out; he saw -Harry Wainright step aboard; he saw the Rev. Timotheus jump from his -canoe into water knee deep, dash up the plank, and throw his arm over -Harry Wainright’s shoulder; but only a second or two elapsed before -Parson Wedgewell monopolized the runaway’s other side, and then, as -the three men stared at each other, neither one speaking a word, and -the two pastors bursting into tears, Tom Adams hurried aboard, and -exclaimed, - -“Mr. Wainright, Mrs. Wainright is particular anxious to see you this -evenin’, for somethin’, I don’t know what, an’ I hadn’t time to get any -sort of a carriage for fear I’d lose the boat; but there’s good springs -to the seat of the brick-yard wagon, an’ a new sheep-skin besides.” No -other words coming to Tom’s mind, he abruptly walked forward muttering, -“That’s the cock-an’-bullest yarn I ever _did_ tell; I _knew_ I -wouldn’t know what to say.” As Tom meditated, he heard one “roustabout” -say to another, - -“I say, Bill, you know that feller that used to sell such bully -whiskey in Barton? Well, he’s around there on the guards, dancin’ like -a lunatic. I shouldn’t wonder if that’s what come of swearin’ off -drinkin’.” - -“Mighty unsafe perceedin’,” replied Bill, eyeing Crupp suspiciously. - -Harry Wainright made not the slightest objection to going back home, -and he acted very much like a man who was glad of the company in which -he found himself. The divine of the canoe looked at his blistered -hands, and paid the resuscitated clerk to send the boat back by the -first steamer. While Fred Macdonald was crossing the river, Tom Adams -kindly drove back the road and recovered Parson Wedgewell’s coat and -hat, and the parson accepted the hospitalities of the boat to the -extent of water, soap, and towel. He attempted to make his peace with -the injured clerk; but that functionary, having already interviewed -Tom Adams, insisted that no apology was necessary, and asked the old -gentleman in what church he preached. - -As the party started back, they saw, coming through a cross-road, -a buggy violently driven, and containing two men--who proved to be -Squire Tomple and Father Baguss--in a vehicle belonging to the latter; -their air of having merely happened there deceived no one, least of -all Harry Wainright himself. Father Baguss did not live in town, nor -within four miles of it; but when Squire Tomple suggested that he -would beg a ride back in Tom Adams’s wagon, Father Baguss objected, -and remarked that he guessed he had business in town himself; so the -Squire retained his seat, and Father Baguss fell in behind the wagon -as decorously as if he was taking part in a funeral procession. Behind -them came Fred Macdonald, who had good excuse to gallop back to the -peculiar attraction that awaited him in Barton, but preferred to remain -in his present company. As the party approached the town, Tom Adams -considerately drove through the darkest and most unfrequented streets, -and stopped as near as possible to Wainright’s house. Wainright, -politely declining any escort, walked quietly home. Father Baguss stood -up in his buggy, with his hand to his ear, in the original position of -attention: suddenly he exclaimed, - -“There! I heard his door shut: _now_, brethren.” And Father Baguss -started the doxology. “Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” and -the glorious harmonies of the old choral were proof even against -the tremendous but discordant notes which Tom Adams, with the most -honorable intentions, interjected in rapid succession. Then the party -broke up. The two pastors escorted each other home alternately and -several times in succession, during which apparently meaningless -proceeding they learned, each from the other, how much of good intent -had been stifled in both of them for lack of prompt application. Crupp -and Tomple talked but little, and no “Imaginary Conversation” would -be at all likely to reproduce what they said. Father Baguss made the -whole air between Barton and his own farm redolent of camp-meeting -airs, and Fred Macdonald heard in Parson Wedgewell’s parlor something -sweeter than all the music ever written. As for Tom Adams, he jogged -slowly toward his employer’s stables, repeating to himself, - -“The bulliest spree I ever went on--the _very_ bulliest!” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -DOCTORS AND BOYS. - - -Here were two elements of Barton society with which Mr. Crupp had not -been so successful as he had hoped; these were the doctors, and that -elastic body known as “the boys.” Individually, the physicians had -promised well at first; all of them but one were members of the Barton -Division of the Sons of Temperance, and the Division rooms afforded -the only floor upon which Dr. White, the allopathist, Dr. Perry, the -homeopathist, and Dr. Pykem, the water-cure physician, ever could meet -amicably, for they belonged to separate churches. Old Dr. Matthews, -who had retired from practice, was not a “Son,” only because he was a -conscientious opponent of secret societies; but he had signed every -public pledge ever circulated in Barton, and he had never drunk a -drop of liquor in his life. All the physicians freely admitted to Mr. -Crupp that alcohol was a never-failing cause of disease, or at least -of physical deterioration; all declared that no class of maladies -were so incurable, and so depressing to the spirits of the medical -practitioner, as those to which habitual drinkers, even those who -were never drunk, were subject; but--they really did not see what -more they, the physicians of Barton, could do than they were already -doing. Crupp discussed the matter with Parson Wedgewell, and the parson -volunteered to preach a sermon to physicians from the text, “Give -wine unto those that be of heavy hearts,” a text which had suggested -itself to him, or, rather, had been providentially suggested to him -on the occasion of his very first interview with Crupp, and which was -outlined in his mind in a manner suggestive of delightful subtleties -and a startling application. But when Crupp sounded the doctors as to -whether such a discourse would be agreeable, Dr. White said he would -be glad to listen to the eloquent divine; but he was conscientiously -opposed to appearing, even by the faintest implication, to admit that -the homeopathist was a physician at all. Dr. Perry felt his need, as a -partaker in the fall of Adam, to being preached to from any portion of -the inspired Word; but he could not sit in an audience to which such -a humbug as Pykem could be admitted in an official capacity; while -Dr. Pykem said that he would rejoice to encourage the preacher by his -presence, if he thought any amount of preaching would do any good -to a remorseless slaughterer like White, or an idiotic old potterer -like Perry. Then Mr. Crupp tried another plan: he himself organized -a meeting in which the exercises were to consist of short addresses -upon the physical bearing of intemperance, the addresses to be made -by “certain of our fellow-citizens who have had many opportunities -for special observation in this direction.” Even then Drs. White and -Perry objected to sitting on the same platform with Dr. Pykem, who had -never attended any medical school of any sort, and who would probably -say something utterly ridiculous in support of his own senseless -theories, and thus spoil the effect of the physiological facts and -deductions which Drs. Perry and White each admitted that the other -might be intellectually capable of advancing. Crupp arranged the matter -amicably, however, by having Pykem make the first address, during -which the other two physicians were to occupy back seats, where they -might, while unobserved, take notes of such of Pykem’s heresies as -they might deem it necessary to combat: he further arranged that, -immediately after Pykem had concluded, he was to be called away to a -patient, provided for the occasion. Still more--and great would have -been the disgust of White and Perry had they known of it--Crupp laid so -plainly before Pykem the necessities of the community, and the duty, -not only Christian, but of the simplest manliness, also, that men of -any intelligence owed to their fellow-men, that Pykem, who with all -his hobbies was a man of Christian belief and humane heart, confined -himself solely to the preventive efficacy of external applications -of water, not unmixed with soap, in the case of persons who felt -toward alcohol a craving which they could not logically explain; he -thus delivered an address which might, with cause, be repeated in -every community in the United States. Then Dr. Perry, whose forte was -experimental physiology, read whole tables of statistics based upon -systematic observations; and Dr. White unrolled and explained some -charts and plates of various internal organs, naturally unhandsome -in themselves, which had been injured by alcohol. It was declared by -close observers that for a few days after this meeting the demand for -sponges and toilet soap exceeded the experience of the old and single -apothecary of the village, and that liquor-sellers looked either sober -or savage, according to their respective natures. - -But the boys! Crupp found himself in time really disposed to ask -Pastors Wedgewell and Brown whether there wasn’t Scriptural warrant for -the supposition that Job obtained his sons by marrying a widow with a -grown-up family. “The boys” numbered about a hundred specimens, ranging -in age from fourteen years to forty; no two were alike in disposition, -as Crupp had long known; they came from all sorts of peculiar social -conditions that warred against their physical and moral well-being; -some of them seemed wholly corrupt, and bent upon corrupting others; -many more exhibited a faculty for promising which could be matched in -magnitude only by their infirmity of performance. By a vigorous course -of individual exhortation, the burden of which was that everybody knew -they drank because they were too cowardly to refuse, and that nobody -despised them so heartily as the very men who sold them the rum, -Crupp lessened the number of drinking boys by about one-fourth, thus -rescuing those who were easiest to save and most worth saving, but the -remainder made as much trouble as the collective body had done. Crupp -scolded, pleaded, and argued; he hired some boys to drop liquor for at -least a stated time; he importuned some of the more refined citizens -to interest themselves socially in certain boys; he lent some of these -boys money with which to buy clothing which would bring their personal -appearance up to the Barton standard of respectability, and he covertly -excited some of the merchants up to a genuine interest in certain boys, -by persuading them to sell to said boys coats, boots, and hats on -credits nominally short. - -He enjoyed the hearty co-operation of the village pastors, all of -whom preached sermons to young men and to parents; but his principal -practical assistance came, quite unexpectedly, from old Bunley. Bunley -had not yet succeeded in finding anything to do, and, as he had on his -hands all of his time which was not needed at the family woodpile, -he went around talking to the boys. Bunley had been, according to -the Barton classification, a “boy” himself; he had drunk in a not -remote day with any boy who invited him; he knew more jolly songs -than any other half dozen inebriates in the village, and was simply -oppressed with the load of good (bad) stories which he never tired of -telling; he had been always ready to play cards with any boy, and -had come to be regarded, among the youngsters, as “the best fellow -in the village.” Now that he had reformed, his success in reforming -boys was simply remarkable--so much so that Parson Wedgewell began to -tremble over the thought that Bunley, by the present results of the -experience of his sinful days, might demonstrate, beyond the hope of -refutation, the dreadful proposition that it was better that a man -should be a sinner in his youth, so as to know how to be a saint when -he became old. This idea Parson Wedgewell laid, with much trepidation, -before the Reverend Timotheus Brown, and the two old saints and new -friends had a delightfully doleful time on their knees over it, until -there occurred to the Reverend Timotheus Brown a principle which he -proceeded to formulate as follows: The greater the capacity of a -misguided faculty for evil, the greater the good the same faculty may -accomplish when in its normal condition. To be sure, the discovery was -not original with him; the same statement had been made by peripatetic -phrenologists at Barton; indeed, it was visible, to one who could read -rather than merely repeat words, in every chapter of the Bible so dear -to this good old man; but the illusion under which Parson Brown was -allowed to labor worked powerfully for his own good and for that of -the community, for from that time forth both he and Parson Wedgewell -displayed their greatest earnestness in work with cases apparently the -most hopeless. These they found among “the boys,” and harder work no -reformer ever laid out for himself. The ingenuity, the persistence, -the determined brutality of some of the boys, the logical acuteness -displayed in varied fits of deception, only stimulated the old man -to greater industry, and slowly, after hard work, often after work -that seemed more like hard fighting, but yet surely, Parson Brown -reformed one after another of several hard cases. The villagers, -most of whom considered that their whole duty consisted in critical -observation, applauded handsomely, and Bunley was astonished, and felt -considerably mortified at the marked success of his new rival, while -Parson Wedgewell found it necessary to pray earnestly that unchristian -jealousy might be banished from his own mind. But to Parson Brown -the greatest triumph occurred when Crupp--Crupp, the literalist, -the hard-headed, the man who trusted in the arm of flesh, the man -of action, he who slightingly received any suggestions of special -thank-offerings of prayer for special services received--Crupp came to -him by night--it reminded Parson Brown of Nicodemus--and exclaimed, -“It’s no use, Parson; I’ve done my best on Frank Pughger, but he’s a -goner if God don’t put in a special hand. I’ll turn him over to you, I -guess.” - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -TWO SIDES OF A CLOUD. - - -The holy hilarity which Father Baguss enjoyed on his way home, after -having assisted in bringing Harry Wainright back, did not depart with -the shades of night. The old man was out of bed at his usual hour, and -he took his spiritual songs to the barn with him, to the astonishment -of his mild-eyed cows and quick-eared horses; and when his drove of -porkers demanded their morning meal with the vocal power peculiar to -a chorus of swine, the old man defiantly jumped an occasional octave, -and made the spiritual songs dominate over the physical. He seemed -_so_ happy that his single hired man could not resist the temptation -of asking for an increase of pay; but the sobriety to which this -interruption and its consequent refusal reduced Father Baguss was of -only temporary duration, and the broken strain was resumed with renewed -energy. The ecstasy lasted into and through the old man’s matutinal -repast, and manifested itself by an occasional hum through the good -man’s nose, which did the duty ordinarily performed by a mouth which -was now busied about other things; it caused Father Baguss to read a -glorious psalm as he officiated at the family altar after breakfast; it -made itself felt half way through the set prayer which the old farmer -had delivered every morning for forty years; but it seemed suddenly to -depart as its whilom possessor uttered the petition, “May we impart to -others of the grace with which thou hast visited us so abundantly.” -For the Tappelmines had come suddenly into Father Baguss’s mind, and -as that receptacle was never particularly crowded, the Tappelmines -made themselves very much at home there. The prayer having ended, the -old man loitered about the house instead of going directly to the -“clearing,” in which he had been getting out some oak fence-rails; he -stared out of the window, walked up and down the kitchen with his hands -in his pockets, lit a pipe, relit it half a dozen times at two minute -intervals, sighed, groaned, and at length strode across the room like a -bandit coming upon the boards of a theater, seized his hat, and started -for the Tappelmine domicile. - -As he plodded along over the rough road, he had two very distinct -ideas in his mind: one was, that he hadn’t the slightest notion of -what to say to Tappelmine; the other, and stronger, was, that it would -be a relief to him to discover that Tappelmine was away from home, -or even sick in bed--yes, or even drunk. But this hope was of very -short duration, for soon the old man heard the Tappelmine axe, and, -as he rounded the corner of the miserable house, he saw Tappelmine -himself--a tall, gaunt figure in faded homespun, torn straw hat, and a -tangled thicket of muddy-gray hair. The face which Tappelmine turned, -as he heard the approaching footsteps, was not one to warm the heart -of a man inspired only by an unwelcome sense of duty; it was thin, -full of vagrant wrinkles; the nose had apparently started in different -directions, and each time failed to return to its original line; the -eyes were watery and colorless, and the lips were thin and drawn into -the form of a jagged volcano crater. - -“The idee of doin’ anything for such!” exclaimed Father Baguss under -his breath. “O Lord! _you_ put me up to this here job--unless it was -all Crupp’s work; now see me through!” Then he said, - -“How are you, neighbor?” - -“Oh! off an’ on, ’bout as usual,” said Tappelmine, with a look which -seemed to indicate that his usual condition was not one upon which he -was particularly to be felicitated. - -“How’d your crop turn out?” asked Father Baguss, well knowing that -“crop” was a terribly sarcastic word to apply to the acre or two of -badly cultivated corn which Tappelmine had planted, but yet feeling a -frantic need of talking against time. - -“Well, not over’n above good,” said Tappelmine, as impervious to the -innocent sarcasm as he would have been to anything but a bullet or a -glass of whiskey. “I dunno what would have ’come of us ef I hadn’t -knocked over a couple of deer last week.” - -“You might have given a hint to your neighbors, if worst had come to -worst,” suggested Father Baguss, perceiving a gleam of light, but not -so delighted over it as a moment or two before he had expected to be. -“Nobody’d have stood by an’ seen you starve.” - -“Glad you told me,” said Tappelmine, abruptly raising his axe, and -starting two or three large chips in quick succession. - -The light seemed suddenly to be departing, and Father Baguss made a -frantic clutch at it. - -“You needn’t have waited to be told,” said he. “You know well enough -we’re all human bein’s about here.” - -“Well,” said Tappelmine, leaning on his axe, and taking particular -care not to look into his neighbor’s eye, “I used to borry a little -somethin’--corn, mebbe, or a piece of meat once in a while; but folks -didn’t seem over an’ above glad to lend ’em, an’ I’m one of the kind of -fellows that can take a hint, I am.” - -“That was ’cause you never said a word ’bout payin’ back--leastways, -you didn’t at _our_ house.” - -Tappelmine did not reply, except by looking sullen, and Father Baguss -continued: - -“Besides, it’s kinder discouragin’ to lend to a feller that gets tight -a good deal--gets tight sometimes, anyhow; it’s hard enough to get paid -by folks that always keep straight.” - -As Tappelmine could say nothing to controvert this proposition, he -continued to look sullen, and Father Baguss, finding the silence -insupportably annoying, said rather more than he had intended to say. -There are natures which, while containing noble qualities, are most -awkward expositors of themselves, and that of Baguss was one of this -sort. Such people are given to action which is open to criticism on -every side; yet, in spite of their awkwardnesses, they find in their -weakness the source of whatever strength they discover themselves to -be possessed of. Father Baguss was one of this special division of -humanity; but--perhaps for his own good--he was unconscious of his -strength and painfully observant of his weakness. Yet he continued as -follows: - -“Look here, Tappelmine, I came over here on purpose to find out if I -could do anything to help you get into better habits. You don’t amount -to a row of pins as things are now, and I don’t like it; it’s throwed -up to me, because I’m your neighbor, and there’s folks that stick to it -that _I’m_ to blame. I don’t see how; but if there’s any cross layin’ -around that fits my shoulders, I s’pose I ought to pick it up an’ pack -it along. Now, why in creation don’t you give up drinkin,’ an’ go to -church, an’ make a crop, an’ do other things like decent folks do? -You’re bigger’n I am, an’ stouter, an’ your farm’s as good as mine if -you’d only work it. Now why you don’t do it, I don’t see.” - -“Don’t, eh?” snarled Tappelmine, dropping his axe, and leaning against -the house with folded hands. “Well, ’cause I hain’t got any plow, nor -any harrow, nor but one hoss, nor rails enough to keep out cattle, nor -seed-corn or wheat, nor money to buy it with, nor anything to live on -until the crop’s made, nor anything to prevent the crop when it’s made -from being grabbed by whoever I owe money to; _that’s_ why I don’t -make a crop. An’ I don’t go to church, ’cause I hain’t got any clothes -excep’ these ’uns that I’ve got on, an’ my wife’s as bad off as _I_ be. -An’ I don’t give up drinkin’, ’cause drinkin’ makes me feel good, an’ -the only folks I know that care anything for me drink too. You fellers -that only drink on the sly----” - -“I never touched a drop in all my life!” roared Father Baguss. - -“That’s right,” said Tappelmine; “stick to it; there’s some that’ll -believe that yarn. But what I was goin’ to say was, folks that drink on -the sly know it’s comfortin’, an’ I don’t see what they go a-pokin’ up -fellers that does it fair an’ square for.” - -Father Baguss groaned, and some influence--the old man in later days -laid it upon the arch-enemy of souls--suggested to him the foolishness -of having gone into so great an operation without first counting -the cost; hadn’t the great Founder of the old man’s religious faith -enjoined a counting of the cost of any enterprise before entering upon -it? Father Baguss wished _that_ chapter of Holy Writ might have met -his eye that morning at the family altar; but it had not, and, worse -yet, Tappelmine was becoming wide awake and excited. It was not what -the drunkard had said about drinking or church-going that troubled this -would-be reformer; Tappelmine’s outline of his material condition was -what annoyed Father Baguss; for, in spite of an occasional attempt to -mentally allay his fears by falling back upon prayer, the incentive -with which he had called upon Tappelmine had taken strong hold of -his conscience, and persisted in making its influence felt. Plows -and prayers, harrows and hopes, seed-corn and the seed sown by the -wayside mixed themselves inextricably in his mind, as parallels often -do when men dream, or when they are confronted by an emergency beyond -the control of their own intellects. The old man prayed silently and -earnestly for relief, and his prayer was answered in a manner not -entirely according to his liking, for he felt moved to say, - -“_I’ll_ lend you seed, if you’ll go to work an’ put it right in, an’ -I’ll lend you a plow and a team to break up the ground with--I mean, -I’ll hire ’em to you, an’ agree to buy your crop at rulin’ price, an’ -pay you the difference in cash.” - -“That sounds somethin’ like,” remarked Tappelmine, thrusting his -hands into his trowsers’ pockets, and making other preparations for a -business talk; “but,” he continued, “what am I to live on along till -harvest? ’Tain’t even winter yet.” - -Father Baguss groaned, and asked, “What was you a-goin’ to live on if I -hadn’t offered seed and tools, Tappelmine?” - -“The Lord knows,” answered the never-do-well, with unimpeachable -veracity. - -“Then,” said the old farmer, “I guess he knows what you’ll do in -t’other case. You can work, I reckon. _I_ hain’t got much to do, but -you can do it, at whatever prices is goin’, an’ that’ll help you get -work of other folks; nobody can say I get stuck on the men I hire. So -they’re generally glad enough to hire ’em themselves.” - -Tappelmine did not seem overjoyed at his prospects, but he had the -grace to say that they were better than he had expected. Father Baguss -went home, feeling but little more comfortable than when he had -started on his well-intended mission. Tappelmine sauntered into his own -cabin, wondering how much of the promised seed-corn and wheat he could -smuggle into town and trade for whiskey; but he was rather surprised to -have his wife, a short, thin, sallow, uninteresting-looking woman, who -had been listening at the broken window, approach him, throw her arms -about his neck, and exclaim, - -“Now, old man, we can be respectable, can’t we? The chance has been a -long time a-comin’, but we’ve got it now.” - -The surprise was too great for Tappelmine, and he spent the remainder -of the day in nursing his knee on the single hearthstone of his -mansion. He was not undisturbed, however, and as men of his mental -caliber hate persistent reason even worse than they do work, Mrs. -Tappelmine not only coaxed her lord into resolving to be respectable, -but allowed that gentleman to persuade himself that he had formed the -resolution of his own accord. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -A PHENOMENON IN EMBRYO. - - -The superintendency of the Mississippi Valley Woolen Mills was a -position which exactly suited Fred Macdonald, and it gave him occasion -for the expenditure of whatever superfluous energy he found himself -possessed of, yet it did not engross his entire attention. The faculty -which the busiest of young men have for finding time in which to -present themselves, well clothed and unbusiness-like, to at least one -young woman, is as remarkable and admirable as it is inexplicable. The -evenings which did not find Fred in Parson Wedgewell’s parlor were -few indeed, and if, when he was with Esther, he did not talk quite as -sentimentally as he had done in the earlier days of his engagement, -and if he talked business very frequently, the change did not seem -distasteful to the lady herself. For the business of which he talked -was, in the main, of a sort which loving women have for ages recognized -as the inevitable, and to which they have subjected themselves with -a unanimity which deserves the gratitude of all humanity. Fred talked -of a cottage which he might enter without first knocking at the door, -and of a partnership which should be unlimited; if he learned, in the -course of successive conversations, that even in partnerships of the -most extreme order many compromises are absolutely necessary, the -lesson was one which improved his character in the ratio in which it -abased his pride. The cottage grew as rapidly as the mill, and on -his returns from various trips for machinery there came with Fred’s -freight certain packages which prevented their owner from appearing -so completely the absorbed business man which he flattered himself -that he seemed. Then the partnership was formed one evening in Parson -Wedgewell’s own church, in the presence of a host of witnesses, -Fred appearing as self-satisfied and radiant as the gainer in such -transactions always does, while Esther’s noble face and drooping eyes -showed beyond doubt who it was that was the giver. - -As the weeks succeeded each other after the wedding, however, no -acquaintance of the couple could wonder whether the gainer or the giver -was the happier. Fred improved rapidly, as the school-boy improves; -but Esther’s graces were already of mature growth, and rejoiced in -their opportunity for development. Though she could not have explained -how it happened, she could not but notice that maidens regarded her -wonderingly, wives contemplated her wistfully, frowns departed and -smiles appeared when she approached people who were usually considered -prosaic. Yet shadows sometimes stole over her face, when she looked at -certain of her old acquaintances, and the cause thereof soon took a -development which was anything but pleasing to her husband. - -“Fred,” said Esther one evening, “it makes me real unhappy sometimes to -think of the good wives there are who are not as happy as I am. I think -of Mrs. Moshier and Mrs. Crayme, and the only reason that I can see is, -their husbands drink.” - -“I guess you’re right, Ettie,” said Fred. “They didn’t begin their -domestic tyranny in advance, as _you_ did--bless you for it.” - -“But why _don’t_ their husbands stop?” asked Esther, too deeply -interested in her subject to notice her husband’s compliment. “They -must see what they’re doing, and how cruel it all is.” - -“They’re too far gone to stop; I suppose that’s the reason,” said -Fred. “It hasn’t been easy work for _me_ to keep my promise, Ettie, and -I’m a young man; Moshier and Crayme are middle-aged men, and liquor is -simply necessary to them.” - -“That dreadful old Bunley wasn’t too old to reform, it seems,” said -Esther. “Fred, I believe one reason is that no one has asked them to -stop. See how good Harry Wainright has been since he found that so many -people were interested in him that day!” - -“Ye----es,” drawled Fred, evidently with a suspicion of what was -coming, and trying to change the subject by suddenly burying himself in -his memorandum book. But this ruse did not succeed, for Esther crossed -the room to where Fred sat, placed her hands on his shoulders, and a -kiss on his forehead, and exclaimed, - -“Fred, _you’re_ the proper person to reform those two men!” - -“Oh, Ettie,” groaned Fred, “you’re entirely mistaken. Why, they’d laugh -right in my face, if they didn’t get angry and knock me down. Reformers -want to be older men, better men, men like your father, for instance, -if people are to listen to them.” - -“Father says they need to be men who understand the nature of those -they are talking to,” replied Esther; “and you once told me that you -understood Moshier and Crayme perfectly.” - -“But just think of what they are, Ettie,” pleaded Fred. “Moshier is a -contractor, and Crayme’s a steamboat captain; _such_ men never reform, -though they always are good fellows. Why, if I were to speak to either -of them on the subject, they’d laugh in my face, or curse me. The only -way I was able to make peace with them for stopping drinking myself was -to say that I did it to please my wife.” - -“Did they accept that as sufficient excuse?” asked Esther. - -“Yes,” said Fred reluctantly, and biting his lips over this slip of his -tongue. - -“Then you’ve set them a good example, and I can’t believe its effect -will be lost,” said Esther. - -“I sincerely hope it won’t,” said Fred, very willing to seem a reformer -at heart; “nobody would be gladder than I to see those fellows with -wives as happy as mine seems to be.” - -“Then why don’t you follow it up, Fred, dear, and make sure of your -hopes being realized? You can’t imagine how much happier _I_ would be -if I could meet those dear women without feeling that I had to hide -the joy that’s so hard to keep to myself.” - -The conversation continued with considerable strain to Fred’s -amiability; but his sophistry was no match for his wife’s earnestness, -and he was finally compelled to promise that he would make an appeal -to Crayme, with whom he had a business engagement, on the arrival of -Crayme’s boat, the _Excellence_. - -Before the whistles of the steamer were next heard, however, Esther -learned something of the sufferings of would-be reformers, and found -cause to wonder who was to endure most that Mrs. Crayme should have a -sober husband, for Fred was alternately cross, moody, abstracted, and -inattentive, and even sullenly remarked at his breakfast-table one -morning that he shouldn’t be sorry if the _Excellence_ were to blow -up, and leave Mrs. Crayme to find her happiness in widowhood. But no -such luck befell the lady: the whistle-signals of the _Excellence_ were -again heard in the river, and the nature of Fred’s business with the -captain made it unadvisable for Fred to make an excuse for leaving the -boat unvisited. - -It _did_ seem to Fred Macdonald as if everything conspired to make -his task as hard as it could possibly be. Crayme was already under the -influence of more liquor than was necessary to his well-being, and the -boat carried as passengers a couple of men, who, though professional -gamblers, Crayme found very jolly company when they were not engaged -in their business calling. Besides, Captain Crayme was running against -time with an opposition boat which had just been put upon the river, -and he appreciated the necessity of having the boat’s bar well stocked -and freely opened to whoever along the river was influential in -making or marring the reputation of steamboats. Fred finally got the -captain into his own room, however, and made a freight contract so -absent-mindedly that the sagacious captain gained an immense advantage -over him; then he acted so awkwardly, and looked so pale, that the -captain suggested chills, and prescribed brandy. Fred smiled feebly, -and replied, - -“No, thank you, Sam; brandy’s at the bottom of the trouble. I”--here -Fred made a tremendous attempt to rally himself--“I want _you_ to swear -off, Sam.” - -The astonishment of Captain Crayme was marked enough to be alarming -at first; then the ludicrous feature of Fred’s request struck him -so forcibly that he burst into a laugh before whose greatness Fred -trembled and shrank. - -“Well, by thunder!” exclaimed the captain, when he recovered his -breath; “if that isn’t the best thing I ever heard yet! The idea of -a steamboat captain swearing off his whiskey! Say, Fred, don’t you -want me to join the church? I forgot that you’d married a preacher’s -daughter, or I wouldn’t have been so puzzled over your white face -to-day. Sam Crayme brought down to cold water! Wouldn’t the boys along -the river get up a sweet lot of names for me--the ‘Cold-water Captain,’ -‘Psalm-singing Sammy’! and then, when an editor or any other visitor -came aboard, _wouldn’t_ I look the thing, hauling out glasses and a -pitcher of water! Say, Fred, does your wife let you drink tea and -coffee?” - -“Sam!” exclaimed Fred, springing to his feet, “if you don’t stop -slanting at my wife, I’ll knock you down.” - -“Good!” said the captain, without exhibiting any signs of trepidation. -“_Now_ you talk like yourself again. I beg your pardon, old fellow; you -know I was only joking, but it _is_ too funny. You’ll have to take a -trip or two with me again, though, and be reformed.” - -“Not any,” said Fred, resuming his chair; “take your wife along, and -reform yourself.” - -“Look here, now, young man,” said the captain, “_you’re_ cracking on -too much steam. Honestly, Fred, I’ve kept a sharp eye on you for two or -three months, and I am right glad you can let whiskey alone. I’ve seen -times when I wished I were in your boots; but steamboats can’t be run -without liquor, however it may be with woolen mills.” - -“That’s all nonsense,” said Fred. “You get trade because you run your -boat on time, charge fair prices, and deliver your freight in good -order. Who gives you business because you drink and treat?” - -The captain, being unable to recall any shipper of the class alluded to -by Fred, changed his course. - -“’Tisn’t so much that,” said he; “it’s a question of reputation. How -would I feel to go ashore at Pittsburg or Louisville or Cincinnati, and -refuse to drink with anybody? Why, ’twould ruin me. It’s different with -you who don’t have to meet anybody but religious old farmers. Besides, -you’ve just been married.” - -“And you’ve been married for five years,” said Fred, with a sudden -sense of help at hand. “How do you suppose _your_ wife feels?” - -Captain Crayme’s jollity subsided a little, but with only a little -hesitation he replied, - -“Oh! she’s used to it; she doesn’t mind it.” - -“You’re the only person in town that thinks so, Sam,” said Fred. - -Captain Crayme got up and paced his little state-room two or three -times, with a face full of uncertainty. At last he replied, - -“Well, between old friends, Fred, I don’t think so very strongly -myself. Hang it! I wish I’d been brought up a preacher, or something of -the kind, so I wouldn’t have had business ruining my chances of being -the right sort of a family man. Emily _don’t_ like my drinking, and -I’ve promised to look up some other business; but ’tisn’t easy to get -out of steamboating when you’ve got a good boat and a first-rate trade. -Once she felt so awfully about it that I _did_ swear off--don’t tell -anybody, for God’s sake! but I did. I had to look out for my character -along the river, though; so I swore off on the sly, and played sick. -I’d give my orders to the mates and clerks from my bed in here, and -then I’d lock myself in, and read novels and the Bible to keep from -thinking. ’Twas awful dry work all around; but ‘whole hog or none’ is -_my_ style, you know. There was fun in it, though, to think of doing -something that no other captain on the river ever did. But, thunder! -by the time night came, I was so tired of loafing that I wrapped a -blanket around my head and shoulders, like a Hoosier, sneaked out the -outer door here, and walked the guards, between towns; but I was so -frightened for fear some one would know me that the walk did me more -harm than good. And blue! why a whole cargo of indigo would have looked -like a snow-storm alongside of my feelings the second day; ’pon my -word, Fred, I caught myself crying in the afternoon, just before dark, -and I couldn’t find out what for either. I tell _you_, I was scared, -and things got worse as time spun along; the dreams I had that night -made me howl, and I felt worse yet when daylight came along again. -Toward the next night I was just afraid to go to sleep; so I made up -my mind to get well, go on duty, and dodge everybody that it seemed -I ought to drink with. Why, the Lord bless your soul! the first time -we shoved off from a town, I walked up to the bar, just as I always -did after leaving towns; the barkeeper set out my particular bottle -naturally enough, knowing nothing about my little game; I poured my -couple of fingers, and dropped it down as innocent as a lamb before -I knew what I was doing. By George! my boy, ’twas like opening -lock-gates; I was just heavenly gay before morning. There was one good -thing about it, though--I never told Emily I was going to swear off; I -was going to surprise her, so I had the disappointment all to myself. -Maybe she isn’t as happy as your wife; but, whatever else I’ve done, or -not done, I’ve never lied to her.” - -“It’s a pity you hadn’t promised _her_ then, before you tried your -experiment,” said Fred. The captain shook his head gravely and replied, - -“I guess not; why, I’d have either killed somebody or killed myself if -I’d gone on a day or two longer. I s’pose I’d have got along better -if I’d had anybody to keep me company, or reason with me like a -schoolmaster; but I hadn’t; I didn’t know anybody that I dared trust -with a secret like that.” - -“_I_ hadn’t reformed then, eh?” queried Fred. - -“You? why you’re one of the very fellows I dodged! Just as I got aboard -the boat--I came down late, on purpose--I saw you out aft. I tell -you, I was under my blankets, with a towel wrapped around my jaw, in -about one minute, and was just _a-praying_ that you hadn’t seen me come -aboard.” - -Fred laughed, but his laughter soon made place for a look of tender -solicitude. The unexpected turn that had been reached in the -conversation he had so dreaded, and the sympathy which had been -awakened in him by Crayme’s confidence and openness, temporarily made -of Fred Macdonald a man with whom Fred himself had never before been -acquainted. A sudden idea struck him. - -“Sam,” said he, “try it over again, and _I’ll_ stay by you. I’ll nurse -you, crack jokes, fight off the blues for you, keep your friends away. -I’ll even break your neck for you, if you like, seeing it’s you if -it’ll keep you straight.” - -“Will you, though?” said the captain, with a look of admiration -undisguised, except by wonder. “You’re the first friend I ever had, -then. By thunder! how marrying Ettie Wedgewell _did_ improve you, Fred! -But,” and the captain’s face lengthened again, “there’s a fellow’s -reputation to be considered, and where’ll mine be after it gets around -that I’ve sworn off?” - -“Reputation be hanged!” exclaimed Fred. “_Lose_ it, for your wife’s -sake. Besides, you’ll _make_ reputation instead of lose it: you’ll be -as famous as the Red River Raft, or the Mammoth Cave--the only thing of -the kind west of the Alleghanies. As for the boys, tell them I’ve bet -you a hundred that you can’t stay off your liquor for a year, and that -you’re not the man to take a dare.” - -“_That_ sounds like business,” exclaimed the captain, springing to his -feet. - -“Let me draw up a pledge,” said Fred eagerly, drawing pen and ink -toward him. - -“No, you don’t, my boy,” said the captain gently, and pushing Fred -out of the room and upon the guards. “Emily shall do that. Below -there!--Perkins, I’ve got to go up town for an hour; see if you can’t -pick up freight to pay laying-up expenses somehow. Fred, go home and -get your traps; ‘now’s the accepted time,’ as your father-in-law has -dinged at me, many a Sunday, from the pulpit.