Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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LIGHTNIN'
BY FRANK BACON
After the Play of the Same Name by
WINCHELL SMITH and FRANK BACON
With Illustrations from
PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE PLAY
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright 1920, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
Published February, 1920
[Illustration: YOU LOOKED INTO LIGHTNIN'S SHREWDLY HUMOROUS EYES, AND
YOU SMILED--SMILED WITH HIM ]
ILLUSTRATIONS
YOU LOOKED INTO LIGHTNIN'S SHREWDLY HUMOROUS EYES, AND YOU
SMILED--SMILED WITH HIM
"PROMISE ME YOU WON'T SIGN THE DEED" ... BILL HESITATED
LIGHTNIN', IN HIS FADED G. A. R. UNIFORM ... LISTENED ATTENTIVELY
...HE TOOK IT FROM HIS POCKET, SAYING, "MILLIE, I WANT TO SHOW YOU
SOMETHING"
LIGHTNIN'
CHAPTER I
"Him?" the local postmaster of Calivada would say, in reply to your
question about the quaint little old man who had just ambled away from
the desk with a bundle of letters stuffed in his pocket. "Why, that's
Lightnin' Bill Jones! We call him Lightnin' because he ain't. Nature
didn't give no speed to Bill. No, sir, far as I know, Lightnin' 'ain't
never done a day's work in his life--but there ain't none of us ever
thinks any the less of him for that! Bill's got a way with him, an' he
kin tell some mighty good yarns. Lightnin's all right!"
And when you met Bill Jones you agreed with the postmaster. You looked
into Lightnin's twinkling, shrewdly humorous eyes and you smiled--smiled
with him. You thought of the reply he made to a stranger who protested
against his indolence.
"Well," Bill said, with that shrewd glance of his, "I ain't keepin'
_you_ from makin' a million dollars, am I?"
Old Bill was full of remarks like that, and sometimes those about him
were not so sure as to his lack of speed, in spite of his aimless,
easy-going habits. You never can tell from the feet alone. Those closest
to him were not sure at all; he "had them guessing." There was no doubt
that his wife, simple, earnest, hard-working woman that she was, loved
him. She mothered him and did not seem to worry much about his shiftless
ways. He was her husband, and that was enough for her. What Mrs. Jones
thought of her husband's mental acumen would be another question,
perhaps, but up to the present she had always consulted Bill's wishes
and sought his advice. Their adopted daughter, Millie, a pretty,
wholesome, brown-haired girl of nineteen, worshiped Bill. Any one who
said a word against "daddy" had Millie to deal with. The third person
Bill had guessing was John Marvin, a young man who owned a tract of land
and a cabin a few miles down the trail. Marvin had a lot on his mind,
and was studying law all alone in the cabin at nights into the bargain,
but he liked to have Bill drop in, liked to hear him talk. Bill could
tell some pretty tall yarns, but he told them so well you had to swallow
them. There was an odd, friendly, understanding bond between the
ambitious young fellow and the easy-going, humorous old man. They
confided in each other a great deal, and--well, like Mrs. Jones and
Millie, Marvin frequently found himself crediting Bill with a semblance
of mental speed. But then his mind would picture the ambling, aimless
figure of Bill Jones with its shock of disordered gray hair and
half-shut eyes, and Marvin would smile to himself and turn his thoughts
to something else. But he wondered, nevertheless.
At the present moment, the afternoon of a late summer's day, Bill Jones
was doing a little wondering himself, though no one would have suspected
it as he ambled lazily up the trail, bound for home. Things were not
going well with the Jones family. Mrs. Jones and Millie were worrying,
and Bill knew it. Characteristically, he had evaded the issue for
several years, content to let each day take care of itself as best it
could, but now matters were reaching a crisis and circumstances were
forcing Bill to consider it. They had been selling the timber on the
land, but that did not help much; and now they were taking summer
boarders--when they could get them, for boarders were scarce. Again,
this only made more hard work for Millie and Mrs. Jones.
It was of this Bill was thinking as he went along. He had been sent to
get the mail and to meet the morning train from San Francisco for the
purpose of enticing a few boarders to the Jones establishment if
possible. He should have been home hours ago with the mail, and there
were some odd jobs awaiting him, but he had dallied in the little local
town. This was his usual habit, for, like a good many lonely souls, Bill
was also a social one. People liked to buy Bill drinks and cigars in the
tavern and listen to his yarns. But to-day Bill was lingering
intentionally; he knew that his wife and Millie expected to take him
into consultation this afternoon in regard to the critical state of the
family affairs. Naturally Bill dreaded such a proceeding, but there was
something more than that to it to-day. His old heart, usually full of
happy-go-lucky sunshine, was harboring shadows, for he knew that he
ought to help and wanted to. But how? As he had turned slowly homeward,
Lightnin' hadn't the faintest idea.
