For nearly two years I had rigidly adhered to Marion's scheme of
inexpensive farming, with the result that we refrained from spending
money at a rate that should have enabled us to amass a fortune in course
of time. The rent which I paid to Peter practically included a bonus to
him for working his own land, but this was a mere trifle to the outlay
that would have been necessary had I essayed the rôle of an ordinary
amateur farmer. Thus, from the standpoint of economy I can cheerfully
testify that the plan was a success, but at times its chafing
restrictions irritated me almost to the point of rebellion, as when I
heard Abner Davis insinuate that I was not a regular farmer. This
feeling, however, gradually wore away, as I learned that Marion's plan
not only meant a pecuniary saving, but also a freedom from many
responsibilities and worries inseparable from the lot of the ordinary
farmer. At all times I could rise superior to the devastations of
potato-bugs and cut-worms, early and late frosts, hog-cholera,
hail-storms, floods, droughts, and mortgage interest. It was this
consideration that made me hesitate to adopt Aunt Sophy's suggestion
that I should indulge myself by launching forth in the fatuous career of
the irregular farmer who spends his fortune in the delightful pursuit of
a phantom profit, but when I began to fully realize that we owned
Waydean and that I had five thousand dollars in the bank, the prospect
of farming on a larger scale became distinctly alluring. At this point I
suddenly made the astounding discovery that Marion had entered upon a
policy of absolute non-interference in the matter. Not only did she
neglect to point out the proper course for me to take, but she also
declined to express an opinion or make a comment upon anything even
remotely connected with farming operations; nor would she explain her
reasons for this extraordinary behavior, or admit that she had reasons.
I could only guess that it was Aunt Sophy's letter which had influenced
her to this complete inaction and apparent indifference to my
agricultural operations.
It was then that I became aware how dependent I was upon my wife's
judgment and how much I distrusted my own. Like a caged bird unwittingly
made free, I felt bewildered and forsaken and vainly tried to be
restored to favor. I am amenable to reason, to flattery, or to anything
else that helps to make life pleasant and more worth living; not so with
Marion. It is hopeless to attempt to change her purpose by external
influences, and I soon gave up the thankless task of trying to extract
an opinion from her that she was bound to keep to herself. It was while
I was still in a state of mental bewilderment over her behavior that
Peter Waydean came forward with what appeared to be a most reasonable
proposition. While I had been puzzling over what I should do with the
farm, it appeared that he, by a curious coincidence, was in a similar
state of indecision about what he should do without it. He hadn't
realized, he said, when he sold the place to Mr. Fairman, how attached
he was to the old homestead or how bereft of occupation he would feel
when he no longer cultivated the land that he had cropped for half a
century. He could scarcely make me understand how gratified he was that
I, and not a stranger, was now the owner; indeed, the idea had occurred
to him that, considering our friendly relations as neighbors, we might
make an arrangement, to our mutual advantage--ahem!--to work the land on
shares.
I had but a vague idea of what working land on shares meant, and I had
to ask him to explain the term. Instead of giving me a precise
definition, he began by pointing out that if I worked the farm myself I
would have the expense of keeping a hired man all the year round, as
well as extra hands in the busy season; I would have a continued outlay
for farm-stock, implements, feed and sundries. On the other hand, if we
worked the land on shares, he would be willing to do all the work
himself and provide everything necessary, if I were willing to pay him
the three hundred dollars that it would cost me to keep a hired man.
"And the produce?" I asked warily, though I felt inclined to agree on
the spot.
Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he spoke. "I was going to say
that we might share and share alike, but I'm ready to do more than
that," with an expansive smile. "You see, as I told you once before,
taking one year with another, farming don't pay, and you might have to
share two years' losses against one year's profits." He paused for a
moment, and I nodded knowingly. "Now," he continued, "I'll take the hull
darned crop myself, and if it don't pay expenses you don't lose, but if
there is any profit once in a while, I'll have something for horse and
cow feed."
This offer sounded so generous that I almost succumbed; indeed, I would
have agreed at once but for the caution inspired by my previous dealings
with him, and the remembrance that Marion counted it one of my failings
that my first impulse was always to agree with any plausible
proposition. This thought gave me moral courage enough to withhold my
consent until I had time to talk it over with my wife.