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -SAILING UP STREAM. - - -As Sam Crayme strode toward the body of the town, his business -instincts took strong hold of his sentiments, in the manner natural -alike to saints and sinners, and he laid a plan of operations against -whiskey which was characterized by the apparent recklessness but actual -prudence which makes for glory in steamboat captains, as it does in -army commanders. As was his custom in business, he first drove at -full speed upon the greatest obstacles; so it came to pass that he -burst into his own house, threw his arm around his wife with more than -ordinary tenderness, and then looking into her eyes with the daring -born of utter desperation, said, - -“Emily, I came back to sign the strongest temperance pledge that you -can possibly draw up; Fred Macdonald wanted to write out one, but I -told him that nobody but you should do it; you’ve earned the right to, -poor girl.” No such duty and surprise having ever before come hand -in hand to Mrs. Crayme, she acted as every true woman will imagine -that she herself would have done under similar circumstances, and this -action made it not so easy as it might otherwise have been to see just -where the pen and ink were, or to prevent the precious document, when -completed, from being disfigured by peculiar blots which were neither -finger-marks nor ink-spots, yet which in shape and size suggested both -of these indications of unneatness. Mrs. Crayme was not an adept at -literary composition, and, being conscious of her own deficiencies, she -begged that a verbal pledge might be substituted; but her husband was -firm. - -“A contract don’t steer worth a cent unless it’s in writing, Emily,” -said he, looking over his wife’s shoulder as she wrote. “Gracious, -girl, you’re making it too thin; _any_ greenhorn could sail right -through that and all around it. Here, let _me_ have it.” And Crayme -wrote, dictating aloud to himself as he did so, “And the--party--of the -first part--hereby agrees to--do everything--else that the--spirit of -this--agreement--seems to the party--of the second--part to--indicate -or--imply.” This he read over to his wife, saying, - -“That’s the way we fix contracts that aren’t ship-shape, Emily; a -steamboat couldn’t be run in any other way.” Then Crayme wrote at the -foot of the paper, “Sam. Crayme, Capt. Str. _Excellence_,” surveyed the -document with evident pride, and handed it to his wife, saying, - -“Now, you see, you’ve got me so I can’t ever get out of it by trying to -make out that ’twas some other Sam Crayme that you reformed.” - -“O husband!” said Mrs. Crayme, throwing her arms about the captain’s -neck, “_don’t_ talk in that dreadful business way! I’m too happy to -bear it. I want to go with you on this trip.” - -The captain shrank away from his wife’s arms, and a cold perspiration -started all over him as he exclaimed, - -“Oh, don’t, little girl! Wait till next trip. There’s an unpleasant set -of passengers aboard; the barometer points to rainy weather, so you’d -have to stay in the cabin all the time; our cook is sick, and his cubs -serve up the most infernal messes; we’re light of freight, and have got -to stop at every warehouse on the river, and the old boat’ll be either -shrieking, or bumping, or blowing off steam the whole continual time.” - -Mrs. Crayme’s happiness had been frightening some of her years away, -and her smile carried Sam himself back to his pre-marital period as she -said, - -“Never mind the rest; I see you don’t want me to go,” and then she -became Mrs. Crayme again as she said, pressing her face closely to her -husband’s breast, “but I hope you won’t get _any_ freight, _anywhere_, -so you can get home all the sooner.” - -Then the captain called on Dr. White, and announced such a collection -of symptoms that the doctor grew alarmed, insisted on absolute quiet, -conveyed Crayme in his own carriage to the boat, saw him into his -berth, and gave to Fred Macdonald a multitude of directions and -cautions, the sober recording of which upon paper was of great service -in saving Fred from suffering over the Quixotic aspect which the whole -project had begun, in his mind, to take on. He felt ashamed even to -look squarely into Crayme’s eye, and his mind was greatly relieved when -the captain turned his face to the wall and exclaimed, - -“Fred, for goodness’ sake get out of here; I feel enough like a baby -now, without having a nurse alongside. I’ll do well enough for a few -hours; just look in once in a while.” - -During the first day of the trip, Crayme made no trouble for himself -or Fred: under the friendly shelter of night, the two men had a -two-hour chat which was alternately humorous, business-like, and -retrospective, and then Crayme fell asleep. The next day was reasonably -pleasant out of doors, so the captain wrapped himself in a blanket -and sat in an extension-chair on the guards, where with solemn face -he received some condolences which went far to keep him in good humor -after the sympathizers had departed. On the second night the captain -was restless, and the two men played cards. On the third day the -captain’s physique reached the bottom of its stock of patience, and -protested indignantly at the withdrawal of its customary stimulus; and -it acted with more consistency, though no less ugliness, than the human -mind does when under excitement and destitute of control. The captain -grew terribly despondent, and Fred found ample use for all the good -stories he knew. Some of these amused the captain greatly, but after -one of them he sighed, - -“Poor old Billy Hockess told me that the only time I ever heard it -before, and _didn’t_ we have a glorious time that night! He’d just -put all his money into the _Yenesei_--that blew up and took him with -it only a year afterward--and he gave us a new kind of punch he’d got -the hang of when he went East for the boat’s carpets. ’Twas made of -two bottles of brandy, one whiskey, two rum, one gin, two sherry, and -four claret, with guava jelly, and lemon peel that had been soaking in -curaçoa and honey for a month. It looks kind of weak when you think -about it, but there were only six of us in the party, and it went to -the spot by the time we got through. Golly, but didn’t we make Rome -howl that night!” - -Fred shuddered, and experimented upon his friend with song; he was -rewarded by hearing the captain hum an occasional accompaniment; but, -as Fred got fairly into a merry Irish song about one Terry O’Rann, and -uttered the lines in which the poet states that the hero - - “--took whiskey punch - Ivery night for his lunch,” - -the captain put such a world of expression into a long-drawn sigh that -Fred began to feel depressed himself; besides, songs were not numerous -in Fred’s repertoire, and those in which there was no allusion to -drinking could be counted on half his fingers. Then he borrowed the -barkeeper’s violin, and played, one after another, the airs which had -been his favorites in the days of his courtship, until Crayme exclaimed, - -“Say, Fred, we’re not playing church; give us something that don’t -bring all of a fellow’s dead friends along with it.” - -Fred reddened, swung his bow viciously, and dashed into “Natchez Under -the Hill,” an old air which would have delighted Offenbach, but which -will never appear in a collection of classical music. - -“Ah! that’s something like music,” exclaimed Captain Crayme, as Fred -paused suddenly to repair a broken string. “I never hear that but -I think of Wesley Treepoke, that used to run the _Quitman_; went -afterward to the _Rising Planet_, when the _Quitman’s_ owners put her -on a new line as an opposition boat. Wess and I used to work things so -as to make Louisville at the same time--he going up, I going down, and -then turn about--and we always had a glorious night of it, with one or -two other lively boys that we’d pick up. And Wess had a fireman that -could fiddle off old ‘Natchez’ in a way that would just make a corpse -dance till its teeth rattled, and that fireman would always be called -in just as we’d got to the place where you can’t tell what sort of -whiskey ’tis you’re drinking, and I tell you, ’twas so heavenly that -a fellow could forgive the last boat that beat him on the river, or -stole a landing from him. And _such_ whiskey as Wess kept! used to -go cruising around the back country, sampling little lots run out of -private stills. He’d always find nectar, you’d better believe. Poor -old boy! the tremens took him off at last. He hove his pilot overboard -just before he died, and put a bullet into Pete Langston, his second -clerk--they were both trying to hold him, you see--but they never laid -it up against him. I wish I knew what became of the whiskey he had on -hand when he walked off--no, I don’t, either; what am I thinking about? -But I do, though--hanged if I don’t!” - -Fred grew pale: he had heard of drunkards growing delirious upon -ceasing to drink; he had heard of men who, in periods of aberration, -were impelled by the motive of the last act or recollection which -strongly impressed them; what if the captain should suddenly become -delirious, and try to throw _him_ overboard or shoot him? Fred -determined to get the captain at once upon the guards--no, into the -cabin, where there would be no sight of water to suggest anything -dreadful--and search his room for pistols. But the captain objected to -being moved into the cabin. - -“The boys,” said the captain, alluding to the gamblers, “are mighty -sharp in the eye, and like as not they’d see through my little game, -and then where’d my reputation be? Speaking of the boys reminds me of -Harry Genang, that cleaned out that rich Kentucky planter at bluff one -night, and then swore off gambling for life and gave a good-by supper -aboard the boat. ’Twas just at the time when Prince Imperial Champagne -came out, and the whole supper was made of that splendid stuff. I guess -I must have put away four bottles, and if I’d known how much he’d -ordered, I could have carried away a couple more. I’ve always been -sorry I didn’t.” - -Fred wondered if there was any subject of conversation which would not -suggest liquor to the captain; he even brought himself to ask if Crayme -had seen the new Methodist Church at Barton since it had been finished. - -“Oh, yes,” said the captain; “I started to walk Moshier home one night, -after we’d punished a couple of bottles of old Crow whiskey at our -house, and he caved in all of a sudden, and I laid him out on the -steps of that very church till I could get a carriage. Those were my -last two bottles of Crow, too; it’s too bad the way the good things of -this life paddle off.” - -The captain raised himself in his berth, sat on the edge thereof, stood -up, stared out the window, and began to pace his room with his head -down and his hands behind his back. Little by little he raised his -head, dropped his hands, flung himself into a chair, beat the devil’s -tattoo on the table, sprang up excitedly, and exclaimed, - -“I’m going back on all the good times I ever had.” - -“You’re only getting ready to try a new kind, Sam,” said Fred. - -“Well, I’m going back on my friends.” - -“Not on all of them; the dead ones would pat you on the back, if they -got a chance.” - -“A world without whiskey looks infernally dismal to a fellow that isn’t -half done living.” - -“It looks first-rate to a fellow that hasn’t got any back-down in him.” - -“Curse you! I wish I’d made _you_ back down when you first talked -temperance to me.” - -“Go ahead! Then curse your wife--don’t be afraid; you’ve been doing it -ever since you married her.” - -Crayme flew at Macdonald’s throat; the younger man grappled the -captain and threw him into his bunk. The captain struggled and glared -like a tiger; Fred gasped, between the special efforts dictated by -self-preservation, - -“Sam, I--promised to--to see you--through--and I’m--going to--do it, -if--if I have to--break your neck.” - -The captain made one tremendous effort; Fred braced one foot against -the table, put a knee on the captain’s breast, held both the captain’s -wrists tightly, looked full into the captain’s eyes, and breathed a -small prayer--for his own safety. For a moment or two, perhaps longer, -the captain strained violently, and then relaxed all effort and cried, - -“Fred, you’ve whipped me!” - -“Nonsense! whip yourself,” exclaimed Fred, “if you’re going to stop -drinking.” - -The captain turned his face to the wall and said nothing; but he -seemed to be so persistently swallowing something that Fred suspected -a secreted bottle, and moved an investigation so suddenly that the -captain had not time in which to wipe his eyes. - -“Hang it, Fred,” said he, rather brokenly; “how _can_ what’s babyish in -men whip a full-grown steamboat captain?” - -“The same way that it whipped a full-grown woolen-mill manager once, I -suppose, old boy,” said Macdonald. - -“Is that so?” exclaimed the captain, astonishment getting so sudden -an advantage over shame that he turned over and looked his companion -in the face. “Why--how are you, Fred? I feel as if I was just being -introduced. Didn’t anybody else help?” - -“Yes,” said Fred, “a woman; but--you’ve got a wife, too.” - -Crayme fell back on his pillow and sighed. “If I could only _think_ -about her, Fred! But I can’t; whiskey’s the only thing that comes into -my mind.” - -“Can’t think about her!” exclaimed Fred; “why, are you acquainted with -her yet, I wonder? _I’ll_ never forget the evening you were married.” - -“That _was_ jolly, wasn’t it?” said Crayme. “I’ll bet such sherry was -never opened west of the Alleghanies, before or----” - -“_Hang_ your sherry!” roared Fred; “it’s your wife that I remember. -_You_ couldn’t see her, of course, for you were standing alongside of -her; but the rest of us--well, I wished myself in your place, that’s -all.” - -“Did you, though?” said Crayme, with a smile which seemed rather proud; -“well, I guess old Major Pike did too, for he drank to her about twenty -times that evening. Let’s see; she wore a white moire antique, I think -they called it, and it cost twenty-one dollars a dozen, and there was -at least one broken bottle in every----” - -“And I made up my mind she was throwing herself away, in marrying a -fellow that would be sure to care more for whiskey than he did for -her,” interrupted Fred. - -“Ease off, Fred, ease off now; there wasn’t any whiskey there; I tried -to get some of the old Twin Tulip brand for punch, but----” - -“But the devil happened to be asleep, and you got a chance to behave -yourself,” said Fred. - -Crayme looked appealingly. “Fred,” said he, “tell me about her -yourself; I’ll take it as a favor.” - -“Why, she looked like a lot of lilies and roses,” said Fred, “except -that you couldn’t tell where one left off and the other began. As she -came into the room _I_ felt like getting down on my knees. Old Bayle -was telling me a vile story just then, but the minute _she_ came in he -stopped as if he was shot.” - -“He wouldn’t drink a drop that evening,” said Crayme, “and I’ve puzzled -my wits over that for five years----” - -“She looked _so_ proud of _you_,” interrupted Fred with some impatience. - -“Did she?” asked Crayme. “Well, I guess I _was_ a good-looking -fellow in those days: I know Pike came up to me once, with a glass -in his hand, and said that he ought to drink to _me_, for I was the -finest-looking groom he’d ever seen. He was so tight, though, that he -couldn’t hold his glass steady; and though you know I never had a drop -of stingy blood in me, it _did_ go to my heart to see him spill that -gorgeous sherry.” - -“She looked very proud of _you_,” Fred repeated; “but I can’t see why, -for I’ve never seen her do it since.” - -“You _will_, though, hang you!” exclaimed the captain. “Get out of -here! I can think about her _now_, and I don’t want anybody else -around. No rudeness meant, you know, Fred.” - -Fred Macdonald retired quietly, taking with him the keys of both doors, -and feeling more exhausted than he had been on any Saturday night since -the building of the mill. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -A FIRST INWARD PEEP. - - -Among the Barton people who had actually made any effort for the -sake of temperance, no one found greater comfort in contemplative -retrospects of his own work than Deacon Jones. True, his contributions -to the various funds which Crupp, Tomple, Wedgewell, and Brown devised -had not been as great as had been expected of him; nor had such moneys -as he finally gave been obtained from him without an amount of effort -which Crupp declared sufficient to effect the extraction, from the -soil, of the stump of a centenarian oak; but when the money had left -his pocket, and was absolutely beyond recall, the deacon made the most -he could out of it by the only method which remained. His contributions -gave him an excuse for talk and exhortation, and, next to money-making, -there was no operation which the deacon enjoyed as much as that of -exhorting others to good deeds. Until there broke out in Barton the -temperance excitement alluded to in our first chapter, Deacon Jones’s -hortatory efforts had been principally of a religious nature; he -believed in religion, and he occasionally extracted enjoyment from -it; besides, his thrifty soul had always been profoundly moved by the -business-like nature of the Scripture passage, “Whoso shall convert -a sinner from the error of his ways, shall save a soul from death -and cover a multitude of sins.” Many had been the unregenerate in -Barton with whom the deacon had labored, generally with considerable -tact, as to occasion and language, and sometimes with success. His -orthodoxy was acceptable to every pastor in the village, for he was an -extreme believer in every religious tenet which either pastor declared -necessary to salvation; and his frequent inability to reconcile such -of these ideas as conflicted with each other only led the ministers to -accord new admiration to a faith which was appalled by nothing. Up to -the time when he took active part in the temperance movement, one of -his favorite injunctions had been, “Lay up your treasure in heaven;” -when, however, he found himself suddenly and frequently called upon -for contributions, he dropped this injunction in favor of that one -which reads, “Give to him that asketh of thee.” It had been a matter -of considerable sorrow to the deacon that his first knowledge of this -passage had been derived from St. Luke instead of St. Matthew, and -that he had many times been compelled to say “Give to _every man_,” -etc., which quotation had reacted upon him in a manner which caused -him to quote to himself, “Many are the afflictions of the righteous,” -and to suffer some terrible flounderings in the twin pits of logic and -casuistry; but when he corrected himself according to Matthew, his -heart was gladdened, and his restraint removed. The old man talked a -great deal out of honest delight in righteousness and humanity; but he -was never moved to reticence by the thought that if his scattered seed -produced a fair share of grain, the demands upon his own precious store -would be lessened. - -Besides, the deacon could, with propriety, urge a more conspicuous -form of well-doing than mere contributions of currency ever attained -to. Had not he himself taken upon his shoulders Tom Adams, driver of -the brick-yard team? If any one doubted it, or had never been made -acquainted with the fact, the deacon gave him no excuse for farther -ignorance. One after another of the well-to-do merchants, professional -men, and farmers, were urged by the deacon to take entire charge of -some unfortunate soul, after the manner of the deacon himself with Tom, -and to all of these he insisted that what he had done for Tom he had -been richly paid for by the approving smiles of his own conscience. -Shrewd judges of human nature were convinced that if such payment -was made to the deacon, he was doubly paid, for Tom Adams had been a -treasure of a workman ever since he had stopped drinking; but, with -the marvelous blindness of the man who objects to seeing, the deacon -clearly comprehended both aspects of the situation, without ever once -allowing them to interfere with each other. - -He was pursuing his favorite line of argument in his store one -afternoon, before Parson Brown, Lawyer Bottom, the postmaster, Dr. -White, and two or three others who were not active customers at that -immediate moment, and, as all his hearers but the parson were in good -circumstances, the deacon felt called upon to make an unusual effort. - -“Tell you what it is, gentlemen,” said he, “there’s nothin’ like -puttin’ your hand in your pocket to show you what doin’ good is. Here -I’ve been thinkin’ all my life that I was doin’ good by subscribin’ -to Bible Societies, Missionary Societies, an’ all such things, and yet -there was _the_ chance right in my own hands, and I was too blind to -see it. I done it at last on a risk, as if God didn’t know best when -he inspires men to righteous deeds; an’ I was fearful, time an’ again, -that it mightn’t turn out well; but I’ve been more abundantly blessed -at it than I ever expected to be. It makes a man feel kind of like -Christ must have felt, to be able to help a fellow-creature out of -his troubles and sins. Look at Tom Adams now! he’s always sober, his -children go to Sunday-school, and he’s never around looking as if you’d -rather not meet him, and _I_, thank the Lord! feel even better over it -than _he_ does.” - -The postmaster slyly tipped a grave wink at Lawyer Bottom, and the -lawyer sagely laid a wise forefinger athwart his own nose. Dr. White -dropped a short bark, intended for a cough, which somehow provoked -a smile all around. Suddenly a small boy rushed into the store, -exclaiming, - -“O Deacon Jones! Tom Adams fell out of the wagon and broke his leg!” - -The deacon’s ecstatic expression instantly vanished into thin air, and -he asked, with a face full of misery, - -“And the horses ran away?” - -“No,” said the boy. “_They’re_ all right.” - -Dr. White sprang up, seized his cane, and asked, “Where is he?” - -“That’s so,” asked the deacon, still more sorrowful of countenance, as -he continued, “just as corn’s beginnin’ to come in, too, an’ needin’ to -be measured an’ sacked; that’s just the way things go in this wicked -world!” - -Lawyer Bottom, who did not believe much in God, and believed still less -in the deacon, asked, - -“Well, deacon, then you wouldn’t advise me to take somebody on my hands -for the sake of the spiritual payment I’ll be likely to get out of the -operation?” - -The deacon rallied himself by a tremendous effort, but his countenance -did not indicate that the answer he was about to make would be of that -softness that turns away wrath; he was saved from disgracing himself, -however, by still another boy, who came flying through the main street -on horseback, shouting, - -“Fire! fire! The woolen mill! Fire!” - -The deacon’s store emptied in an instant of every one but Parson Brown, -for all the other listeners were men of some means, and stockholders -in the mill. - -“Here!” shouted the deacon, cutting the cords of a “nest” of pails; -“take buckets along with you; like enough it’ll need everybody’s help, -and the mill’s only half insured, too! Parson, would you mind sittin’ -here until my boy gets back? I’m losin’ enough to-day without having to -shut up store, too.” - -“Certainly, I’ll stay,” said the old preacher, limping to the front -of the store, and laying his hand on the shoulder of the troubled -storekeeper; “but, Brother Jones, if the light of that burning mill -should show you anything inside of yourself, _don’t_ cover your eyes. -It’s for righteousness’ sake I ask it.” - -“All right, Brother Brown,” whispered the deacon hoarsely, as he -started off with two water-pails in each hand, and murmuring, “What -did the old fellow mean by that, I wonder?” Across the street was -Squire Tomple, just jumping into his buggy, and the deacon made haste -to accept an invitation to a seat beside his fellow-sufferer. The two -stockholders did not lack company; Crupp, Judge Macdonald, and most -of the other stockholders, either preceded or followed them, and -on the road were hundreds of men and boys, full of an enterprising -desire to see the largest fire that had ever occurred in Barton, and -already experiencing such of the pleasures of anticipation as a heavy -column of smoke could create. Coming in sight of the mill itself, -the deacon groaned, and the Squire assisted him, for flames were -bursting from every window, and the men who had been passing pails of -water up ladders and through the stairways had been driven from their -work, and had formed a circle which was slowly but steadily widening. -Considerable of the wool had been removed and stacked outside the -building, and it now became necessary to move this still farther away, -but so many hands were ready to seize it that Deacon Jones could not -relieve his feelings even by attempting to save property; so he stood -still and looked at the fire, as he estimated his losses. Such a day -he had not known since he had lost considerable uninsured stock by -the explosion of a river steamer. Sidling uneasily about among the -crowd, he found several stockholders anxiously comparing pencil notes, -and the figures were anything but consolatory supposing all the stock -to be saved, there was yet the mill and machinery--value, about ten -thousand dollars--which would be totally lost; insurance, five thousand -dollars; dead loss, ditto; which left the Squire out of pocket to the -extent of a quarter of his subscription. The small profit which had -already accrued would not more than cover the loss of the interest on -the remaining capital until the mill could be rebuilt, if it seemed -advisable to rebuild it. - -“Who’s to blame for all this?” asked the deacon angrily. - -“We haven’t learned yet,” said the judge, “and I’m afraid it won’t help -matters any to know all about it. There goes the last of it!” - -As the judge spoke, the blazing frame fell, the small boys shouted -“Oh----h!” in chorus, and the deacon’s heart sank like lead as he -turned away. He had lost, say, a hundred and fifty dollars by the -fire, and Tom Adams’s misfortune would entail additional loss upon -him, for a new man would have to be watched and taught and helped, -whereas Tom worked as easily as the wheel of a machine. It was but -right that the deacon should regret his losses; for though he was a man -of considerable property, a dollar looked very large to him, for the -reason that his first dollars had each one represented an enormous -amount of labor. But when Lawyer Bottom, who had invested in mill stock -only with the hope of profit, approached the deacon, and asked, with -more curiosity than malice, “How about temperance now, deacon?” the -facial contortions which the deacon offered in reply sent the lawyer -away in an ecstasy of unholy glee, which almost eradicated his own -sense of loss, and which dispelled for a time such little belief as he -had in the transforming power of religion. But what is one man’s poison -is another’s food. The lawyer’s question was not entirely disposed of -by the deacon’s ungracious reply; it repeated itself time and again to -the old man, and at the most inopportune times and places; it came to -him behind the counter, and made him give wrong weights and measures, -with the balance not always in his favor; it came to him when he was -making entries in his day-book, and caused him to forget certain items; -at his own dinner-table it suddenly made itself heard, and interfered -with his relish of the good viands which he so much enjoyed; it dropped -in upon him in his dreams, when he could not be on his guard against -his better self, and extracted from his conscience a provoking line of -answers which in his waking hours he could not gainsay. For three days -this depressing experience continued, and then there occurred, at the -regular weekly prayer-meeting of Parson Wedgewell’s church, an episode -which for months caused mournful reflections in the minds of such of -Parson Wedgewell’s parishioners as were not in the habit of attending -prayer-meeting. It was noticed by the faithful that Deacon Jones looked -unusually solemn and sensitive as he entered the room, and that he -did not, as had been hitherto his habit, start the second hymn. This -omission having been made good by some enterprising member, however, -the deacon got upon his feet and said: - -“Brethren, during the past few days my eyes have been opened, and what -I have seen hasn’t been pleasant to look upon. It is indeed true, my -dear friends, that Satan sometimes appears as an angel of light. For -months I’ve been feeling, and real happily, too, what a glorious thing -it was to do good; I had been instrumental in saving one man from -destruction by keeping him busy, and I’d helped save another”--here -the deacon paused suddenly and looked around to make sure that Judge -Macdonald was not in the room--“I’d helped save another by taking an -interest in the mill. But within a few days I’ve learned that my own -righteousness was as filthy rags; ’twas even worse than that, brethren, -for the worst rags are worth so much a pound, but I can’t find that my -righteousness is worth anything at all. I’ve fought it out with myself, -brethren, an’ I believe I’ve conquered; but it makes my heart sick to -see what my enemy looks like, an’ to think I’ve got to carry him around -with me through the rest of my days. Doin’ good’s all right, even if -it _does_ pay in dollars and cents, brethren; but doin’ good for the -sake of what it’ll bring is the quickest way of makin’ a hypocrite that -I ever found, an’ I’m beginnin’ to think that I’ve found a good many -ways in myself, my friends. I ask an interest in the prayers of God’s -people, an’ I assure ’em that there’s no danger of any of their prayers -bein’ wasted.” - -The deacon dropped into his seat, and the silence that prevailed for a -moment was simply inevitable in a little company that had never before -heard such an extraordinary confession; as one of the members afterward -remarked, it sounded like a murderer’s last dying speech. Then good -Parson Wedgewell sprang to his feet, and, with streaming eyes and rapid -utterances, offered a prayer such as had never been heard in that room -before. The songs and prayers which followed were not those to which -the meeting were accustomed, and when at last the assemblage separated, -there could not be heard from the home-wending couples any critiques of -the language or garb of any one who had been present. - -As for Deacon Jones, he continued his new fight most valiantly by -visiting Tom Adams that very evening, and assuring him that, their -supplementary agreement to the contrary notwithstanding, he would -continue Tom’s pay during his confinement, and would pay his doctor’s -bill also. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -A REFORMER DISAPPOINTED. - - -During the day or two which followed his interview with Tappelmine, -Father Baguss was consumed with conflicting emotions. He could not deny -that his offer to help Tappelmine had taken an unpleasant load off of -his own heart; but it was equally certain that the contemplation of the -possible results of the arrangement gave him a sense of oppression, -which differed from the first in quality, but of which the quantity -was far too great to be endured with comfort. To find a way of getting -out of the whole matter was a suggestion which came frequently to the -heart of the old man, and was not as rigidly excluded as it would have -been from that of the reader; but fortunately for the honesty of Father -Baguss, his ingenuity was of the lowest order conceivable; so he did -as thousands of his betters have done when unable, by any abandonment -of self-respect, to avoid the inevitable: he submitted, and groaned -frequently to the Lord. Sometimes these efforts before the Unseen -increased the old man’s lugubriousness; at other times, a song came to -his rescue, followed by a troop of its own kind; but so uncertain were -his moods that Mrs. Baguss, who never before had occasion to suppose -that there was a single nerve in her husband’s body, began to complain -that she didn’t “believe in this thing of lookin’ out for other folks, -if it makes you cranky with your own.” - -The old man’s trouble increased on the third day, for Tappelmine -dropped in and hinted vaguely that it was not yet too late to plant -winter wheat. The old man went into Tappelmine’s field with his own -team, and plowed; he worked his horses longer hours than he ever did on -his own ground; he lent an extra horse to work with Tappelmine’s own -before a harrow; he himself sowed the wheat, casting now plentifully, -as he thought of what Tappelmine might owe him by harvest-time, and -now scantily, as he thought of what might be his own fate if the crop -should be troubled with rust, or blight, or rain, or drought. And all -the while, as he followed his horses, the old man kept uttering short -petitions for Tappelmine and himself; and all the while his soul was -full of unspoken prayers for heavy rains or sudden cold, so that -the work might be stopped by the hand of Providence himself. But no -such fortune befell the good old man: such an open fall had not been -known since the settlement of Barton; even the Indian summer lasted -so long that the poet of the Barton _Register_ found opportunity to -publish, in three successive weekly numbers, “odes,” which could be -read in the weather which suggested them. When a heavy rain at last -put an end to field work, there were twenty-seven acres in wheat on -the Tappelmine estate. Father Baguss ached in soul and body, but the -wheat-field work was but the beginning of sorrow. The Tappelmine -larder was bareness itself; there was not a porker in the Tappelmine -pen; there was not even corn enough in the Tappelmine crib to feed -the family horse, let alone to send to mill, and be ground into the -meal which the Tappelmines fortunately preferred to fine flour. -Father Baguss sold the necessities of life in small quantities to his -neighbor, with the understanding that they were to be repaid by the -labor of Tappelmine, who was to get out material for barrel-staves -and wheelwright’s spokes on the old man’s woodland; but, by the time -the wheat was planted, Tappelmine, who, under the eye of Baguss, did -more work in a month than he had done in the whole of the year which -preceded, and who during the month had been pretty effectually kept -from his accustomed stimulant, fell sick. Then the cup of misery which -Father Baguss had put to his own lips was full; as the old man, in his -homely way, explained to his own pastor, it didn’t run over, and that -was just the trouble; he had to drink it all. He sought for sympathy -among his neighbors and acquaintances, but without much success; the -Barton postmaster expressed the sentiment of the township, when he said -that “no one but a thick-headed blunderer like Baguss would attempt -to reform a dead-and-gone soaker like Tappelmine.” Besides, most of -the inhabitants wanted to see how the case was going to turn out, -and all of them instinctively understood that the best point of view -is always at a respectable distance from the object to be looked at. -The sorrowing philanthropist went to Crupp, Tomple, and Deacon Jones; -but these three reformers, knowing that Baguss could afford the loss, -quietly agreed with each other that it would be indeed consolatory -to have a companion in experience; so they made excuses, and quoted -figures in evidence, and Father Baguss went home with the settled -conviction that he would have to look to Providence for his only -assistance. - -But while Providence was thus reforming Father Baguss, Tappelmine was -growing steadily weaker, and Baguss found his causes of discomfort -increased by a debate, which lasted long in his mind, whether it might -not be better, for the sake of the drunkard’s family, to let Tappelmine -die, and then lease the farm himself at a price which would support the -widow. While one phase of the case was present in his mind, he would -suggest to the doctor that medicine didn’t seem to do any good--which -was certainly true--and that he didn’t believe it would pay to come so -often; when, on the contrary, conscience would argue for its own side, -the old man would have all three of the physicians visit Tappelmine in -rapid succession. The doctors disagreed, as any one but Father Baguss -would have known. Perry suggested electrical treatment, which would -necessitate the purchase of a battery, no such piece of mechanism -having ever been seen in the town except in a locked cabinet of the -Barton High School. Dr. White outlined a course of treatment which -seemed reasonable to Father Baguss, but which, put into practice, did -neither good nor harm; while Pykem arranged for certain inexpensive -applications of water, with results which were in the main encouraging. -But Tappelmine was unable to leave his bed for three months, and when -he was at all fit to work, he could labor for but two or three hours a -day. - -And so Father Baguss found himself brought down to the position of a -man who was spending money without knowing what he was to get for it. -Such a position he had never occupied before, and no one could wonder -that he felt uncomfortable in it; but the duration of the period was -such that the victim succumbed to the steady pressure of truths which, -in their abstract form, would have been as ineffective against him -as against an acute logician whose intellect had been trained by his -pocket. - -But Father Baguss was not the only instrument of the salvation of -Tappelmine. In existence, but scarcely known of or recognized, there -was a Mrs. Tappelmine. With face, hair, eyes, and garments of the -same color, the color itself being neutral; small, thin, faded, -inconspicuous, poorly clad, bent with labors which had yielded no -return, as dead to the world as saints strive to be, yet remaining in -the world for the sake of those whom she had often wished out of it, -Mrs. Tappelmine devoted herself to the wreck of what was once a hope -over which her eyes had been of a luster which high-born maidens had -envied, and a hope in which her heart had throbbed with a joy which had -seemed too great for life to hold. About the bedside of her husband -she hovered day and night. When she slept no one but herself knew, and -she herself did not care. When Tappelmine made his verbal agreement -with Father Baguss, she had listened with a joy whose earnestness was -as nothing compared with her resolution. She had hurried away from the -broken window to a corner where her dirty children were at quarrelsome -play, and she had bestowed upon each of them a passionate caress -which startled even the little wretches themselves into wondering -silence. From that moment she watched her husband’s every movement, and -Tappelmine, like a true Pike--for the Pike, like the Transcendentalist, -existed ages before he found his way into literature--Tappelmine -subjected himself into his wife’s dominion. He made numberless excuses -to go to some place where liquor could be found; she, with the wisdom -of the serpent, yet the gentleness of the dove, prevented him. As, -through the course of her husband’s labors, under the eye of Baguss, he -had grown more silent than ever, she had increased her exertions for -his comfort; when, finally, the task was completed, and Tappelmine, -with thinner face and hollower eyes than ever, fell heavily upon his -rude bed and uttered--almost screamed--the single word “Whiskey!” she -was on her knees beside him in an instant. - -“Jerry,” she exclaimed, “you’ve got the better of whiskey these late -days.” - -“Just a drop more--to keep me from dying,” gasped Tappelmine. - -“Don’t, Jerry,” she pleaded. “Let me hold you tight, so you _can’t_ -die.” - -“Just a drop, for God’s sake, Mariar!” said Tappelmine imploringly. - -“O Jerry!” replied the wife, “don’t--for the children’s sake; _they’re_ -more to you than God is. I hope he’ll forgive me for sayin’ it.” - -“Only a single mouthful, Mariar,” said Tappelmine, “to keep me from -sinkin’.” - -“You’re not sinkin’, old man--Jerry, dear; you’re gittin’ _up_. _Keep_ -up, Jerry.” - -“I’ll be all right in a day or two, Mariar, if I only get a taste. -You don’t want a sick man a-layin’ around, not fit to do for his young -ones?” - -“You don’t need to, Jerry. _I’ll_ do for ’em, if you’ll only--only make -’em proud of you.” - -“It’ll make me good for more to _you_, old woman--one single mouthful -will,” said Tappelmine. - -“You’ve been better to me these three weeks than you ever was before, -Jerry; keep on bein’ so, won’t you? It puts me in mind of old -times--times when you used to laugh, an’ kiss me.” - -“I’d be that way again,” said Tappelmine, “if I could only pick up -stren’th.” - -“You’re that way now, Jerry, if you only stay as you are.” - -“_You’ll_ die, Mariar,” said the man, “if I don’t get out of this bed -some way--you an’ the young uns.” - -“I’d be glad enough,” said the woman, “if you’d only stay, Jerry.” - -“An’ the boys an’ girls?” queried Tappelmine. - -“Would be better off alongside of me in the ground, rather than have -their dad go backwards again,” said Mrs. Tappelmine. “People turn up -their noses at ’em now, Jerry.” - -“What are you drivin’ at, Mariar?” - -“Why, Jerry, when the children go ’long the road--God knows I don’t let -’em do it oftener than I can help--folks see ’em dirty, an’ wearin’ -poor clothes, an’ not lookin’ over an’ above fed up, an’ they can’t -help kind o’ twitchin’ up their faces at ’em once there was a time when -I couldn’t have helped doin’ it to young ones lookin’ that way.” - -“_Curse_ people!” exclaimed Tappelmine. - -“They do it to me, too,” continued the woman. - -Tappelmine sprang up, and exclaimed fiercely, - -“What for?” - -“’Cause--’cause you’ve made ’em, I reckon, Jerry,” answered Mrs. -Tappelmine with some difficulty, occasioned by some choking sobs which -nearly took exclusive possession of her. “You know, Jerry, I don’t -say it to complain--complainin’ never seems to bring one any good to -a woman like me; but--if you only knowed how folks look at me in--in -stores, an’ everywhere else, you--wouldn’t blame me for not likin’ it. -_I_ didn’t ever do anything to bring it about, unless ’twas in marryin’ -_you_, and I _ain’t_ sorry I did _that_; but I wish I didn’t ever have -to see anybody again, if you’re goin’ to keep on drinkin’.” - -The sick man fell back and was silent; his wife threw herself beside -him, crying, - -“Don’t get mad at me, Jerry; God knows it’s the deadest truth.” - -After a moment or two Tappelmine laid a hand on his wife’s cheek, where -it had not been before for twenty years; once its touch had brought -blushes; now, tears hurried down to meet it, and yet Mrs. Tappelmine -was happier than when she had been a pretty Kentucky girl, twenty years -before. - -“Mariar,” said Tappelmine at last, “I’ve dragged you all down.” - -“No, you haven’t, Jerry,” asserted Mrs. Tappelmine, with a lie which -she could not avoid. - -“If dyin’ll help you up again, I’m willin’,” continued Tappelmine. - -The apartments in the Tappelmine mansion were so few that it was -impossible for anything unusual to transpire without attracting the -attention of all the inmates; so it followed that the children, -beholding the actions of their parents, had gradually approached the -bed with countenances whose blankness was painfully eloquent to the -sick man. Tappelmine looked at them, and grew more miserable of visage; -he hid his face beside his wife, groaned “No more whiskey if I die -for it!” and jumped up and kissed each of his children, while Mrs. -Tappelmine sobbed aloud, and Father Baguss, who, coming over a few -moments before to talk business, had heard the simple word “whiskey,” -and had since been jealously listening under the window, sneaked away -muttering to himself, - -“After all I’ve done for him, I can’t even say to myself that _I_ saved -him.