IN THE SUNSET
Slowly he passed, for he stopped to pick
The stones from the road with his old crook stick.
Rolled them left and rolled them right
From early morning till late at night.
And to wondering folk who paused to ask
The reasons that prompted this self-set task
He said, with a smile for their doubting gaze,
“I’m simply helpin’ ye mend your ways!”
It was August again. The flies buzzed lazily in the late afternoon
hush, and the knife-nicked bench in the shade cast by Asa Brickett’s
store had its accustomed row of old men, who buzzed in conversation as
lazily as the flies.
“This has been about the tejousest summer I ever put through,”
complained Uncle Lysimachus Buck, after a yawn. “Ev’rything seems to be
deader’n the latch on a bulkhead door.”
“Mebbe it’s because Hime Look has settled up country on the Snell farm,”
observed Marriner Amazeen with a bit of malice.
“Reports is that he’s givin’ ’em a little flavour of circus right
along in that section,” said Dow Babb.
“Feller from that way was tellin’ me that Hime has been doin’ a job of
breakin’ up with that el’phunt hitched to the plow. Hime allowed as how
P. T. Barnum tells in his book that he used an el’phunt to plow with,
and he wa’n’t goin’ to let no P. T.’s git ahead of _him_. Ev’ry hoss
that come along past stuck up ears and tail and tried to climb a tree
and pull the tree up after. Feller said that one of the neighbours went
to Hime fin’ly and said that he’d been readin’ in some tormented book
erruther that in old days the Romans, or some of them old sirs, whoever
they be, used to sacrifice animiles when there was any good luck had
come to ’em and they wanted to celebrate account of it. Neighbour
hinted that marryin’ Abby Snell was good enough luck for any man to brag
of, and wanted to know why Hime didn’t offer Imogene up as a sacrifice.
Told Hime the neighbours would git up a bee, if he did, and club in with
him mighty enthusiastic.”
Babb unlocked his legs and chuckled.
“Hime spoke up and told the neighbour as how ’twas Imogene that had
made the match ’tween him and Abby, and that if it come to a choice of
gittin’ along without the el’phunt or a cook stove Abby’d let the cook
stove go ev’ry time. Didn’t get much satisfaction out of Hime, now I
tell ye!”
“I donno of any one that ever did,” said Marriner Amazeen.
“Cap Nymp’ Bodfish licked him once, time o’ the May gale, there,” stated
Uncle Buck. “Cap Nymps told me he did.”
“Say, do you s’pose if he’d ever licked Hime Look he’d a-hid off in the
woods all next day and then sold the _Effort_ for a song and scooted
to Hackenny, for all we know of him here?” demanded Amazeen. “No, s’r,
there was no one ever done Hime Look in this world, except his own
brother in town meetin’, and then t’was Look eat Look.”
“Curi’s how things has all come around the last year,” mused Lysimachus.
“The Squire married to Sylvene and settled in the Willard house and the
old Judge actin’ as proud of him as----”
Brickett interrupted here, coming from the inside of the store, where he
had been perusing his daily paper.
“Why shouldn’t he be proud of him?” he demanded, his thumb on an item,
his glasses on the end of his nose. “You listen here a minute.”
He began to read in a sing-song manner:
“A well-founded rumour from the State House is to the effect that the
Governor has tendered the vacant Supreme Court judgeship to the Hon.
Phineas Look, of Palermo. Mr. Look’s legal qualifications are too well
known in this State to need comment. It is understood that he is in
no sense an active candidate, and the honour has been tendered by the
Governor to the Palermo man by the Executive’s initiative, the Governor
following his frequently expressed intention of letting certain
appointments within his gift seek the man. A Supreme Court judgeship
is certainly not an office to be hawked among politicians, and such an
appointment will be a credit to the State and the Bar. Mr. Look is----”
Brickett ran his eye down the column.
“There’s pretty nigh a whole colume here about him,” he said. “But there
ain’t any need of readin’ it. It’s matters we’re all knowin’ to about
him. Papers was lookin’ for somethin’ to fill up with, I persume.”
He flopped the sheet.
“What I wanted in pertickler to call your attention to,” he went on,
“was something reel interestin’. It says here that a man has shot
himself in a New York lodging-house, and from marks on his clothes and
his papers it is supposed that he is King Bradish, who was at one time
well known in certain sportin’ quarters. That must be our King Bradish,
don’t you s’pose so?”
“Prob’ly,” said Uncle Buck without great interest. “And I’m glad he done
it before he’d skun the last cent out of his poor old mother. I guess
she ain’t got much left, as it is.”
