[Illustration: 9267]
T was a cold, dry day about the middle of January. They were killing
hogs at the farm. Seven or eight negroes, men and women, had gathered
from all about in the neighborhood to assist in the work and get the
parts of the meat usually given away in payment for such services.
Two hogsheads for hot water were half buried in the ground. A big iron
pot with a fire beneath it was heating water and a long fire of logs
heaped over with big stones was near by. When hot, the stones were to be
put into the cooling water to raise the temperature, it being easier to
do this than to replace the water in the pot. The hogs to be killed were
grunting and squealing in a big pen near the barn.
Abner Daniel and old man Bishop were superintending these preparations
when Alan came from the house to say that Rayburn Miller had just ridden
out to see them on business. “I think it's the railroad,” Alan informed
his father, who always displayed signs of almost childish excitement
when the subject came up. They found Miller in the parlor being
entertained by Adele, who immediately left the room on their arrival.
They all sat down before the cheerful fire. Miller showed certain signs
of embarrassment at first, but gradually threw them off and got down to
the matter in hand quite with his office manner.
“I've got a proposition to make to you, Mr. Bishop,” he opened up,
with a slight flush on his face. “I've been making some inquiries about
Wilson, and I am more and more convinced that he intends to freeze us
out--or you rather--by holding off till you are obliged to sell your
property for a much lower figure than you now ask him for it.”
“You think so,” grunted Bishop, pulling a long face.
“Yes; but what I now want to do is to show him, indirectly, that we are
independent of him.”
“Huh!” ejaculated Bishop, even more dejectedly--“huh! I say!”
Alan was looking at Miller eagerly, as if trying to divine the point he
was about to make. “I must confess,” he smiled, “that I can' t well see
how we can show independence right now.”
“Well, I think I see a way,” said Miller, the flush stealing over his
face again. “You see, there is no doubt that Wilson is on his high
horse simply because he thinks he could call on you for that
twenty-five thousand dollars and put you to some trouble raising it
without--without, I say, throwing your land on the market. I can' t
blame him,” Miller went on, smiling, “for it's only what any business
man would do, who is out for profit, but we must not knuckle to him.”
“Huh, huh!” Bishop grunted, in deeper despondency.
“How do you propose to get around the knuckling process?” asked Alan,
who had caught the depression influencing his parent.
“I'd simply take up that note,” said the lawyer. “You know, under the
contract, we are privileged to pay it to-morrow if we wish. It would
simply paralyze him. He's so confident that you can' t take it up that
he has not even written to ask if you want to renew it or not. Yes; he's
confident that he 'll rake in that security--so confident that he has
been, as you know, secretly buying land near yours.”
Old Bishop's eyes were wide open. In the somewhat darkened room the
firelight reflected in them showed like illuminated blood-spots. He said
nothing, but breathed heavily.
“But,” exclaimed Alan, “Ray, you know we--father has invested that
money, and the truth is, that he and mother have already had so much
worry over the business that they would rather let the land go at what
was raised on it than to--to run any more risks.”
Bishop groaned out his approval of this elucidation of his condition and
sat silently nodding his head. The very thought of further risks stunned
and chilled him.
Miller's embarrassment now descended on him in full force.
“I was not thinking of having your father disturb his investments,” he
said. “The truth is, I have met with a little financial disappointment
in a certain direction. For the last three months I have been raking
and scraping among the dry bones of my investments to get up exactly
twenty-five thousand dollars to secure a leading interest in a cotton
mill at Darley, of which I was to be president. I managed to get the
money together and only yesterday I learned that the Northern capital
that was to guarantee the thing was only in the corner of a fellow's eye
up in Boston--a man that had not a dollar on earth. Well, there you are!
I've my twenty-five thousand dollars, and no place to put it. I thought,
if you had just as soon owe me the money as Wilson, that you'd really be
doing me a favor to let me take up the note. You see, it would actually
floor him. He means business, and this would show him that we are not
asking any favors of him. In fact, I have an idea it would scare him out
of his skin. He'd think we had another opportunity of selling. I'm dying
to do this, and I hope you 'll let me work it. Really, I think you ought
to consent. I'd never drive you to the wall and--well--_he_ might.”
All eyes were on the speaker. Bishop had the dazed expression of a
bewildered man trying to believe in sudden good luck. Abner Daniel
lowered his head and shook with low, subdued laughter.
“You are a jim-dandy, young man,” he said to Miller. “That's all there
is about it. You take the rag off the bush. Oh, my Lord! They say in
Alt's meeting-house that it's a sin to play poker with no stakes, but
Alf's in a game with half the earth put up agin another feller's wad as
big as a bale o' hay. Play down, Alf. Play down. You've got a full hand
an' plenty to draw from.”
“We couldn't let you do this, Ray,” expostulated Alan.
“But I assure you it is merely a matter of business with me,” declared
the lawyer. “You know I'm interested myself, and I believe we shall come
out all right. I'm simply itching to do it.”
Bishop's face was ablaze. The assurance that a wise young business man
would consider a purchase of his of sufficient value to put a large
amount of money on pleased him, banished his fears, thrilled him.
“If you feel that way,” he said, smiling at the corners of his mouth,
“go ahead. I don't know but what you are plumb right. It will show
Wilson that we ain't beholden to him, an' will set 'im to work ef
anything will.”
So it was finally settled, and no one seemed so well pleased with the
arrangement as Miller himself. Adele entered the room with the air of
one half fearful of intruding, and her three relatives quietly withdrew,
leaving her to entertain the guest.
“I wonder what's the matter with your brother,” Miller remarked, as his
eyes followed Alan from the room.
“Oh, brother?” laughed Adele. “No one tries to keep up with his whims and
fancies.”
“But, really,” said Miller, in a serious tone, “he has mystified me
lately. I wonder if he has had bad news from Dolly. I've tried to get
into a confidential chat with him several times of late, but he seems
to get around it. Really, it seems to me, at times, that he treats me
rather coldly.”
“Oh, if you waste time noticing Al you 'll become a beggar,” and Adele
gave another amused laugh. “Take my advice and let him alone.”
“I almost believe you know what ails him,” said Miller, eying her
closely.
“I know what he _thinks_ ails him,” the girl responded.
“And won't you tell me what--what he thinks ails him?”
“No, I couldn't do that,” answered our young lady, with a knowing smile.
“If you are ever any wiser on the subject you will have to get your
wisdom from him.”
She turned to the piano and began to arrange some scattered pieces of
music, and he remained on the hearth, his back to the fire, his brow
wrinkled in pleased perplexity.
“I 'll have to get my wisdom from him,” repeated Miller, pronouncing each
word with separate distinctness, as if one of them might prove the key
to the mystery.
“Yes, I should think two wise men could settle a little thing like that.
If not, you may call in the third--you know there were three of you,
according to the Bible.”
“Oh, so there were,” smiled Miller; “but it's hard to tell when we three
shall meet again. The last time I saw the other two they were having
their sandals half-soled for a tramp across the desert. I came this way
to build a railroad, and I believe I'm going to do it. That's linking
ancient and modern times together with a coupling-pin, isn't it?”
She came from the piano and stood by him, looking down into the fire.
“Ah,” she said, seriously, “if you could _only_ do it!”
“Would you like it very much?”
“Very, very much; it means the world to us--to Alan, to father and
mother, and--yes, to me. I hunger for independence.”
“Then it shall be done,” he said, fervently.