Then suddenly, when about a mile from the house, Bill paused in the
middle of the trail, chuckled, and then sat down on a fallen tree. He
pushed back his battered old hat, drew a bag of tobacco and a Manila
paper from his pocket, and rolled himself a cigarette. All signs and
manifestations indicated that Bill Jones was overwhelmed by an idea. He
sat puffing the cigarette and grinning to himself for a few minutes;
then he arose slowly and ambled on; but now the amble was not so
aimless. It had a suggestion of the walk of a man with a purpose, and
there was a gleam of satisfaction and humorous self-importance in his
half-shut eyes.
Nearing the house, he observed his wife sitting on the broad veranda,
rocking to and fro, obviously on the watch for him. From force of habit,
Bill tried to make a detour with the intent of entering unseen through
the back door; but, knowing his ways, Mrs. Jones was too quick for him.
She called to him, and, with the air of one who had no intention
whatever of entering by the back door, he came up on the porch and
dropped into a chair beside her.
"Well, mother," he said, amiably, "you look all tuckered out. Glad to
see you restin'."
"Where you been all day?" she asked, ignoring his remark. Her tone was
none too tender, but there was a gentle gleam in her motherly, tired
eyes as they sought her husband's, sheepishly hiding behind half-closed
lids.
"Just takin' a look at town," Bill drawled. "Just takin' a look." He
settled himself comfortably in his chair and rolled a cigarette.
"Don't you know there's some new boarders come?"
"Sure," said Bill, easily. "I sent 'em, didn't I? Told 'em you was the
best cook in two states, mother. Guess I ought to know."
Millie, an apron over her neat and simple house dress, came out and drew
a chair between her foster-parents. She glanced quickly from one to the
other, and then her gentle brown eyes came to rest lovingly on old Bill.
He returned her smile.
"What a long time you were, daddy!" she said. "I bet you stayed away
just because you knew mother and I wanted to talk to you to-day--own up,
daddy!"
Bill grinned delightedly, despite his knowledge of the rather grave
situation the girl's smiling comment covered. "Well, Millie," he
answered, "I'm here now, ain't I? Guess we can have a little talk before
them boarders begin to yell for their supper. I kinder wish as you
didn't have to cook for 'em, mother--an' Millie waitin' on 'em. 'Tain't
fair."
Mrs. Jones's lips twitched; the weight of a hard day was on her.
"It ain't no use puttin' it off, Bill," she said, wearily. "We got to do
somethin'. Mr. Townsend was here this afternoon."
"What o' that?" asked Bill.
"Well, he's pretty shrewd, you know, an' he's thinkin' about us, Bill.
He seen how much of the timber's gone. He knows we sold another strip o'
land last month for next to nothin'--"
"What's that to him?" Bill queried, rolling another cigarette and
apparently completely absorbed in the operation.
"He--he's just worried about us, an' it's nice of him, Bill, him knowin'
us all these years. He--he thinks as we might move into--into one o'
them little cabins down the trail an'--"
"Lem Townsend's all right," Bill cut in, lazily, "but we ain't goin' to
move, mother. An' it ain't nobody's business, neither--not even Lem
Townsend's. I hope you told him that."
"Why, Bill!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, sharply. "I told him no such thing!
An' I ain't so sure but what I ain't goin' to take his advice!"
Bill looked at her, a hidden smile in his eyes. "It's your property,
mother," he said, quietly.
Tears sprang into the woman's eyes and she made an impulsive gesture.
"You mustn't think that way, Bill!" she cried. "I know you deeded the
whole place over to me when we were married--and it was all you had! I
wasn't thinkin' o' that--'ceptin' as I always think. You must say _our_
place, Bill. It's yours an' mine an' Millie's. We'll stick together.
But we got to do _somethin'_."
Bill glanced slyly at the girl, whose brown head was bowed thoughtfully.
"What you think, Millie?" he asked.
