UPS AND DOWNS
Young Mr. Talbot gave Hervey up. I think he lost patience too readily.
As for Mr. Walton, he was past the stage of quiet argument with his
stepson. He was as firm in resolve as he was patient in discussion. And
never was Hervey more bent on action that was his harassed guardian from
the moment he was apprised of the carnival escapade. Even gentle Mrs.
Walton, who had pled after the satchel episode, thought now that it was
better for Hervey to go to military school than to break his neck.
“Well, he won’t even break rules there,” said Mrs. Walton.
As for Hervey, he was not worrying about military school. He never
thought or worried about anything. He would meet every situation as it
came. He was not staggered by Wyne Corson’s opportunity to go west. To
give him credit, he was not selfish or envious. He forgot all about Wyne
Corson.
One matter he did bear in mind and it was the very essence of absurdity.
With his own narrow escape to ponder on, and Wyne Corson’s splendid deed
to thrill him (if he was capable of a thrill) he must set off as soon as
he was able to prove his all-important claim that there was another
individual capable of doing what Mr. Talbot had said that only he and
Corson could do. He accepted the young scoutmaster’s declaration not as
a compliment, but as a kind of dare. That is how his mind worked and I
am giving you just the plain facts. I told you in the beginning that no
one understood him.
But now he was to receive something as near to a shock as he had ever
received. He sought out Diving Denniver in his sanctum and approached
him rather sheepishly (for him) for he knew not how his feat had
impressed the wonder of two continents. It was the last day of the
carnival, the matter of the permit had been adjusted, and Diving
Denniver was that evening to dive for the last time in Farrelton. On
this occasion he wore his regular clothes and his little derby hat was
on the back of his head as he packed his trunk in anticipation of
departure.
“Hello,” said Hervey.
“Hello, yer gol blamed little fool.”
“Well, I did it, didn’t I?” said Hervey defensively.
“Sure you did it, but you were just lucky. You’re just a crazy kid,
that’s all. That there kid that’s got his name in the papers fer savin’
a girl’s life, now he’s a regular guy, he is. If you want to jump why
don’t you get in the big parade, kid?” He folded some clothing and did
not pay much attention to Hervey as he talked. “If yer want ter pull the
big stuff why don’t yer get in with them guys. This here ain’t
narthin’.”
“Do you know what a scoutmaster told me?” demanded Hervey, somewhat
aroused. “He said that only two fellers--me and that other feller--could
dive off that cliff and swim to shore with a girl. So as long as you’re
a friend of mine will you come and show him that you can do it? Just to
show him he’s not so smart. Then he’ll see you’re a friend of mine, and
he’ll see you can do it. Hey? So I can put it all over him. Hey?”
“Naah, cut that stuff, kid. Why wuz yer thinkin’ I can swim and save
lives? I ain’t much on swimmin’, kid.” He reached over to where Hervey
sat dangling his legs from the makeshift table and good-naturedly
ruffled his hair. “Yer got me wrong, kid. What’s bitin’ yer anyways?
This here is a trick, that’s all it is. I know me little trick. Why
wouldn’ I? I been doin’ it fer seven years. There ain’t narthin’ to it
when yer once get it right. Did yer think this here wuz a kind of an
adventure like? Hand me them two saucers, will yer. Listen here, kid.
Here’s how it is. When yer know how ter do it there’ ain’t narthin’ to
it; see? An’ if yer try it when yer don’t know how, yer a blame fool. I
bet yer kin swim better’n what I can, at that. I jus’ do me turn, kid.
See?”
Hervey was staggered. “Ain’t you the wonder of two continents?” he
asked. “Don’t you say it yourself?”
“Sure thing, and I’m sorry I didn’t make it five continents when I wuz
printin’ it. What’s a couple of continents more or less? Pull that there
broken glass down and let’s have it, will yer? Yer don’t think yer done
narthin’ big do yer?” He paused and faced Hervey for just a moment. “Dis
here is just a trick, kid. Go on and join them kids what’s doin’ the
divin’. Come out o’ yer trance, little brother. You’ze got the makin’s
of a regular hop, skip and jumper, yer has. Wuz yer old man sore at
yer?”
Hervey felt as if the bottom had fallen out of the earth. Not that he
wanted praise and recognition; he never craved those. But what he had
done was just nothing at all. He was no more a hero than a man who tried
to commit suicide is a hero. And the wonder of two continents was just a
good-humored, tough little young man who knew a trick! How brave and
splendid seemed the exploit of Wyne Corson now! That was not a trick.
“You beat it home now,” said McDennison, “and don’t go inter no business
what yer ain’t got the dope on. A kid like you oughter had that trip ter
the coast. Look at me, I ain’t got the carfare ter open up in
Bridgeburgh Fair.”
Hervey went away, not exactly heavy-hearted, for he was never that. And
not exactly thoughtful, for he certainly was never that. But
disgruntled. And even that was unusual with him. He might have had that
trip to the coast. Or at least on a dozen different occasions, he might
have won such a reward. But for all his fine bizarre deeds he got just
nothing; not even honor. And the pity of it was he could not figure this
out. He never remembered what anybody told him; he never pondered. Yet I
think that poor Diving Denniver did some good; I think he almost reached
him.
On the way home, he was saved from any of the perils of thought by the
allurements of action. Near the entrance to the carnival was a basket
full of booklets about _Farrelton the Home Town_. There was a sign above
this basket which read. Free--Take One. Hervey did not take a booklet,
but he took the sign. It was an oblong wooden sign and had a hole in it
to hang it up by. By inserting a stick in this hole, he could twirl the
sign around as he ambled homeward. He became greatly preoccupied with
this pastime and his concentration continued till he reached the _Aunt
Maria Sweet Shoppe_. Here were bottles of honey and tempting jars of
preserves standing on a display shelf outside, and he coyly set the
Free--Take One sign on these, proceeding homeward with that air of
innocence that he knew how to affect.
Crossing the deserted Madden farm, he discovered a garter snake. It was
a harmless little snake, but it filled its destiny in Hervey’s life. It
was necessary for him to lift it on the end of his stick and, before it
wriggled off, send it flying through the broken window of the Madden
barn. This was not easy to do, because the snake would not hold still.
With each cast, however, it seemed to become more drowsy, until finally
it hung over the stick long enough for Hervey to get a good aim and send
the elongated missile flying through the broken, cobweb-filled window.
The shot was so successful that Hervey could not refrain from giving an
encore. One good sling deserved another. So up he vaulted to the sill of
the old window, brushing ancient cobwebs out of his eyes and hair, and
down he went inside. But he went down further than he had expected to,
for the flooring was quite gone from the old barn and he alighted all in
a heap on a pile of dank straw in the cellar.
Four unbroken walls of heavy masonry arose to a height of ten or twelve
feet. Far above him, through the shrunken, rotted shingles, little
glints of sunlight penetrated. A few punky boards strewn in this stenchy
dungeon gave evidence that the flooring above had rotted away before
being entirely removed. Perhaps there had been an intention to lay a new
flooring. But it was many years since the Maddens had gone away and now
there were rumors that the extensive farm land was to become a bungalow
colony.
As Hervey lifted one of the punky boards it broke in the middle and fell
almost in shreds at his feet. A number of little flat bugs, uncovered in
their damp abode, went scooting this way and that after similar shelter.
The snake too, recovered from the shock of being a missile, wriggled off
to some agreeable refuge amid the rotting litter of that dank prison.