Now when I eagerly began to explain the advantages of working the land
on shares I was so full of the subject that I forgot temporarily that
Marion was leaving me to my own devices, nor did I remember till I
paused for her opinion, and heard the interesting comment that I'd
better get the whitewash mixed up so that we could do the kitchen right
after dinner.
I mixed the whitewash with fierce energy. After dinner I applied it with
a concentrated vigor that, properly distributed, would have whitened the
White House. As I worked, I ruminated bitterly upon Marion's aggravating
reserve, doubly annoying in that I had an instinct that she saw a fatal
flaw in the plan which was not apparent to me. When I finished the walls
and ceiling of the kitchen I found that I had incidentally whitened the
stove, the floor and myself.
To my surprise, Marion made no comment on this as she prepared to scrub
the floor, her features expressing calm content, with perhaps a
suggestion of scornful amusement that was not definite enough to justify
me in accusing her of implying that I hadn't done the work neatly. She
had just dipped her scrubbing brush into the pail of water, and I was in
the act of removing my bespattered overalls, when the front door-bell
rang. It was such an unusual occurrence at Waydean for anyone to come to
the front door that the sound of the bell at this juncture created a
commotion. Neither of us was presentable, but Marion seized a towel and
rubbed some splatches of lime off my face, hurried me into an old coat
and declared I must go. I had learned previously that on any special
occasion it is always the man who must go, so I did not protest. I even
went willingly, for the bell rang a second time with a portentous
reverberation that thrilled me with expectancy that something was about
to happen, and I was in the mood to enjoy something happening. As I
glanced at the mirror in the hall I was startled to see that my hair and
beard were powdered a delicate gray with the lime, and that the lines in
my face looked like the deep seams of old age, but as this couldn't be
helped I opened the door with my usual air of inquiring dignity.
"How are you, Mr. Waydean?" demanded a hearty voice, and a large,
bearded, black-clothed, silk-hatted man grasped my hand with a fervent
pressure.
I am singularly open to sympathy, and at that particular time I would
have welcomed the benediction of a wayside beggar, so I returned the
hearty hand-clasp and replied that I was from fair to middling, warmly
inviting him to walk into the parlor. It did not occur to me until he
spread his coat tails and inverted his hat on the floor that he looked
as if he might be an ex-clerical insurance or book agent, and I was
rather more relieved than impressed when he announced that he was the
new pastor of the only church in the neighborhood. I attempted to
apologize for my disordered appearance and to explain that I was not a
church-goer, also that Waydean was not my name, but that of the place.
"Not one word, Mr. Waydean," he interrupted, his deep voice drowning my
courteous utterance. "You wouldn't think so, perhaps, but I was brought
up on a farm, and I have learned that clothes do not make a man. Would
you be a different person, let me ask, were you clothed in sheepskins or
purple and fine linen?"
"I never tried either of those costumes," I answered, "but if you saw me
in my ordinary clothes you wouldn't take me for a farmer."
"Come now, Mr. Waydean," he urged, tapping my knee insistently; "would
you or would you not be the same man? A straight answer, if you
please--no hedging."
"Well," I admitted, "I suppose I would be the same man, but I'd look
mighty different."
He leaned back in his chair, contemplating me with a satisfied smile. "I
am pleased to see that you are willing to grant that you are in error,"
he said, stroking his beard; "it's always better to tell the truth at
first than to wait until you are obliged to do so. But this, of course,
is not what I called to say, and I must come to the point. I've
preached in this church two Sabbaths, and you have not been present. May
I ask you why?"
"Well I--I'm not much in the habit of going to church. I----"
"Hedging again, Mr. Waydean," he said, holding up a warning forefinger.
"I must insist upon your being perfectly frank. I have reason to suppose
you have stayed away on account of this petty disagreement with Brother
Bunce and Brother Lemon. Is not that the fact?"