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER - - -The fire which destroyed the Mississippi Valley Woolen Mills did such -damage in the ranks of the temperance reformers that for a few months -Crupp, Tomple, and several others had frequent cause to feel lonesome, -while poor Father Baguss fell back upon the church for that comfort -which, just after his first effort with Tappelmine, and before the -fire, he had frequently found in the society of his self-approving -brother stockholders. The mill was rebuilt, only a few of the owners -of stock refusing to be assessed for their proportion of the loss; the -mill made a very prosperous winter, and interested persons were not -averse to talking about it; but after Deacon Jones’ speech was noised -abroad, the mill was no longer a semi-holy topic of conversation, -which was allowable even on the church steps on Sundays. Some of the -men whose eyes had been opened toward themselves, on the occasion of -the fire, were honest enough to confess to themselves, and to bring -forth fruits meet for repentance; but the majority took refuge either -in open or secret sophistry, with the comforting impression that they -blinded others as effectually as they did themselves. The mass of the -people, however--those who neither subscribed to temperance funds, nor -mill stock, nor anything else, still looked on, and were plethoric of -encouragement and criticism. When appealed to for help, their logic -was simply bewildering, and almost as depraved as the same defensive -and offensive weapon is in politics. Tomple was the man to do such -work, said some, for he was the rich man of the village, and rich men -are only God’s stewards; others suggested Captain Crayme, who had -money, and who should be willing to spend considerable of it as a -thank-offering for his own providential deliverance from the thraldom -of drink. The irreligious thought that all such work should be done by -the church, if churches were good for anything but to shout in; while -the religious felt that the irreligious, among whom could be found -nearly every drinker in the village, should expend whatever money was -needed for the physical reformation of their kind. Where none of these -excuses seemed available, or wherever two or three conservatives of -differing views met together, there was always Crupp to fall back -upon; each man could grasp his own pocket-book with tender tenacity, -and declare to a sympathetic audience that the man who had coined his -money out of widows’ tears and orphans’ groans should by rights take -care of all the drunkards in the county, even until he was so reduced -in means as to be dependent upon public charity for his own support. - -Thus matters stood when a year had elapsed since the memorable -temperance meeting, and Parson Wedgewell suggested that an anniversary -service would be only an ordinary and decent testimonial of respect to -Providence for his special mercies during the year. To the parson’s -surprise, Crupp who--though he had during the winter surprised every -one by joining Parson Wedgewell’s church, in spite of a very severe -course of questioning by the Examining Committee--was still a man of -action and a contemner of mere words--Crupp not only failed to oppose -such a meeting, but volunteered himself to write for Major Ben Bailey, -the gifted orator who had addressed the earlier meeting, and to pay the -orator’s expenses. Such offers were rarely made, even by the Barton -reformers, so by unanimous consent Crupp wrote to the great lecturer, -it being admitted by Tomple, Wedgewell, Baguss, and Jones, that Crupp’s -idea of informing the Major what had been done during the year was a -good one, and that it would enable the orator to modify his address -with special reference to existing circumstances. But Squire Tomple -and the parson were considerably astonished to see Crupp dash into the -Squire’s store one day, exhibiting an unusual degree of excitement, as -he unfolded a letter and remarked, - -“He won’t come! Just listen to what he says!” And while the two other -reformers stood as if they saw the sky falling and did not despair of -catching it in their eyes and mouths, Crupp read: - -“In replying to Mr. Crupp’s favor of the --th, Major Bailey can only -say, that while he should be glad to again meet the people among whom -so great an amount of good has been accomplished within the year, he -cannot see that he can render any service. Major Bailey’s efforts are -confined solely to the awakening of an interest in temperance; the -condition of affairs which Mr. Crupp reports as existing in Barton, -however, indicates a degree of interest which cannot be heightened by -any effort which the writer could put forth. What seems desirable at -Barton is such an informing of the general populace upon what has been -accomplished, upon the manner in which the work has been done, and the -comparatively small number of persons who have actively participated -in it, as shall convince the inhabitants that they did not fulfill -their whole duty toward temperance when a year ago they applauded the -utterances of the writer of these lines. Briefly, Major Bailey feels -that if he attended, he could contribute only such efforts as, under -the circumstances, would be entirely out of place.” - -“Astonishing!” exclaimed Parson Wedgewell, with the eye of a man who -dreams. - -“Threw away a job!” said Tomple, like the thrifty business man that he -was. - -But the meeting was planned and widely advertised, and when, on the -evening appointed, the attendants looked over the room, they found -occasion for considerable attentive reflection. - -Except that Major Ben Bailey, the gifted orator, was not present, the -meeting presented the same attractions which had drawn such a crowd to -its predecessor. The Barton Brass Band was there, and with some new -airs learned during the year; the Crystal Spring Glee Club was there; -there were the pastors of the four churches in Barton, and Squire -Tomple was in the chair as before. Besides, there were additional -attractions: Crupp, a year before, the man who was lending to liquor -selling an air of respectability, was upon the platform to the left -and rear of Squire Tomple; old Bunley, who a year before had been -responsible only as a container of alcohol, but now a respectable -citizen and book-keeper to Squire Tomple, occupied the secretary’s -chair; Tom Adams acted as usher in one of the side-aisles, and dragged -all the heavy drinkers up to front seats; Harry Wainright was there, -with a wife whose veil was not thick enough to hide her happiness; Fred -Macdonald, who had spent the evening of the other meeting in the Barton -House bar-room, was there; so was Tappelmine, appearing as ill at -ease as a porker in a strange field, but still there; while in a side -seat, close to the wall, sitting as much in the shadow of his wife as -possible, so as to guard his professional reputation, was Sam Crayme, -captain of the steamer _Excellence_. A number of “the boys” were there -also, and yet the church was not only not crowded, but not even full. -During the year temperance had been guided from the hearts to the -pockets of a great many, and this radical treatment had been fatal to -many an enthusiastic soul that had theretofore been blameless in its -own eyes. Those who attended heard some music, however, which was not -deficient in point of quality; they heard a short but live address from -old Parson Fish on the moral beauty of a temperate life, and an earnest -prayer from that one of the Barton pastors who had during the year done -nothing which justified the mention of his name in this history, and -then the audience saw Mr. Crupp advance to the front of the platform -and unfold a large sheet of paper, which he crumpled in one hand as he -spoke as follows: - -“Ladies and gentlemen: having been requested, by the chairman of the -last meeting, to collect some statistics of the work accomplished in -Barton, during the past year, in the cause of temperance, I invite your -attention to the following figures: - -“Population of township last year, three thousand two hundred and -sixty-five. Signatures to pledge, at last meeting, six hundred and -twenty-seven [applause]; signatures of persons who were in the habit -of drinking at time of signing, two hundred and thirty-one; number -of persons who have broken the pledge since signing, one hundred -and sixty [sighs and groans]; number of persons who have kept their -pledges, seventy-one [applause]; number reclaimed by personal effort -since meeting, forty-six [applause]; amount of money subscribed and -applied strictly for the good of the cause, and without hope of -pecuniary gain [a faint hiss or two], five thousand one hundred and -ninety dollars and thirty-eight cents [tremendous applause]; amount -which has been returned by the beneficiaries without solicitation, -twenty-seven dollars [laughter, hisses, and groans]. Of the amount -subscribed, _six-sevenths_ came from _five_ persons, who own less than -_one-fiftieth_ part of the taxable property of the township.” - -The quiet which prevailed, as Mr. Crupp spoke these last words and took -his seat, was, if considered only _as_ quiet, simply faultless; but its -duration was greater and more annoying than things purely faultless -usually are, and there was a general sensation of relief when Squire -Tomple, who during the year had not made any public display of his -charities, and who was popularly supposed to care as much for a dollar -as any one, slowly got upon his feet. - -“My friends,” said the Squire, “I’m more than ever convinced that -temperance is a good thing [hearty applause], and the reason I feel -so is, that during the year I’ve put considerable money into it; and -where the treasure is there shall the heart be also [dead silence]. -I’ve made up my mind, that hurrahing and singing for temperance will -make a hypocrite out of a saint, if he don’t use money and effort at -the same time. I like a good song and a good time as much as anybody, -but I can’t learn of a single drinking man that they have reformed. -At our last meeting there was some good work _started_, by the use -of songs and speeches, and you have learned, from the report just -presented, how much lasting good they did. Money and work have done -the business, my friends; talk has helped, but alone by itself it’s -done precious little. This lesson has cost _me_ a great deal; and as -a business man, who believes that _every_ earthly interest is in some -way a business interest, I advise you to learn the same lesson for -yourselves before it is too late.” - -Such a pail of cold water had never before been thrown upon Barton -hearts aglow with confidence, it struck the leader of the band so -forcibly that he rattled off into “Yankee Doodle,” to aid the meeting -in recovering its spirits; even after listening to this inspiriting -air, however, it was with a wistfulness almost desperate that the -audience scanned the countenance of Parson Wedgewell as he stepped to -the front of the platform. - -“Beloved friends,” said the parson, “the result of the past year’s -work in this portion of the Lord’s vineyard has indeed been richly -blessed, and I shall ever count it as one of the precious privileges -of my life that I have been permitted to take part in it. [‘Hurrah -for the parson!’ shouted a man, who had but a moment before worn a -most lugubrious countenance.] I rejoice, not only that I have seen -precious sheaves brought to our Lord’s granary, but also because I -have beheld going into the field those who have heretofore stood idly -in the market-place, and because I have beheld the reapers themselves -receiving the reward of their labors. They have received souls for -their hire, dear friends, and I feel constrained to admit that if -each of those who came in at the eleventh hour received as much as -us, who have apparently borne the burden and heat of the day, they -were fully entitled to it by reason of the greater intelligence and -industry which they have displayed. For many years, my dear friends, -I have been among you as one sent by the Physician of souls; but it -is only within the past year that I have begun to comprehend that -the soul may be treated--very often _should_ be treated--through the -body; and that, though the fervent effectual prayer of the righteous -man availeth much, the exercise of that which was made in the likeness -and image of God is not to be idle. The mammon of unrighteousness has -been made the salvation of many, my dear friends; and it has, I verily -believe, guided toward heavenly habitations those who have applied it -to the necessities of others. But, dear brethren, the harvest truly is -plenteous, but the laborers are few; pray ye, therefore, the Lord of -the harvest that he will send forth laborers unto his harvest; but take -heed that ye follow the example of him, who, as he commanded us thus to -petition the throne of grace, ceased not to labor in the harvest field -himself; who fed when he preached, and healed when he exhorted.” - -Harry Wainright pounded on the floor with his cane, hearing which, Tom -Adams brought his enormous hands together with great emphasis, and his -example was dutifully followed by the whole of his own family, which -filled two short side seats. Father Baguss shouted “Glory to God!” and -Deacon Jones ejaculated “That’s so!” but the hearers seemed disposed -to be critical, although the parson’s address had been couched in -language almost exclusively Scriptural. While they were engaged in -contemplation, however, old Bunley dropped a mellow cough and stepped -to the front. - -“Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “it’s the style in this town, and -everywhere else, I suppose, to kick a man when he’s down, and then to -trample on him. I know _one_ man that’s been there, and knows all about -it. ’Twas his own fault he got there, and there were plenty who told -him he ought to get up; but how kicking and trampling were to help him -do it he could never see, and he made up his mind, that folks did as -they did because it suited them, not because it was going to do _him_ -any good. So he’s been hating the whole townful for years, and doing -all the harm he could, not because he liked doing harm, but because -he never got a chance to do anything else. Suddenly, a couple of -gentlemen--I won’t mention names--came along, and gave the poor fellow -a hand, and gave him the first chance he’s had in years to believe in -human nature at all. And, all this time, everybody else around him was -acting in the way that this same poor fellow would have acted himself, -if he had wanted to play devil. The same couple of gentlemen went for -a good many other people, and acted in a way that you read about in -novels and the Bible (but mighty seldom see in town); and those fellows -believe in these two gentlemen, now, but they hate all the rest of you -like poison. I don’t suppose you like it, but truth is truth; you might -as well know what it is.” - -Several people got up and went out, carrying very red faces with them; -but Fred Macdonald stood up and clapped his hands, and the Adams family -and Wainright helped him, while the broad boots of Father Baguss raised -a cloud of dust, which formed quite an aureole about Baguss himself as -he got up and remarked: - -“Brethren and sisters: Squire Tomple hit the nail exactly on the head -when he said that hollerin’ an’ singin’ makes a hypocrite of a man -if he don’t open his pocket-book. If you don’t believe it, remember -me. If anybody ever liked his own more’n I did, he’s a curiosity. I -don’t _hate_ money a bit now, an’ I’m not goin’ to try to; but the -hardest case I ever got acquainted with was me, Zedekiah Baguss, when -I couldn’t dodge it any longer that I ought to spend money for a -feller-critter. I won’t name no names, brethren an’ sisters; but if -you’re huntin’ for any such game, don’t go to lookin’ up drunkards -until you smell around near home fust.” - -“Reputation be blowed higher than a kite!” exclaimed Captain Crayme, -springing to his feet; “but I’ve got to say just a word here. -Gentlemen, I’m off my whiskey, and I’m going to stay off; but I might -be drinking yet, and have kept on forever, for all that any of you -that’s so pious and temperate ever cared. But one man thought enough of -me to come and talk to me--talk like a man, and not preach a sermon; -more than that, he not only talked--which the biggest idiot here might -have done just as well--but he stuck by me, and he brought me through. -Any of you might have done it, but none of you cared enough for me, -and yet I’m a business man, and I’ve got some property. How any _poor_ -fellow down in the mud is ever to get up again, in such a place, I -don’t see; and yet Barton’s as good a town as I ever touch at.” - -The interest of the meeting was departing, so were the attendants; but -the Reverend Timotheus Brown limped forward and exclaimed: - -“Hear, then, the conclusion of the whole matter: ‘Not every one that -sayeth Lord, Lord, shall inherit the kingdom of heaven, but him that -doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.’ There has been a -blessed change wrought in this town within a year, and work has done -it all. He who taught us to say ‘Our Father,’ made of every man his -brother’s keeper, and no amount of talk can undo what He did. A few men -in our midst have recognized their duty and have done it, or are doing -it; most of them, among them him who addresses you, have learned that -the beginning is the hardest part of the work, and that the laborer -receives his hire, though never in the way in which he expects it. Much -remains to be done, not only in raising the fallen, but in reforming -the upright; and, to get a full and fair view of the latter, there is -no way so successful as to go to work for others.” - -Squire Tomple announced that the meeting was still open for remarks; -but, no one else availing themselves of the privilege offered, the -evening closed with a spirited medley from the brass band. Not every -one was silent and dismal, however; as the church emptied, Tomple, -Bunley, Crupp, Wedgewell, Brown, and the other pastors came down from -the platform, and were met at the foot of the steps by Baguss and -Deacon Jones, and there was a general hand-shaking. Tom Adams stood -afar off, looking curiously and wistfully at the party, noticing which, -Parson Wedgewell danced excitedly up to him, and dragged him into the -circle; there Tom received a greeting which somehow educated him, in -two or three minutes, to a point far beyond any that his head or heart -had previously reached. Then Fred Macdonald, who had intended to avoid -any action which might seem to make him one of the “old fellows” of -the village, suddenly lost his head in some manner which he could not -explain, and hurried off, caught Sam Crayme’s arm, and destroyed such -reputation as remained to the captain along the river, by bringing -the enterprising navigator into such a circle as he had never entered -before, but in which he soon found himself as much at home as if he -had been born there. Others, too--not many in number, to be sure--but -representing most of the soul Of the village, straggled timidly up to -the group, and were informally admitted to what was not conventionally -a love-feast, but approached nearer to one than any formal gathering -could have done. - -Barton has never since known a monster temperance meeting; but the few -righteous men who dwell therein have proved to their own satisfaction, -and that of certain one-time wretches, that, in a successful temperance -movement, the reform must begin among those who never drink. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Barton Experiment, by John Habberton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTON EXPERIMENT *** - -***** This file should be named 53031-0.txt or 53031-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/3/53031/ - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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: The Barton Experiment - -Author: John Habberton - -Release Date: September 11, 2016 [EBook #53031] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTON EXPERIMENT *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger"><span class="smcapuc">THE</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Barton Experiment</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage">BY THE AUTHOR OF “HELEN’S BABIES”</p> - -<p class="titlepage">NEW YORK<br /> -G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS<br /> -182 <span class="smcap">Fifth Avenue</span><br /> -1877</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">Copyright<br /> -<span class="smcap">By G. P. Putnam’s Sons</span><br /> -1876</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFACE.</h2> - -<p>This book is not offered to the public as a finished -romance, or even as an attempt at one; -the persons who appear on its pages are not only -not those who inspire pretty stories, but they are -so literally the representatives of individuals who -have lived that they cannot well be separated from -their natural surroundings. It has seemed to the -author that if American people could behold some -of the men who have astonished themselves and -others by their success as reformers, individual -effort would not be so rare in communities where -organization is not so easily effected, and where -unfortunates are ruined in the midst of their neighbors, -while organization is being hoped for. It is -more than possible, too, that the accepted business -principle that the pocket is the source of power, is -not as clearly recognized as it should be in reform -movements, and that the struggles of some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span> -characters outlined herein may throw some light -upon this unwelcome but absolute fact.</p> - -<p>The ideal reformer, the man of great principles and -eloquent arguments, fails to appear in these pages, -not because of any doubts as to his existence, but -because his is a mental condition to which men -attain without much stimulus from without, while -it need not be feared that in the direction of individual -effort and self-denial, the greatest amount of -suggestion will ever urge any one too far.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Reformers at White Heat</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Business <i>vs.</i> Philanthropy</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Wet Blanket</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Reform with Money in it</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">An Astonished Virginian</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Course Never Smooth</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span><span class="smcap">Some Natural Results</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">An Estimable Organization Criticised</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Some Volunteer Shepherds</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Bringing Home the Sheep</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Doctors and Boys</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Two Sides of a Cloud</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Phenomenon in Embryo</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">Sailing up Stream</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A First Inward Peep</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">A Reformer Disappointed</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdc"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td><span class="smcap">The Conclusion of the Whole Matter</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_186">186</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h1><span class="smcapuc">THE</span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Barton Experiment</span>.</h1> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.<br /> -<span class="smaller">REFORMERS AT WHITE HEAT.</span></h2> - -<p>Long and loud rang all the church bells of Barton -on a certain summer evening twenty years -ago. It was not a Sunday evening, for during an -accidental lull there was heard, afar off yet distinctly, -the unsanctified notes of the mail-carrier’s horn. -And yet the doors of the village stores, which usually -stood invitingly open until far into the night, were -now tightly closed, while the patrons of the several -drinking-shops of Barton congregated quietly within -the walls of their respective sources of inspiration, -instead of forming, as was their usual wont, lively -groups on the sidewalk.</p> - -<p>The truth was, Barton was about to indulge in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -monster temperance meeting. The “Sons of Temperance,” -as well as the “Daughters” and “Cadets” -thereof, the “Washingtonians,” the “Total Abstinence -Society,” and all various religious bodies in the -village had joined their forces for a grand demonstration -against King Alcohol. The meeting had -been appropriately announced, for several successive -Sundays, from each pulpit in Barton; the two school-teachers -of Barton had repeatedly informed their -pupils of the time and object of the meeting; the -“Barton Register” had devoted two leaders and at -least a dozen items to the subject; and a poster, in -the largest type and reddest ink which the “Register” -office could supply, confronted one at every -fork and crossing of roads leading to and from Barton, -and informed every passer-by that Major Ben -Bailey, the well-known champion of the temperance -cause, would address the meeting, that the “Crystal -Spring Glee Club” would sing a number of stirring -songs, and that the Barton Brass Band had also been -secured for the evening. The only inducement -which might have been lacking was found at the -foot of the poster, in the two words, “Admittance -Free.”</p> - -<p>No wonder the villagers crowded to the Methodist<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -Church, the most commodious gathering-place -in the town. Long before the bells had ceased -clanging the church was so full that children occupying -full seats were accommodatingly taken on the -laps of their parents, larger children were lifted to -the window-sills, deaf people were removed from -the pews to the altar steps, and chairs were brought -from the various residences and placed in the aisles. -Outside the church, crowds stood about near the -windows, while more prudent persons made seats of -logs from the woodpile which the country members -of the congregation had already commenced to form -against the approaching winter.</p> - -<p>A sudden hush of the whispering multitude ushered -in the clergy of Barton, and, for once, the four -reverend gentlemen really seemed desirous of uniting -against a common enemy instead of indulging -in their customary quadrangular duel. Then, amid -a general clapping of hands, the members of the -Crystal Spring Glee Club filed in and took reserved -seats at the right of the altar; while the Barton -Brass Band, announced by a general shriek of “Oh!” -from all the children present, seated themselves on -a raised platform on the left.</p> - -<p>Squire Tomple, the richest and fattest citizen of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -the town, was elected chairman, and accepted with -a benignant smile. Then the Reverend Timotheus -Brown, the oldest pastor in the village, prayed -earnestly that intemperance might cease to reign. -Squire Tomple then called on the band for some instrumental -music, which was promptly given and -loudly applauded, after which the Crystal Spring -Glee Club sang a song with a rousing chorus. Then -there was a touching dialogue between a pretended -drunkard and his mother, in which the graceless -youth was brought to a knowledge of the error of his -ways, and moved to make a very full and grammatical -confession. Then the band played another air, and -the Glee Club sang “Don’t you go, Tommy,” and -there was a tableau entitled “The First Glass,” -and another of “The Drunkard’s Home,” after -which the band played still another air. Then a -member of the Executive Committee stepped on -tiptoe up to the chairman and whispered to him, and -the chairman assumed an air of dignified surprise, -edged expectantly to one side of his chair, and -finally arose suddenly as another member of the Executive -Committee entered the rear door arm-in-arm -with the great Major Ben Bailey himself.</p> - -<p>The committee-man introduced the Major to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -chairman, who in turn made the Major acquainted -with the reverend clergy; the audience indulged in -a number of critical and approving glances and -whispers, and then the chair announced that the -speaker of the evening would now instruct and entertain -those there present. The speaker of the -evening cleared his throat, took a swallow of water, -threw his head back, thrust one hand beneath his -coat-tails, and opened his discourse.</p> - -<p>He was certainly a very able speaker. He explained -in a few words the nature of alcohol, and -what were its unvarying effects upon the human -system; proved to the satisfaction and horror of -the audience, from reports of analyses and from -liquor-dealers’ handbooks, that most liquors were -adulterated, and with impure and dangerous materials; -explained how the use of beer and light wines -created a taste for stronger liquors; showed the -fallacy of the idea that liquor was in any sense -nutritious; told a number of amusing stories about -men who had been drunk; displayed figures showing -how many pounds of bread and meat might be -bought with the money spent in the United States -for liquor, how many comfortable homes the same -money would build, how many suits of clothing it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -would pay for, how many churches it would erect, -and how soon it would pay the National Debt -(which in those days was foolishly considered large -enough to be talked about). Then, after drawing a -touching picture of the drunkard’s home, and dramatically -describing the horrors of the drunkard’s -death, the gallant Major made an eloquent appeal -to all present to forsake forever the poisonous bowl, -and dropped into his seat amid a perfect thunder of -applause.</p> - -<p>The lecture had been a powerful one; it was -evident that the speaker had formed a deep impression -on the minds of his hearers, for when the -pledge was circulated, men and women who never -drank snatched it eagerly and appended their names, -some parents even putting pencils into baby fingers, -and with devout pride helping the little ones to -trace their names. Nor were the faithful alone in -earnestness, for a loud shout of “Bless the Lord!” -from Father Baguss, who was circulating one of the -pledges, attracted attention to the fact that the -document was being signed by George Doughty, -Squire Tomple’s own book-keeper, one of the most -promising young men in Barton, except that he occasionally -drank. Then the list of names taken in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -the gallery was read, and it was ascertained that -Tom Adams, who drove the brick-yard wagon, and -whose sprees were mighty in length and magnitude, -had also signed. Half a dozen men hurried into the -gallery to congratulate Tom Adams, and so excited -that gentleman that he took a pledge and a pencil, -went into the crowd outside the church, and soon -returned with the names of some of the heaviest -drinkers in town.</p> - -<p>The excitement increased. Cool-headed men—men -who rarely or never drank, yet disapproved of -binding pledges—gave in their names almost before -they knew it. Elder Hobbedowker moved a temporary -suspension of the circulation of the pledges -until the Lord could be devoutly thanked for this -manifestation of his grace; then the good elder -assumed that his motion had been put and carried, -and he immediately made an earnest prayer. During -the progress of the prayer the leader of the band—perhaps -irreverently, but acting under the general -excitement—brought his men to attention, and the -elder’s “Amen” was drowned in the opening crash -of a triumphal march. Then the Glee Club sang -“Down with Rum,” but were brought to a sudden -stop by the chairman, who excused himself by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -making the important announcement that their -fellow-citizen, Mr. Crupp, who had been a large -vender of intoxicating beverages, had declared his -intention to abandon the business forever. The -four pastors shook hands enthusiastically with each -other; while, in response to deafening cheers, the -heroic Crupp himself was thrust upon the platform, -where, with a trembling voice and a pale though -determined face, he reaffirmed his decision. Old -Parson Fish hobbled to the front of the pulpit, -straightened his bent back until his mien had at once -some of the lamb and the lion about it, and, raising -his right hand authoritatively, started the doxology, -“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” in -which he was devoutly and uproariously joined by -the whole assemblage. This done, the people, by -force of habit, waited a moment as if expecting the -benediction; then remembering it was not Sunday, -they broke into a general and very enthusiastic chat, -which ceased only when the sexton, who was a -creature of regular habits, announced from the -pulpit that the oil in the lamps would last only a -few minutes longer, and that <em>he</em> had promised to be -at home by ten o’clock.</p> - -<p>Squire Tomple took the arm of the penitent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -Crupp and appropriated him in full. There was a -great deal to Squire Tomple besides avoirdupois, -and when thoroughly aroused, his enthusiasm was -of a magnitude consistent with his size. Besides, -Squire Tomple was in the habit of having his own -way, as became the richest man in Barton, and he -appropriated Mr. Crupp as a matter of course. -With Mr. Crupp on his arm and the great cause in -his heart, he appeared to himself so fully the master -of the situation that the foul fiend of drunkenness -seemed conquered forever, and the Squire swung -his cane with a triumphal violence which seriously -threatened the safety of the villagers in front of and -behind him.</p> - -<p>The Squire held his peace while surrounded by -the home-going crowd, as rightly became a great -man; but when he had turned into the street in -which Mr. Crupp lived, he said, with due condescension,</p> - -<p>“Crupp, you’ve done the right thing; you <em>might</em> -have done it sooner, but you can do a great deal -of good yet.”</p> - -<p>The ex-rumseller quietly replied,</p> - -<p>“Yes, if I’m helped at it.”</p> - -<p>“Helped? Of course you’ll be helped, if you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -pray for it. You’ve repented; now address the -throne of grace, and——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” interrupted Mr. Crupp. “I’m -not entirely unacquainted with the Lord, if I <em>have</em> -sold rum. You know his sun shines on the just -and the unjust, and I’ve had a good share of it. It’s -help from men that I want, and am afraid that I -can’t get it.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Crupp,” remonstrated the Squire, “you -must have made something out of your business, if -it <em>is</em> an infernal one.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t mean that,” replied Mr. Crupp, a little -tartly. “You’ve been on your little drunks when -you were young, of course?”</p> - -<p>The Squire almost twitched Mr. Crupp off the -sidewalk, as he exclaimed, with righteous indignation,</p> - -<p>“I never was drunk in my life.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said the convert. “Well, some have, and -pledges won’t quiet an uneasy stomach, no way you -can fix ’em. Them that never drank are all right, -but the drinking boys that signed to-night’ll be -awful thirsty in the morning.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the Squire, “<em>they</em> must pray, and act -like men.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Some of ’em don’t believe in prayin’, and some -of ’em can’t act like men, because ’tisn’t in ’em. -There’s men that seem to need whisky as much as -they need bread; leastways, they don’t seem able to -do without it.”</p> - -<p>“If I’d been you, and believed that, Crupp,” replied -the Squire, with noticeable coolness and deliberation, -“I wouldn’t have signed the pledge; -that is, I wouldn’t have stopped selling liquor.”</p> - -<p>“P’r’aps not,” returned the ex-rumseller; “but -with me it’s different. There’s some men that -b’lieves that sellin’ a woman a paper of pins, and -measurin’ out a quart of tar for a farmer, is small -business, an’ beneath ’em, but they stick to it. Now -I believe I’m too much of a man to sell whisky, so -I’ve stopped.”</p> - -<p>The Squire took the rebuke in silence; however -much his face may have flushed, there were in Barton -no tell-tale gas-lamps to make his discomfort -visible. The Squire had grown rich as a vender of -the thousand little things sold in country stores; he -had many a time declared that storekeeping was a -dog’s life, and that he, Squire Tomple, was everybody’s -nigger—but he made no attempt to change -his business.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What I mean,” continued Mr. Crupp, “by needin’ -help, is this: I know just about how much every -drinkin’ man in town takes, an’ when he takes it, -an’ about when he gets on his sprees. Now, if -there’s anybody to take an interest in these fellows -at such times, they’re going to have plenty of -chances mighty soon.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.<br /> -<span class="smaller">BUSINESS <i>vs.</i> PHILANTHROPY.</span></h2> - -<p>On the morning after the meeting the happiest -man in all Barton was the Reverend Jonas -Wedgewell. He had been one of the first to agitate -the subject of a grand temperance demonstration; -in fact, he had, while preaching the funeral sermon -of a young man who had been drowned while drunk, -prophesied that the sad event which had on that -occasion drawn his hearers together would give a -mighty impetus to the temperance movement; then -like a sensible, matter-of-fact prophet, he exerted -himself to the uttermost that his prophecy might be -fulfilled. He subscribed liberally to the fund which -paid for advertising the meeting; he labored personally -a full hour with the performer on the big -drum, and ended by persuading him to forego a -coon-hunt on that particular night, that he might -take part in a hunt for nobler game. The Reverend -Jonas had drafted all the pledges which were -circulated during the meeting, and had seen to it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -that they contained no weak or ungrammatic expressions -which might tempt thirsty souls to treat -disrespectfully the documents and the principles -they embodied. He had reached the church door -at the third tap of the bell, had greeted all his reverend -brethren with a hearty shake with both his -own hands, and had offered the Reverend Timotheus -Brown so many pertinent suggestions as to the -prayer which that gentleman had been requested -to make that the ancient divine remarked, with a -touch of saintly sarcasm, that he did not consider -that the occasion justified him in making a departure -from his habit of offering strictly original -prayers.</p> - -<p>Through the whole course of the meeting good -Pastor Wedgewell sat expectantly on the extreme -end of the pulpit sofa, his body inclined a little forward, -his hands upon his knees, his eyes gleaming -brightly through polished glasses, and his whole -pose suggesting the most intense earnestness. He -discerned a telling point before its verbal expression -was fully completed, his hands commenced to -applaud the moment the point was announced; his -varnished boots and well-stored head beat time alike -to “Lily Dale,” the march from “Norma,” “Sweet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -Spirit, hear my prayer,” and such other airs as the -band was not ashamed to play in public; he sprang -from his seat and approvingly patted the youthful -backs of the pretended drunkard and his mother, -he laughed almost hysterically at the wit of the lecturer, -and moistened handkerchief after handkerchief -as the able speaker depicted the sad results of -drunkenness. While the pledges were being circulated, -the reverend man occupied a position which -raked the house, and he was the first to announce to -the faithful in the front seats the capture of any -drinking man. He intercepted Tom Lyker, a tin-shop -apprentice, who had signed the pledge, in the -aisle, immediately after the audience was dismissed, -and suggested that they should together hold a season -of prayer in the study attached to the church; -and the rather curt manner in which the repentant -but not altogether regenerate Thomas declined the -invitation did not abash the holy man in the least; -for, as the audience finally dispersed, he secured a -few faithful ones, with whom he adjourned to the -study, and enjoyed what he afterward referred to -as a precious season.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wedgewell, who rendered but feeble reverence -unto him who was at once her spouse and her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -spiritual adviser, had been known to say that when -the old gentleman was wound up there was no knowing -when he would run down again; and all who -saw the good man on the morning after the meeting, -admitted that his wife’s simile was an uncommonly -apt one. Squire Tomple believed so fully in the -advantages of the early bird over all others in search -of sustenance, that his store was always opened at -sunrise; yet George Doughty had just taken the -third shutter from the front window, when a gentle -tap on the shoulder caused him to drop the rather -heavy board upon his toes. As he wrathfully turned -himself, he beheld the approving countenance and -extended congratulatory hand of the Reverend -Wedgewell.</p> - -<p>“George, my dear, my noble young friend,” said -he, as the irate youth squeezed his agonized toes, -“you have performed a most noble and meritorious -action—an action which you will never have cause -to regret.”</p> - -<p>For a moment or two the young man’s face said -many things not seemly to express in appropriate -words to a clergyman; but he finally recovered his -sense of politeness, and replied:</p> - -<p>“I hope I shan’t repent of it, but I don’t know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -It may be noble and meritorious to sign the pledge, -but a fellow needs to have twenty times as much -man in him to keep it.”</p> - -<p>“Now you don’t mean to say, George, that you’ll -allow such a vile appetite to regain its ascendency -over you?” pleaded the preacher.</p> - -<p>“<em>’Tisn’t</em> a vile appetite,” quickly replied the -young man. “I need whisky as much as I need -bread and butter—yes, and a great deal more, too. -I have to open the store at sunrise, and keep it open -till nine o’clock and after, have to make myself -agreeable to anywhere from two to twenty people -at a time, sell all I can, watch people who will steal -the minute your eye is off of them, not let anybody -feel neglected, and see that I get cash from everybody -who isn’t good pay. When there isn’t anybody -here, I’ve got to keep the books, see that the -stock don’t run down in spots, and stir up people -that are slow pay. The only way I can do -it all is by taking something to help me. I <em>hate</em> -whisky—I’m going to try to leave it alone; but I -tell you, Dominie, it’s going to be one of the biggest -fights you ever knew a young man to go into.”</p> - -<p>The reverend listener was as easily depressed as he -was exalted, and Doughty’s short speech had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -effect of greatly elongating the minister’s countenance. -Yet he had a great deal of that pertinacity -which is as necessary to soldiers of the cross as it is -to those of the bayonet; so he began manfully to -search his mind for some weapon or means of defense -which the clerk could use. Suddenly his -countenance brightened, his benevolent eyes enlarged -behind his glasses, and he exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Just the thing! My dear young friend, the -hand of Providence is in this matter. Your worthy -employer was the chairman of our meeting last -night; certainly he will be glad to give you such -assistance as shall lessen the amount of your labors. -Here he comes now. Let <em>me</em> manage this affair; I -really ask it as a favor.”</p> - -<p>“I’m much obliged, but I think—confound it!” -ejaculated the young man, as his companion hastened -out of earshot and buttonholed Squire Tomple. -Half smiling and half frowning Doughty retired -from the door, but took up a new position, from -which he could see the couple. To the eyes of the -clerk, his employer seemed a rock in his unchanging -pose, while the old preacher, rich in many a grace -not peculiar to country storekeepers, yet utterly -ignorant of business and such of its perversions as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -are called requirements, seemed a mere lamb—a -fancy which was strengthened by the incessant -gesturing and change of position in which he indulged -when in conversation. The pair soon separated; -the minister walked away, his step seeming -not so exultant as when he approached the merchant; -while the latter, appearing to his clerk to be broader, -deeper, and more solid than ever, approached the -store, lifted up his head, displayed the face he -usually wore when he found he had made a bad debt, -and said,</p> - -<p>“George, I wish you wouldn’t try to talk about -business to ministers. Old Wedgewell has just -pestered me nearly to death; says you complain of -having too much to do, and that you have to drink -to keep up. It’ll be just like him to tell somebody -else, and a pretty story that’ll be to go around about -the chairman of a temperance meeting.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean to say anything to him,” replied -the clerk; “but he made me drop a shutter on my -toes, and I guess that loosened my tongue a little. -I didn’t tell him anything but the truth, though, -Squire. I signed the pledge, last night, hoping you’d -help me through.”</p> - -<p>“What—what do you mean, George?” asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -the merchant, in a tone which defined the word -“conservative” more clearly than lexicographer -ever did.</p> - -<p>“I can’t work so many hours a day without -drinking sometimes,” replied the clerk. “What I -ask of you is to take a boy. If I could come in a -couple of hours later every morning—and there’s -next to nothing done in the first two hours of the -day—I could have a decent amount of rest, not -have to hurry so much, and wouldn’t break down so -often, and have to go to whisky to be helped up -again.”