THE STIR OF THE YEAST
Mr. Delmont Bangs was naturally of an observant nature. While he was in
Egypt he was keeping his eyes particularly wide open. He was looking
for two men wanted by the state. Mr. Bangs was the deputy warden who had
gone up to the summit of Devilbrow in order to view the landscape o'er
and pass the word to Mr. Wagg. Mr. Bangs rode along every highway
and byway, day after day, not missing a trick. He was not especially
sanguine in regard to locating the missing convicts in that section,
but he was obeying the warden's orders; after a day or so he was also
obeying an impulse to satisfy his curiosity in lines quite apart from
his official quest.
He spent his nights at Files's tavern and grabbed his meals wherever he
happened to be.
But after a time he found that housewives were unwilling to give him
anything to eat. He was sure that they had not soured on him because he
was a state catchpole. When he first arrived in town and gave out the
news of his mission and issued a general call for tips he was welcomed
heartily by everybody; the women, especially, hoped that he would find
the villains and put them where they could not threaten unprotected
females. Mr. Bangs had not been able to spend his money for food at
farmhouses; the women would not accept any pay, and gave him their best.
However all at once they could not be induced to give food or even to
sell it. They acted as if they did not care to be bothered; some of them
declared that they were too busy to do cooking. They would not allow Mr.
Bangs to stick his nose into their houses; they snapped refusal at him
from behind doors only partially opened and foot-braced.
Men with whom Bangs conversed wore an air of abstraction. They plainly
were not interested in Mr. Bangs or in the convicts whom he was
pursuing. He tackled them on all sorts of subjects, hoping to hit on the
topic which was absorbing so much of their attention. He went so far as
to ask them bluntly what they were carrying on their minds besides hair.
Those who were not surly looked scared.
Even the barn doors were no longer frankly open. There was a mysterious
sort of subsurface stir everywhere. There was expectancy that was ill
disguised. Mr. Bangs, a stranger, perceived that strangers, for some
unexplained reason, had ceased to be popular in Egypt. One day a man
gruffly told him that detectives would do well to go off and do their
detecting in some other place. That was pretty blunt, and Mr. Bangs
informed his helper that he, personally, had had about enough of the
gummed-up, infernal town. He declared that he was going to leave. Mr.
Bangs was more certain about his departure when he arrived back at
Files's tavern that evening. Mr. Files informed him that there would
be no more accommodations at the tavern after that night. Mr. Files,
questioned, refused to say whether he intended to close the tavern or
was merely going away; he would reveal nothing about his further plans.
Mr. Bangs went out and sat on the porch bench with his helper, and
irefully asked that bewildered person what the ding-dong the matter was
with the dad-fired town, anyway?
In default of specific knowledge the aide tried to be humorous. He told
Mr. Bangs that it looked as if the hive was getting ready to swarm. His
facetiousness fell flat; Mr. Bangs scowled. The helper became serious.
“I've been watching the old hystrampus they call the Prophet. Everywhere
we've been the past few days, he seems to be just coming or just going.
Noticed him, haven't you?”
“Of course I've noticed him.”
“I don't know what his religious persuasion is, because he hasn't done
any talking where I could overhear him. But he seems to be getting
busier all the time. Do you know what he preaches?”
“I'm working for the state prison, not the state insane asylum.”
“Well,” drawled the other, “though I don't know what he's preaching,
the general fussed-up condition here in this town reminds me of what
happened in Carmel when I lived there as a boy. One of them go-upper
preachers struck town. He finally got most of our neighbors into a state
of whee-ho where the womenfolks made ascension robes for all concerned
and the menfolks built a high platform and they all climbed up on it and
waited all one night for Gabr'el's trump to sound.”
“What's that got to do with this town?” demanded Mr. Bangs, impatiently.
“Why, considering how near busted the town is--and all the timber cut
off and the farms run out--I wouldn't wonder a mite if the right kind of
a preacher could get 'em into a frame of mind where they'd be willing to
start for anywhere--even straight down, provided they couldn't arrange
matters so as to go straight up, like the Carmel folks planned on. Not
as how I say that these folks are going to get up and hump it out of
Egypt! But there's a whole lot of restle-ness in 'em! That's plain
enough to be seen!”
“If there's half as much of it in 'em as there is in me, right now,
they'll all follow me when I drive out of town in the morning,” declared
Mr. Bangs. “And what that king pin, name o' Britt, is building that
palace over there for is beyond my guess.”
“Expects to grab off the girl of the Vaniman case,” said the aide, who
had put himself in the way of hearing all the local gossip.
Mr. Bangs lighted a fresh cigar. “Say, I'd like to find out whether this
stir here is a go-upper proposition. I'd join the party and go up, too,
if I thought I could locate that cashier and find out where he hid that
mess of gold.”
“Try the ouija board,” giggled the aide.
However, in his desperate desire for information in general Mr. Bangs
proceeded to try something which suited better his practical turn of
mind.
He hailed Prophet Elias, who had appeared in the open door of Usial
Britt's shop. The gloom of the autumn evening was deepened by vapor
which came drifting from the lowlands after the night air had chilled
the moisture evoked by the sun from the soil. The open door set a patch
of radiance on the dun robe of the dusk. The light spread upon the
vapor, was diffused in it, furnished an aura of soft glow in the center
of which stood the robed figure.
Deputy Bangs's first hail, when Elias opened the door and stood
revealed, was contemptuously brusque; he used the tone he commonly
employed toward his charges in prison; he perceived at first only the
queer old chap, the dusty plodder of the highways, the man of cracked
wits. Bangs spoke as an officer, peremptorily: “Say, you! Come over
here. I want to talk with you!”