"I don't know what to say," she replied, slowly. "I could go back to San
Francisco and work as I did last year. But maybe we could pull through
this winter--if only we could get boarders. I don't mind the work,
and--and I'd rather stay home here."
Bill's eyes suddenly twinkled. "What's the matter?" he chuckled. "John
Marvin come back from the city to stay at his cabin?"
Millie blushed. "Daddy!" she pouted.
Mrs. Jones did not seem any too pleased at her husband's remark. "John
Marvin 'ain't got nothin' to do with it!" she exclaimed. "I don't see
what he comes foolin' around here for, anyway--Millie 'ain't got _him_
on her mind!"
"I should say not!" Millie echoed, though it occurred to Bill that the
softness of her brown eyes belied the petulant toss of her head.
"Perhaps, after all, it would be best for me to go back to Mr. Thomas's
office!"
Bill turned his half-shut eyes on her quickly, but Millie did not note
the expression of genuine concern in them. He sat lost in thought. The
last winter had been the most difficult of all for them. Millie, feeling
that it was time for her being some help, had studied typewriting and
stenography and had obtained a position in the office of Raymond Thomas,
a San Francisco lawyer. Presumably on a vacation, Thomas had chanced to
spend a week at the Jones place the previous summer. Millie had told him
of her design to help the family, and Thomas had suggested that she take
the position open in his office.
But that had been a dreary and lonely winter for Bill and his wife.
Millie's pretty face and youthful ways had been missed sorely; the girl
had come to be all in all to the old couple, and they could not bear to
see her go away again for another long winter.
Then, too, Bill had his own reasons for feeling grave and down in the
mouth when Millie suggested her returning to work in the office of
Raymond Thomas. Bill Jones was not one to analyze, or to voice or
explain his thoughts--even to himself--unless he took a notion to, or
considered that the right moment had arrived; it was all too much
trouble, anyway. Certain thoughts were running through his mind now,
however; running a little at random, to be sure, but they were there.
His young friend, John Marvin, had worked in Thomas's office for a
time--was working there when Millie entered the office. Indeed, that was
how Marvin had met Millie and found, to his delight, that they were
neighbors up in Nevada--that she was the pretty daughter his friend Bill
Jones was always mentioning.
But Bill was thinking now especially of the fact that Marvin had left
Raymond Thomas's office suddenly, and had told Bill precisely why he had
left.
"Don't _you_ think it would be best for me to go back, daddy?" Millie
questioned, interrupting his random musings. "Maybe mother could manage
here, with one or two boarders and the money I shall send her. And there
will be your army pension. Mr. Thomas is coming to pay us a visit
to-morrow, you know, and I'll ask him at once for my old position. I
know it will be all right, for he's always been perfectly splendid! He
told me the position would always be open to me. You have no idea how
kind and considerate he is, daddy! Then maybe next summer--"
"Next summer we're all goin' to be rich!" said her odd foster-father,
unexpectedly. "Yes, sir, meanin' you an' mother, Millie girl, next
summer we're goin' to be awful rich. Leastways, you an' mother is. Bein'
rich wouldn't mean nothin' to me--I'm above it!"
"Why, daddy!" Millie exclaimed, staring at him. "How--What do you mean,
daddy?"
Slumped away down in his chair, Bill's eyes were now all but closed
tight and he was grinning.
"Nothin' particular," he answered, softly. "'Cept that maybe Bill Jones
ain't called Lightnin' for nothin'."
"Bill," said his wife, "this ain't no time for to be smart! If you have
anything to say, I wish to goodness you'd say it!"
Bill half opened his eyes and glanced at her. "Millie ain't goin' back
to that tailor-made lawyer's office," he said.
"Daddy, please!" said Millie, flushing.
"You mustn't make fun of Mr. Thomas when--"
"All right, Millie," he stopped her, resting his thin hand on her brown
hair for an instant. "I wouldn't say nothin' as would hurt you. But you
won't have to go back, my dear--not unless you really want to leave us.
I got an idea, mother--that's why I was late gettin' home. Ideas take
time, 'specially when they're good ones! I got a good one what'll fix
this whole business!"
Bill stuck his thumbs in his faded old shirt comically. Even slumped
down in his chair as he was, the suggestion of a harmless swagger was in
his manner--the easy swagger of one who, hitherto unconsidered, has
astonished the skeptics by giving birth to an idea and solving a
problem. There was something about Bill that suppressed the gentle but
none the less amused smile that was dimpling Millie's cheeks.