</p> - -<p>“A boy would have to be paid,” remarked the -Squire in the tone he habitually used when making -a penitential speech in class-meeting; “and here’s -summer-time coming; there isn’t much business -done in summer, you know.”</p> - -<p>“A boy won’t cost more than a dollar a week the -first year,” replied the clerk, “and you’d make that -out of the people who sometimes <em>have</em> to go somewhere -else and trade on days when you’re not here -and I’m too busy to wait on them. There <em>isn’t</em> so -much money made in summer; but women come to -the store then a good deal more than they do in the -winter, and they take up an awful amount of time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -Besides, the store has to be opened about two hours -earlier every morning than it does in winter.”</p> - -<p>The merchant pinched his gloomy brow and reflected. -Doughty looked at him without much -hopefulness. The Squire’s heart might be all right, -but his pocket-book was by far the more sensitive -and controlling organ. At last the Squire said,</p> - -<p>“Well, if it’s for <em>your</em> good that you want the -boy, you ought to be willing to pay his salary. -Besides——”</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, Squire Tomple,” interrupted -Doughty; “’tisn’t for my good alone. ‘Accursed -be he who putteth the bottle to his brother’s lips.’ -I’ve heard you quote that to more than one man -right in this store. That’s what you’re doing to me -if you keep on. You sell half as much again as any -other storekeeper in town, and why? Because I am -smart enough to hold custom. I haven’t cared to -do anything else. I’ve given myself up to making -and holding custom for you, and I took to whisky -to keep me up to my work.”</p> - -<p>“Well, haven’t I paid you for all you’ve done?” -demanded the proprietor.</p> - -<p>“Yes; but now I ask you to pay a little more. -I’ve told you why; and now the case stands just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -here: which do you care for most, the price of a -boy or the soul of your faithful clerk? <em>You</em> say a -man’s soul’s in danger if he drinks.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll tell you, George,” replied the Squire, -“I’ll think about it. I want to do what’s right; -but I—I don’t like to have other people’s sins fastened -on me.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A WET BLANKET.</span></h2> - -<p>The first task to which the penitent Crupp devoted -himself on the morning after the meeting -was hardly that which his new admirers had -supposed he would attempt. They imagined he -would knock in the heads of his barrels, and allow -the accursed contents to flood his cellar; but Crupp, -on the contrary, closed out the entire lot, for cash, -at the highest prices he could exact from dealers -with whom he had lately been in competition. -“’Twas a splendid lot of liquors,” said Crupp, in -the course of an explanatory speech at the post-office, -while every one was waiting for the opening -of the regular daily mail; “and though I <em>do</em> feel -above sellin’ ’em over the counter, they’re better for -men that <em>will</em> drink than any that have ever come -into Barton since I’ve been here.”</p> - -<p>With easier mind and heavier pocket, the ex-rumseller -then called upon the Rev. Jonas Wedgewell. -That good man’s domestic, although from an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -ever-green isle whose children do not generally -regard whisky with abhorrence, had sympathetically -caught the spirit of her employers, and as she -had not heard of Mr. Crupp’s change of mind, she -left him standing on the piazza while she called Mr. -Wedgewell. The divine descended the stairway -two steps at a time, dived into the parlor, and had a -congratulatory speech half delivered before he discovered -that the new convert was not there. He -wildly shouted, “Mr. Crupp!” traced the penitent -by his voice, escorted him to the parlor with a series -of hand-shakings, shoulder-pattings, and bows, and -forcibly dropped him into an elegant chair which -Mrs. Wedgewell had bought only to show, and in -which no member of the family had ever dared to sit.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my valiant friend,” said the Rev. Jonas, -hastily drawing a chair near Mr. Crupp, and shedding -upon him the full effulgence of a countenance -beaming with enthusiastic adoration; “the morning -songs of the angels of God must have been sweeter -this morning as they thought of your noble deed. -You have cast off the shackles of a most accursed -bondage. Doubtless you wish to fulfill all of the -conditions of the liberty with which Christ hath -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>made you free. The church——”</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, parson,” interrupted Mr. Crupp; -“but I don’t want to join the church—not just -now, anyhow. I——”</p> - -<p>“Wish to consecrate your ill-gotten gains to the -service of the Lord,” broke in the good pastor; but -Mr. Crupp frowned, then pouted, then compressed -his lips tightly, and gave so sudden a twitch as -to wrench one of the joints of the sacred chair, as -he replied:</p> - -<p>“No, sir, I don’t, for I haven’t any ill-gotten -gains. I never sold anything but good liquor, and -the price was always fair. I never sold any liquor -to a drunken man, either. What I came to you for -is this: I know who drinks, when they drink, what -they take, and I know pretty well <em>why</em> they drink. -Some of them signed the pledge last night, and -they’re going to have an awful hard job in keeping -it.”</p> - -<p>“Prayer——” interrupted the minister, but the -hard-headed Crupp quickly completed the sentence.</p> - -<p>“Prayer never cured a dyspeptic stomach, that -I’ve heard of, and I don’t believe it’ll take away a -man’s hunger for whisky. These fellows that’s -been drinking, and have got anything to ’em, <em>can</em> be -kept from falling into the old ways again; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -they’ve got to be handled carefully, and what I -came to you for was to ask who was going to do -the handling? You know who’s free-handed with -money in your congregation, and free-handed men -ought to be free-hearted. I’m going to Dominie -Brown on the same errand, and to the other -preachers, too.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Crupp’s speech consumed only a moment of -time, but its effect upon the preacher was wonderful—and -depressing. From being a mirror of irrepressible -Christian exultation, Mr. Wedgewell’s face -became as solemn as it ever was when he bemoaned -from the pulpit the apathy of the elect. His eyes -enlarged behind his glasses, and he stared for a -moment in an abstracted manner at a dreadful -chromo which hung upon his wall—a chromo at -which no one in active possession of his mental -faculties could possibly have looked so long. But -the old pastor had a heart so great that even his -theology had been unable to wall it in, and after a -moment of inevitable despondency he realized that -Crupp was intent upon doing good.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Crupp,” said he, turning his head suddenly, -and regaining a portion of his earlier expression of -countenance, “I do not fully comprehend your intention,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -but I can see that it is good. May I ask -what the people of God can do for these beings who -have been under the dominion of alcohol?”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s a long story,” replied the old bartender. -“Among them that signed, there isn’t one -in ten that ever drank, and of them that drank, -half of ’em’ll take something before night.”</p> - -<p>“And break their solemn vow! Awful! awful!” -ejaculated the minister.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Crupp, “<em>’tis</em> awful; but, on the other -hand, there’s some that’s in earnest. There’s Tom -Adams, now—he that drives the brick-yard team. -Tom’s a good, square, honest fellow, and he loves -his family, but I don’t see how he’s going to stop -drinking. He can’t work without it; leastways, -he can’t work along the way he’s working now. -Deacon Jones ought to give him easier work to do -until he can bring himself around; but Deacon -Jones won’t waste his money in that way, if he <em>is</em> -a member of your church. Then there’s old Bunley: -there isn’t anything <em>to</em> him. He’s been drinking -and drinking and drinking this forty year, he -says, and yet he was well brought up, and he can’t -keep himself from going to church every Sunday. -He’s got some children that ain’t grown yet, and if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -some of the storekeepers would only give him credit -without ever expecting to see their money again, -the old fellow wouldn’t get down-hearted so often, -and maybe he could quit drinking. As far as taking -care of his family goes, he isn’t good for much the -way he is; he borrows from soft-hearted fellows who -can’t afford to lose as well as the storekeepers can, -and <em>maybe</em> he steals sometimes—I don’t say he -<em>does</em>, mind. At any rate, the biggest part of his -support comes out of the public, and as the public -can’t help itself, it ought to be sensible enough -to try to make the old chap feel and act like a -man.”</p> - -<p>“Bless me!” exclaimed Mr. Wedgewell, who had -through all Mr. Crupp’s delivery sat erect with his -hands upon his knees, and his eyes and mouth wide -open. “I assure you, my dear sir, that I never had -an idea that the success of the temperance cause -depended upon so many conditions, and I also beg -to assure you”—here the Reverend Jonas hastily -proffered his right hand—“that I appreciate and -admire the spirit which has prompted you to examine -this subject in so many of its bearings, and to -endeavor to throw light upon it. But surely all -the—the men who, as you express it, have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -drinking—surely these cannot be constrained to -continue by conditions similar to those which you -have instanced? There must be some who, if only -they exercise their will-power, will succeed in putting -their vile enemy under their feet?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied Crupp, “there <em>are</em> such. Lots of -young fellows drink only because they think it’s -smart, and because they haven’t got man enough in -them to stop when they want to. They’re like a -lot of wolves—plucky enough when they’re together, -but a live rooster could scare one of them if he -caught him alone. <em>I’m</em> going to look out for <em>that</em> -crowd myself; they need somebody to preach to ’em -wherever he can catch ’em, and I know where they -hang out. But I’m not through with the other kind -yet. There’s Fred Macdonald, he’s going to be the -hardest man to manage in the whole lot. Good -family, you know—got a judge for a father, and -ambitious as the——ambitious as Napoleon Bonaparte. -He’s in with all the steamboat fellows, and -whisky is an angel alongside of some things they -carry. They’ll ruin him, sure. Steamboating looks -like something big to him, you know; it shows off -better than country stores and saw-mills. It’s no -use talkin’ to him; I’ve tried it once or twice, for I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -know the steamboat people of old; but he as good -as told me to mind my own business. Now if some -of the business men could get up something enterprising, -and put Fred at the head of it, on condition -that he wouldn’t drink any more, they might make -money and save him from going to the—the bad. -<em>I’ll</em> put some money into the thing, for I believe in -Fred. Of course he’ll have to be watched a little, for -he may be too venturesome; but he can get more -trade and get more work out of his men than any -other man in this county.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Crupp,” said the minister, again taking the -hand of the newly-made reformer, and laying his -own left hand affectionately upon Mr. Crupp’s right -elbow, “I cannot find words adequate to the expression -of my admiration of your earnestness in -this great moral movement. But I must confess -that your treatment of the subject is one to which -I am utterly unaccustomed. I have been wont to -regard intemperance solely as an indication of an infirm -will and a depraved appetite, but your theory -seems plausible; indeed, I do not see that either of -our respective standpoints need be wrong. But, -with regard to the employment of the reformatory -means you suggest, I am not a capable adviser. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -might be well for you to consult some of our leading -business men.”</p> - -<p>“That’s what I am going to do,” replied Crupp. -“And I am going to see the doctors, too, and all the -other ministers. What I want of <em>you</em> is, to back me -up; preach at these fellows that are well enough off -to make themselves useful.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do it!” replied the minister with emphasis. -“A suitable text has already providentially entered -my mind: ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’ Three -heads and application: <em>First</em>, demonstrate that every -man <em>is</em> his brother’s keeper; <em>second</em>, show how in -the divine economy it is wise that this should be so; -<em>third</em>, the example of Christ; <em>application</em>, our duty -to the needy in our midst. Another text suggests -itself: ‘We, then, that are strong ought to bear the -infirmities of the weak.’ And yet another: ‘Give -strong drink unto him that is ready to perish;’ -argument to be that if the Inspired Word justifies -such action as that implied by the text, and if alcohol -is the demon we believe it to be, it is our duty -to prevent, by any means in our power, people from -reaching a condition in which such a terrible remedy -must be used. I beg your pardon, my dear Mr. -Crupp,” exclaimed the minister, springing excitedly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -from his chair; “but if you have any other calls to -make, I will repair at once to my study and prepare -a discourse based upon one of these texts. -Excuse my seeming rudeness in thus abruptly -closing our interview, but my soul is on fire—on -fire with ardor which I cannot but believe is from -heaven.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, certainly,” replied Mr. Crupp, rising quite -briskly. “Business is business; it’s so in the liquor -trade, I know, and I suppose it is in preaching. I’ll -go down and see Squire Tomple, I guess.”</p> - -<p>The Rev. Jonas Wedgewell dropped abruptly into -a chair, and the fire with which his soul had been -consuming seemed suddenly to expire. His face -became blank and expressionless, his lower jaw -dropped a little, and he gasped,</p> - -<p>“Squire Tomple? I had a discouraging conversation -with him only yesterday morning on a subject -involving very nearly the ideas which you have advanced. -His very estimable clerk, George Doughty, -who signed the pledge at our meeting, asserted that -his work must decrease in volume in order that he -might continue faithful; so I made haste to intercede -for him with his employer, but I did not -meet with that encouragement which I had hoped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -for. Brother Tomple intimated that temperance -was temperance and business was business, and -even made some remarks which have since seemed -to me to contain implications that I was unduly -concerned about his affairs.”</p> - -<p>“Tomple’s a—a hog, if he <em>is</em> a church member,” -replied the irreverent Crupp; “but he’s got to make -himself useful if plain talk will do it. It takes all -kinds of men to make a world, parson, or to make -men act like men to their neighbors. Perhaps if -you preachers come down on rich men who hoard -their money, and poor men that are about as stingy -with how-d’ye-do’s, and if business men show the -public that it’s as cheap to reform a pauper as it is -to support him, and that it isn’t the thing to stand -by, while a man’s killing himself, without sayin’ a -word or spendin’ a cent to prevent him—perhaps we -can be of some use in the world. Good day, parson.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">REFORM WITH MONEY IN IT.</span></h2> - -<p>Tom Adams, driver of the brick-yard wagon, -and signer of one of the pledges circulated at -the great temperance meeting, was certainly a man -worth saving. He had a wife and was rich in -children. His wife was faithful, good-natured, and -industrious, and his children were of that bright, -irrepressible nature which is about the most valuable -of inheritances in this land where other inheritances -do not average largely in money value. For -the good of such a group it was very desirable that -the head of the family should be in the constant -possession of strong arms and all his wits. And even -for his own sake Tom was worth a great deal more -attention than men of his kind ever receive. He -was perfectly honest, a hard worker, cheerier in -temperament than any pastor in the village, quicker-witted -than most of the lawyers within the judicial -circuit upon which the town of Barton was situated, -and more generous in proportion to his means than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -any of his well-to-do fellow-citizens. During the -season for making and delivering bricks he worked -from sunrise to sunset, rendered fair count to seller -and buyer, and never abused his employer’s horses. -His regular pay was seventy-five cents per day, -which sum, in a land where flour was sold at two -cents per pound and meat was only twice as high as -flour, and a comfortable house could be hired at -four dollars per month, paid his family expenses. -But the season at the brick-yard lasted only during -six months of the twelve. During the remaining six -months Tom gladly did any work he could find: he -drove teams where any hauling was to be done, -chopped wood, worked in the pork-houses where -merchants prepared for the Southern market the -fatted hogs which were the principal legal-tenders -for the indebtedness of farmer customers, formed part -of the crew of one of the many flatboats which conveyed -the meat to market, and did whatever other -work he could find. But in the winter season, when -the family appetite was most industrious, Tom could -not find employment for all his time, while the -merchants who trusted him made more frequent -requests for money than Tom was able to honor. -When he was idle, he found himself more welcome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -at the liquor-shops than anywhere else; when he -grew despondent at his inability to pay, he sought -solace at these same places; when in the steady -work and long hours of the summer season he became -gradually “worked out” and “used up”—experiences -not infrequent with Tom—he went to -the liquor-shops for the only relief he had ever been -able to find. His experience did not differ greatly -from that of men of higher social standing, who, -under similar mental and physical conditions, drink -high-priced wines. He gradually increased the -quantity of his potations, and went through the -successive experiences of being unmanned by liquor, -striving to rebuild himself by the power which had -broken him, becoming by turns gay, silly, boisterous, -pugnacious, sullen, apathetic, and finally penitent. -Each of his sprees cost him several days in -time and several dollars in money—a fact which no -one realized more clearly than Tom himself; yet -the feeling which had made him take the first -drinks of these frightful series was one which had -its seat in his own better nature, and which he had -many times found more powerful than every influence -he could bring to bear against it. He had -listened to many a private lecture on the subject of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -his weakness, and had honestly admitted the truth -of all that was said to him on the subject; he had -signed many a pledge in the most agonized earnest, -and had broken every one of them.</p> - -<p>On the Monday which followed the temperance -meeting Tom Adams was nearly frantic with his old -longing. The rest of Sunday had been a hindrance -rather than a help to him, for he had already suffered -several days from the effects of abstaining -from his usual after-dinner and after-supper potations. -The amount usually drank on these occasions -had not been great, but the habit had for some -years been so regular that his amazed and indignant -physique protested against the change. Had he -been capable of spiritually withdrawing himself -from the world on the day of the Lord, he might -have found help and strength; but he was as incapable -of such a thing as were nine-tenths of the -church-members in Barton. While he remained at -home, his children were noisy enough to have -hurried a rapt seer back to the realization of earthly -things; when he went abroad he could not, as was -his usual Sunday habit, step quietly into the back -door of Bayne’s liquor-store. He strolled down to -the stable-yard of the Barton House, hoping to find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -some one with whom he could talk horse; but the -hostler was not in sight, and the stable-boy, who -had been heard to say he “didn’t count much on -them fellers what signed the pledge and went back -on their friends,” eyed him with evident disgust. -In the street he met people going to and from -church and Sunday-school, and they looked at him -as if their eyes were asking, “Are you keeping your -pledge?” Then, to crown all, his wife gave him -such a beseeching and yet doubting look every time -he left the house and returned to it that he almost -hated the good woman for her affectionate anxiety.</p> - -<p>Tom was up bright and early Monday morning, -and though he soon mounted his wagon and left -his wife’s eyes behind him, he found his longing -for liquor as close to him as ever. Reaching the -brick-yard, he was rather startled to find there -Deacon Jones, his employer, and owner of a store -as well as the kilns. The deacon looked at him -as all the religious people had done on Sunday, -and Tom inwardly cursed him.</p> - -<p>“How are you, Tom?” inquired the deacon, and -then, without waiting for a reply, remarked:</p> - -<p>“There’s somethin’ I’ve been a-wantin’ to talk to -you ’bout, Tom, an’ I was sure o’ catchin’ you here,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -so I came over before breakfast. You signed the -pledge t’other night.”</p> - -<p>This latter clause was delivered with an accompanying -glance which caused Tom to put a great -deal of anger into his reply, although his words -were few.</p> - -<p>“Yes, an’ kep’ it, too.”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad of it, Tom. There’s been times when -you didn’t, you know. Well, what I want to say -is this: Some folks say that some men drink because -they have to work too hard, an’ because they -have trouble. Now, mebbe—I only say mebbe, -mind—<em>mebbe</em> that’s what upset you those other -times. Now, if I was to give you work all the year -round at seventy-five cents a day, an’ not work you -more’n ten hours a day, would it help you to keep -straight?”</p> - -<p>“Would it?” said Tom, scratching his head, -wrinkling his brows, and eying the deacon incredulously -“Why, of course it would.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then,” said the deacon, “I’ll do it. As -long as the brick business is good you can work at -haulin’ from seven to twelve, an’ one to six. Don’t -you s’pose you could put two or three hundred more -brick on a load without hurtin’ the hosses? I don’t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -want to lose any more’n I can help, you know, by -cuttin’ down your time. Rainy days I’ll keep you -busy at the store some way; them’s the days farmers -can’t do much on the farm, so they bring their -butter and eggs to town, and there’s a sight of measurin’ -an’ weighin’ to be done. An’ after the brick -season’s over I’ll find you somethin’ to do at the -store. You can put the pork-house an’ warehouse -to rights before the packin’ season begins, an’ you -can weigh the corn an’ wheat an’ oats an’ pork -when they come in, and mend bags, and work in the -pork-house three months out of the six. You -wouldn’t object to takin’ night-spells in the pork-house -instead of day-spells, would you, when we -have to work day <em>and</em> night? Night-wages costs us -most, you know, an’ you ought to help us make -up what we lose on you when there’s nothin’ -doin’.”</p> - -<p>“Just as <em>you</em> say,” replied Tom. He did not clasp -the deacon in a grateful embrace, for the deacon had, -in his thrifty way, prevented Tom from feeling especially -grateful. The owner of the brick-yard had -intimated that the new arrangement was for Tom’s -especial benefit, but his later remarks caused this -feature of the arrangement to speedily disappear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -from view. But, although not doubting for an instant -that the deacon meant to get his money back -with usury, Tom felt his heart growing lighter every -moment. At the same time he felt angry at the -deacon’s occasional suggestions that the arrangements -were partly of the nature of charity. So he -replied:</p> - -<p>“Just as <em>you</em> say; but, deacon, I ain’t the feller -that wants money for work I don’t do, <em>you</em> know -that. The arrangement suits me first-rate, but I’m -goin’ to work hard for my money; you can bet all -your loose change on <em>that</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Thomas!” ejaculated the deacon sternly, “I -am not in the habit of betting. It’s a careless, foolish, -wasteful, sinful way of using money.”</p> - -<p>“That’s so,” replied Tom reflectively; “unless,” -he continued, “you’re one of the winnin’ -kind.”</p> - -<p>“It is a business I don’t intend to go into, so the -less said of it the better. So my offer suits you, -does it?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll shake hands on it,” replied Tom, extending -his hand.</p> - -<p>“Wait a moment,” said the deacon, retiring his -own right hand to a conservative position behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -his back. “If it suits you,” continued the deacon -impressively, “you agree to stick to your pledge; -no foolin’ with whisky again, mind.”</p> - -<p>“Nary drop,” said Tom, with great emphasis. -“Ten minutes ago I wouldn’t have given a pewter -dime for my chance of sticking it out through the -day, but now I wouldn’t give a cent for a barr’l -full of ten-year-old rye.”</p> - -<p>“All right, then—shake hands. And we begin -to-day—or say to-morrow—there’s lots of bricks -wanted to-day—here’s the orders. And may the -Lord help you, Thomas—help you to hold out -steadfast unto the end. Now I reckon I’ll get home -to breakfast.”</p> - -<p>As the deacon walked off he soliloquized in this -manner:</p> - -<p>“There! I wonder if that’ll suit Crupp an’ -Brother Wedgewell? What a queer team them two -fellows make! Queer that Crupp should have -bothered me two hours Saturday night, an’ the -preacher should have come out so strong about -bein’ our brothers’ keepers the very next day. -’Twas a Christian act for me to do, too. ‘He that -converteth a sinner from the error of his ways’—ah! -blessed be the promises. An’ I won’t lose a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -cent by the operation—<em>I</em> can keep him busy -enough. When folks know what I’ve done an’ -what I done it for, I guess they’ll think I’ve got my -good streaks after all. I declare, I ought to have -told him I couldn’t pay for days when he was sick; -’tain’t too late yet, though—he won’t back out on -<em>that</em> account. Mebbe I can talk him into j’ining -the church, too—who knows, an’ some day in -’xperience meetin’ mebbe he’ll tell how it all came -about through me. He must bring his dinners -with him when he’s workin’ about the store. I -ought to have done that with my clerk before he -took to lunchin’ off the crackers and cheese busy -days—these little things all cost. But it <em>does</em> -make a man feel good to do kindnesses to his fellow-men.”</p> - -<p>As for Tom Adams, he mounted the wagon, -seized the reins, and exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“By thunder! ’fore I haul a durned brick, I’ll just -drive home by the back way and tell the old woman. -Reckon she won’t look at me any more in -<em>that</em> way then. Like enough he’s right when he -says <em>some</em> says mebbe workin’ too hard makes fellows -drink. It never got into <em>my</em> head before, -though.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> - -<p>As Tom drove through a back street in which Mr. -Crupp lived, that worthy stared at the empty wagon -inquiringly.</p> - -<p>“The old man’s engaged me for a year, at six bits -a day, and only ten hours a day to work,” shouted -Tom in explanation.</p> - -<p>“The devil!” replied the new reformer, and -seizing his hat he hurried off to the Rev. Jonas -Wedgewell. The pastor was discovered through -an open window at his matutinal repast, and -the eager Crupp thrust his head in the window and -shouted,</p> - -<p>“First blood, parson! Old Jones has hired Tom -for a year, and he’s only got ten hours a day to -work.”</p> - -<p>The holy man raised his hands, despite the incumbrances -of half a biscuit and a coffee cup, and -exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“Bless the Lord for the first fruits of the seed so -newly sown. Who would have thought so undemonstrative -a man would have been the first to -heed the word of exhortation?”</p> - -<p>“He’s the first to see money in it—that’s why,” -explained Crupp.</p> - -<p>“My dear sir, do you really ascribe Deacon Jones’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -meritorious action to sordid motives?” asked the -old pastor, opening his mouth and eyes as if the -answer for which he waited was to come through -them.</p> - -<p>“Hum—well, no—I reckon ’twas a little mixed,” -replied Mr. Crupp, meditatively analyzing a blossom -of a honeysuckle growing by the pastor’s window. -“I dinged at him, you preached at him, he thought -it over, and whatever Jonathan Jones thinks over -long is pretty sure to have money in it somewhere -in the end. He’ll make mor’n he’ll lose on Tom, -an’ it’s best he should—he’ll have a better heart to -try another experiment of the same sort one of -these days. But I didn’t mean to interrupt your -breakfast—beg your pardon, Mrs. Wedgewell and -young ladies, for not ringing the bell, but I was too -full of the news to behave myself. Good by.”</p> - -<p>And Mr. Crupp started for his own breakfast-table, -while the Reverend Jonas’s eyes seemed -directed at some object just out of sight, as he -abstractedly raised his coffee cup to his lips.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.<br /> -<span class="smaller">AN ASTONISHED VIRGINIAN.</span></h2> - -<p>Why old Bunley had made Barton his place -of residence nobody knew. The most plausible -theory ever advanced on the subject came -from the former proprietor of the Barton House, -who said that Bunley, happening to be traveling -that way, had found the brandy at the Barton -House so good that he hadn’t the heart to leave it. -The brandy lasted so long that old Bunley—then -twenty years younger—while consuming it became -acquainted with nearly everybody in the town; and -as he had no engagements that restrained him from -making himself agreeable, he found himself well -liked, and entreated to make his home at Barton. -He reported—and his report was afterward verified—that -he was the son of a Virginia planter, and was -unpopular at home because he had made a runaway -match with a splendid girl, whose only fault was -that her family did not rank very high. Bunley’s -father had cut his son off with a thousand dollars,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -but had considerately sent the money with the letter -of dismissal; so the happy couple were leisurely -spending the money and waiting for the old gentleman -to relent, as irate fathers always do in books. -But while Bunley was enjoying the hospitalities of -Barton, annoyed only by the fact that his purse was -growing light, he heard of his father’s sudden death -and of the inheritance by an unloving brother of the -entire estate. Then the young bridegroom attempted -to obtain money by borrowing, for this was the -only method of money-getting he understood; but -the small success which attended his efforts did not -pay for the annoyance which his soulless creditors -gave him. Then he tried gambling, and, by devoting -his mind to it, succeeded so well that no one -but an occasional commercial traveler, to whom -Bunley’s ways were unknown, would play with him. -Then, under the guise of being clerk of the Barton -House, he became its actual barkeeper, and attracted -so much custom away from the other liquor-sellers -that the grateful proprietor took him into -partnership, and, dying a year later, bequeathed the -whole business to him. But the good brandy which -had first persuaded Bunley to stop at Barton continued -its fascinations, and the new proprietor of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -the Barton House, while liked by all travelers, grew -so unpopular with purveyors of flour, meat, and -other hotel necessities that the sheriff was finally -called upon to settle the differences between them -by disposing of the hotel property at auction.</p> - -<p>After that Bunley ran to seed, to use an expression -common in Barton. How he lived during the -twenty years which followed was not well understood. -His wife died, and it was understood that -he married some money the second time; but it was -none the less whispered about town that Bunley -had been seen at night to borrow at woodpiles -whose owners he had not consulted. He went upon -mighty sprees, and carried the bouquet of liquor -wherever he went. He started a small groggery of -his own, in which many bright boys learned to drink. -He had long since ruined the credit which he obtained -on the strength of his second wife’s property, -for he never paid an account.</p> - -<p>And yet the most aggrieved of Bunley’s creditors -could not help being soft-hearted when they saw -the old man in church, as he was every Sunday -morning with his two boys. The gentleman which -was in old Bunley then showed itself in his face and -manner, and it <em>did</em> seem too bad that any one who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -could look and act so much like a man should not -be trusted to the extent of a dollar’s worth of sugar -or a hundred pounds of flour. Squire Tomple had -thought so one Sunday, and as the Squire strove to -keep worldly thoughts out of his mind on the Lord’s -day, his mind became filled with old Bunley—so -much so, that on the following Monday he decoyed -Bunley into his store, and talked so pleasantly to -him that the old gentleman actually made the -request for which the Squire hoped. He bought -rather more than the Squire had meant to sell him -on credit, but his promise of early payment was so -distinct and emphatic that the Squire’s doubt was -not fairly established for many months. This story -in all its details was told by the Squire to Mr. -Crupp, after that gentleman announced to him that -something should be done for old Bunley.</p> - -<p>“That was because you didn’t go about the job in -the right way,” said Crupp. “He’s got just enough -conceit to suppose that he’s going to pay all his -bills some day, and he feels that when the time -comes your profit’ll pay for your kindness. That -conceit of his is just what needs to be taken down—it’s -got to be done kindly—so that he understands -that whatever he gets comes out of pure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -charity and the desire to make him comfortable, -even at a loss. Now, he and his little family can -live on about a dollar a day. I’ll stand half the expense -of supporting him for three months if you’ll -do the other half, and we’ll talk plain, good-natured -English to him, and let him understand he’s a -pauper. That’ll put him on his mettle. What do -you say?”</p> - -<p>The Squire looked grave at once—as grave as he -had appeared when an uninsured hogshead of sugar -belonging to him had fallen from a steamboat gang-plank -into the river, and melted. The proposition -seemed to take his breath away, in fact; but in a -moment or two he regained it.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Crupp,” said he, “temperance is all -very well; but I don’t think it’s my business to -stand part of the expenses of reforming everybody, -when I haven’t had anything to do with making -drunkards. With you the case is different. You -say your liquors were always good; but, like enough, -that made men all the fonder of drinking the infernal -things. You’re a public-spirited citizen, but -you can’t deny that you’ve had a thousand times -more to do with making drunkards than I have. -The very fact that you <em>are</em> a decent fellow yourself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -has made drinking halfway respectable in Barton. -The crime’s right at your own door, and you ought -to pay for it. You——”</p> - -<p>The Squire paused. Mr. Crupp’s face was very -white and his teeth were tightly set. Mr. Crupp -<em>had</em> been known to throw a disorderly visitor at his -bar halfway across the street; and although the -Squire knew that his own avoirdupois was too great -to be treated so contemptuously, he had no desire -to feel the weight of Crupp’s fist. Besides, Crupp -was a customer who bought a great deal and paid -promptly, and the Squire did not like to offend him -and lose his custom. So the Squire paused.</p> - -<p>“Go right on,” said Mr. Crupp very quietly. -“I’ll not bear any malice. I’ve said a great many -worse things to myself. Don’t hold in anything -you’ve got on your mind.”</p> - -<p>“I’m done,” said the Squire, looking relieved and -extending his hand. “Crupp, I think a good deal -of you, and I’m ashamed of myself for boiling over -as I did. But folks talk to me as if I was made of -money. I paid out a good deal on the expense -of the meeting; the parson’s been at me to help -every lazy drunkard to get work; George Doughty -wants more pay or less work, so he won’t have such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -a hankering after liquor; and now to be asked to help -old Bunley, that’s owed me money a long time and -never paid it, that came near helping one of my -boys to a taste for liquor, that helps himself at my -woodpile—it’s <em>too</em> much, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Squire,” said Crupp, “isn’t there something in -your Bible that’s not complimentary to men who -say to the needy, ‘Depart: be ye warmed and fed,’ -but don’t put their hands into their pockets to help -the poor wretches along? I tell you that a man -that’s got the love of drink fixed in every muscle in -his body and every drop of his blood is worse off -than any cold and hungry man you ever saw. Such -men <em>sometimes</em> help themselves out of their trouble, -and stick to cold water; but the man that does it is -more of a hero, and he’s got better stuff in him, -than any other sort of sinner that ever repents. -He’s got to be helped just like drowning men have -to be, and you’ve got to take hold of him just as -you do of a drowning man, by whatever part you -can get the tightest grip on. Bunley’s pride’s the -only handle you can find on <em>him</em>, and you can’t get -at <em>that</em> except by showing that you think enough -of him to sink money in him.”</p> - -<p>The Squire cast about in his mind for some argument<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -in defense of his money; but, as he found none, -he acted like a good diplomatist, and started to talk -against time by uttering some promising generalizations.</p> - -<p>“I always meant, and I still mean,” said he, “to -do good with my money. That’s what it was given -me for. I’m only the Lord’s steward——”</p> - -<p>“And right here in Barton is where the Lord put -you to do it,” said Crupp. “Here’s where you -made your money; here are the people who know -you and don’t suspect you of caring any less for -your money than other folks do for theirs; here -are the people you know all about; you know their -weaknesses and their good points, and every dollar -you spend on them you can watch, and see that it -does its duty.”</p> - -<p>“When I <em>know</em> that helping a man will be sure to -reform him,” began the Squire, when again his companion -interrupted him:</p> - -<p>“Did you ever read of Christ’s letting a man suffer -for fear that if he cured him or fed him he -might get sick or hungry again? If I read straight, -<em>he</em> helped everybody that came to him, and everybody -that needed help. I suppose loafers were as -thick in Judæa as they are in Barton; why, when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -healed those ten lepers there was only one of them -decent enough to come back and say “Thank you.” -<em>I’ve</em> got money enough to take Bunley on my own -shoulders for a little while, and I’m going to spend -a good deal on such fellows; but they want to see -that they’re thought something of by men who -never sold whisky, who never made anything out of -them, who are enough in earnest to do something -for them that costs more than talk does. I know it -isn’t easy, but it’s got to be done—that is, if Christianity -is true.”</p> - -<p>Crupp’s last shot told. Squire Tomple was orthodox, -but he was not without reflective capacity, -and many had been his twinges of conscience at his -practical rejection of undoubted deductions which -he had drawn from Christ’s teachings and example. -But on this particular occasion, as on many others, -he was not defeated; he was only temporarily demoralized. -In a moment he was on the defensive -again, and suddenly raised his head and opened his -lips; but, whatever his idea was, it remained unspoken; -for in the eye of Crupp, which had been -intently scrutinizing his face and through it his -heart, he detected a softness and haziness unusual -in the eyes of men. The Squire, not without a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -struggle, became at once shamefaced and obedient, -and said hurriedly,</p> - -<p>“Crupp, you’re a good, square man; I’m proud -to know you, and I’ll do what you like—for old -Bunley, that is.”</p> - -<p>Great was the surprise of Bunley himself, when -he answered a knock at his door a few minutes later, -to find Squire Tomple and Mr. Crupp upon his front -stoop, both of them looking and acting as if extremely -embarrassed. But old Bunley never forgot -his Virginia breeding, not even before a couple of -creditors; so he invited both gentlemen to seats on -the top step, and then sat down between them.</p> - -<p>The Squire looked appealingly at Crupp; Crupp -winked encouragingly at the Squire; the Squire -coughed feebly; Crupp plucked a stem of timothy -grass, and gazed at it as if he had never seen such a -thing before; the Squire took out a pocket-knife, and -began to scrape his finger-nails, and then Crupp remarked -that it was a fine day. Bunley having cheerfully -assented to this expression of opinion, there -was a moment or two of awkward silence, which was -finally relieved by Bunley, who drew from his pocket -a plug of tobacco, from which he took a bite, after -first offering it to his visitors. A little more facial<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -pantomime went on between Tomple and Crupp, -and then the Squire spoke.</p> - -<p>“Bunley,” said he, “you don’t seem to get along -very fast in the world.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a fact,” answered Bunley with hearty -emphasis. “Luck seems to go against me, no matter -how I lay myself out. There ain’t a man in this -town that wants to do the right thing any more -than I do, but somehow I don’t get the chance. I -signed the pledge t’other night at the meetin’; but -how I’m goin’ to stick to it, with all the trouble I’m -in, is more than I can see through.”</p> - -<p>“We’ve come down to help you do it,” said the -Squire.