The Prophet made no move, either with his feet or his tongue. In the
haze that lay between him and Bangs, the man of the robe seemed to tower
and to take on a mystic dignity which had been lacking in the candid
light of day. After the silence had continued for some time Bangs spoke
again. His new manner showed that his eyes had been reprimanding his
tongue. “Excuse me! I didn't mean to sound short. But would you kindly
step across here? Or”--the eyes certainly had shamed the tongue and had
humbled it--“or I'll come over there, if you'd rather have it that way.”
The Prophet strode along the misty path of light and stood in the middle
of the road. “Talk--but I must ask you to talk to the point and in few
words. I have no time to waste on gossip.”
“All right! Few words it is! What's the matter with this town all of a
sudden?”
“Ask Pharaoh. The kingdom is his.”
“I don't get you!”
The deputy's helper pulled his chief's sleeve and hissed some rapid
words of explanation, more fruit gathered from local gossip.
“Oh, so that's what you call him? However, I'm asking you. You ought to
know. I've seen you all over the lot, talking with everybody.”
“Ask Pharaoh!” repeated the Prophet, sonorously.
The helper nudged Bangs with a swift punch. “If you feel like taking
that advice, boss, here's your chance. There's Tasper Britt.”
The magnate of Egypt was revealed suddenly, coming from the direction
of his new mansion. He strode past Elias. “Ask Pharaoh!” advised the
Prophet once more, and Britt halted. He came back a few steps and
addressed the men on the tavern porch:
“Can't a man who is deputy warden of our state prison find something for
amusement better than stirring up a lunatic?”
“I'm not trying to find amusement--not in this town,” returned Mr.
Bangs. “I'm after information. He refers me to you--or so I take it!”
“What information?”
“There's something the trouble in this town and I'd like to know what it
is.”
“There it is,” barked Britt, pointing to Elias. “That's the principal
trouble--a lunatic spreading lunacy like smallpox.”
“But what is it all about?” insisted Bangs, “What's this new
excitement?”
“I know nothing about any excitement, sir. I attend to business instead
of gossip. If you can make it your business to take this pest to state
prison, where he probably belongs if his record could be dug up, the
town of Egypt will be all right again.”
“Pharaoh, I have a message of comfort for you,” stated the Prophet.
“This night do I depart from the land of Egypt. I go and I shall not
return.”
For some moments Britt did not find words with which to reply. Then
he mumbled something about good riddance and shaking the dust from the
feet.
“I shall shake all the dust from my feet this side of the border line,”
said Elias. “Your land of Egypt cannot spare any soil.”
“You are getting away just in time,” rasped the usurer. “I have been
tolerating you since you got back from jail because I've been too busy
to tend to your case.”
“Ah!” commented Elias, mildly.
This subtle humility goaded Britt's wrath more effectually than the
Prophet could have prevailed with resentful retort.
“The next time it wouldn't have been a bailable trespass case. Do you
dare to tell me why you kept looking in at the windows of my house?”
“I was looking for the closet.”
“What closet?”
“For the closet where you keep the skeleton. But rest this night in
peace, Pharaoh. I am going away.”
“I can sleep better for knowing that you are out of this town.”
“Then promise me that you will sleep to-night--sleep soundly. That
thought will cheer me as I go on my way.” Britt started along, making
no reply. “I bespeak for you sleep without dreams,” the Prophet called
after him. “Your dreams, Pharaoh, might be colored with some of the
realities--and that would be bad, very bad for your peace of mind.”
Once more Britt strode back from the vapors. “Are you trying to
provoke me to smash my fist into your face? Are you trying to cook up a
blackmail damage suit by the advice of that crook lawyer who bailed you
out? I'm beginning to see why a lawyer was enough interested in you to
get you back into this town.”
“You guess shrewdly, Pharaoh. You have avoided the deep plot against
your wealth. Let the thought make you sleep soundly to-night. I'm glad
to make my confession and hope it will add to your peace of mind.”
Usial Britt had appeared in the door of his cottage; he leaned lazily
against the jamb. “It will be a fine night for sleeping,” he remarked,
amiably. “This fog is sort of relaxing to the nerves!”
“Hold one moment, Pharaoh!” pleaded Elias. The appearance of the hated
brother had started the magnate off once more. “I am anxious to make
your night a peaceful one. If you see me go away, knowing that I shall
not return again before your face, the comfort of your knowledge will
lull you to sleep. Wait!”
He stepped to the door of the cottage, reached inside, and secured a
long staff. He picked up from the floor a huge horn--a sort of trump.
He settled the curve of the instrument over his shoulder. He blew a
long and resounding blast. Then he marched away, taking long strides.
He loomed in the first stratum of the vapor, the radiance from the open
door showing him as an eerie figure; then the fog swallowed him up.
Every few moments he sounded a mighty blast on the trump. The blare
of the horn rolled echoes afar in the murk. Steadily the volume of the
sound decreased; it was plain that the Prophet was traveling at good
speed.
“Well, I'll be dimdaddled!” grunted Mr. Bangs. His was the only comment
on the departure of Prophet Elias from the land of Egypt--that is to
say, the only comment passed by the group in front of Files's tavern.
Tasper Britt went his way toward the Harnden home, his lodgings still.
Usial Britt closed his cottage door. Bangs found the sticky chill of
the fog uncomfortable. He and his helper went in and upstairs to their
rooms.