"Out with it, daddy!" she demanded, restraining a desire to pull his
ear.
"If Lem Townsend is so anxious to help us," he stated, "he can arrange
all the details for you, mother. I 'ain't got time for details--that's
what I told Grant once, when we was havin' supper before Petersburg. Got
enough to do with the idea. Lem can put the ads. in them Reno papers,
an' hire the maids for you, an' things like that." Then Bill suddenly
stopped, hugely enjoying the mystification of his two listeners.
His wife sat up. "Bill Jones," she said, "you been drinking again down
to town, that's what I think!"
"Go on, daddy!" Millie encouraged, putting her hand on his arm. "I feel
that you've thought of something! Tell us!"
Ignoring his wife's accusation, Bill gave Millie a grateful glance and
resumed, in his slow drawl:
"I got an idea--sure enough, mother an' Millie! It didn't hit me until I
was half-way home to-day, but I got it lookin' at the mornin' train what
goes on through to Reno. I've looked at a pile o' trains in my time, but
I never got no idea from 'em before. Look here, don't the state line run
plumb through the middle o' this house, so's half of it is in California
an' the other half in Nevada? Well, what's the matter with makin' this
house a hotel temporary for busted hearts what takes six months to cure?
Lots o' them rich folks from the East who goes on down to Reno to git
divorced would like to live on the lake, but they can't because they got
to live in Nevada for six months. They can live on one side o' this
house an' be in Nevada. An' at the same time they gits all the good o'
livin' in California! They'd be tickled to death an' they'd be comin' in
shoals all year, winter an' summer. An' what they pays ain't nothin' to
them--the Reno hotels is so rich off them they don't want to take in no
one what 'ain't a busted heart! You better start right away gettin'
ready, mother!"
Mrs. Jones and Millie gasped. Bill, however, having spoken at
considerable length for him, merely reached for his eternal bag of
tobacco and paper and idly rolled himself a cigarette.
Millie clapped her hands. "Why, mother!" she cried, "daddy's right--it
is an idea! And so simple!"
"All big things is simple," Bill remarked, with the air of one who ought
to know.
Mrs. Jones stared from her husband to Millie. "Oh, Bill," she said,
finally, "I really think we can do it! And now I'll tell you somethin'.
I--I was goin' to suggest this very thing some time ago, but--but I
thought you wouldn't approve of it on account o' Millie. Lem Townsend
put the notion in my head when he was talkin' about our sellin' the
timber."
Bill looked up. "Lem thought of it, eh? Didn't think Lem had that much
sense. Anyways, I bet I thought of it first--I must 'a' been thinkin' of
it for a long time without knowin' it. Why shouldn't I approve--on
account o' Millie, mother?"
"I--I don't know," said his wife, uncertainly. "I hear some of them
divorcers is--is--"
"Shucks, mother," Bill stopped her. "They're human beings, ain't they?
An' them as ain't we needn't take. But they're all right. I seen a lot
o' them on the trains. Right smart lookers, most o' them! They can't
help it if their hearts gets busted, can they? Human beings is human
beings. Besides, we gotter look at it from a business point o' view--as
Lincoln said to me about the Civil War. I was a business man once an'--"
Millie laughed, and Bill, remembering that he was in the bosom of his
family and that there were certain things he couldn't "get away with"
there, subsided.
Evidently Mrs. Jones had been thinking hard during the past few minutes,
and now she spoke. "We'll do it, Millie!" she said. "Some o' them Reno
hotels got started overnight, just like this, an' we can do the same.
It'll be kinder queer at first, turning our home into a hotel, but maybe
we can soon make enough to--to make it a home again. Shall we try it,
Millie?"
"Of course!" Millie exclaimed. "I think it will be great fun! You're
awful clever, daddy, to think of it!"
Bill, who had rolled and lighted another cigarette, arose and stuck his
hands carelessly in the pockets of his worn, baggy old trousers.
"'Tain't nothin'," he remarked, swaying on his heels and toes. "Nothin'
at all! I think o' lots o' things like that, but I don't tell 'em--too
busy! Well, mother, as Lem Townsend's comin' over to-night, you better
have him fix them details. I got to go an' think some more about the
idea!"
He moved away with elaborate unconcern and started to amble down the
veranda steps. His wife suddenly remembered several odd jobs he should
be attending to, but she did not stop him. Her mind was full of
plans--and one is naturally timid about asking a Man with a Big Idea to
perform menial tasks.