</p> - -<p>“To help you with money—not talk,” supplemented -Crupp.</p> - -<p>Bunley looked at both men quickly, from under -the extreme inner edge of his upper eyelid.</p> - -<p>“We propose, between us, to show you that we’re -in dead earnest to help you keep the pledge,” continued -the Squire. “We’re going to give you, week -after week, whatever you need to live on for the -next three months, so you won’t have any excuse -for drinking to drown trouble, and so you’ll have a -chance to find something to do.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> - -<p>Old Bunley sprang to his feet. “Gentlemen,” -said he, “you’re—you’re <em>gentlemen</em>. It’s the first -time in my life that anybody ever cared <em>that</em> much -for me, though. You shan’t lose anything by it, I -promise you <em>that</em>; I’ll pay you back again the first -chance I get to make anything.”</p> - -<p>“We don’t <em>want</em> it back,” said Crupp. “We -won’t <em>take</em> it back. We want to <em>give</em> it to you, out -and out——”</p> - -<p>“To show you that it’s <em>you</em> that we’re interested -in, not ourselves,” interrupted the Squire.</p> - -<p>Then Old Virginia came to the surface again; -Bunley seemed to grow an inch or two, and to swell -several more as he replied,</p> - -<p>“I’m not a pauper, gentlemen.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly not,” said the Squire hastily; “but you -can’t pay your debts nor your current expenses, -and Crupp and I are a little ahead in the world, and -willing to give you a hundred, say—a little at a -time.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got a couple of boys to bring up, you -know, Bunley,” suggested Crupp.</p> - -<p>“And they ought to go among the best people, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>too,” said the Squire. “You came of a good family——”</p> - -<p>“And their mother was a lady, too—every inch -of her!” exclaimed Bunley.</p> - -<p>“Of course she was,” said Crupp. “But, to come -back to business, we don’t want you to have any -excuse to touch whisky again, and we want you to -live on us for the next three months as a personal -favor. After that, if you make any money, I s’pose -the Squire’ll be glad to sell you anything he keeps -in his store; I know <em>I</em> will, if I’m in business then. -But you mustn’t talk about paying now, ’cause it’s -all nonsense. Come up to the Squire’s store when -you want anything. Good-by.”</p> - -<p>Bunley drew himself up with great solemnity and -old-time courtesy as he shook hands with both men. -When his visitors reached the friendly angle of an -old, abandoned barn, both turned hastily, gazed -through cracks between the boards, and saw the old -man sitting in a meditative attitude, with his lower -jaw in both his hands.</p> - -<p>“<em>Don’t</em> that look good?” whispered Crupp, his -face all animation.</p> - -<p>“It does that,” replied the Squire; “there’s no -dodging the question; it <em>does</em> look good.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A COURSE NEVER SMOOTH.</span></h2> - -<p>On a pleasant August evening, at that particular -portion of the day in which twilight shades -into night, Fred Macdonald left his father’s house -and walked toward the opposite portion of the village. -From his leisurely, elastic gait, the artistic -effect of his necktie, the pose of his hat, the rose-bud -in his button-hole, and the graceful carriage of -his cane, it was very evident that Frederick’s steps -did not tend toward the fulfillment of any prosaic -business engagement. It was not so dark that he -could not recognize, in occasional unlighted windows, -certain faces well known, some of them handsome, -all of them pleasing; nor was it too dark, just after -Fred had bestowed a bow and a smile upon the -occupant of each of these windows, and passed on, -for one to discern, by the expressions upon most of -the faces that slowly turned and looked after the -young man, that Fred need not have gone farther in -search of a cordial welcome. But he walked on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -until he reached the residence of the Rev. Jonas -Wedgewell. To any one not a resident of Barton -the house might have seemed a strange one to be -visited by a young man fond of liquor and the company -frequently found on Western steamboats; and -the stranger’s surprise might have increased, at finding -that Fred had been so frequent a visitor that -even the house itself seemed glad to see him, and -that the heavy old door seemingly opened of its -own accord, before Fred’s fingers had time to touch -its antique knocker. But had the supposititious -observer possessed good eyes, whose actual powers -were temporarily increased by the stimulus of curiosity, -his bewilderment would have ended a second -later; for, as Fred stepped inside the hall, there came -from behind the door a small hand, and then a -dainty ruffle, and then a muslin sleeve, and these all -took their direction toward the shoulder of Fred’s -coat; while there followed a profile which the beholder -would have willingly gazed upon longer, had -it not almost instantaneously disappeared behind -that side of Fred’s face which was farthest from the -door.</p> - -<p>Could the observer’s gaze have penetrated the -window shades of Parson Wedgewell’s little parlor,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -he would have seen a face, not girlish or of regular -features, and yet so full of happiness that its effect -was that of absolute beauty and the innocence of -youth. There were estimable maidens in Barton -who, scorning the thought that they could be either -jealous or envious, had frequently remarked to their -intimates that they could <em>not</em> see what men found -in Esther Wedgewell to rave about, and it was well -known that the mystery had never been satisfactorily -explained to such young ladies as had become -the wives of men who had been among Miss Esther’s -admirers. It is even to be doubted whether -Fred Macdonald himself could have verbally elucidated -the matter; there <em>have</em> been such cases where -long and joyous lifetimes have not sufficed in which -to frame such an explanation, and when the person -most blessed has had to journey into another world -in search of adequate power of expression. Ordinarily -Esther Wedgewell was a young lady the -pleasantness of whose face did not hide the fact -that its owner’s forehead was too high, the nose too -short, the mouth too large, and the complexion too -pale for perfect beauty. But somehow young men -noticed first of all Miss Esther’s eyes, and these, -though neither of heavenly blue, nor violet, nor the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -brownness of nuts, nor large, nor melting, but only -plain gray, were so honest in themselves, and so -sympathetic for others, that no one of any character -cared to gaze from them to any other of the -young woman’s features.</p> - -<p>What Fred and Esther said to each other during -the first few minutes after their meeting, was of a -nature which never shows to full advantage in print; -besides, it was in the nature of things that they -should say very little. In spite of the experience -accumulated during a hundred or more of just such -meetings, it seemed necessary that a few minutes -should be consumed by Fred in assuring himself -that it was really Esther who sat in the rocking-chair -in front of him; and the same time was used -by the lady in determining that the handsome, intelligent -face in front of her was that of the only -lover she had ever accepted. Gradually, however, -the sentences spoken by the couple became longer -and more frequent; their subjects were ordinary -enough; being the mutual acquaintances they had -met during the day; the additions which had been -made to the embroidery on the pair of slippers -which Esther, after the manner of most other betrothed -maidens in America, had begun to make for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -her lover; the quality of the singing in church on -the preceding Sunday; the latest news from Captain -Hall’s expedition to the North Pole; the character -of Shakespeare’s Portia; and yet one would -have supposed, from the countenances of both of -these young people, that in each of these topics -there was some underlying motive of the most delightful -import; while their remarks seemed to indicate -that there was but one side to either of the subjects -discussed, and that both Fred and Esther saw -it with the extreme clearness of earthly comprehension.</p> - -<p>Then, in a lull in the conversation, Fred asked, -with a courtesy and minuteness inherited from aristocratic -parents, about Mr. and Mrs. Wedgewell, -and elicited the information that Esther’s father -was composing a second sermon on intemperance.</p> - -<p>“Your father undoubtedly is himself the best -judge of the needs of his congregation,” said Fred, -dropping his eyes a little and playing with a bit of -paper; “but I can’t help feeling that he is wasting -his fine talents in preaching on intemperance. If -his sermons could be heard and applied by the proper -persons, they might do a great deal of good; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -what drunkard goes to church? Only moderate -drinkers and people who don’t drink at all ever -hear your father’s sermons, and none of them have -any need for such instructions.”</p> - -<p>Esther brushed an imaginary thread or mote from -her dress, and said, with some embarrassment,</p> - -<p>“Father believes that the moderate drinkers are -those who most need to be warned.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Ettie!” exclaimed Fred, “how can he -believe that? He must know that I occasionally—that -is, he knows that I am not one of the Sons of -Temperance; yet he gave me you”—here conversation -ceased a moment as Fred stepped toward -Esther, conveying unto that lady an affectionate testimonial -whose exact nature will be understood—“and -he certainly would not have done so had he -supposed I was in any danger of being injured by -liquor.”</p> - -<p>Esther did not wait even until she had finished -rearranging a disordered tress or two to reply.</p> - -<p>“He said ‘yes,’ only after I told him of your -promise to me that you would not drink any more -after we were married. He said you were the best -born and best bred young man he had ever met—as if -I didn’t already know it, you dear boy—but that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -would rather bury me than let me marry a drinking -man.”</p> - -<p>During the delivery of this short speech Fred -looked by turns astonished, sober, flattered, sullen, -indignant, and finally business-like and judicial. -Then he said:</p> - -<p>“Darling, you must let me believe that your father -is not fully posted about men who take an occasional -glass. It’s no fault of his; he probably never tasted -a drop of liquor in his life—he may never have felt -the need of it. But believe me when I tell you that -many of the smartest men drink sometimes, and are -greatly helped by it. A business man whose daily -life can’t help being often irregular, sometimes finds -he can’t get along without something to help him -through the day. Why, a few days ago I helped -Sam Crayme, captain of the “Excellence,” you -know, at a difficult bit of business; I worked thirty-six -hours on a stretch, and made fifty dollars by it. -That’s more money than any of your young temperance -men of Barton ever make in a month, but I -never could have done it if it hadn’t been for an -occasional drink.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said Esther, “you know I don’t say it by -way of complaint, Fred dear, but for a week after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -that you felt dull and didn’t say much, and didn’t -care to read, and one evening when I expected you -you didn’t come.”</p> - -<p>“But think how tired a man must be after such a -job, Ettie,” pleaded Fred in an injured tone.</p> - -<p>“You poor old fellow, I know it,” said Esther; -“but you wouldn’t have been so if you hadn’t done -the work, and you yourself say you couldn’t have -done the work if you hadn’t drunk the liquor, and -you know you didn’t need the money so badly as to -have had to do so much. Any merchant in the -town would be glad to give you employment at -which you would be your own natural self.”</p> - -<p>“And I would always be a poor man if I worked -for our plodding, small-paying merchants,” said -Fred. “Why, Ettie, who own the handsomest -houses in town, who have the best horses, who -set the best tables, whose wives and children wear -the best clothes? Why, Moshier and Brown and -Crayme and Wainright, every one of them moderate -drinkers; I never in my life saw one of them -drunk.”</p> - -<p>“And I would rather be dead than be the wife of -any one of them,” said Esther with an energy -which startled Fred. “Mrs. Moshier used to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -such a happy-looking woman, and now she is so -quiet and has such sad eyes. Brown seems to -spend no end of money on his family; but his children -are always put to bed before he comes home, -because he is as likely as not to be cross and unkind -to them; when they meet him on the street they -never shout ‘Papa!’ and rush up to him as your -little brothers and sisters do to <em>your</em> father; but they -look at him first with an anxious look that’s enough -to break one’s heart, and as likely as not cross the -street to avoid meeting him. Mrs. Crayme was -having <em>such</em> a pleasant time at Nellie Wainright’s -party the other night, when her husband, who she -seldom enough has a chance to take into society -with her, said such silly things and stared around -with such an odd look in his eye that she made -some excuse to take him home. And Nellie Wainright—she -was my particular friend before she was -married, you know—was here a few days ago, and I -was telling her how happy I was, when suddenly she -threw both arms around my neck and burst out crying, -and told me that she hoped that my husband -would never drink after I was married. She insists -upon it that her husband is the best man that ever -lived, and that if she only mentions anything she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -would like, she has it at once if money can buy it, -and yet she is unhappy. She says there’s always a -load on her heart, and though she feels real wicked -about it, she can’t get rid of it.”</p> - -<p>Fred Macdonald was unable for some moments to -reply to this unexpected speech; he arose from his -chair, and walked slowly up and down the room, -with his hands behind him, and with the countenance -natural to a man who has heard something of -which he had previously possessed no idea. Esther -looked at him, first furtively, then tenderly; then -she sprang to his side and leaned upon his shoulder, -saying,</p> - -<p>“Dear Fred, I know <em>you</em> could never be that way; -but then all these women were sure they knew -just the same about their lovers, before they were -married.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Ettie,” said Fred, passing an arm about -the young lady, “I really don’t know what’s to be -done about it, if drinking moderately is the cause -of all these dreadful things; I’m bound to <em>be</em> somebody; -I’m in the set of men that make money; -they like me, and I understand them. But they all -take something, and you don’t know how they look -at a man who refuses to drink with them; all of them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -think he don’t amount to much, and some of them -actually feel insulted. What is a fellow to do?”</p> - -<p>“Go into some other set, I suppose,” said Esther -very soberly.</p> - -<p>“You don’t know what you’re saying, my dear -girl,” said Fred. “What else is there for a man to -do in a dead-and-alive place like Barton? you don’t -want to be the wife of a four-hundred-dollar clerk, -and live in part of a common little house, do you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Esther, showing her lover a rapturous -face whose attractiveness was not marred by a suspicion -of shyness. “I do, if Fred Macdonald is to -be my husband.”</p> - -<p>“Then if either of us should have a long illness, -or if I should lose my position, we would have to -depend on your parents and mine,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>“Let us wait, then,” said Esther, “until you can -have saved something, before we are married.”</p> - -<p>“And be like Charley Merrick and Kate Armstrong, -who’ve been engaged for ten years, and are -growing old and doleful about it.”</p> - -<p>“<em>I’ll</em> never grow old and doleful while waiting for -<em>my</em> lover to succeed,” said Esther, in a tone which -might have carried conviction with it had Fred -been entirely in a listening humor. But as Fred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -imagined himself in the position of the many unsuccessful -young men in Barton, and of the anxious-looking -husbands who had once been as -spirited as himself, he fell into a frame of mind -which was anything but receptive. In his day-dreams -marriage had seemed made up of many -things beside the perpetual companionship of -Esther: it had among its very desirable components -a handsome, well-furnished house, a carriage -of the most approved style, an elegant wardrobe -for Esther, and one of faultless style for himself, a -prominent pew in church, and, not least of all, a -sideboard which should be better stocked than that -of any of his friends. To banish these from his -mind for a moment, and imagine himself living in -two or three rooms; cheapening meat at the butcher’s; -never driving out but when he could borrow -somebody’s horse and antiquated buggy; wearing -a suit of clothes for two or three years in succession, -while Esther should spend hours in making -over and over the dresses of her unmarried days; -all this made him almost deaf to Esther’s loyal -words, and nearly oblivious to the fact that the -wisest and sweetest girl in Barton was resting -within his arm. Suddenly he aroused himself from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -his revery, and exclaimed, in a tone which Esther -did not at first recognize as his own,</p> - -<p>“Ettie, your ideas are honest and lofty, but you -must admit that I know best about matters of business. -I can’t deliberately throw away everything -I have done, and form entirely different business -connections. I’ve always regretted my promise to -stop drinking after our marriage; but I’ve trusted -that you, with your unusual sense, would see the -propriety of absolving me from it.”</p> - -<p>Esther shrank away from Fred, and hid her face -in her hands, whispering hoarsely,</p> - -<p>“I can’t. I can’t, and I never will.”</p> - -<p>She dropped into a chair and burst into tears. -Fred’s momentary expression of anger softened -into sorrow, but his business instinct did not desert -him. “Ettie,” said he tenderly, “I thought you -trusted me.”</p> - -<p>“You <em>know</em> I do, Fred,” said the weeping girl; -“but my lover and the Fred who drinks are two -different persons, and I <em>can’t</em> trust the latter. Don’t -think me selfish: be always your natural self, and -there’s no poverty or sorrow that I won’t endure to -be always with you. Do you think I hope to marry -you for the sake of living in luxury, or that any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -pleasures that money will buy will satisfy me any -more than they do Nellie Wainright and Mr. -Moshier’s wife? Or do you, professing to love me, -ask me to run even the slightest risk of ever being -as unhappy as the poor women we have been -talking about are with their husbands, who love -them dearly? You <em>must</em> keep that promise, or I -must love you apart from you—until you marry -some one else! Even then I could only stop, it -seems to me, by stopping to live.”</p> - -<p>Fred’s face, while Esther was speaking, was anything -but comely to look upon, but his intended -reply was prevented by a violent knock at the -door. Esther hurriedly dried her eyes, and prepared -to vanish, if necessary, while Fred regained -in haste his ordinary countenance; then, as the -servant opened the door, the lovers heard a voice -saying,</p> - -<p>“Is Fred Macdonald here? He must come -down to George Doughty’s right away. George is -dying!”</p> - -<p>Fred gave Ettie a hasty kiss and a conciliatory -caress, after which he left the house at a lively -run.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">SOME NATURAL RESULTS.</span></h2> - -<p>George Doughty lay propped up in bed; -standing beside him, and clasping his hand -tightly, was his wife; near him were his two oldest -children, seemingly as ignorant of what was transpiring -as they were uncomfortable on account of the -peculiar influence which pervaded the room. On the -other side of the bed, and holding one of the dying -man’s hands, knelt Parson Wedgewell; beside him -stood the doctor; while behind them both, near the -door, and as nearly invisible as a man of his size could -be, was Squire Tomple. The Squire’s face and figure -seemed embodiments of a trembling, abject apology; -he occasionally looked toward the door, as if to -question that inanimate object whether behind its -broad front he, the Squire, might not be safe from -his own fears. It was very evident that the Squire’s -conscience was making a coward of him; but it was -also evident, and not for the first time in the world’s -history, that cowardice is mightily influential in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -holding a coward to the ground that he hates. Had -any one spoken to him, or paid him the slightest attention, -the Squire would have felt better; nothing -turns cowards into soldiers so quickly as the receipt -of a volley; but no such relief seemed at all likely -to reach him. The doctor, like a true man, having -done all things, could only stand, and stand he did; -Parson Wedgewell, feeling that upon his own efforts -with the Great Physician depended the sick man’s -future well-being, prayed silently and earnestly, raising -his head only to search, through his tears, the -face of the patient for signs of the desired answer -to prayer. Mrs. Doughty was interested only in -looking into the eyes too soon to close forever, and -the faces of the two children were more than a man -could intentionally look upon a second time. So -when Doughty’s baby, who had been creeping about -the floor, suddenly beholding the glories of the great -seal which depended from the Squire’s fob-chain, -tried to climb the leg of the storekeeper’s trousers, -the Squire smiled, as a saint in extremity might -smile at the sudden appearance of an angel, and he -stooped—no easy operation for a man of Squire -Tomple’s bulk—and, lifting the little fellow in his -arms, put kisses all over the tiny face, which, in view<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -of the relations of cleanliness to attractiveness, was -not especially bewitching. A moment later, however, -a muffled but approaching step brought back -to the Squire his own sense of propriety, and he -dropped the baby just in time to be able to give a -hand to Fred Macdonald, as that young man softly -pushed open the door. The Squire’s face again became -apologetic.</p> - -<p>“How did it happen?” whispered Fred.</p> - -<p>“Why,” replied the Squire, “the doctor says it’s -a galloping consumption; <em>I</em> never knew a thing -about it. Doctor says it’s the quickest case he ever -knew; he never imagined anything was the matter -with George. If <em>I’d</em> known anything about it, I’d -have had the doctor attending him long ago; but -George isn’t of the complaining kind. The idea of a -fellow being at work for me, and dying right straight -along. Why, it’s awful! He says he never knew -anything about it himself, so I don’t see how <em>I</em> could. -He was at the store up to four or five days ago, -then his wife came around one morning and told me -that he didn’t feel fit to work that day, but she didn’t -say what the matter was. I’ve been thinking, for -two or three weeks, about giving him some help in -the store; but you know how business drives everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -out of a man’s head. First I thought I’d stay -around the store myself evenings, and let George -rest; but I’ve had to go to lodge meetings and -prayer meetings, and my wife’s wanted me to go -out with her, and so my time’s been taken up. Then -I thought I’d get a boy, and—well, I didn’t know -exactly which to do; but if I’d known——”</p> - -<p>“But can’t something be done to brace him up -for a day or two?” interrupted Fred; “then I’ll -take him out driving every day, and perhaps he’ll -pick up.”</p> - -<p>The Squire looked twenty years older for a -moment or two as he replied,</p> - -<p>“The doctor says he hasn’t any physique to -rally upon; he’s all gone, muscle, blood, and everything. -It’s the queerest thing I ever knew; he -hasn’t had anything to do, these past few years, but -just what <em>I</em> did when I was a young man.”</p> - -<p>The dying man turned his eyes inquiringly, and -asked in a very thin voice,</p> - -<p>“Isn’t Fred here?”</p> - -<p>Fred started from the Squire’s side, but the storekeeper -arrested his progress with both hands, and -fixing his eyes on Fred’s necktie, whispered,</p> - -<p>“You don’t think <em>I’m</em> to blame, do you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why—no—I don’t see how, exactly,” said Fred, -endeavoring to escape.</p> - -<p>“Fred,” whispered the Squire, tightening his -hold on the lapels of Fred’s coat, “tell <em>him</em> so, -won’t you? I’ll be your best friend forever if you -will; it’s dreadful to think of a man going up to -God with such an idea on his mind, even if it <em>is</em> a -mistake. Of course, when he gets there he’ll find -out he’s wrong, <em>if</em> he is, as——”</p> - -<p>Fred broke away from the storekeeper, and -wedged himself between the doctor and pastor. -Doughty withdrew his wrist from the doctor’s fingers, -extended a thin hand, and smiled.</p> - -<p>“Fred,” said he, “we used to be chums when we -were boys. I never took an advantage of you, -did I?”</p> - -<p>“Never,” said Fred; “and we’ll have lots of good -times again, old fellow. I’ve just bought the best -spring wagon in the State, and I’ll drive you all -over the country when you get well enough.”</p> - -<p>George’s smile became slightly grim as he replied,</p> - -<p>“I guess Barker’s hearse is the only spring wagon -I’ll ever ride in again, my boy.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, George!” exclaimed Fred heartily. -“How many times have I seen you almost dead,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -and then put yourself together again? Don’t you -remember the time when you gave out in the middle -of the river, and then picked yourself up, and -swam the rest of the way? Don’t you remember -the time we got snowed in on Raccoon Mountain, -and we both gave up and got ready to die, and how -you not only came to, but dragged me home besides? -The idea of <em>you</em> ever dying! I wish you’d sent for -me when you first took the silly notion into your -head.”</p> - -<p>Doughty was silent for a moment; his eyes -brightened a little and a faint flush came to his -cheeks; he looked fondly at his wife, and then at -his children; he tried to raise himself in his bed; -but in a minute his smile departed, his pallor -returned, and he said, in the thinnest of voices,</p> - -<p>“It’s no use, Fred; in those days there was something -in me to call upon at a pinch; now there -isn’t a thing. I haven’t any time to spare, Fred; -what I want to ask is, keep an eye on my boys, for -old acquaintance’ sake. Their mother will be almost -everything to them, but she can’t be expected to -know about their ways among men. I want somebody -to care enough for them to see that they don’t -make the mistakes I’ve made.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> - -<p>A sudden rustle and a heavy step was heard, and -Squire Tomple approached the bedside, exclaiming,</p> - -<p>“<em>I’ll</em> do that!”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Squire,” said George feebly; “but -you’re not the right man to do it.”</p> - -<p>“George,” said the Squire, raising his voice, and -unconsciously raising his hand, “I’ll give them -the best business chances that can be had; I can do -it, for I’m the richest man in this town.”</p> - -<p>“You gave <em>me</em> the best chance in town, Squire, -and this is what has come of it,” said Doughty.</p> - -<p>The Squire precipitately fell back and against his -old place by the wall. Doughty continued,</p> - -<p>“Fred, persuade them—tell them that I said so—that -a business that makes them drink to keep up, -isn’t business at all—it’s suicide. Tell them that -their father, who was never drunk in his life, got -whisky to help him use more of himself, until there -wasn’t anything left to use. Tell them that drinking -for strength means discounting the future, and -that discounting the future always means getting -ready for bankruptcy.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do it, old fellow,” said Fred, who had been -growing very solemn of visage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> - -<p>“They shan’t ask you for any money, Fred, explained -Doughty, when the Squire’s voice was again -heard saying,</p> - -<p>“And they shan’t refuse it from me.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Squire,” said George. “I do think -you owe it to them, but I guess they’ve good enough -stuff in them to refuse it.”</p> - -<p>“George,” said the Squire, again approaching -the bedside, “I’m going to continue your salary to -your wife until your boys grow big enough to help -her. You know I’ve got plenty of money—’twon’t -hurt me; for God’s sake make her promise to -take it.”</p> - -<p>“She won’t need it,” said Doughty. “My life’s -insured.”</p> - -<p>“Then what <em>can</em> I do for her—for them—for -you?” asked the Squire. “George, you’re holding -your—sickness—against me, and I want to make it -right. I can’t say I believe I’ve done wrong by -you, but you think I have, and that’s enough to -make me want to restore good feeling between us -before—in case anything should happen. Anything -that money <em>can</em> do, it <em>shall</em> do.”</p> - -<p>“Offer it to God Almighty, Squire, and buy my -life back again,” said Doughty. “If you can’t do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -that, your money isn’t good for anything in this -house.”</p> - -<p>The doctor whispered to his patient that he must -not exert himself so much; the Squire whispered to -the doctor to know what else a man in his own -position could do?</p> - -<p>Fred Macdonald could think of no appropriate -expression with which to break the silence that -threatened. Suddenly Parson Wedgewell raised his -head, and said,</p> - -<p>“My dear young friend, this is a solemn moment. -There are others who know and esteem you, beside -those here present; have you no message to leave -for them? Thousands of people rightly regard you -as a young man of high character, and your influence -for good may be powerful among them. -I should esteem it an especial privilege to announce, -in my official capacity, such testimony as you may -be moved to make, and as your pastor, I feel like -claiming this mournful pleasure as a right. What -may I say?”</p> - -<p>“Say,” replied the sick man, with an earnestness -which was almost terrible in its intensity; “say that -whisky was the best business friend I ever found, -and that when it began to abuse me, no one thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -enough of me to step in between us. And tell them -that this story is as true as it is ugly.”</p> - -<p>As Doughty spoke, he had raised himself upon -one elbow; as he uttered his last word, he dropped -upon his pillow, and passed into a land to which no -one but his wife manifested any willingness to follow -him.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">AN ESTIMABLE ORGANIZATION CRITICISED.</span></h2> - -<p>The funeral services of George Doughty were -as largely attended as the great temperance -meeting had been, and the attendants admitted—although -the admission was not, logically, of particular -force—that they received the worth of their -money. The pall-bearers, twelve in number, were -all young men who had been in the habit of drinking, -but who had signed the pledge, some of them -having appended signatures to special pledges privately -prepared on the evening before the service. -The funeral anthem was as doleful as the most sincere -mourner could have wished, the music having -been composed especially for the occasion by the -chorister of Mr. Wedgewell’s church. As for the -sermon, it was universally voted the most powerful -effort that Parson Wedgewell had ever made. -Day and night had the good man striven with -Doughty’s parting injunction, determined to transmit -the exact spirit of it, but horrified at its verbal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -form. At last he honestly made George’s own words -the basis of his whole sermon; his method being, -first, to show what would have been naturally the -last words of a young man of good birth and Christian -breeding, and then presenting George’s moral -legacy by way of contrast. To point the moral -without offending Squire Tomple’s pride, and without -inflicting useless pain upon the Squire’s sufficiently -wounded heart, was no easy task; but the -parson was not lacking in tact and tenderness, so he -succeeded in making of his sermon an appeal so -powerful and all-applicable that none of the hearers -found themselves at liberty to search out those -to whom the sermon might seem personally addressed.</p> - -<p>Among the hearers was Mr. Crupp, and no one -seemed more deeply interested and affected. He -followed the funeral cortege to the cemetery; but, -arrived there, he halted at the gate, instead of following -the example of the multitude by crowding -as closely as possible to the grave. The final services -were no sooner concluded, however, than the -object of Mr. Crupp’s unusual conduct became apparent -to one person after another, the disclosure -being made to people in the order of their earthly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -possessions. The parson was shocked at learning -that Mr. Crupp was importuning every man of -means to take stock in a woolen mill, to be established -at Barton; but a whispered word or two from -Crupp caused the parson to abate his displeasure, -and finally to stand near Crupp’s side and express -his own hearty approbation of the enterprise proposed. -Then Mr. Crupp whispered a few words -to Squire Tomple, and the Squire subscribed a -hundred shares at ten dollars each, information -of which act was disseminated among business -men and well-to-do farmers by Parson Wedgewell -with an alacrity which, had modern business -ideas prevailed at Barton, would have laid -the parson open to a suspicion of having accepted -a few shares, to be paid for by his -own influence. Then Deacon Jones subscribed -twenty shares, and Judge Macdonald, Fred’s father, -promised to take fifty; Crupp’s name already stood -at the head of the list for a hundred. No stock-company -had ever been organized at Barton before, -and the citizens had always manifested a laudable -reluctance to allow other people to handle their -money; but this case seemed an exception to all -others; confidence in the enterprise was so powerfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -expressed, alike by the mercantile community, -the bar, the church, and the unregenerate (the last-named -class being represented by the ex-vender of -liquors), that people who had any money made -haste to participate in what seemed to them a race -for wealth with the odds in everybody’s favor. -Crupp neglected no one; he scorned no subscription -on account of its smallness; before he left the -cemetery gate nearly half the requisite capital had -been pledged, and before he slept that night he -found it necessary to accept rather more than the -twenty thousand dollars which, it had been decided -two days before, would be needed. Several days -later a board of directors was elected; two or three -of the directors informally offered the superintendency -of the mill to Fred Macdonald, on condition -that he would pledge himself to abstain from the -use of intoxicating beverage while he held the -position, and then Fred was elected superintendent -in regular form and by unanimous vote of the board -of directors.</p> - -<p>Great was the excitement in Barton and the -tributary country when it was announced that the -mill needed no more money, and that, consequently, -no more stock would be issued. In that mysterious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -way in which such things always happen, -the secret escaped, and encountered every one, -that his new position would prevent Fred Macdonald -from drinking; non-stockholders had then -the additional grievance that they had been deprived -of taking any part in an enterprise for the -good of a fellow-man, and all because the rich men -of the village saw money in it. None of these -injured ones dared to express their minds on this -subject to Squire Tomple, to whom so many of -them owed money, or to Judge Macdonald, who, in -his family pride, would have laid himself liable to -action by the grand jury, had any one suggested -that his oldest son had ever been in any danger of -becoming a drunkard. But to Mr. Crupp they did -not hesitate to speak freely; Crupp owned no -mortgages, no total abstainers owed him money; -besides, he not only was not a church member, -but he had been in that most infernal of all callings, -rum-selling. So it came to pass that when one day -Crupp went into Deacon Jones’s store for a dollar’s -worth of sugar, and was awaiting his turn among a -large crowd of customers, Father Baguss constituted -himself spokesman for the aggrieved faction, -and said,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It ’pears to me, Mr. Crupp, as if reformin’ was -a payin’ business.”</p> - -<p>Crupp being human, was not saintly, so he flushed -angrily, and replied,</p> - -<p>“It <em>ought</em> to be, if the religion you’re so fond of -is worth a row of pins; but I don’t know what -you’re driving at.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! of course you don’t know,” said Father -Baguss; “but everybody else does. You don’t -expect to make any money out of that woolen -mill, do you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes I do, too,” answered Crupp quickly. “I’ll -make every cent I can out of it.”</p> - -<p>“Just so,” said Father Baguss, consoling himself -with a bite of tobacco; “an’ them that’s borne the -burden and heat of the day can plod along and not -make a cent ’xcept by the hardest knocks. I’ve -been one of the Sons of Temperance ever since I -was converted, an’ that’s nigh onto forty year; I -don’t see why I don’t get <em>my</em> sheer of the good -things of this world.”</p> - -<p>“If you mean,” said Crupp, with incomparable -deliberation, “that my taking stock in the mill is a -reward to me for dropping the liquor business, -you’re mightily mistaken. I’d have taken it all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -same if anybody had put me up to it when I was in -the liquor business.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” sighed Father Baguss, “like enough you -would; as the Bible says, ‘The children of this -world are wiser in their generation than the children -of light.’ I can’t help a-gettin’ mad, though, -to think it has to be so.”</p> - -<p>Two or three unsuccessful farmers lounging about -the stove sighed sympathetically, but Crupp indulged -in a sarcastic smile, and remarked,</p> - -<p>“<em>I</em> always supposed it was because the children -of light had got their treasure laid up in heaven, -and were above such worldly notions.”</p> - -<p>The late sympathizers of Father Baguss saw the -joke, and laughed with unkind energy, upon which -the good old man straightened himself and exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“The children of the kingdom have to earn their -daily bread, I reckon; manna don’t fall nowadays -like it used to do for the chosen people.”</p> - -<p>“Exactly,” said Crupp, “and them that ain’t -chosen people don’t pick up their dinners without -working for them either, without getting into jail -for it. But, say! I didn’t come in here to make fun -of you, Father Baguss. If you want some of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -mill stock so bad, I’ll sell you some of mine—that is, -if you’ll go into temperance with all your might.”</p> - -<p>The old man seemed struck dumb for a moment -but when he found his tongue, he made that useful -member make up for lost time. “Go into temperance!” -he shouted. “Did anybody ever hear the -like of that? I that’s been a “Son” more’n half -my life; that’s spent a hundred dollars—yes, more—in -yearly dues; that’s been to every temperance -meetin’ that’s ever been held in town, even when -I’ve had rheumatiz so bad I could hardly crawl; -that kept the pledge even when I was out in the Black -Hawk War, where the doctors themselves said that -I <em>ort</em> to have drank; that’s plead with drinkers, and -been scoffed an’ reviled like my blessed Master for -my pains; that’s voted for the Maine Liquor Law; -that’s been dead agin lettin’ Miles Dalling into the -church because he brews beer for his own family -drinkin’, though he’s a good enough man every -other way, as fur as I can see; I that went to see -every member of our church, an’ begged an’ implored -’em not to sell our old meetin’-house to the -feller that’s since turned it into a groggery; I to -be told by a feller like you, that’s got the guilt of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>uncounted drunkards on your soul——”</p> - -<p>Crupp, with a very white face, advanced a step or -two toward the old man; but the participator in the -Black Hawk War was not to be frightened, especially -when he was so excited as he was now; so he -roared,</p> - -<p>“Come on! come on! perhaps you want <em>my</em> -blood on your soul, with all the others; but just let -me tell you, it isn’t easy to get!”</p> - -<p>Crupp recovered himself and replied, “Father -Baguss, all that you’ve done is very well in its way, -but it wasn’t going into temperance. You’ve been -a first-rate talker, I know, but talk isn’t cider. Why, -there’s been lots of men in my store after listenin’ -to one of your strong temperance speeches, and -laughed about what they’ve heard. I’ve told them -they ought to be ashamed of themselves—don’t -shake your head—I <em>have</em>, and all they’d say would -be, ‘Talk don’t cost anything, Crupp.’ But if you’d -followed up your tongue with your brains, and -most of all your pocket, not one of them chaps -would have opened his head about you.”</p> - -<p>“Money!” exclaimed the old man; “didn’t I tell -you that division dues alone had cost me more’n a -hundred dollars; not to speak of subscriptions to -public meetin’s?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And every cent that didn’t go to pay ‘division’ -expenses, that is—for keeping a lodge-room -in shape for you to meet in, and such things—went -to pay for more talk. Did you Sons of Temperance -ever <em>buy</em> a man away from his whisky? It <em>might</em> -have been done—done cheap too—in almost any -week since I’ve been in Barton, by helping down-hearted -men along. Did you ever do it yourself?”</p> - -<p>Father Baguss was nonplussed for a moment, -noting which a bystander, also a Son of Temperance, -came valiantly to the rescue of his order, by -exclaiming,</p> - -<p>“Tongues was made to use, and the better the -cause, the more it needs to be talked about.”</p> - -<p>“There’s no getting away from that,” said Crupp. -“Talk’s all right in its place; but when anybody’s -sick in your family, you don’t hire somebody to -come in and talk him well, do you?”