“Well, signs and wonders never cease,” sighed Marriner Amazeen,
relighting his pipe; “as I said when I witnessed Sum Badger’s new will
t’other day,” he continued between puffs.
“Haskell’s girl gits it, does she?” asked Babb.
“Yas! Sence ’Caje Dunham whirled ’round and showed some signs of
bein’ human, Sum found that he was in a class by himself as the meanest
man in town, and he got jealous of ’Caje.”
“It won’t hurt this place none if some of the rest of ’em runs races
of the same sort,” said Buck.
The click of the key in the lock above their heads startled them.
Squire Phin was coming down the stairs, shoving the key of his office
into his trousers.
“We’ve jest been list’nin’ to some news about you, Squire,” called one
of the group on the bench.
Squire Phin came around the corner of the stairway, put his hands behind
his back and smiled at them.
“What now, neighbours?” he inquired.
“Says here in Ase’s paper that you’re goin’ to be a judge,” replied
Buck.
“Well, that _is_ news,” said the Squire, and yet with a quizzical cock
to his eyebrows that indicated that he was in no measure surprised.
“Go ’long with you! You knowed it all the time!” snorted Buck.
“I always believe in giving my old neighbours all the news I can when
they want it,” the lawyer said humorously, “for news has been scarce in
town lately. I’m going to give you something straight now. You will hear
this before the newspapers do: I have written to the Governor declining
that honour with grateful thanks.”
“Won’t be a judge?” queried Amazeen with astonishment,
“I’d rather be Phin Look, lawyer,” said the Squire, with a queer little
glint in his eyes.
“I’ll bet you ten dollars I know why,” snapped Uncle Buck, with the
frankness of an old friend. “A man that knows was telling me that all
you have to do is set up there in your office and rake in money hand
over fist, sellin’ law to the big corporations. And a Supreme Court
judge only gits five thousand a year.”
His gimlet eye bored the Squire, and a question that his curiosity had
prompted for a long time popped out of his mouth.
“A man what ought to know told me that you was clearin’ fifteen thousand
dollars a year out of law. Now, Squire, I stump you to say that he lied.
Did he, or didn’t he?”
The lawyer so thoroughly appreciated the character of Uncle Buck that
this attack was flavoured for him with delicious humour. He came close
to the old man and put his hands on his hips as he straddled before him.
“I’m goin’ to tell you the honest truth, Uncle Lys,” he said.
The inquisitor pulled himself forward.
“If a man is a Supreme Court judge in this State he must be away from
home almost three-quarters of his time. Now the straight facts of the
case are----”
He whirled on his heel and pointed up the street. They all could see
the gate of the Willard place. A woman was standing there waiting, and
against her pretty white gown was silhouetted the figure of a shaggy
dog.
“Now, the straight facts are, Uncle Lys, my wife wants me home every
night to help water the garden. I’ve coaxed and teased, but she won’t
let me be a judge.”
A pucker of mirth came around his lips.
“It’s awful to be bossed around that way by a woman, Uncle Lys.”
“Oh, you darnation fool!” snorted the old man, making a swipe at the
lawyer with his cane.
Squire Phin dodged in mock terror and went away laughing.
Uncle Aquarius Wharff had come up and taken his favourite position on
the platform to study the evening skies.
“How is it looking to-night?” asked the lawyer, kindly humouring the old
man’s vagary.
“Clouds is master fine things with the sun-fire behind ’em, ain’t
they, Squire?” returned Uncle Wharff. “Look at ’em, all splattered
with colours that the cherubim has been busy all day a-mixin’ so’s to
have ‘em ready for the sunset time. Blazin’ with glory, that’s what they
be! Seems as if you could jump off’n Witch-Run Hill straight into the
hereafter. Sometimes it has seemed to me that p’raps the angels do open
the gates once in a while at sunset time jest to see if they are well
’iled ag’inst the Gre’t Day of the Hereafter. It’s a spankin’ fine
prospect out there now, Squire. You take that mixtur’ of gold and roses
and all them colours that make your heart feel swelly inside, and it
means settled weather for a long time to come, Squire, for a long time
to come!”
The lawyer patted the shoulder of the old man’s sun-faded coat.
“God bless you for a prophet, Uncle Aquarius,” he said gently.
Then he stepped off the platform and started up the street, waving a
greeting to the white figure at the gate. She came to meet him, with
shining eyes, and they went in hand in hand.
THE END