FURTHERMORE, in the morning I was just as much at sea. I had gone to
sleep as suddenly as if somebody had hit me a tunk on the head; too much
fried chicken and hashed brown potato! I did not wake up till Dodo-vah
Vose marched through the tavern halls, playing the long roll on his
gong. The March sun, level with the eastern windows, quivered with
glorious light when I opened my eyes on it. I had all sorts of reasons
to be downcast, but I was not when I waked and saw that sun.
Scattered coins, my whole capital, lay on the carpet of braided rags,
where they had slipped from my trousers pocket the night before when I
hung the garment over a chair. I gazed over the billowing edge of the
feather tick in which I was nested, and counted, for the sun lighted the
floor and glinted on the coins. One dollar and thirty-seven cents!
However, in spite of that spectacle, I hopped out of bed and dressed,
whistling snatches of tupes furnished by music-hall memories. I was home
again, Celene Kingsley had given me glances which my hopes translated
into all sorts of dear promises--she had asked me to help her; the sun
was shining, breakfast was ready! I went down-stairs whistling.
“Head up and tail over the dasher, hey?” was the greeting from Landlord
Vose.
“It’s a great world to live in,” I told him. After I had tucked away a
slice of home-smoked fried ham only a little smaller than a door-mat,
along with eggs and the fixings, I felt even more resolute about
fronting what was coming to me.
My spirit of boldness was even a bit hysterical, I guess. I rubbed the
nap of my plug-hat smooth with my forearm, pulled on my overcoat, and
went out and stood on the tavern porch, inhaling the tingling air of the
morning, exhibiting myself to Levant like a gladiator stepping into the
arena, announcing by pose and expression: “Here I am. Now come on!”
And the first to answer my challenge was my uncle Deck. I think he had
been waiting for me to appear. He walked across the village square,
coming from the town office, and I hailed him from afar with a flourish
of the hand and a “Good morning!”
Ten feet away he stopped and looked me over. “Why didn’t you come home
last night, where you belong, instead of putting up at the tavern and
letting me hear about it by word of mouth?”
“Well, Uncle Deck,” I drawled, “you remember--”
“Look here,” he yapped, “as I stand here I don’t know whether to cuff
your young chops or shake your hand. A good deal depends on you. If you
go to digging up past foolishness I’ll cuff you. As it is”--he stepped
forward, hand outstretched--“as it is, son, I’m glad to see you back,
and I hear that you have made something of yourself. I’m glad of that,
too! Now get your volucus, or whatever your baggage is, and come to the
house.”
“I’ll tell you, Uncle Deck,” I explained, dropping his hand after a
hearty shake; “I’m here on business this trip, not to go visiting.”
“What difference does that make about coming to my house, where you
belong?” he demanded.
He had me there--backed into a corner! He had his pod-auger out, ready
to use on me, just as I had apprehended--and so help me! I was not ready
with a story.
“What is your business?”
Dignified reserve and a plug-hat would not serve to trig my uncle Deck!
It was necessary for me to dedare then and there what my business in
Levant was. I had been clutching wildly into a lot of nebulous thoughts
ever since waking, trying to get hold of something solid.
And I found out then, as I had experienced before, and discovered on
many occasions later, that there was in me something which enabled me to
leap an emergency barrier when the goad was sharp enough and the danger
near.
“I’ve got to have dealings with a lot of men and I’d be a nuisance
around your premises, Uncle Deck.”
“What dealings? No secret, is it?”
“Certainly not! I’m buying for a big syndicate. Buying standing timber.”
I said that because I had already committed myself with Celene Kingsley
and it came to me that I’d better have one story and stick to it.
“All right! Buy some of mine.”
“But as I remember it, it’s mostly black growth--pine and spruce.”
“Yes, and cedar, fir, and hemlock! What in thunder does anybody want of
any other kind of timber?”
“I can’t use it. I’m buying for a special purpose.”
I felt like a man trying to get across a brook without wetting his
feet. Every time I leaped I was mighty glad and rather surprised to find
another stepping-stone to land on.
“Then you must be looking for hardwood?”
“That’s it.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Burn bricks for our factory chimneys.”
He did not look more than half convinced.
“I can’t go into details even with you, Uncle Deck,” I told him. “I’m
ordered to buy close, and when names of big concerns are given out the
sellers always raise prices.”
“There’s only one big stand of hardwood in this town,” he said, “and
I’ll see you in damnation before I’ll let you buy that!”
“Why?”
The red patches beside his nose began to flame. “Don’t come back at _me_
with your ‘whys’! I’ll tell you why you can’t buy! It’s because you’ll
be handing over money to that”--(I never heard coarser oaths; my uncle
fairly choked on them)--“to Zebulon Kingsley.”
“I know the lot belongs to Judge Kingsley. I saw the sign on the fence
and I happened to meet the judge right there and had some talk with
him.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you have been dickering with that--”
I broke in on his list of names. “My concern has ordered me to buy
hardwood and I’m buying. I have no quarrel with Judge Kingsley.”
“By the Great Jedux, you _have!_ Don’t you dare to tell me you have
forgotten! You _have_ got a quarrel with him. D----n you, look out that
you don’t start one with _me!_”
“I have come in here to mind my own business--”
“Condemn your ha’slet!” he cried. “No wonder you didn’t dare to come to
my house last night! No wonder you’re fighting shy of me to-day!”
In spite of his anger, I felt a sudden sense of relief. I did not need
to waste effort and time on minor falsehoods, trying to explain why I
did not come to his house; I could devote all my attention to my main
lie.
“I’m not fighting shy of you, Uncle Deck. I’m a business man, and--”
He turned sideways to me and switched his arm furiously, as if he held a
goad and was trying to start a balky steer.
“You come along over to my office,” he commanded with a grate in his
tones. “This isn’t a matter to blart about on a street corner.”