</p> - -<p>The auxiliary replied by pressing perceptibly -closer to the bale of blankets against which he had -been leaning, and Crupp was enabled to concentrate -his attention upon Father Baguss. But the old -soldier had in his military days unconsciously acquired -a tactical idea or two which were frequently -applicable in real life. One of them was that of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -flanking, and he straightway attempted it by exclaiming,</p> - -<p>“I’d use money quick enough on drunkards, if I -saw anybody fit to use it on,” said he; “it would -do my old soul good to find a drinking man that I -could be sure money would save. But they’re a shiftless, -worthless pack of shotes, all that I see of ’em. -There <em>wuz</em> a young fellow—Lije Mason his name -was—that I once thought seriously of doin’ somethin’ -fur; but he went an’ signed the pledge, an’ got -along all right by himself.”</p> - -<p>“But there’s your own neighbors, old Tappelmine -and his family—they all drink; what have you -done for ’em?” asked Crupp.</p> - -<p>“A lot of Kentucky poor white trash!” exclaimed -Father Baguss. “What <em>could</em> anybody -do for ’em? Besides, they do for ’emselves; they’ve -stole hams out of my smoke-house more’n once, -an’ they know <em>I</em> know it, too.”</p> - -<p>“Poor white trash is sometimes converted in -church, isn’t it?” asked Mr. Crupp; “and what’s to -keep poor white trash from stopping drinking? what -but a good, honest, religious, rum-hating neighbor -that looks at ’em so savagely and lets ’em alone so -hard that they’d take pains to get drunk, just to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -worry him? I know how you feel toward them; -I <em>saw</em> it once: one Sunday I passed you on the road -just opposite their place; you was in your wagon -takin’ your folks to church, and I—well, I was out -trying to shoot a wild turkey, which I mightn’t -have been on a Sunday. They were all laughin’ and -cuttin’ up in the house—it’s seldom enough such -folks get anything to laugh about—and I could just -<em>see</em> you groan, and your face was as black as a thunder -cloud, and as savage as an oak knot soaked in -vinegar. The old man came out just then for an -armful of wood, and nodded at you pleasant enough; -but that face of yours was too much for him, and -pretty soon he looked as if he’d have liked to throw -a chunk of wood at your head. I’d have <em>done</em> it, if -I’d been him. The old man was awfully drunk -when I came back that way, two or three hours -later. That was a pretty day’s work for a Son of -Temperance, wasn’t it—and Sunday, too?”</p> - -<p>The casing to Father Baguss’s conscience was not -as thick as that to his brain, and he was silent; -perhaps the prospect of getting some mill stock -aided the good work in his heart.</p> - -<p>Crupp continued: “I’m a ‘Son’ myself, now, and -I know what a man agrees to when he joins a division.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -If you think you’ve lived up to it—you and -the other members of the Barton Division—I suppose -you’ve a right to your opinion; but if my ideas, -picked up on both sides of the fence, are worth anything -to you, they amount to just this: the Sons -of Temperance in this town haven’t done anything -but help each other not to get back into bad ways -again, and to give a welcomin’ hand to anybody -that’s strong enough in himself to come into the -division with you; and that isn’t the spirit of the -order.”</p> - -<p>Crupp got his sugar, and no one pressed him to -stay longer; but, as he slowly departed, as became a -soldier who was not retreating but only changing -his base, Father Baguss followed him, touched his -sleeve as soon as he found himself outside the store -door, and said,</p> - -<p>“Say, Crupp, I’ll try to do something for Tappelmine, -though I don’t know yet what it’ll be, an’ -I don’t care if you <em>do</em> let me have about five sheers -of that mill stock; I s’pose you won’t want more -than you paid for it?”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.<br /> -<span class="smaller">SOME VOLUNTEER SHEPHERDS.</span></h2> - -<p>The mail-stage did not make its appearance at -the usual hour on the day following Crupp’s -conversation with Father Baguss, and during a lull -in the desultory conversation which prevailed among -those who were waiting for the mail, the postmaster -displayed at his window his large, round face, devoid -of its habitual jolly smile, and remarked,</p> - -<p>“Too bad about Wainright, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” asked half a dozen at once.</p> - -<p>The postmaster looked infinitely more important -all in a second. It is but seldom in this world that -a man can tell a bit of news to an assembled crowd; -and in an inland town, before the day of the omnipresent -telegraph pole, the chances were proportionately -fewer than elsewhere. The postmaster had a -generous heart, however, and at the risk of losing -his importance he opened his treasure-house all at -once:</p> - -<p>“He’s been pretty high on whiskey for two or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -three days,” said he, “and they say he’s got snakes -in his boots now; anyhow, he’s made a sudden -break for Louisville; he started on foot, an hour or -two ago, for Brown’s Landing, seven miles below -here, to catch a down-river steamboat; he was clear-headed -enough to find out first that it wasn’t likely -that the <i>Excellence</i>, that’s about due, wouldn’t -have any freight to stop for here. His wife’s half -wild about it, but there’s nothing the poor thing -can do.”</p> - -<p>“Poor, misguided man!” sighed Parson Wedgewell, -who had arrived just in time to hear the story. -“The ways of Providence are undoubtedly wise, -but they are indeed mysterious. Judging according -to our finite capacities, it would be natural to -suppose that capabilities so unusual as those of Mr. -Wainright would be divinely guided.”</p> - -<p>“I saw him coming down the walk,” observed -Squire Tomple, “and I thought he looked rather -peculiar, so I just stepped across the street; I don’t -like to get into a row with men in that fix.”</p> - -<p>“Of course getting into a row was the only thing -that could be done,” said Crupp, who had apparently -been carefully reading a posted notice of a sheriff’s -sale.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Squire did not enjoy the tone in which -Crupp’s remark was delivered; but before he could -reason with the new reformer, the Reverend Timotheus -Brown dashed into the fray in defense of a -beloved idea, which the rival pastor had seemed -covertly to assail.</p> - -<p>“The reason such natures aren’t divinely guided,” -said he, in a voice which suggested nutmeg-graters -to the acute sensibilities of Parson Wedgewell, “is -that they don’t implicitly submit themselves to the -Divine will.”</p> - -<p>“A man can do nothing unless the Spirit draw -him,” said Parson Wedgewell valiantly.</p> - -<p>“That’s rather hard on a fellow, though, isn’t it?” -soliloquized Fred Macdonald.</p> - -<p>“Not a bit of it,” spoke out Father Baguss, who -had been scenting the battle from an inner room. -“Bless the Lord! the parables of the lost sheep that -the shepherd left the rest of the flock to look for, -and the lost coin that the woman hunted for, wasn’t -told for nothin’. The Lord knows how to ’tend to -his own business.”</p> - -<p>“And nobody else can do a thing to help the -Lord along, can he?” said Crupp, passing his arm -through the postmaster’s window, and extracting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -from his box a copy of the Louisville <em>Journal</em> -(then the only paper of prominence in a large section -of Western country); “all that men have to do -in such cases is just to talk.”</p> - -<p>Crupp departed, encountering on the way the -wide-open countenance of Tom Adams, who was -waiting for Deacon Jones’s mail. The two pastors -preserved silence, that of Mr. Brown being extremely -dignified, with a visible trace of acerbity, while that -of Mr. Wedgewell was strongly suggestive of mental -unquiet. The distribution of the small mail, -which had arrived soon after the conversation began, -gave everybody an excuse to depart—an excuse of -which most of them availed themselves at once, -Squire Tomple having first changed the direction -of the conversation by inquiring particularly of -Father Baguss as to the number and probable -weight of the porkers which the old man was fattening -for the winter market. The subject lasted -only until the two men reached the door, however, -and then each sympathized with the other over the -wounds received at the hands, or tongue, of the unsentimental -and irreligious Crupp. Yet the more -they talked of Crupp, the less they seemed to realize -their pain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> - -<p>Tom Adams went straight to his employer’s store, -and exclaimed, not in his usual ingenuous manner,</p> - -<p>“Deacon, old Berry won’t take that load of bricks -unless he gets ’em right off; I guess I’ll take ’em -right out to him. It’s a long trip, but there’s three -hours yet ’fore dark.”</p> - -<p>“Be sure you do, then, Thomas,” said the -deacon.</p> - -<p>Tom was soon in his wagon, and going toward -the brick-yard at a livelier rate than was consistent -with the proper care of horses with a long, heavy -pull before them. The bricks were loaded with -apparent regard to count, but not in good order, -and, as Tom followed the road to old Berry’s, he -soliloquized:</p> - -<p>“I ort to be able to ketch him after I deliver the -bricks, but what in thunder am I to say to him? -Like enough he’ll knock me down if I don’t look -out. That’s just the notion, I <em>de</em>-clare! I can -knock <em>him</em> down, and put him right in the wagon -and bring him back; the joltin’ would fetch him to -and clear his head, like it’s done mine often enough -when I’ve been in his fix. But, hang it, what a -ridick’lus goose-chase it does look like!”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the Reverend Timotheus Brown had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -limped down the main street, looking a little more -unapproachable than usual. As he reached the -edge of the town, however, where there began the -low plain which led to the river, he quickened his -pace somewhat, and he did not stop until he reached -the river. Upon a raft sat a man fishing, and near -by a canoe was tied; in this latter the preacher -seated himself, having first untied it.</p> - -<p>“Hello, there! What are you a-doin’ with my -dug-out?” shouted the fisherman.</p> - -<p>“The Lord hath need of it!” roared the old -divine, picking up the paddle.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll be——!” exclaimed the man; “if -that <em>ain’t</em> the coolest! The Lord’ll get a duckin’, -I reckon, for that’s the <em>wobbliest</em> canoe. I don’t -know, though; the old fellow paddles as if he were -used to it.”</p> - -<p>Away down the river went the Reverend Timotheus; -at the same time Fred Macdonald, on horseback, -hailed the ferry-boat, crossed the river, and -galloped down the opposite bank, and Crupp, a -half an hour later, might have been seen lying on -his oars in a skiff in a shallow a mile above the -town, waiting to board the <i>Excellence</i>, as she came -down the stream.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> - -<p>“’Pears to me preachers are out for a walk to-day,” -said one old lady to another across a garden -fence, in one edge of the town. “I saw Mr. Brown -’way down the street ever so far to-day, an’ now -here’s Brother Wedgewell ’way out here. I thought -like enough he was goin’ to call, but he went -straight along an’ only bowed, awful solemn.”</p> - -<p>Parson Wedgewell certainly walked very fast, and -the more ground he covered the more rapidly his -feet moved, and not his feet only. In long stretches -of road shut in by forest trees he found himself devoid -of a single mental restraint, and he thought -aloud as he walked.</p> - -<p>“Rebuked by a sinner! O God! with my whole -heart I have sought thee, and thou hast instead revealed -thyself not only unto babes and sucklings, -but unto one who is certainly not like unto one of -these little ones. Teach me thy will, for verily in -written books I fear I have found it not. What if -the boat reaches the landing before I do, and this -lost sheep escapes me? Father in Heaven, the -shepherd is astray in his way, even as the sheep is; -but O thou! who didst say that the race is not to -the swift, nor the battle to the strong, make the feeble -power of man to triumph over great engines<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -and the hurrying of mighty waters. Fulfill thy -promise, O God, for the sake of the soul thou hast -committed to my charge!”</p> - -<p>Then, like a man who believed in helping his own -prayers along, the parson snatched off his coat and -hat and increased his speed. He was far outside of -his own parish, for most of his congregation were -townsmen, and the old pastor knew no more of the -geography of the country about him than he did of -Chinese Tartary. He had taken what was known -as the “River Road,” and thus far his course had -been plain; now, however, he reached a place where -the road divided, and which branch to take he did -not know. Ordinary sense of locality would have -taught him in an instant, but the parson had no -such sense; there was no house in sight at which he -could ask his way, and, to add to his anxiety, the -<i>Excellence</i> came down the river to his left and -rear, puffing and shrieking as if the making of -hideous noises was the principal qualification of a -river steamer. The old man fell upon his knees, -raised his face and hands toward heaven, and -exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“The hosts of hell are pressing hard, O God! -Thou who didst guide thy chosen people with a pillar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -of fire, show now to thy unworthy servant that -thou art God!”</p> - -<p>What the parson saw he never told, but he sprang -to his feet and went down the left-hand road at a -lively run, a moment after Tom Adams, half a mile -in the rear, had shaded his eyes and exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“Blamed if there isn’t a feller a-prayin’ right out -in the road; if he wants anything <em>that</em> bad, I hope -he’ll get it. Travel, Selim—<em>get</em> up, Bill!—let’s see -who he is.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.<br /> -<span class="smaller">BRINGING HOME THE SHEEP.</span></h2> - -<p>Speaking after the manner of the flesh, the -Reverend Timotheus Brown had found only -plain sailing on the river; spiritually, he had a very -different experience. “As stubborn as a mule” -was the most common of the current estimates of -Pastor Brown’s character; and if the conscientious -old preacher had ever personally heard this opinion -of himself, the verbal expression thereof would have -given him but slight annoyance, compared with that -which he experienced from his own inner man as -he paddled down the stream. To forcibly resist -something so satisfied the strongest demand of his -nature that neither shortening breath nor blistering -hands caused him to slacken the speed with which -he forced his paddle against the water. But another -contest was going on, and in this the consistent -theologian was not so triumphant as he liked always -to be. Harry Wainright was one of the ungodly; -that he owned (and frequently occupied) a high-priced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -pew in Mr. Brown’s own church was only -another reason why the preacher should quote concerning -him, “He that being often reproved hardeneth -his neck——”—what if the conclusion of -the same passage—“shall suddenly be destroyed, -and that without remedy,” should apply? What -could prevent its doing so, if Wainright had fulfilled -the description in the first half? Had not the same -God inspired the whole passage? If so, what right -had any man, least of all a minister of the Gospel, to -try to set at naught the Divine will? Harry Wainright -was, according to the decrees of an unchangeable -God, one of the lost—as much so as if he were -already in the bottomless pit. And still the old man’s -paddle flew; once on the trip he had felt as if the -weakness of the arm of flesh would decide the case -for him, and in favor of the Word whose expounder -he was; he found himself wishing that it might, so -that he could feel that although God had overruled -him, he might have comfort in the assurance that -he had not proved indifferent to his sudden emotion -of yearning for his fellow man. But that mysterious -physical readjustment, known in animals as “second -breath,” came to the rescue of his fainting frame, -and then it seemed as if no watery torrent could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -prevail against the force of his arm. Oh! if he -might but talk to some one of the fathers of the -church; that he might be, even for ten minutes, -back in his own library! But no father of the -church resided along the Reverend Brown’s nautical -course, nor was there a theological library -nearer than his own, and there he was, actually bent -upon saving one whom the Eternal pronounced -lost! Lost? Hold! “For the Son of Man is -come into the world to save them that are lost.” If -Christ had a right to save the lost, had not an ambassador -of Christ the same privilege? was not an -ambassador one who stood in the place—who fulfilled -the duties—of an absent king? “Glory be to -God on high!” shouted the Reverend Timotheus, -and the dense woods echoed back “God on high!” -as the old man, forty years a conscientious pastor, -but only that instant converted to Christianity, -drove his paddle into the water with a force that -nearly threw the canoe into the air.</p> - -<p>As for Parson Wedgewell, whom we left arising -from his knees after asking information from his -Divine guide, he found himself upon the right road. -The river was nearer than he had dared to hope; a run -of half a mile brought him into a clearing, in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -stood Brown’s warehouse, near the river. The <i>Excellence</i> -had just put her nose against the bank, and -the clerk at the warehouse was tired of wondering -why Fred Macdonald, on the opposite bank, was -shouting so impatiently to the ferryman, and why -an old man in a canoe should be coming down the -river at the rate of fifty-paddle strokes per minute, -when he saw Parson Wedgewell, coatless, hatless, -with open shirt, disordered hair, and face covered -with dirt deposited just after an unlucky stumble, -come flying along the road, closely followed by Tom -Adams, who was lashing his horses furiously. A -happy inspiration struck the clerk; he shouted -“Horse thief!” and seized the parson, and instantly -received a blow under the chin which rendered him -inactive and despondent for the space of half an -hour. The parson saw the gang-plank shoved out; -he saw Harry Wainright step aboard; he saw the -Rev. Timotheus jump from his canoe into water -knee deep, dash up the plank, and throw his arm -over Harry Wainright’s shoulder; but only a second -or two elapsed before Parson Wedgewell monopolized -the runaway’s other side, and then, as the -three men stared at each other, neither one speaking -a word, and the two pastors bursting into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -tears, Tom Adams hurried aboard, and exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“Mr. Wainright, Mrs. Wainright is particular -anxious to see you this evenin’, for somethin’, I -don’t know what, an’ I hadn’t time to get any sort -of a carriage for fear I’d lose the boat; but there’s -good springs to the seat of the brick-yard wagon, an’ -a new sheep-skin besides.” No other words coming -to Tom’s mind, he abruptly walked forward muttering, -“That’s the cock-an’-bullest yarn I ever <em>did</em> -tell; I <em>knew</em> I wouldn’t know what to say.” As Tom -meditated, he heard one “roustabout” say to another,</p> - -<p>“I say, Bill, you know that feller that used to sell -such bully whiskey in Barton? Well, he’s around -there on the guards, dancin’ like a lunatic. I -shouldn’t wonder if that’s what come of swearin’ off -drinkin’.”</p> - -<p>“Mighty unsafe perceedin’,” replied Bill, eyeing -Crupp suspiciously.</p> - -<p>Harry Wainright made not the slightest objection -to going back home, and he acted very much like a -man who was glad of the company in which he -found himself. The divine of the canoe looked at -his blistered hands, and paid the resuscitated clerk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -to send the boat back by the first steamer. While -Fred Macdonald was crossing the river, Tom Adams -kindly drove back the road and recovered Parson -Wedgewell’s coat and hat, and the parson accepted -the hospitalities of the boat to the extent of water, -soap, and towel. He attempted to make his peace -with the injured clerk; but that functionary, having -already interviewed Tom Adams, insisted that no -apology was necessary, and asked the old gentleman -in what church he preached.</p> - -<p>As the party started back, they saw, coming -through a cross-road, a buggy violently driven, and -containing two men—who proved to be Squire -Tomple and Father Baguss—in a vehicle belonging -to the latter; their air of having merely happened -there deceived no one, least of all Harry Wainright -himself. Father Baguss did not live in town, nor -within four miles of it; but when Squire Tomple -suggested that he would beg a ride back in Tom -Adams’s wagon, Father Baguss objected, and remarked -that he guessed he had business in town -himself; so the Squire retained his seat, and Father -Baguss fell in behind the wagon as decorously as if -he was taking part in a funeral procession. Behind -them came Fred Macdonald, who had good excuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -to gallop back to the peculiar attraction that -awaited him in Barton, but preferred to remain in -his present company. As the party approached the -town, Tom Adams considerately drove through the -darkest and most unfrequented streets, and stopped -as near as possible to Wainright’s house. Wainright, -politely declining any escort, walked quietly home. -Father Baguss stood up in his buggy, with his hand -to his ear, in the original position of attention: -suddenly he exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“There! I heard his door shut: <em>now</em>, brethren.” -And Father Baguss started the doxology. -“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” and -the glorious harmonies of the old choral were -proof even against the tremendous but discordant -notes which Tom Adams, with the most honorable -intentions, interjected in rapid succession. Then -the party broke up. The two pastors escorted each -other home alternately and several times in succession, -during which apparently meaningless proceeding -they learned, each from the other, how -much of good intent had been stifled in both of -them for lack of prompt application. Crupp and -Tomple talked but little, and no “Imaginary Conversation” -would be at all likely to reproduce what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -they said. Father Baguss made the whole air -between Barton and his own farm redolent of camp-meeting -airs, and Fred Macdonald heard in Parson -Wedgewell’s parlor something sweeter than all the -music ever written. As for Tom Adams, he jogged -slowly toward his employer’s stables, repeating to -himself,</p> - -<p>“The bulliest spree I ever went on—the <em>very</em> -bulliest!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">DOCTORS AND BOYS.</span></h2> - -<p>Here were two elements of Barton society -with which Mr. Crupp had not been so successful -as he had hoped; these were the doctors, and -that elastic body known as “the boys.” Individually, -the physicians had promised well at first; all -of them but one were members of the Barton Division -of the Sons of Temperance, and the Division -rooms afforded the only floor upon which Dr. White, -the allopathist, Dr. Perry, the homeopathist, and Dr. -Pykem, the water-cure physician, ever could meet -amicably, for they belonged to separate churches. -Old Dr. Matthews, who had retired from practice, -was not a “Son,” only because he was a conscientious -opponent of secret societies; but he had -signed every public pledge ever circulated in Barton, -and he had never drunk a drop of liquor in his life. -All the physicians freely admitted to Mr. Crupp -that alcohol was a never-failing cause of disease, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -at least of physical deterioration; all declared that -no class of maladies were so incurable, and so depressing -to the spirits of the medical practitioner, -as those to which habitual drinkers, even those who -were never drunk, were subject; but—they really did -not see what more they, the physicians of Barton, -could do than they were already doing. Crupp discussed -the matter with Parson Wedgewell, and the -parson volunteered to preach a sermon to physicians -from the text, “Give wine unto those that be of -heavy hearts,” a text which had suggested itself to -him, or, rather, had been providentially suggested to -him on the occasion of his very first interview with -Crupp, and which was outlined in his mind in a manner -suggestive of delightful subtleties and a startling -application. But when Crupp sounded the doctors as -to whether such a discourse would be agreeable, Dr. -White said he would be glad to listen to the eloquent -divine; but he was conscientiously opposed to -appearing, even by the faintest implication, to admit -that the homeopathist was a physician at all. -Dr. Perry felt his need, as a partaker in the fall of -Adam, to being preached to from any portion of -the inspired Word; but he could not sit in an audience -to which such a humbug as Pykem could be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -admitted in an official capacity; while Dr. Pykem -said that he would rejoice to encourage the preacher -by his presence, if he thought any amount of preaching -would do any good to a remorseless slaughterer -like White, or an idiotic old potterer like Perry. -Then Mr. Crupp tried another plan: he himself organized -a meeting in which the exercises were to -consist of short addresses upon the physical bearing -of intemperance, the addresses to be made by “certain -of our fellow-citizens who have had many opportunities -for special observation in this direction.” -Even then Drs. White and Perry objected to sitting -on the same platform with Dr. Pykem, who had -never attended any medical school of any sort, and -who would probably say something utterly ridiculous -in support of his own senseless theories, and -thus spoil the effect of the physiological facts and -deductions which Drs. Perry and White each admitted -that the other might be intellectually capable -of advancing. Crupp arranged the matter amicably, -however, by having Pykem make the first address, -during which the other two physicians were to -occupy back seats, where they might, while unobserved, -take notes of such of Pykem’s heresies as -they might deem it necessary to combat: he further<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -arranged that, immediately after Pykem had concluded, -he was to be called away to a patient, provided -for the occasion. Still more—and great would have -been the disgust of White and Perry had they known -of it—Crupp laid so plainly before Pykem the necessities -of the community, and the duty, not only -Christian, but of the simplest manliness, also, that -men of any intelligence owed to their fellow-men, -that Pykem, who with all his hobbies was a man of -Christian belief and humane heart, confined himself -solely to the preventive efficacy of external applications -of water, not unmixed with soap, in the case -of persons who felt toward alcohol a craving which -they could not logically explain; he thus delivered -an address which might, with cause, be repeated in -every community in the United States. Then Dr. -Perry, whose forte was experimental physiology, read -whole tables of statistics based upon systematic observations; -and Dr. White unrolled and explained -some charts and plates of various internal organs, -naturally unhandsome in themselves, which had -been injured by alcohol. It was declared by close -observers that for a few days after this meeting the -demand for sponges and toilet soap exceeded the experience -of the old and single apothecary of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -village, and that liquor-sellers looked either sober or -savage, according to their respective natures.</p> - -<p>But the boys! Crupp found himself in time really -disposed to ask Pastors Wedgewell and Brown -whether there wasn’t Scriptural warrant for the supposition -that Job obtained his sons by marrying a -widow with a grown-up family. “The boys” numbered -about a hundred specimens, ranging in age -from fourteen years to forty; no two were alike in -disposition, as Crupp had long known; they came -from all sorts of peculiar social conditions that -warred against their physical and moral well-being; -some of them seemed wholly corrupt, and bent upon -corrupting others; many more exhibited a faculty -for promising which could be matched in magnitude -only by their infirmity of performance. By a vigorous -course of individual exhortation, the burden -of which was that everybody knew they drank -because they were too cowardly to refuse, and that -nobody despised them so heartily as the very men -who sold them the rum, Crupp lessened the number -of drinking boys by about one-fourth, thus rescuing -those who were easiest to save and most -worth saving, but the remainder made as much -trouble as the collective body had done. Crupp<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -scolded, pleaded, and argued; he hired some boys -to drop liquor for at least a stated time; he importuned -some of the more refined citizens to interest -themselves socially in certain boys; he lent some -of these boys money with which to buy clothing -which would bring their personal appearance up -to the Barton standard of respectability, and he -covertly excited some of the merchants up to a -genuine interest in certain boys, by persuading them -to sell to said boys coats, boots, and hats on credits -nominally short.</p> - -<p>He enjoyed the hearty co-operation of the village -pastors, all of whom preached sermons to young -men and to parents; but his principal practical -assistance came, quite unexpectedly, from old Bunley. -Bunley had not yet succeeded in finding anything -to do, and, as he had on his hands all of his -time which was not needed at the family woodpile, -he went around talking to the boys. Bunley had -been, according to the Barton classification, a “boy” -himself; he had drunk in a not remote day with -any boy who invited him; he knew more jolly songs -than any other half dozen inebriates in the village, -and was simply oppressed with the load of good -(bad) stories which he never tired of telling; he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -been always ready to play cards with any boy, and -had come to be regarded, among the youngsters, as -“the best fellow in the village.” Now that he had -reformed, his success in reforming boys was simply -remarkable—so much so that Parson Wedgewell -began to tremble over the thought that Bunley, by -the present results of the experience of his sinful -days, might demonstrate, beyond the hope of refutation, -the dreadful proposition that it was better that -a man should be a sinner in his youth, so as to know -how to be a saint when he became old. This idea -Parson Wedgewell laid, with much trepidation, -before the Reverend Timotheus Brown, and the two -old saints and new friends had a delightfully doleful -time on their knees over it, until there occurred -to the Reverend Timotheus Brown a principle which -he proceeded to formulate as follows: The greater -the capacity of a misguided faculty for evil, the -greater the good the same faculty may accomplish -when in its normal condition. To be sure, the discovery -was not original with him; the same statement -had been made by peripatetic phrenologists at -Barton; indeed, it was visible, to one who could -read rather than merely repeat words, in every chapter -of the Bible so dear to this good old man; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -the illusion under which Parson Brown was allowed -to labor worked powerfully for his own good and for -that of the community, for from that time forth -both he and Parson Wedgewell displayed their -greatest earnestness in work with cases apparently -the most hopeless. These they found among “the -boys,” and harder work no reformer ever laid -out for himself. The ingenuity, the persistence, the -determined brutality of some of the boys, the logical -acuteness displayed in varied fits of deception, -only stimulated the old man to greater industry, -and slowly, after hard work, often after work that -seemed more like hard fighting, but yet surely, -Parson Brown reformed one after another of several -hard cases. The villagers, most of whom considered -that their whole duty consisted in critical observation, -applauded handsomely, and Bunley was astonished, -and felt considerably mortified at the marked -success of his new rival, while Parson Wedgewell -found it necessary to pray earnestly that unchristian -jealousy might be banished from his own mind. -But to Parson Brown the greatest triumph occurred -when Crupp—Crupp, the literalist, the hard-headed, -the man who trusted in the arm of flesh, the man -of action, he who slightingly received any suggestions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -of special thank-offerings of prayer for special -services received—Crupp came to him by night—it -reminded Parson Brown of Nicodemus—and exclaimed, -“It’s no use, Parson; I’ve done my best on -Frank Pughger, but he’s a goner if God don’t put in -a special hand. I’ll turn him over to you, I guess.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">TWO SIDES OF A CLOUD.</span></h2> - -<p>The holy hilarity which Father Baguss enjoyed -on his way home, after having assisted in -bringing Harry Wainright back, did not depart -with the shades of night. The old man was out of -bed at his usual hour, and he took his spiritual -songs to the barn with him, to the astonishment of -his mild-eyed cows and quick-eared horses; and -when his drove of porkers demanded their morning -meal with the vocal power peculiar to a chorus of -swine, the old man defiantly jumped an occasional -octave, and made the spiritual songs dominate over -the physical. He seemed <em>so</em> happy that his single -hired man could not resist the temptation of asking -for an increase of pay; but the sobriety to which -this interruption and its consequent refusal reduced -Father Baguss was of only temporary duration, -and the broken strain was resumed with renewed -energy. The ecstasy lasted into and through the -old man’s matutinal repast, and manifested itself by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -an occasional hum through the good man’s nose, -which did the duty ordinarily performed by a -mouth which was now busied about other things; -it caused Father Baguss to read a glorious psalm -as he officiated at the family altar after breakfast; -it made itself felt half way through the set prayer -which the old farmer had delivered every morning -for forty years; but it seemed suddenly to depart as -its whilom possessor uttered the petition, “May -we impart to others of the grace with which thou -hast visited us so abundantly.” For the Tappelmines -had come suddenly into Father Baguss’s -mind, and as that receptacle was never particularly -crowded, the Tappelmines made themselves very -much at home there. The prayer having ended, -the old man loitered about the house instead of -going directly to the “clearing,” in which he had -been getting out some oak fence-rails; he stared -out of the window, walked up and down the kitchen -with his hands in his pockets, lit a pipe, relit it half -a dozen times at two minute intervals, sighed, -groaned, and at length strode across the room like -a bandit coming upon the boards of a theater, -seized his hat, and started for the Tappelmine domicile.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<p>As he plodded along over the rough road, he -had two very distinct ideas in his mind: one was, -that he hadn’t the slightest notion of what to say -to Tappelmine; the other, and stronger, was, that -it would be a relief to him to discover that Tappelmine -was away from home, or even sick in bed—yes, -or even drunk. But this hope was of very short -duration, for soon the old man heard the Tappelmine -axe, and, as he rounded the corner of the -miserable house, he saw Tappelmine himself—a -tall, gaunt figure in faded homespun, torn straw -hat, and a tangled thicket of muddy-gray hair. -The face which Tappelmine turned, as he heard the -approaching footsteps, was not one to warm the -heart of a man inspired only by an unwelcome sense -of duty; it was thin, full of vagrant wrinkles; the -nose had apparently started in different directions, -and each time failed to return to its original line; -the eyes were watery and colorless, and the lips -were thin and drawn into the form of a jagged volcano -crater.</p> - -<p>“The idee of doin’ anything for such!” exclaimed -Father Baguss under his breath. “O Lord! -<em>you</em> put me up to this here job—unless it was all -Crupp’s work; now see me through!” Then he said,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span></p> - -<p>“How are you, neighbor?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! off an’ on, ’bout as usual,” said Tappelmine, -with a look which seemed to indicate that his -usual condition was not one upon which he was -particularly to be felicitated.</p> - -<p>“How’d your crop turn out?” asked Father -Baguss, well knowing that “crop” was a terribly -sarcastic word to apply to the acre or two of badly -cultivated corn which Tappelmine had planted, -but yet feeling a frantic need of talking against -time.</p> - -<p>“Well, not over’n above good,” said Tappelmine, -as impervious to the innocent sarcasm as he would -have been to anything but a bullet or a glass of -whiskey. “I dunno what would have ’come of us -ef I hadn’t knocked over a couple of deer last week.”</p> - -<p>“You might have given a hint to your neighbors, -if worst had come to worst,” suggested Father -Baguss, perceiving a gleam of light, but not so -delighted over it as a moment or two before he had -expected to be. “Nobody’d have stood by an’ -seen you starve.”</p> - -<p>“Glad you told me,” said Tappelmine, abruptly -raising his axe, and starting two or three large -chips in quick succession.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> - -<p>The light seemed suddenly to be departing, and -Father Baguss made a frantic clutch at it.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t have waited to be told,” said he. -“You know well enough we’re all human bein’s -about here.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Tappelmine, leaning on his axe, -and taking particular care not to look into his neighbor’s -eye, “I used to borry a little somethin’—corn, -mebbe, or a piece of meat once in a while; but -folks didn’t seem over an’ above glad to lend ’em, -an’ I’m one of the kind of fellows that can take a -hint, I am.”</p> - -<p>“That was ’cause you never said a word ’bout -payin’ back—leastways, you didn’t at <em>our</em> house.”</p> - -<p>Tappelmine did not reply, except by looking sullen, -and Father Baguss continued:</p> - -<p>“Besides, it’s kinder discouragin’ to lend to a feller -that gets tight a good deal—gets tight sometimes, -anyhow; it’s hard enough to get paid by folks -that always keep straight.”</p> - -<p>As Tappelmine could say nothing to controvert -this proposition, he continued to look sullen, and -Father Baguss, finding the silence insupportably -annoying, said rather more than he had intended to -say. There are natures which, while containing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -noble qualities, are most awkward expositors of -themselves, and that of Baguss was one of this -sort. Such people are given to action which is -open to criticism on every side; yet, in spite of -their awkwardnesses, they find in their weakness -the source of whatever strength they discover -themselves to be possessed of. Father Baguss was -one of this special division of humanity; but—perhaps -for his own good—he was unconscious -of his strength and painfully observant of his weakness. -Yet he continued as follows:</p> - -<p>“Look here, Tappelmine, I came over here on -purpose to find out if I could do anything to help -you get into better habits. You don’t amount to a -row of pins as things are now, and I don’t like it; -it’s throwed up to me, because I’m your neighbor, -and there’s folks that stick to it that <em>I’m</em> to blame. -I don’t see how; but if there’s any cross layin’ -around that fits my shoulders, I s’pose I ought to -pick it up an’ pack it along. Now, why in creation -don’t you give up drinkin,’ an’ go to church, an’ -make a crop, an’ do other things like decent folks -do? You’re bigger’n I am, an’ stouter, an’ your -farm’s as good as mine if you’d only work it. Now -why you don’t do it, I don’t see.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Don’t, eh?” snarled Tappelmine, dropping his -axe, and leaning against the house with folded -hands. “Well, ’cause I hain’t got any plow, nor -any harrow, nor but one hoss, nor rails enough to -keep out cattle, nor seed-corn or wheat, nor money -to buy it with, nor anything to live on until the -crop’s made, nor anything to prevent the crop -when it’s made from being grabbed by whoever I -owe money to; <em>that’s</em> why I don’t make a crop. An’ -I don’t go to church, ’cause I hain’t got any clothes -excep’ these ’uns that I’ve got on, an’ my wife’s as -bad off as <em>I</em> be. An’ I don’t give up drinkin’, -’cause drinkin’ makes me feel good, an’ the only -folks I know that care anything for me drink too. -You fellers that only drink on the sly——”</p> - -<p>“I never touched a drop in all my life!” roared -Father Baguss.</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” said Tappelmine; “stick to it; -there’s some that’ll believe that yarn. But what I -was goin’ to say was, folks that drink on the sly -know it’s comfortin’, an’ I don’t see what they go -a-pokin’ up fellers that does it fair an’ square for.”</p> - -<p>Father Baguss groaned, and some influence—the -old man in later days laid it upon the arch-enemy -of souls—suggested to him the foolishness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -having gone into so great an operation without first -counting the cost; hadn’t the great Founder of the -old man’s religious faith enjoined a counting of the -cost of any enterprise before entering upon it? -Father Baguss wished <em>that</em> chapter of Holy Writ -might have met his eye that morning at the family -altar; but it had not, and, worse yet, Tappelmine was -becoming wide awake and excited. It was not what -the drunkard had said about drinking or church-going -that troubled this would-be reformer; Tappelmine’s -outline of his material condition was -what annoyed Father Baguss; for, in spite of an -occasional attempt to mentally allay his fears by -falling back upon prayer, the incentive with which -he had called upon Tappelmine had taken strong -hold of his conscience, and persisted in making its -influence felt. Plows and prayers, harrows and -hopes, seed-corn and the seed sown by the wayside -mixed themselves inextricably in his mind, as parallels -often do when men dream, or when they are -confronted by an emergency beyond the control of -their own intellects. The old man prayed silently -and earnestly for relief, and his prayer was answered -in a manner not entirely according to his liking, -for he felt moved to say,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> - -<p>“<em>I’ll</em> lend you seed, if you’ll go to work an’ put -it right in, an’ I’ll lend you a plow and a team to -break up the ground with—I mean, I’ll hire ’em to -you, an’ agree to buy your crop at rulin’ price, an’ -pay you the difference in cash.”</p> - -<p>“That sounds somethin’ like,” remarked Tappelmine, -thrusting his hands into his trowsers’ pockets, -and making other preparations for a business talk; -“but,” he continued, “what am I to live on along -till harvest? ’Tain’t even winter yet.”</p> - -<p>Father Baguss groaned, and asked, “What was -you a-goin’ to live on if I hadn’t offered seed and -tools, Tappelmine?”</p> - -<p>“The Lord knows,” answered the never-do-well, -with unimpeachable veracity.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said the old farmer, “I guess he knows -what you’ll do in t’other case. You can work, I -reckon. <em>I</em> hain’t got much to do, but you can do -it, at whatever prices is goin’, an’ that’ll help you -get work of other folks; nobody can say I get stuck -on the men I hire. So they’re generally glad -enough to hire ’em themselves.”</p> - -<p>Tappelmine did not seem overjoyed at his prospects, -but he had the grace to say that they were -better than he had expected. Father Baguss went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -home, feeling but little more comfortable than -when he had started on his well-intended mission. -Tappelmine sauntered into his own cabin, wondering -how much of the promised seed-corn and wheat -he could smuggle into town and trade for whiskey; -but he was rather surprised to have his wife, a short, -thin, sallow, uninteresting-looking woman, who had -been listening at the broken window, approach -him, throw her arms about his neck, and exclaim,</p> - -<p>“Now, old man, we can be respectable, can’t we? -The chance has been a long time a-comin’, but we’ve -got it now.”</p> - -<p>The surprise was too great for Tappelmine, and -he spent the remainder of the day in nursing his -knee on the single hearthstone of his mansion. He -was not undisturbed, however, and as men of his -mental caliber hate persistent reason even worse -than they do work, Mrs. Tappelmine not only -coaxed her lord into resolving to be respectable, -but allowed that gentleman to persuade himself -that he had formed the resolution of his own -accord.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A PHENOMENON IN EMBRYO.</span></h2> - -<p>The superintendency of the Mississippi Valley -Woolen Mills was a position which exactly -suited Fred Macdonald, and it gave him occasion -for the expenditure of whatever superfluous energy -he found himself possessed of, yet it did not engross -his entire attention. The faculty which the busiest -of young men have for finding time in which to -present themselves, well clothed and unbusiness-like, -to at least one young woman, is as remarkable and -admirable as it is inexplicable. The evenings which -did not find Fred in Parson Wedgewell’s parlor -were few indeed, and if, when he was with Esther, he -did not talk quite as sentimentally as he had done -in the earlier days of his engagement, and if he -talked business very frequently, the change did not -seem distasteful to the lady herself. For the business -of which he talked was, in the main, of a sort -which loving women have for ages recognized as the -inevitable, and to which they have subjected themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -with a unanimity which deserves the gratitude -of all humanity. Fred talked of a cottage -which he might enter without first knocking at the -door, and of a partnership which should be unlimited; -if he learned, in the course of successive -conversations, that even in partnerships of the most -extreme order many compromises are absolutely -necessary, the lesson was one which improved his -character in the ratio in which it abased his pride. -The cottage grew as rapidly as the mill, and on his -returns from various trips for machinery there came -with Fred’s freight certain packages which prevented -their owner from appearing so completely the absorbed -business man which he flattered himself that -he seemed. Then the partnership was formed one -evening in Parson Wedgewell’s own church, in the -presence of a host of witnesses, Fred appearing as -self-satisfied and radiant as the gainer in such transactions -always does, while Esther’s noble face and -drooping eyes showed beyond doubt who it was -that was the giver.</p> - -<p>As the weeks succeeded each other after the -wedding, however, no acquaintance of the couple -could wonder whether the gainer or the giver was -the happier. Fred improved rapidly, as the school-boy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -improves; but Esther’s graces were already of -mature growth, and rejoiced in their opportunity -for development. Though she could not have explained -how it happened, she could not but notice -that maidens regarded her wonderingly, wives contemplated -her wistfully, frowns departed and smiles -appeared when she approached people who were -usually considered prosaic. Yet shadows sometimes -stole over her face, when she looked at certain of -her old acquaintances, and the cause thereof soon -took a development which was anything but pleasing -to her husband.</p> - -<p>“Fred,” said Esther one evening, “it makes me -real unhappy sometimes to think of the good wives -there are who are not as happy as I am. I think -of Mrs. Moshier and Mrs. Crayme, and the only -reason that I can see is, their husbands drink.”</p> - -<p>“I guess you’re right, Ettie,” said Fred. “They -didn’t begin their domestic tyranny in advance, as -<em>you</em> did—bless you for it.”</p> - -<p>“But why <em>don’t</em> their husbands stop?” asked -Esther, too deeply interested in her subject to -notice her husband’s compliment. “They must see -what they’re doing, and how cruel it all is.”</p> - -<p>“They’re too far gone to stop; I suppose that’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -the reason,” said Fred. “It hasn’t been easy work -for <em>me</em> to keep my promise, Ettie, and I’m a young -man; Moshier and Crayme are middle-aged men, -and liquor is simply necessary to them.”</p> - -<p>“That dreadful old Bunley wasn’t too old to reform, -it seems,” said Esther. “Fred, I believe one -reason is that no one has asked them to stop. See -how good Harry Wainright has been since he found -that so many people were interested in him that -day!”</p> - -<p>“Ye——es,” drawled Fred, evidently with a -suspicion of what was coming, and trying to change -the subject by suddenly burying himself in his -memorandum book. But this ruse did not succeed, -for Esther crossed the room to where Fred sat, -placed her hands on his shoulders, and a kiss on his -forehead, and exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“Fred, <em>you’re</em> the proper person to reform those -two men!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Ettie,” groaned Fred, “you’re entirely mistaken. -Why, they’d laugh right in my face, if they -didn’t get angry and knock me down. Reformers -want to be older men, better men, men like your -father, for instance, if people are to listen to them.”</p> - -<p>“Father says they need to be men who understand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -the nature of those they are talking to,” replied -Esther; “and you once told me that you understood -Moshier and Crayme perfectly.”</p> - -<p>“But just think of what they are, Ettie,” pleaded -Fred. “Moshier is a contractor, and Crayme’s a -steamboat captain; <em>such</em> men never reform, though -they always are good fellows. Why, if I were to -speak to either of them on the subject, they’d laugh -in my face, or curse me. The only way I was able -to make peace with them for stopping drinking myself -was to say that I did it to please my wife.”</p> - -<p>“Did they accept that as sufficient excuse?” -asked Esther.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Fred reluctantly, and biting his lips -over this slip of his tongue.</p> - -<p>“Then you’ve set them a good example, and I -can’t believe its effect will be lost,” said Esther.</p> - -<p>“I sincerely hope it won’t,” said Fred, very willing -to seem a reformer at heart; “nobody would be -gladder than I to see those fellows with wives as -happy as mine seems to be.”</p> - -<p>“Then why don’t you follow it up, Fred, dear, -and make sure of your hopes being realized? You -can’t imagine how much happier <em>I</em> would be if I -could meet those dear women without feeling that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -had to hide the joy that’s so hard to keep to myself.”</p> - -<p>The conversation continued with considerable -strain to Fred’s amiability; but his sophistry was no -match for his wife’s earnestness, and he was finally -compelled to promise that he would make an -appeal to Crayme, with whom he had a business -engagement, on the arrival of Crayme’s boat, the -<i>Excellence</i>.</p> - -<p>Before the whistles of the steamer were next heard, -however, Esther learned something of the sufferings -of would-be reformers, and found cause to wonder -who was to endure most that Mrs. Crayme should -have a sober husband, for Fred was alternately -cross, moody, abstracted, and inattentive, and even -sullenly remarked at his breakfast-table one morning -that he shouldn’t be sorry if the <i>Excellence</i> were -to blow up, and leave Mrs. Crayme to find her happiness -in widowhood. But no such luck befell the -lady: the whistle-signals of the <i>Excellence</i> were -again heard in the river, and the nature of Fred’s -business with the captain made it unadvisable for -Fred to make an excuse for leaving the boat unvisited.</p> - -<p>It <em>did</em> seem to Fred Macdonald as if everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -conspired to make his task as hard as it could -possibly be. Crayme was already under the influence -of more liquor than was necessary to his well-being, -and the boat carried as passengers a couple of men, -who, though professional gamblers, Crayme found -very jolly company when they were not engaged in -their business calling. Besides, Captain Crayme was -running against time with an opposition boat which -had just been put upon the river, and he appreciated -the necessity of having the boat’s bar well -stocked and freely opened to whoever along the -river was influential in making or marring the reputation -of steamboats. Fred finally got the captain -into his own room, however, and made a freight -contract so absent-mindedly that the sagacious -captain gained an immense advantage over him; -then he acted so awkwardly, and looked so pale, -that the captain suggested chills, and prescribed -brandy. Fred smiled feebly, and replied,</p> - -<p>“No, thank you, Sam; brandy’s at the bottom -of the trouble. I”—here Fred made a tremendous -attempt to rally himself—“I want <em>you</em> to swear off, -Sam.”</p> - -<p>The astonishment of Captain Crayme was marked -enough to be alarming at first; then the ludicrous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -feature of Fred’s request struck him so forcibly -that he burst into a laugh before whose greatness -Fred trembled and shrank.</p> - -<p>“Well, by thunder!” exclaimed the captain, -when he recovered his breath; “if that isn’t the -best thing I ever heard yet! The idea of a steamboat -captain swearing off his whiskey! Say, Fred, -don’t you want me to join the church? I forgot -that you’d married a preacher’s daughter, or I -wouldn’t have been so puzzled over your white -face to-day. Sam Crayme brought down to cold -water! Wouldn’t the boys along the river get -up a sweet lot of names for me—the ‘Cold-water -Captain,’ ‘Psalm-singing Sammy’! and then, when -an editor or any other visitor came aboard, <em>wouldn’t</em> -I look the thing, hauling out glasses and a pitcher -of water! Say, Fred, does your wife let you drink -tea and coffee?”</p> - -<p>“Sam!” exclaimed Fred, springing to his feet, -“if you don’t stop slanting at my wife, I’ll knock -you down.”</p> - -<p>“Good!” said the captain, without exhibiting -any signs of trepidation. “<em>Now</em> you talk like yourself -again. I beg your pardon, old fellow; you -know I was only joking, but it <em>is</em> too funny. You’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -have to take a trip or two with me again, though, -and be reformed.”</p> - -<p>“Not any,” said Fred, resuming his chair; “take -your wife along, and reform yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, now, young man,” said the captain, -“<em>you’re</em> cracking on too much steam. Honestly, -Fred, I’ve kept a sharp eye on you for two or three -months, and I am right glad you can let whiskey -alone. I’ve seen times when I wished I were in -your boots; but steamboats can’t be run without -liquor, however it may be with woolen mills.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all nonsense,” said Fred. “You get -trade because you run your boat on time, charge -fair prices, and deliver your freight in good order. -Who gives you business because you drink and -treat?”</p> - -<p>The captain, being unable to recall any shipper -of the class alluded to by Fred, changed his course.</p> - -<p>“’Tisn’t so much that,” said he; “it’s a question -of reputation. How would I feel to go ashore at -Pittsburg or Louisville or Cincinnati, and refuse -to drink with anybody? Why, ’twould ruin me. -It’s different with you who don’t have to meet anybody -but religious old farmers. Besides, you’ve just -been married.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And you’ve been married for five years,” said -Fred, with a sudden sense of help at hand. “How -do you suppose <em>your</em> wife feels?”</p> - -<p>Captain Crayme’s jollity subsided a little, but with -only a little hesitation he replied,</p> - -<p>“Oh! she’s used to it; she doesn’t mind it.”</p> - -<p>“You’re the only person in town that thinks so, -Sam,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>Captain Crayme got up and paced his little state-room -two or three times, with a face full of uncertainty. -At last he replied,</p> - -<p>“Well, between old friends, Fred, I don’t think -so very strongly myself. Hang it! I wish I’d -been brought up a preacher, or something of the -kind, so I wouldn’t have had business ruining my -chances of being the right sort of a family man. -Emily <em>don’t</em> like my drinking, and I’ve promised -to look up some other business; but ’tisn’t easy to -get out of steamboating when you’ve got a good -boat and a first-rate trade. Once she felt so awfully -about it that I <em>did</em> swear off—don’t tell anybody, -for God’s sake! but I did. I had to look out for my -character along the river, though; so I swore off on -the sly, and played sick. I’d give my orders to the -mates and clerks from my bed in here, and then I’d<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -lock myself in, and read novels and the Bible to -keep from thinking. ’Twas awful dry work all -around; but ‘whole hog or none’ is <em>my</em> style, you -know. There was fun in it, though, to think of -doing something that no other captain on the river -ever did. But, thunder! by the time night came, I -was so tired of loafing that I wrapped a blanket -around my head and shoulders, like a Hoosier, -sneaked out the outer door here, and walked the -guards, between towns; but I was so frightened for -fear some one would know me that the walk did me -more harm than good. And blue! why a whole -cargo of indigo would have looked like a snow-storm -alongside of my feelings the second day; ’pon my -word, Fred, I caught myself crying in the afternoon, -just before dark, and I couldn’t find out what for -either. I tell <em>you</em>, I was scared, and things got -worse as time spun along; the dreams I had that -night made me howl, and I felt worse yet when -daylight came along again. Toward the next night -I was just afraid to go to sleep; so I made up my -mind to get well, go on duty, and dodge everybody -that it seemed I ought to drink with. Why, the -Lord bless your soul! the first time we shoved off -from a town, I walked up to the bar, just as I always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -did after leaving towns; the barkeeper set out my -particular bottle naturally enough, knowing nothing -about my little game; I poured my couple of fingers, -and dropped it down as innocent as a lamb before -I knew what I was doing. By George! my boy, -’twas like opening lock-gates; I was just heavenly -gay before morning. There was one good thing -about it, though—I never told Emily I was going -to swear off; I was going to surprise her, so I had -the disappointment all to myself. Maybe she isn’t -as happy as your wife; but, whatever else I’ve done, -or not done, I’ve never lied to her.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a pity you hadn’t promised <em>her</em> then, before -you tried your experiment,” said Fred. The captain -shook his head gravely and replied,</p> - -<p>“I guess not; why, I’d have either killed somebody -or killed myself if I’d gone on a day or two -longer. I s’pose I’d have got along better if I’d had -anybody to keep me company, or reason with me -like a schoolmaster; but I hadn’t; I didn’t know -anybody that I dared trust with a secret like that.”</p> - -<p>“<em>I</em> hadn’t reformed then, eh?” queried Fred.</p> - -<p>“You? why you’re one of the very fellows I -dodged! Just as I got aboard the boat—I came -down late, on purpose—I saw you out aft. I tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -you, I was under my blankets, with a towel -wrapped around my jaw, in about one minute, and -was just <em>a-praying</em> that you hadn’t seen me come -aboard.”</p> - -<p>Fred laughed, but his laughter soon made place -for a look of tender solicitude. The unexpected -turn that had been reached in the conversation he -had so dreaded, and the sympathy which had been -awakened in him by Crayme’s confidence and openness, -temporarily made of Fred Macdonald a man -with whom Fred himself had never before been -acquainted. A sudden idea struck him.</p> - -<p>“Sam,” said he, “try it over again, and <em>I’ll</em> stay -by you. I’ll nurse you, crack jokes, fight off the -blues for you, keep your friends away. I’ll even -break your neck for you, if you like, seeing it’s you -if it’ll keep you straight.”</p> - -<p>“Will you, though?” said the captain, with a -look of admiration undisguised, except by wonder. -“You’re the first friend I ever had, then. By -thunder! how marrying Ettie Wedgewell <em>did</em> improve -you, Fred! But,” and the captain’s face -lengthened again, “there’s a fellow’s reputation to -be considered, and where’ll mine be after it gets -around that I’ve sworn off?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Reputation be hanged!” exclaimed Fred. -“<em>Lose</em> it, for your wife’s sake. Besides, you’ll <em>make</em> -reputation instead of lose it: you’ll be as famous -as the Red River Raft, or the Mammoth Cave—the -only thing of the kind west of the Alleghanies. As -for the boys, tell them I’ve bet you a hundred that -you can’t stay off your liquor for a year, and that -you’re not the man to take a dare.”</p> - -<p>“<em>That</em> sounds like business,” exclaimed the captain, -springing to his feet.</p> - -<p>“Let me draw up a pledge,” said Fred eagerly, -drawing pen and ink toward him.</p> - -<p>“No, you don’t, my boy,” said the captain gently, -and pushing Fred out of the room and upon the -guards. “Emily shall do that. Below there!—Perkins, -I’ve got to go up town for an hour; see -if you can’t pick up freight to pay laying-up expenses -somehow. Fred, go home and get your -traps; ‘now’s the accepted time,’ as your father-in-law -has dinged at me, many a Sunday, from the -pulpit.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">SAILING UP STREAM.</span></h2> - -<p>As Sam Crayme strode toward the body of the -town, his business instincts took strong hold of -his sentiments, in the manner natural alike to saints -and sinners, and he laid a plan of operations against -whiskey which was characterized by the apparent -recklessness but actual prudence which makes for -glory in steamboat captains, as it does in army -commanders. As was his custom in business, he -first drove at full speed upon the greatest obstacles; -so it came to pass that he burst into his own house, -threw his arm around his wife with more than ordinary -tenderness, and then looking into her eyes -with the daring born of utter desperation, said,</p> - -<p>“Emily, I came back to sign the strongest temperance -pledge that you can possibly draw up; -Fred Macdonald wanted to write out one, but I -told him that nobody but you should do it; you’ve -earned the right to, poor girl.” No such duty and -surprise having ever before come hand in hand to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -Mrs. Crayme, she acted as every true woman will -imagine that she herself would have done under -similar circumstances, and this action made it not -so easy as it might otherwise have been to see just -where the pen and ink were, or to prevent the precious -document, when completed, from being disfigured -by peculiar blots which were neither finger-marks -nor ink-spots, yet which in shape and size -suggested both of these indications of unneatness. -Mrs. Crayme was not an adept at literary composition, -and, being conscious of her own deficiencies, -she begged that a verbal pledge might be substituted; -but her husband was firm.</p> - -<p>“A contract don’t steer worth a cent unless it’s -in writing, Emily,” said he, looking over his wife’s -shoulder as she wrote. “Gracious, girl, you’re -making it too thin; <em>any</em> greenhorn could sail right -through that and all around it. Here, let <em>me</em> -have it.” And Crayme wrote, dictating aloud to -himself as he did so, “And the—party—of the first -part—hereby agrees to—do everything—else that -the—spirit of this—agreement—seems to the party—of -the second—part to—indicate or—imply.” -This he read over to his wife, saying,</p> - -<p>“That’s the way we fix contracts that aren’t ship-shape,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -Emily; a steamboat couldn’t be run in any -other way.” Then Crayme wrote at the foot of -the paper, “Sam. Crayme, Capt. Str. <i>Excellence</i>,” surveyed -the document with evident pride, and handed -it to his wife, saying,</p> - -<p>“Now, you see, you’ve got me so I can’t ever -get out of it by trying to make out that ’twas some -other Sam Crayme that you reformed.”</p> - -<p>“O husband!” said Mrs. Crayme, throwing -her arms about the captain’s neck, “<em>don’t</em> talk in -that dreadful business way! I’m too happy to -bear it. I want to go with you on this trip.”</p> - -<p>The captain shrank away from his wife’s arms, -and a cold perspiration started all over him as he -exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t, little girl! Wait till next trip. -There’s an unpleasant set of passengers aboard; -the barometer points to rainy weather, so you’d -have to stay in the cabin all the time; our cook is -sick, and his cubs serve up the most infernal messes; -we’re light of freight, and have got to stop at every -warehouse on the river, and the old boat’ll be either -shrieking, or bumping, or blowing off steam the -whole continual time.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Crayme’s happiness had been frightening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -some of her years away, and her smile carried Sam -himself back to his pre-marital period as she said,</p> - -<p>“Never mind the rest; I see you don’t want me -to go,” and then she became Mrs. Crayme again as -she said, pressing her face closely to her husband’s -breast, “but I hope you won’t get <em>any</em> freight, <em>anywhere</em>, -so you can get home all the sooner.”</p> - -<p>Then the captain called on Dr. White, and announced -such a collection of symptoms that the -doctor grew alarmed, insisted on absolute quiet, -conveyed Crayme in his own carriage to the boat, -saw him into his berth, and gave to Fred Macdonald -a multitude of directions and cautions, the sober -recording of which upon paper was of great service -in saving Fred from suffering over the Quixotic -aspect which the whole project had begun, in his -mind, to take on. He felt ashamed even to look -squarely into Crayme’s eye, and his mind was -greatly relieved when the captain turned his face to -the wall and exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“Fred, for goodness’ sake get out of here; I feel -enough like a baby now, without having a nurse -alongside. I’ll do well enough for a few hours; -just look in once in a while.”</p> - -<p>During the first day of the trip, Crayme made no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -trouble for himself or Fred: under the friendly -shelter of night, the two men had a two-hour chat -which was alternately humorous, business-like, and -retrospective, and then Crayme fell asleep. The -next day was reasonably pleasant out of doors, so -the captain wrapped himself in a blanket and sat in -an extension-chair on the guards, where with solemn -face he received some condolences which went far to -keep him in good humor after the sympathizers had -departed. On the second night the captain was -restless, and the two men played cards. On the -third day the captain’s physique reached the bottom -of its stock of patience, and protested indignantly -at the withdrawal of its customary stimulus; -and it acted with more consistency, though -no less ugliness, than the human mind does when -under excitement and destitute of control. The -captain grew terribly despondent, and Fred found -ample use for all the good stories he knew. Some -of these amused the captain greatly, but after one -of them he sighed,</p> - -<p>“Poor old Billy Hockess told me that the only -time I ever heard it before, and <em>didn’t</em> we have a -glorious time that night! He’d just put all his -money into the <i>Yenesei</i>—that blew up and took him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -with it only a year afterward—and he gave us a new -kind of punch he’d got the hang of when he went -East for the boat’s carpets. ’Twas made of two -bottles of brandy, one whiskey, two rum, one gin, -two sherry, and four claret, with guava jelly, and -lemon peel that had been soaking in curaçoa and -honey for a month. It looks kind of weak when -you think about it, but there were only six of us in -the party, and it went to the spot by the time we -got through. Golly, but didn’t we make Rome howl -that night!”</p> - -<p>Fred shuddered, and experimented upon his friend -with song; he was rewarded by hearing the captain -hum an occasional accompaniment; but, as Fred -got fairly into a merry Irish song about one Terry -O’Rann, and uttered the lines in which the poet -states that the hero</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“—took whiskey punch</div> -<div class="verse">Ivery night for his lunch,”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">the captain put such a world of expression into -a long-drawn sigh that Fred began to feel depressed -himself; besides, songs were not numerous in Fred’s -repertoire, and those in which there was no allusion -to drinking could be counted on half his fingers. -Then he borrowed the barkeeper’s violin, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -played, one after another, the airs which had been -his favorites in the days of his courtship, until -Crayme exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“Say, Fred, we’re not playing church; give us -something that don’t bring all of a fellow’s dead -friends along with it.”</p> - -<p>Fred reddened, swung his bow viciously, and -dashed into “Natchez Under the Hill,” an old air -which would have delighted Offenbach, but which -will never appear in a collection of classical music.</p> - -<p>“Ah! that’s something like music,” exclaimed -Captain Crayme, as Fred paused suddenly to repair -a broken string. “I never hear that but I think of -Wesley Treepoke, that used to run the <i>Quitman</i>; -went afterward to the <i>Rising Planet</i>, when the -<i>Quitman’s</i> owners put her on a new line as an -opposition boat. Wess and I used to work things -so as to make Louisville at the same time—he going -up, I going down, and then turn about—and we -always had a glorious night of it, with one or two -other lively boys that we’d pick up. And Wess had -a fireman that could fiddle off old ‘Natchez’ in a -way that would just make a corpse dance till its -teeth rattled, and that fireman would always be -called in just as we’d got to the place where you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -can’t tell what sort of whiskey ’tis you’re drinking, -and I tell you, ’twas so heavenly that a fellow could -forgive the last boat that beat him on the river, -or stole a landing from him. And <em>such</em> whiskey -as Wess kept! used to go cruising around the back -country, sampling little lots run out of private -stills. He’d always find nectar, you’d better believe. -Poor old boy! the tremens took him off at -last. He hove his pilot overboard just before he -died, and put a bullet into Pete Langston, his second -clerk—they were both trying to hold him, you -see—but they never laid it up against him. I wish -I knew what became of the whiskey he had on hand -when he walked off—no, I don’t, either; what am I -thinking about? But I do, though—hanged if I -don’t!”</p> - -<p>Fred grew pale: he had heard of drunkards growing -delirious upon ceasing to drink; he had heard of -men who, in periods of aberration, were impelled -by the motive of the last act or recollection which -strongly impressed them; what if the captain -should suddenly become delirious, and try to throw -<em>him</em> overboard or shoot him? Fred determined to -get the captain at once upon the guards—no, into -the cabin, where there would be no sight of water<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -to suggest anything dreadful—and search his room -for pistols. But the captain objected to being moved -into the cabin.</p> - -<p>“The boys,” said the captain, alluding to the -gamblers, “are mighty sharp in the eye, and like -as not they’d see through my little game, and then -where’d my reputation be? Speaking of the boys -reminds me of Harry Genang, that cleaned out that -rich Kentucky planter at bluff one night, and then -swore off gambling for life and gave a good-by supper -aboard the boat. ’Twas just at the time when -Prince Imperial Champagne came out, and the -whole supper was made of that splendid stuff. I -guess I must have put away four bottles, and if I’d -known how much he’d ordered, I could have carried -away a couple more. I’ve always been sorry I -didn’t.”</p> - -<p>Fred wondered if there was any subject of conversation -which would not suggest liquor to the -captain; he even brought himself to ask if Crayme -had seen the new Methodist Church at Barton since -it had been finished.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” said the captain; “I started to walk -Moshier home one night, after we’d punished a -couple of bottles of old Crow whiskey at our house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -and he caved in all of a sudden, and I laid him out -on the steps of that very church till I could get a -carriage. Those were my last two bottles of Crow, -too; it’s too bad the way the good things of this -life paddle off.”</p> - -<p>The captain raised himself in his berth, sat on the -edge thereof, stood up, stared out the window, and -began to pace his room with his head down and his -hands behind his back. Little by little he raised -his head, dropped his hands, flung himself into a -chair, beat the devil’s tattoo on the table, sprang -up excitedly, and exclaimed,</p> - -<p>“I’m going back on all the good times I ever -had.”</p> - -<p>“You’re only getting ready to try a new kind, -Sam,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m going back on my friends.”</p> - -<p>“Not on all of them; the dead ones would pat -you on the back, if they got a chance.”</p> - -<p>“A world without whiskey looks infernally dismal -to a fellow that isn’t half done living.”</p> - -<p>“It looks first-rate to a fellow that hasn’t got -any back-down in him.”</p> - -<p>“Curse you! I wish I’d made <em>you</em> back down -when you first talked temperance to me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Go ahead! Then curse your wife—don’t be -afraid; you’ve been doing it ever since you married -her.”</p> - -<p>Crayme flew at Macdonald’s throat; the younger -man grappled the captain and threw him into his -bunk. The captain struggled and glared like a -tiger; Fred gasped, between the special efforts dictated -by self-preservation,</p> - -<p>“Sam, I—promised to—to see you—through—and -I’m—going to—do it, if—if I have to—break -your neck.”</p> - -<p>The captain made one tremendous effort; Fred -braced one foot against the table, put a knee on the -captain’s breast, held both the captain’s wrists -tightly, looked full into the captain’s eyes, and -breathed a small prayer—for his own safety. For -a moment or two, perhaps longer, the captain -strained violently, and then relaxed all effort and -cried,</p> - -<p>“Fred, you’ve whipped me!”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! whip yourself,” exclaimed Fred, -“if you’re going to stop drinking.”</p> - -<p>The captain turned his face to the wall and said -nothing; but he seemed to be so persistently swallowing -something that Fred suspected a secreted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -bottle, and moved an investigation so suddenly -that the captain had not time in which to wipe his -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Hang it, Fred,” said he, rather brokenly; “how -<em>can</em> what’s babyish in men whip a full-grown steamboat -captain?”</p> - -<p>“The same way that it whipped a full-grown -woolen-mill manager once, I suppose, old boy,” said -Macdonald.</p> - -<p>“Is that so?” exclaimed the captain, astonishment -getting so sudden an advantage over shame -that he turned over and looked his companion in -the face. “Why—how are you, Fred? I feel as if -I was just being introduced. Didn’t anybody else -help?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Fred, “a woman; but—you’ve got a -wife, too.”</p> - -<p>Crayme fell back on his pillow and sighed. “If -I could only <em>think</em> about her, Fred! But I can’t; -whiskey’s the only thing that comes into my -mind.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t think about her!” exclaimed Fred; “why, -are you acquainted with her yet, I wonder? <em>I’ll</em> -never forget the evening you were married.”</p> - -<p>“That <em>was</em> jolly, wasn’t it?” said Crayme. “I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -bet such sherry was never opened west of the Alleghanies, -before or——”</p> - -<p>“<em>Hang</em> your sherry!” roared Fred; “it’s your -wife that I remember. <em>You</em> couldn’t see her, of -course, for you were standing alongside of her; but -the rest of us—well, I wished myself in your place, -that’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Did you, though?” said Crayme, with a smile -which seemed rather proud; “well, I guess old -Major Pike did too, for he drank to her about -twenty times that evening. Let’s see; she wore a -white moire antique, I think they called it, and it -cost twenty-one dollars a dozen, and there was at -least one broken bottle in every——”</p> - -<p>“And I made up my mind she was throwing herself -away, in marrying a fellow that would be sure to -care more for whiskey than he did for her,” interrupted -Fred.</p> - -<p>“Ease off, Fred, ease off now; there wasn’t any -whiskey there; I tried to get some of the old Twin -Tulip brand for punch, but——”</p> - -<p>“But the devil happened to be asleep, and you -got a chance to behave yourself,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>Crayme looked appealingly. “Fred,” said he, -“tell me about her yourself; I’ll take it as a favor.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why, she looked like a lot of lilies and roses,” -said Fred, “except that you couldn’t tell where one -left off and the other began. As she came into -the room <em>I</em> felt like getting down on my knees. -Old Bayle was telling me a vile story just then, but -the minute <em>she</em> came in he stopped as if he was -shot.”</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t drink a drop that evening,” said -Crayme, “and I’ve puzzled my wits over that for -five years——”</p> - -<p>“She looked <em>so</em> proud of <em>you</em>,” interrupted Fred -with some impatience.</p> - -<p>“Did she?” asked Crayme. “Well, I guess I -<em>was</em> a good-looking fellow in those days: I know -Pike came up to me once, with a glass in his hand, -and said that he ought to drink to <em>me</em>, for I was the -finest-looking groom he’d ever seen. He was so -tight, though, that he couldn’t hold his glass steady; -and though you know I never had a drop of stingy -blood in me, it <em>did</em> go to my heart to see him spill -that gorgeous sherry.”</p> - -<p>“She looked very proud of <em>you</em>,” Fred repeated; -“but I can’t see why, for I’ve never seen her do it -since.”</p> - -<p>“You <em>will</em>, though, hang you!” exclaimed the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -captain. “Get out of here! I can think about her -<em>now</em>, and I don’t want anybody else around. No -rudeness meant, you know, Fred.”</p> - -<p>Fred Macdonald retired quietly, taking with him -the keys of both doors, and feeling more exhausted -than he had been on any Saturday night since the -building of the mill.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A FIRST INWARD PEEP.</span></h2> - -<p>Among the Barton people who had actually -made any effort for the sake of temperance, -no one found greater comfort in contemplative -retrospects of his own work than Deacon Jones. -True, his contributions to the various funds which -Crupp, Tomple, Wedgewell, and Brown devised had -not been as great as had been expected of him; nor -had such moneys as he finally gave been obtained -from him without an amount of effort which Crupp -declared sufficient to effect the extraction, from the -soil, of the stump of a centenarian oak; but when -the money had left his pocket, and was absolutely -beyond recall, the deacon made the most he could -out of it by the only method which remained. His -contributions gave him an excuse for talk and exhortation, -and, next to money-making, there was -no operation which the deacon enjoyed as much as -that of exhorting others to good deeds. Until -there broke out in Barton the temperance excitement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -alluded to in our first chapter, Deacon Jones’s -hortatory efforts had been principally of a religious -nature; he believed in religion, and he occasionally -extracted enjoyment from it; besides, his thrifty -soul had always been profoundly moved by the business-like -nature of the Scripture passage, “Whoso -shall convert a sinner from the error of his ways, -shall save a soul from death and cover a multitude -of sins.” Many had been the unregenerate in Barton -with whom the deacon had labored, generally -with considerable tact, as to occasion and language, -and sometimes with success. His orthodoxy was -acceptable to every pastor in the village, for he was -an extreme believer in every religious tenet which -either pastor declared necessary to salvation; and -his frequent inability to reconcile such of these -ideas as conflicted with each other only led the -ministers to accord new admiration to a faith which -was appalled by nothing. Up to the time when -he took active part in the temperance movement, -one of his favorite injunctions had been, “Lay up -your treasure in heaven;” when, however, he found -himself suddenly and frequently called upon for -contributions, he dropped this injunction in favor -of that one which reads, “Give to him that asketh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -of thee.” It had been a matter of considerable -sorrow to the deacon that his first knowledge -of this passage had been derived from St. Luke -instead of St. Matthew, and that he had many times -been compelled to say “Give to <em>every man</em>,” etc., -which quotation had reacted upon him in a manner -which caused him to quote to himself, “Many are -the afflictions of the righteous,” and to suffer some -terrible flounderings in the twin pits of logic and -casuistry; but when he corrected himself according -to Matthew, his heart was gladdened, and his restraint -removed. The old man talked a great deal -out of honest delight in righteousness and humanity; -but he was never moved to reticence by the -thought that if his scattered seed produced a fair -share of grain, the demands upon his own precious -store would be lessened.</p> - -<p>Besides, the deacon could, with propriety, urge a -more conspicuous form of well-doing than mere -contributions of currency ever attained to. Had -not he himself taken upon his shoulders Tom -Adams, driver of the brick-yard team? If any one -doubted it, or had never been made acquainted -with the fact, the deacon gave him no excuse for -farther ignorance. One after another of the well-to-do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -merchants, professional men, and farmers, were -urged by the deacon to take entire charge of some -unfortunate soul, after the manner of the deacon -himself with Tom, and to all of these he insisted -that what he had done for Tom he had been richly -paid for by the approving smiles of his own conscience. -Shrewd judges of human nature were convinced -that if such payment was made to the deacon, -he was doubly paid, for Tom Adams had been a -treasure of a workman ever since he had stopped -drinking; but, with the marvelous blindness of the -man who objects to seeing, the deacon clearly comprehended -both aspects of the situation, without -ever once allowing them to interfere with each other.</p> - -<p>He was pursuing his favorite line of argument in -his store one afternoon, before Parson Brown, Lawyer -Bottom, the postmaster, Dr. White, and two or -three others who were not active customers at that -immediate moment, and, as all his hearers but the -parson were in good circumstances, the deacon felt -called upon to make an unusual effort.</p> - -<p>“Tell you what it is, gentlemen,” said he, “there’s -nothin’ like puttin’ your hand in your pocket to -show you what doin’ good is. Here I’ve been -thinkin’ all my life that I was doin’ good by subscribin’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -to Bible Societies, Missionary Societies, an’ -all such things, and yet there was <em>the</em> chance right -in my own hands, and I was too blind to see it. I -done it at last on a risk, as if God didn’t know best -when he inspires men to righteous deeds; an’ I was -fearful, time an’ again, that it mightn’t turn out -well; but I’ve been more abundantly blessed at it -than I ever expected to be. It makes a man feel -kind of like Christ must have felt, to be able to help -a fellow-creature out of his troubles and sins. Look -at Tom Adams now! he’s always sober, his children -go to Sunday-school, and he’s never around looking -as if you’d rather not meet him, and <em>I</em>, thank the -Lord! feel even better over it than <em>he</em> does.”</p> - -<p>The postmaster slyly tipped a grave wink at -Lawyer Bottom, and the lawyer sagely laid a wise -forefinger athwart his own nose. Dr. White -dropped a short bark, intended for a cough, which -somehow provoked a smile all around. Suddenly a -small boy rushed into the store, exclaiming,</p> - -<p>“O Deacon Jones! Tom Adams fell out of -the wagon and broke his leg!”</p> - -<p>The deacon’s ecstatic expression instantly vanished -into thin air, and he asked, with a face full of -misery,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And the horses ran away?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said the boy. “<em>They’re</em> all right.”</p> - -<p>Dr. White sprang up, seized his cane, and asked, -“Where is he?”</p> - -<p>“That’s so,” asked the deacon, still more sorrowful -of countenance, as he continued, “just as corn’s -beginnin’ to come in, too, an’ needin’ to be measured -an’ sacked; that’s just the way things go in this -wicked world!”</p> - -<p>Lawyer Bottom, who did not believe much in -God, and believed still less in the deacon, asked,</p> - -<p>“Well, deacon, then you wouldn’t advise me to -take somebody on my hands for the sake of the -spiritual payment I’ll be likely to get out of the -operation?”</p> - -<p>The deacon rallied himself by a tremendous effort, -but his countenance did not indicate that the answer -he was about to make would be of that softness -that turns away wrath; he was saved from -disgracing himself, however, by still another boy, -who came flying through the main street on horseback, -shouting,</p> - -<p>“Fire! fire! The woolen mill! Fire!”</p> - -<p>The deacon’s store emptied in an instant of every -one but Parson Brown, for all the other listeners<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -were men of some means, and stockholders in the -mill.</p> - -<p>“Here!” shouted the deacon, cutting the cords -of a “nest” of pails; “take buckets along with you; -like enough it’ll need everybody’s help, and the -mill’s only half insured, too! Parson, would you -mind sittin’ here until my boy gets back? I’m -losin’ enough to-day without having to shut up -store, too.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, I’ll stay,” said the old preacher, -limping to the front of the store, and laying his -hand on the shoulder of the troubled storekeeper; -“but, Brother Jones, if the light of that burning -mill should show you anything inside of yourself, -<em>don’t</em> cover your eyes. It’s for righteousness’ sake I -ask it.”</p> - -<p>“All right, Brother Brown,” whispered the deacon -hoarsely, as he started off with two water-pails -in each hand, and murmuring, “What did the old -fellow mean by that, I wonder?” Across the street -was Squire Tomple, just jumping into his buggy, -and the deacon made haste to accept an invitation -to a seat beside his fellow-sufferer. The two stockholders -did not lack company; Crupp, Judge Macdonald, -and most of the other stockholders, either<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -preceded or followed them, and on the road were -hundreds of men and boys, full of an enterprising -desire to see the largest fire that had ever occurred -in Barton, and already experiencing such of the -pleasures of anticipation as a heavy column of -smoke could create. Coming in sight of the mill -itself, the deacon groaned, and the Squire assisted -him, for flames were bursting from every window, -and the men who had been passing pails of water -up ladders and through the stairways had been -driven from their work, and had formed a circle -which was slowly but steadily widening. Considerable -of the wool had been removed and stacked -outside the building, and it now became necessary -to move this still farther away, but so many hands -were ready to seize it that Deacon Jones could not -relieve his feelings even by attempting to save -property; so he stood still and looked at the fire, as -he estimated his losses. Such a day he had not -known since he had lost considerable uninsured -stock by the explosion of a river steamer. Sidling -uneasily about among the crowd, he found several -stockholders anxiously comparing pencil notes, and -the figures were anything but consolatory supposing -all the stock to be saved, there was yet the mill<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -and machinery—value, about ten thousand dollars—which -would be totally lost; insurance, five thousand -dollars; dead loss, ditto; which left the Squire -out of pocket to the extent of a quarter of his -subscription. The small profit which had already -accrued would not more than cover the loss of the -interest on the remaining capital until the mill -could be rebuilt, if it seemed advisable to rebuild it.</p> - -<p>“Who’s to blame for all this?” asked the deacon -angrily.</p> - -<p>“We haven’t learned yet,” said the judge, “and -I’m afraid it won’t help matters any to know all -about it. There goes the last of it!”</p> - -<p>As the judge spoke, the blazing frame fell, the -small boys shouted “Oh——h!” in chorus, and the -deacon’s heart sank like lead as he turned away. -He had lost, say, a hundred and fifty dollars by the -fire, and Tom Adams’s misfortune would entail additional -loss upon him, for a new man would have to -be watched and taught and helped, whereas Tom -worked as easily as the wheel of a machine. It was -but right that the deacon should regret his losses; -for though he was a man of considerable property, -a dollar looked very large to him, for the reason that -his first dollars had each one represented an enormous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -amount of labor. But when Lawyer Bottom, -who had invested in mill stock only with the hope -of profit, approached the deacon, and asked, with -more curiosity than malice, “How about temperance -now, deacon?” the facial contortions which -the deacon offered in reply sent the lawyer away in -an ecstasy of unholy glee, which almost eradicated -his own sense of loss, and which dispelled for a time -such little belief as he had in the transforming -power of religion. But what is one man’s poison is -another’s food. The lawyer’s question was not entirely -disposed of by the deacon’s ungracious reply; -it repeated itself time and again to the old man, -and at the most inopportune times and places; -it came to him behind the counter, and made him -give wrong weights and measures, with the balance -not always in his favor; it came to him when -he was making entries in his day-book, and caused -him to forget certain items; at his own dinner-table -it suddenly made itself heard, and interfered with his -relish of the good viands which he so much enjoyed; -it dropped in upon him in his dreams, when he -could not be on his guard against his better self, -and extracted from his conscience a provoking line -of answers which in his waking hours he could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -gainsay. For three days this depressing experience -continued, and then there occurred, at the regular -weekly prayer-meeting of Parson Wedgewell’s -church, an episode which for months caused mournful -reflections in the minds of such of Parson -Wedgewell’s parishioners as were not in the habit -of attending prayer-meeting. It was noticed by -the faithful that Deacon Jones looked unusually -solemn and sensitive as he entered the room, and -that he did not, as had been hitherto his habit, -start the second hymn. This omission having been -made good by some enterprising member, however, -the deacon got upon his feet and said:</p> - -<p>“Brethren, during the past few days my eyes -have been opened, and what I have seen hasn’t -been pleasant to look upon. It is indeed true, my -dear friends, that Satan sometimes appears as an -angel of light. For months I’ve been feeling, and -real happily, too, what a glorious thing it was to do -good; I had been instrumental in saving one man -from destruction by keeping him busy, and I’d helped -save another”—here the deacon paused suddenly -and looked around to make sure that Judge Macdonald -was not in the room—“I’d helped save -another by taking an interest in the mill. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -within a few days I’ve learned that my own righteousness -was as filthy rags; ’twas even worse than -that, brethren, for the worst rags are worth so much -a pound, but I can’t find that my righteousness is -worth anything at all. I’ve fought it out with myself, -brethren, an’ I believe I’ve conquered; but it -makes my heart sick to see what my enemy looks -like, an’ to think I’ve got to carry him around with -me through the rest of my days. Doin’ good’s all -right, even if it <em>does</em> pay in dollars and cents, brethren; -but doin’ good for the sake of what it’ll bring -is the quickest way of makin’ a hypocrite that I ever -found, an’ I’m beginnin’ to think that I’ve found -a good many ways in myself, my friends. I ask an -interest in the prayers of God’s people, an’ I assure -’em that there’s no danger of any of their prayers -bein’ wasted.”</p> - -<p>The deacon dropped into his seat, and the silence -that prevailed for a moment was simply inevitable -in a little company that had never before heard -such an extraordinary confession; as one of the -members afterward remarked, it sounded like a -murderer’s last dying speech. Then good Parson -Wedgewell sprang to his feet, and, with streaming -eyes and rapid utterances, offered a prayer such as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -had never been heard in that room before. The -songs and prayers which followed were not those -to which the meeting were accustomed, and when -at last the assemblage separated, there could not be -heard from the home-wending couples any critiques -of the language or garb of any one who had been -present.</p> - -<p>As for Deacon Jones, he continued his new fight -most valiantly by visiting Tom Adams that very -evening, and assuring him that, their supplementary -agreement to the contrary notwithstanding, he -would continue Tom’s pay during his confinement, -and would pay his doctor’s bill also.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.<br /> -<span class="smaller">A REFORMER DISAPPOINTED.</span></h2> - -<p>During the day or two which followed his -interview with Tappelmine, Father Baguss -was consumed with conflicting emotions. He could -not deny that his offer to help Tappelmine had -taken an unpleasant load off of his own heart; but it -was equally certain that the contemplation of the -possible results of the arrangement gave him a -sense of oppression, which differed from the first in -quality, but of which the quantity was far too great -to be endured with comfort. To find a way of getting -out of the whole matter was a suggestion -which came frequently to the heart of the old man, -and was not as rigidly excluded as it would have -been from that of the reader; but fortunately for the -honesty of Father Baguss, his ingenuity was of the -lowest order conceivable; so he did as thousands of -his betters have done when unable, by any abandonment -of self-respect, to avoid the inevitable: he submitted, -and groaned frequently to the Lord. Sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -these efforts before the Unseen increased the -old man’s lugubriousness; at other times, a song -came to his rescue, followed by a troop of its own -kind; but so uncertain were his moods that Mrs. -Baguss, who never before had occasion to suppose -that there was a single nerve in her husband’s body, -began to complain that she didn’t “believe in this -thing of lookin’ out for other folks, if it makes you -cranky with your own.”</p> - -<p>The old man’s trouble increased on the third day, -for Tappelmine dropped in and hinted vaguely that -it was not yet too late to plant winter wheat. The -old man went into Tappelmine’s field with his own -team, and plowed; he worked his horses longer -hours than he ever did on his own ground; he lent -an extra horse to work with Tappelmine’s own before -a harrow; he himself sowed the wheat, casting -now plentifully, as he thought of what Tappelmine -might owe him by harvest-time, and now scantily, -as he thought of what might be his own fate if the -crop should be troubled with rust, or blight, or rain, -or drought. And all the while, as he followed his -horses, the old man kept uttering short petitions -for Tappelmine and himself; and all the while his -soul was full of unspoken prayers for heavy rains or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -sudden cold, so that the work might be stopped by -the hand of Providence himself. But no such fortune -befell the good old man: such an open fall had -not been known since the settlement of Barton; -even the Indian summer lasted so long that the -poet of the Barton <em>Register</em> found opportunity to -publish, in three successive weekly numbers, “odes,” -which could be read in the weather which suggested -them. When a heavy rain at last put an -end to field work, there were twenty-seven acres -in wheat on the Tappelmine estate. Father Baguss -ached in soul and body, but the wheat-field work -was but the beginning of sorrow. The Tappelmine -larder was bareness itself; there was not a porker -in the Tappelmine pen; there was not even corn -enough in the Tappelmine crib to feed the family -horse, let alone to send to mill, and be ground into -the meal which the Tappelmines fortunately preferred -to fine flour. Father Baguss sold the necessities -of life in small quantities to his neighbor, -with the understanding that they were to be repaid -by the labor of Tappelmine, who was to get out material -for barrel-staves and wheelwright’s spokes on -the old man’s woodland; but, by the time the wheat -was planted, Tappelmine, who, under the eye of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -Baguss, did more work in a month than he had -done in the whole of the year which preceded, and -who during the month had been pretty effectually -kept from his accustomed stimulant, fell sick. Then -the cup of misery which Father Baguss had put to -his own lips was full; as the old man, in his homely -way, explained to his own pastor, it didn’t run over, -and that was just the trouble; he had to drink it all. -He sought for sympathy among his neighbors and -acquaintances, but without much success; the Barton -postmaster expressed the sentiment of the township, -when he said that “no one but a thick-headed -blunderer like Baguss would attempt to reform a -dead-and-gone soaker like Tappelmine.” Besides, -most of the inhabitants wanted to see how the case -was going to turn out, and all of them instinctively -understood that the best point of view is always at -a respectable distance from the object to be looked -at. The sorrowing philanthropist went to Crupp, -Tomple, and Deacon Jones; but these three reformers, -knowing that Baguss could afford the loss, -quietly agreed with each other that it would be indeed -consolatory to have a companion in experience; -so they made excuses, and quoted figures in -evidence, and Father Baguss went home with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -settled conviction that he would have to look to -Providence for his only assistance.</p> - -<p>But while Providence was thus reforming Father -Baguss, Tappelmine was growing steadily weaker, -and Baguss found his causes of discomfort increased -by a debate, which lasted long in his mind, whether -it might not be better, for the sake of the drunkard’s -family, to let Tappelmine die, and then lease the -farm himself at a price which would support the -widow. While one phase of the case was present -in his mind, he would suggest to the doctor that -medicine didn’t seem to do any good—which was -certainly true—and that he didn’t believe it would -pay to come so often; when, on the contrary, conscience -would argue for its own side, the old man -would have all three of the physicians visit Tappelmine -in rapid succession. The doctors disagreed, -as any one but Father Baguss would have known. -Perry suggested electrical treatment, which would -necessitate the purchase of a battery, no such piece -of mechanism having ever been seen in the town -except in a locked cabinet of the Barton High -School. Dr. White outlined a course of treatment -which seemed reasonable to Father Baguss, but -which, put into practice, did neither good nor harm;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -while Pykem arranged for certain inexpensive applications -of water, with results which were in the -main encouraging. But Tappelmine was unable to -leave his bed for three months, and when he was at -all fit to work, he could labor for but two or three -hours a day.</p> - -<p>And so Father Baguss found himself brought -down to the position of a man who was spending -money without knowing what he was to get for it. -Such a position he had never occupied before, and -no one could wonder that he felt uncomfortable in -it; but the duration of the period was such that the -victim succumbed to the steady pressure of truths -which, in their abstract form, would have been as -ineffective against him as against an acute logician -whose intellect had been trained by his -pocket.</p> - -<p>But Father Baguss was not the only instrument -of the salvation of Tappelmine. In existence, but -scarcely known of or recognized, there was a Mrs. -Tappelmine. With face, hair, eyes, and garments -of the same color, the color itself being neutral; -small, thin, faded, inconspicuous, poorly clad, bent -with labors which had yielded no return, as dead to -the world as saints strive to be, yet remaining in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -the world for the sake of those whom she had often -wished out of it, Mrs. Tappelmine devoted herself -to the wreck of what was once a hope over -which her eyes had been of a luster which high-born -maidens had envied, and a hope in which her heart -had throbbed with a joy which had seemed too -great for life to hold. About the bedside of her -husband she hovered day and night. When she -slept no one but herself knew, and she herself did -not care. When Tappelmine made his verbal -agreement with Father Baguss, she had listened -with a joy whose earnestness was as nothing compared -with her resolution. She had hurried away -from the broken window to a corner where her -dirty children were at quarrelsome play, and she -had bestowed upon each of them a passionate -caress which startled even the little wretches themselves -into wondering silence. From that moment -she watched her husband’s every movement, and -Tappelmine, like a true Pike—for the Pike, like the -Transcendentalist, existed ages before he found his -way into literature—Tappelmine subjected himself -into his wife’s dominion. He made numberless excuses -to go to some place where liquor could be -found; she, with the wisdom of the serpent, yet the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -gentleness of the dove, prevented him. As, through -the course of her husband’s labors, under the eye of -Baguss, he had grown more silent than ever, she had -increased her exertions for his comfort; when, finally, -the task was completed, and Tappelmine, with thinner -face and hollower eyes than ever, fell heavily -upon his rude bed and uttered—almost screamed—the -single word “Whiskey!” she was on her knees -beside him in an instant.</p> - -<p>“Jerry,” she exclaimed, “you’ve got the better -of whiskey these late days.”</p> - -<p>“Just a drop more—to keep me from dying,” -gasped Tappelmine.</p> - -<p>“Don’t, Jerry,” she pleaded. “Let me hold you -tight, so you <em>can’t</em> die.”</p> - -<p>“Just a drop, for God’s sake, Mariar!” said Tappelmine -imploringly.</p> - -<p>“O Jerry!” replied the wife, “don’t—for the -children’s sake; <em>they’re</em> more to you than God is. -I hope he’ll forgive me for sayin’ it.”</p> - -<p>“Only a single mouthful, Mariar,” said Tappelmine, -“to keep me from sinkin’.”</p> - -<p>“You’re not sinkin’, old man—Jerry, dear; you’re -gittin’ <em>up</em>. <em>Keep</em> up, Jerry.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be all right in a day or two, Mariar, if I only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -get a taste. You don’t want a sick man a-layin’ -around, not fit to do for his young ones?”</p> - -<p>“You don’t need to, Jerry. <em>I’ll</em> do for ’em, if -you’ll only—only make ’em proud of you.”</p> - -<p>“It’ll make me good for more to <em>you</em>, old -woman—one single mouthful will,” said Tappelmine.</p> - -<p>“You’ve been better to me these three weeks than -you ever was before, Jerry; keep on bein’ so, won’t -you? It puts me in mind of old times—times when -you used to laugh, an’ kiss me.”</p> - -<p>“I’d be that way again,” said Tappelmine, “if I -could only pick up stren’th.”</p> - -<p>“You’re that way now, Jerry, if you only stay -as you are.”</p> - -<p>“<em>You’ll</em> die, Mariar,” said the man, “if I don’t -get out of this bed some way—you an’ the young -uns.”</p> - -<p>“I’d be glad enough,” said the woman, “if you’d -only stay, Jerry.”</p> - -<p>“An’ the boys an’ girls?” queried Tappelmine.</p> - -<p>“Would be better off alongside of me in the -ground, rather than have their dad go backwards -again,” said Mrs. Tappelmine. “People turn up -their noses at ’em now, Jerry.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What are you drivin’ at, Mariar?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Jerry, when the children go ’long the road—God -knows I don’t let ’em do it oftener than I -can help—folks see ’em dirty, an’ wearin’ poor -clothes, an’ not lookin’ over an’ above fed up, an’ they -can’t help kind o’ twitchin’ up their faces at ’em -once there was a time when I couldn’t have helped -doin’ it to young ones lookin’ that way.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Curse</em> people!” exclaimed Tappelmine.</p> - -<p>“They do it to me, too,” continued the woman.</p> - -<p>Tappelmine sprang up, and exclaimed fiercely,</p> - -<p>“What for?”</p> - -<p>“’Cause—’cause you’ve made ’em, I reckon, Jerry,” -answered Mrs. Tappelmine with some difficulty, occasioned -by some choking sobs which nearly took -exclusive possession of her. “You know, Jerry, I -don’t say it to complain—complainin’ never seems to -bring one any good to a woman like me; but—if -you only knowed how folks look at me in—in stores, -an’ everywhere else, you—wouldn’t blame me for -not likin’ it. <em>I</em> didn’t ever do anything to bring it -about, unless ’twas in marryin’ <em>you</em>, and I <em>ain’t</em> sorry -I did <em>that</em>; but I wish I didn’t ever have to -see anybody again, if you’re goin’ to keep on -drinkin’.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> - -<p>The sick man fell back and was silent; his wife -threw herself beside him, crying,</p> - -<p>“Don’t get mad at me, Jerry; God knows it’s the -deadest truth.”</p> - -<p>After a moment or two Tappelmine laid a hand -on his wife’s cheek, where it had not been before for -twenty years; once its touch had brought blushes; -now, tears hurried down to meet it, and yet Mrs. -Tappelmine was happier than when she had been -a pretty Kentucky girl, twenty years before.</p> - -<p>“Mariar,” said Tappelmine at last, “I’ve dragged -you all down.”</p> - -<p>“No, you haven’t, Jerry,” asserted Mrs. Tappelmine, -with a lie which she could not avoid.</p> - -<p>“If dyin’ll help you up again, I’m willin’,” continued -Tappelmine.</p> - -<p>The apartments in the Tappelmine mansion -were so few that it was impossible for anything -unusual to transpire without attracting the attention -of all the inmates; so it followed that the children, -beholding the actions of their parents, had -gradually approached the bed with countenances -whose blankness was painfully eloquent to the sick -man. Tappelmine looked at them, and grew more -miserable of visage; he hid his face beside his wife,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -groaned “No more whiskey if I die for it!” and -jumped up and kissed each of his children, while -Mrs. Tappelmine sobbed aloud, and Father Baguss, -who, coming over a few moments before to talk -business, had heard the simple word “whiskey,” and -had since been jealously listening under the window, -sneaked away muttering to himself,</p> - -<p>“After all I’ve done for him, I can’t even say to -myself that <em>I</em> saved him.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER</span></h2> - -<p>The fire which destroyed the Mississippi Valley -Woolen Mills did such damage in the ranks of -the temperance reformers that for a few months -Crupp, Tomple, and several others had frequent -cause to feel lonesome, while poor Father Baguss -fell back upon the church for that comfort which, -just after his first effort with Tappelmine, and before -the fire, he had frequently found in the society of -his self-approving brother stockholders. The mill -was rebuilt, only a few of the owners of stock refusing -to be assessed for their proportion of the loss; the -mill made a very prosperous winter, and interested -persons were not averse to talking about it; but -after Deacon Jones’ speech was noised abroad, the -mill was no longer a semi-holy topic of conversation, -which was allowable even on the church steps on -Sundays. Some of the men whose eyes had been -opened toward themselves, on the occasion of the -fire, were honest enough to confess to themselves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -and to bring forth fruits meet for repentance; but -the majority took refuge either in open or secret -sophistry, with the comforting impression that they -blinded others as effectually as they did themselves. -The mass of the people, however—those who neither -subscribed to temperance funds, nor mill stock, nor -anything else, still looked on, and were plethoric of -encouragement and criticism. When appealed to for -help, their logic was simply bewildering, and almost -as depraved as the same defensive and offensive -weapon is in politics. Tomple was the man to do -such work, said some, for he was the rich man of the -village, and rich men are only God’s stewards; others -suggested Captain Crayme, who had money, and -who should be willing to spend considerable of it as a -thank-offering for his own providential deliverance -from the thraldom of drink. The irreligious thought -that all such work should be done by the church, if -churches were good for anything but to shout in; -while the religious felt that the irreligious, among -whom could be found nearly every drinker in the -village, should expend whatever money was needed -for the physical reformation of their kind. Where -none of these excuses seemed available, or wherever -two or three conservatives of differing views met<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -together, there was always Crupp to fall back upon; -each man could grasp his own pocket-book with -tender tenacity, and declare to a sympathetic audience -that the man who had coined his money out -of widows’ tears and orphans’ groans should by -rights take care of all the drunkards in the county, -even until he was so reduced in means as to be -dependent upon public charity for his own support.</p> - -<p>Thus matters stood when a year had elapsed -since the memorable temperance meeting, and Parson -Wedgewell suggested that an anniversary service -would be only an ordinary and decent testimonial -of respect to Providence for his special -mercies during the year. To the parson’s surprise, -Crupp who—though he had during the winter surprised -every one by joining Parson Wedgewell’s -church, in spite of a very severe course of questioning -by the Examining Committee—was still a -man of action and a contemner of mere words—Crupp -not only failed to oppose such a meeting, but -volunteered himself to write for Major Ben Bailey, -the gifted orator who had addressed the earlier -meeting, and to pay the orator’s expenses. Such -offers were rarely made, even by the Barton reformers, -so by unanimous consent Crupp wrote to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -great lecturer, it being admitted by Tomple, Wedgewell, -Baguss, and Jones, that Crupp’s idea of informing -the Major what had been done during the -year was a good one, and that it would enable the -orator to modify his address with special reference -to existing circumstances. But Squire Tomple and -the parson were considerably astonished to see -Crupp dash into the Squire’s store one day, exhibiting -an unusual degree of excitement, as he unfolded -a letter and remarked,</p> - -<p>“He won’t come! Just listen to what he says!” -And while the two other reformers stood as if they -saw the sky falling and did not despair of catching -it in their eyes and mouths, Crupp read:</p> - -<p>“In replying to Mr. Crupp’s favor of the —th, -Major Bailey can only say, that while he should be -glad to again meet the people among whom so -great an amount of good has been accomplished -within the year, he cannot see that he can render -any service. Major Bailey’s efforts are confined -solely to the awakening of an interest in temperance; -the condition of affairs which Mr. Crupp reports -as existing in Barton, however, indicates a -degree of interest which cannot be heightened by -any effort which the writer could put forth. What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -seems desirable at Barton is such an informing of -the general populace upon what has been accomplished, -upon the manner in which the work has -been done, and the comparatively small number of -persons who have actively participated in it, as shall -convince the inhabitants that they did not fulfill -their whole duty toward temperance when a year ago -they applauded the utterances of the writer of these -lines. Briefly, Major Bailey feels that if he attended, -he could contribute only such efforts as, under the -circumstances, would be entirely out of place.”</p> - -<p>“Astonishing!” exclaimed Parson Wedgewell, -with the eye of a man who dreams.</p> - -<p>“Threw away a job!” said Tomple, like the -thrifty business man that he was.</p> - -<p>But the meeting was planned and widely advertised, -and when, on the evening appointed, the attendants -looked over the room, they found occasion -for considerable attentive reflection.</p> - -<p>Except that Major Ben Bailey, the gifted orator, -was not present, the meeting presented the same -attractions which had drawn such a crowd to its -predecessor. The Barton Brass Band was there, -and with some new airs learned during the year; -the Crystal Spring Glee Club was there; there were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -the pastors of the four churches in Barton, and -Squire Tomple was in the chair as before. Besides, -there were additional attractions: Crupp, a year -before, the man who was lending to liquor selling an -air of respectability, was upon the platform to the -left and rear of Squire Tomple; old Bunley, who a -year before had been responsible only as a container -of alcohol, but now a respectable citizen and book-keeper -to Squire Tomple, occupied the secretary’s -chair; Tom Adams acted as usher in one of the side-aisles, -and dragged all the heavy drinkers up to -front seats; Harry Wainright was there, with a wife -whose veil was not thick enough to hide her happiness; -Fred Macdonald, who had spent the evening -of the other meeting in the Barton House bar-room, -was there; so was Tappelmine, appearing as ill at -ease as a porker in a strange field, but still there; -while in a side seat, close to the wall, sitting as -much in the shadow of his wife as possible, so as -to guard his professional reputation, was Sam -Crayme, captain of the steamer <i>Excellence</i>. A -number of “the boys” were there also, and yet -the church was not only not crowded, but not even -full. During the year temperance had been guided -from the hearts to the pockets of a great many,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -and this radical treatment had been fatal to many -an enthusiastic soul that had theretofore been -blameless in its own eyes. Those who attended -heard some music, however, which was not deficient -in point of quality; they heard a short but live -address from old Parson Fish on the moral beauty -of a temperate life, and an earnest prayer from that -one of the Barton pastors who had during the year -done nothing which justified the mention of his -name in this history, and then the audience saw -Mr. Crupp advance to the front of the platform -and unfold a large sheet of paper, which he crumpled -in one hand as he spoke as follows:</p> - -<p>“Ladies and gentlemen: having been requested, -by the chairman of the last meeting, to collect some -statistics of the work accomplished in Barton, during -the past year, in the cause of temperance, I invite -your attention to the following figures:</p> - -<p>“Population of township last year, three thousand -two hundred and sixty-five. Signatures to -pledge, at last meeting, six hundred and twenty-seven -[applause]; signatures of persons who were in -the habit of drinking at time of signing, two hundred -and thirty-one; number of persons who have -broken the pledge since signing, one hundred and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -sixty [sighs and groans]; number of persons who -have kept their pledges, seventy-one [applause]; -number reclaimed by personal effort since meeting, -forty-six [applause]; amount of money subscribed -and applied strictly for the good of the cause, and -without hope of pecuniary gain [a faint hiss or two], -five thousand one hundred and ninety dollars and -thirty-eight cents [tremendous applause]; amount -which has been returned by the beneficiaries without -solicitation, twenty-seven dollars [laughter, hisses, -and groans]. Of the amount subscribed, <em>six-sevenths</em> -came from <em>five</em> persons, who own less than <em>one-fiftieth</em> -part of the taxable property of the township.”</p> - -<p>The quiet which prevailed, as Mr. Crupp spoke -these last words and took his seat, was, if considered -only <em>as</em> quiet, simply faultless; but its duration was -greater and more annoying than things purely faultless -usually are, and there was a general sensation -of relief when Squire Tomple, who during the year -had not made any public display of his charities, -and who was popularly supposed to care as much -for a dollar as any one, slowly got upon his feet.</p> - -<p>“My friends,” said the Squire, “I’m more than -ever convinced that temperance is a good thing -[hearty applause], and the reason I feel so is, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -during the year I’ve put considerable money into -it; and where the treasure is there shall the heart -be also [dead silence]. I’ve made up my mind, that -hurrahing and singing for temperance will make a -hypocrite out of a saint, if he don’t use money and -effort at the same time. I like a good song and a -good time as much as anybody, but I can’t learn -of a single drinking man that they have reformed. -At our last meeting there was some good work -<em>started</em>, by the use of songs and speeches, and you -have learned, from the report just presented, how -much lasting good they did. Money and work -have done the business, my friends; talk has helped, -but alone by itself it’s done precious little. This -lesson has cost <em>me</em> a great deal; and as a business -man, who believes that <em>every</em> earthly interest is in -some way a business interest, I advise you to learn -the same lesson for yourselves before it is too late.”</p> - -<p>Such a pail of cold water had never before been -thrown upon Barton hearts aglow with confidence, -it struck the leader of the band so forcibly that he -rattled off into “Yankee Doodle,” to aid the meeting -in recovering its spirits; even after listening -to this inspiriting air, however, it was with a wistfulness -almost desperate that the audience scanned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -the countenance of Parson Wedgewell as he stepped -to the front of the platform.</p> - -<p>“Beloved friends,” said the parson, “the result -of the past year’s work in this portion of the Lord’s -vineyard has indeed been richly blessed, and I shall -ever count it as one of the precious privileges of my -life that I have been permitted to take part in it. -[‘Hurrah for the parson!’ shouted a man, who -had but a moment before worn a most lugubrious -countenance.] I rejoice, not only that I have -seen precious sheaves brought to our Lord’s granary, -but also because I have beheld going into -the field those who have heretofore stood idly in -the market-place, and because I have beheld the -reapers themselves receiving the reward of their -labors. They have received souls for their hire, -dear friends, and I feel constrained to admit that -if each of those who came in at the eleventh hour -received as much as us, who have apparently borne -the burden and heat of the day, they were fully -entitled to it by reason of the greater intelligence -and industry which they have displayed. For many -years, my dear friends, I have been among you as -one sent by the Physician of souls; but it is only -within the past year that I have begun to comprehend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -that the soul may be treated—very often -<em>should</em> be treated—through the body; and that, -though the fervent effectual prayer of the righteous -man availeth much, the exercise of that which was -made in the likeness and image of God is not to be -idle. The mammon of unrighteousness has been -made the salvation of many, my dear friends; and it -has, I verily believe, guided toward heavenly habitations -those who have applied it to the necessities of -others. But, dear brethren, the harvest truly is -plenteous, but the laborers are few; pray ye, therefore, -the Lord of the harvest that he will send forth -laborers unto his harvest; but take heed that ye -follow the example of him, who, as he commanded -us thus to petition the throne of grace, ceased not -to labor in the harvest field himself; who fed when -he preached, and healed when he exhorted.”</p> - -<p>Harry Wainright pounded on the floor with his -cane, hearing which, Tom Adams brought his -enormous hands together with great emphasis, and -his example was dutifully followed by the whole of -his own family, which filled two short side seats. -Father Baguss shouted “Glory to God!” and Deacon -Jones ejaculated “That’s so!” but the hearers -seemed disposed to be critical, although the parson’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -address had been couched in language almost -exclusively Scriptural. While they were engaged in -contemplation, however, old Bunley dropped a -mellow cough and stepped to the front.</p> - -<p>“Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “it’s the style -in this town, and everywhere else, I suppose, to -kick a man when he’s down, and then to trample -on him. I know <em>one</em> man that’s been there, and -knows all about it. ’Twas his own fault he got -there, and there were plenty who told him he ought -to get up; but how kicking and trampling were to -help him do it he could never see, and he made up -his mind, that folks did as they did because it suited -them, not because it was going to do <em>him</em> any good. -So he’s been hating the whole townful for years, -and doing all the harm he could, not because he -liked doing harm, but because he never got a -chance to do anything else. Suddenly, a couple -of gentlemen—I won’t mention names—came along, -and gave the poor fellow a hand, and gave him the -first chance he’s had in years to believe in human -nature at all. And, all this time, everybody else -around him was acting in the way that this same -poor fellow would have acted himself, if he had -wanted to play devil. The same couple of gentlemen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -went for a good many other people, and acted -in a way that you read about in novels and the -Bible (but mighty seldom see in town); and those -fellows believe in these two gentlemen, now, but -they hate all the rest of you like poison. I don’t -suppose you like it, but truth is truth; you might -as well know what it is.”</p> - -<p>Several people got up and went out, carrying -very red faces with them; but Fred Macdonald -stood up and clapped his hands, and the Adams -family and Wainright helped him, while the broad -boots of Father Baguss raised a cloud of dust, -which formed quite an aureole about Baguss himself -as he got up and remarked:</p> - -<p>“Brethren and sisters: Squire Tomple hit the -nail exactly on the head when he said that hollerin’ -an’ singin’ makes a hypocrite of a man if he don’t -open his pocket-book. If you don’t believe it, remember -me. If anybody ever liked his own more’n -I did, he’s a curiosity. I don’t <em>hate</em> money a bit -now, an’ I’m not goin’ to try to; but the hardest -case I ever got acquainted with was me, Zedekiah -Baguss, when I couldn’t dodge it any longer that I -ought to spend money for a feller-critter. I won’t -name no names, brethren an’ sisters; but if you’re<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -huntin’ for any such game, don’t go to lookin’ -up drunkards until you smell around near home -fust.”</p> - -<p>“Reputation be blowed higher than a kite!” -exclaimed Captain Crayme, springing to his feet; -“but I’ve got to say just a word here. Gentlemen, -I’m off my whiskey, and I’m going to stay off; but -I might be drinking yet, and have kept on forever, -for all that any of you that’s so pious and temperate -ever cared. But one man thought enough of me -to come and talk to me—talk like a man, and not -preach a sermon; more than that, he not only talked—which -the biggest idiot here might have done just -as well—but he stuck by me, and he brought me -through. Any of you might have done it, but -none of you cared enough for me, and yet I’m a -business man, and I’ve got some property. How -any <em>poor</em> fellow down in the mud is ever to get -up again, in such a place, I don’t see; and yet -Barton’s as good a town as I ever touch at.”</p> - -<p>The interest of the meeting was departing, so -were the attendants; but the Reverend Timotheus -Brown limped forward and exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Hear, then, the conclusion of the whole matter: -‘Not every one that sayeth Lord, Lord, shall inherit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -the kingdom of heaven, but him that doeth -the will of my Father which is in heaven.’ There -has been a blessed change wrought in this town -within a year, and work has done it all. He who -taught us to say ‘Our Father,’ made of every man -his brother’s keeper, and no amount of talk can -undo what He did. A few men in our midst have -recognized their duty and have done it, or are doing -it; most of them, among them him who addresses -you, have learned that the beginning is the hardest -part of the work, and that the laborer receives his -hire, though never in the way in which he expects -it. Much remains to be done, not only in raising -the fallen, but in reforming the upright; and, to -get a full and fair view of the latter, there is no way -so successful as to go to work for others.”</p> - -<p>Squire Tomple announced that the meeting was -still open for remarks; but, no one else availing -themselves of the privilege offered, the evening -closed with a spirited medley from the brass band. -Not every one was silent and dismal, however; as -the church emptied, Tomple, Bunley, Crupp, Wedgewell, -Brown, and the other pastors came down from -the platform, and were met at the foot of the steps -by Baguss and Deacon Jones, and there was a general<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -hand-shaking. Tom Adams stood afar off, looking -curiously and wistfully at the party, noticing -which, Parson Wedgewell danced excitedly up to -him, and dragged him into the circle; there Tom -received a greeting which somehow educated him, -in two or three minutes, to a point far beyond any -that his head or heart had previously reached. -Then Fred Macdonald, who had intended to avoid -any action which might seem to make him one of -the “old fellows” of the village, suddenly lost his -head in some manner which he could not explain, -and hurried off, caught Sam Crayme’s arm, and destroyed -such reputation as remained to the captain -along the river, by bringing the enterprising navigator -into such a circle as he had never entered before, -but in which he soon found himself as much at home -as if he had been born there. Others, too—not -many in number, to be sure—but representing most -of the soul Of the village, straggled timidly up to -the group, and were informally admitted to what -was not conventionally a love-feast, but approached -nearer to one than any formal gathering could have -done.</p> - -<p>Barton has never since known a monster temperance -meeting; but the few righteous men who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -dwell therein have proved to their own satisfaction, -and that of certain one-time wretches, that, in a -successful temperance movement, the reform must -begin among those who never drink.</p> - -<hr /> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Barton Experiment, by John Habberton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BARTON EXPERIMENT *** - -***** This file should be named 53031-h.htm or 53031-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/3/53031/ - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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