Alas, I could not say! Had I known the particulars of the petty
disagreement he mentioned I might have hazarded an admission that he was
correct in his surmise, for I find it easier to acknowledge that a
person is right in a matter of no interest to me than think up arguments
on the other side. I felt like a small boy who is called upon to decide
instantly whether his punishment will be mitigated or increased if he
confesses to a deed of which he is both innocent and ignorant. I looked
in every direction but at my accuser, and remained silent.
"Mr. Waydean," he went on, with a note of sympathetic compassion that
would have softened my heart had I been a sinner, "I find it is better
to begin work in a new sphere by smoothing out anything that has caused
discord, so I have come to you to-day as a peacemaker to speak about
your demeanor in church, which, I understand, has been the primary cause
of this trouble."
"My demeanor in church?" I cried, with indignant incredulity.
"Not a word, if you please, until I have stated the case in full, as I
understand it; then I shall listen to your explanation. You are in the
habit of sleeping in church, and----"
Again I struggled to disclaim the habit of church-going. Again his
masterful voice drowned my protest.
"I can assure you, Mr. Waydean, that we all have habits of which we are
totally unconscious. I, for instance, invariably moisten my thumb in
turning the leaves of the pulpit Bible, and I am inclined to disbelieve
my wife when she mentions the matter afterwards. Now, I want you to
take my word for it that you have the habit I am about to speak of, even
though you may think you haven't."
I remembered with an effort that my name was Peter Waydean; at the same
time I was thrilled by a sudden conviction that, as resistance seemed
useless, a delightful situation would result if I consented to play the
part that was being thrust upon me so vigorously. There was no sound of
scrubbing from the kitchen, and I was positive that Marion had left her
work to listen to the conversation. This consideration gave zest to the
idea, for things seemed to have been providentially arranged so that
Marion might remain in the background, wrathfully powerless to interfere
in what had every appearance of proving to be a most entertaining
masquerade.
"Mr. Hughes, I'll try," I said meekly.
"Well then, I will say frankly that I think it excusable if you
occasionally fall asleep during the sermon on a warm day, considering
that you have but one day's rest in the week from most arduous manual
labor; but, it happens, your pew is between Brother Bunce's and Brother
Lemon's, and they, too, are sometimes overcome by somnolency. Don't be
offended if I put the matter plainly,--they both complain that you have
the habit of going to sleep and----"
"But what right have they to complain of my going to sleep, when
they----"
"There,--there!--be calm, and I'll explain. Remember, they are both
liberal givers and pillars of the church, and we must do nothing to
alienate them; indeed, if we can do anything to make them more
comfortable it is our duty to do so. Now they do not complain of your
going to sleep, but they protest against having their rest disturbed
by--ahem!--your--your _snoring_."
"My _snoring_!" I exclaimed wrathfully. "Let me inform you, sir, I never
snore. I--" A choking guttural sound from the dining-room, followed by
an artificial feminine cough, arrested my denial. I gulped twice, then I
went on humbly: "I should say, rather, that I was not aware I snored."
"Well put, Mr. Waydean," said my mentor approvingly. "I remember the
first time my wife told me I snored I was quite irritated, so I know how
you feel. But I have investigated this matter thoroughly before coming
to you, and I find the opinion is universal that you are in fault."
"Well, then, what are you going to do about it? If I'm not wanted in the
church I'm willing to stay away."
"No, no,--my dear sir, I will not hear of such a thing. I am determined
that no one shall leave the church during my pastorate. I would suggest,
however, that you might change your pew to one at the rear of the
building under the gallery. You would be more comfortable there, and
Bunce and Lemon would be out of range, so to speak."
"Never," I protested firmly. "I shall either keep my pew at the front,
or leave the church."
"You will listen to reason, Mr. Waydean," he insisted, with confident
decision. "I was told that you were obstinate, and that I might as well
leave you alone, but I want you to set a good example to your neighbors
and show them you are a man of sense. May I--ah--ask you to call in Mrs.
Waydean, if she is at home?"
It was a move that took me unawares; I almost broke out into a cold
sweat. There was a sudden dull thump in the dining-room that sounded as
if the cat had jumped down from the top of the dresser to the floor, and
I knew that Marion in her dismay had dropped into a chair. Somehow this
sound was inspiriting. She could not get upstairs without being seen by
our visitor, and in her old skirt she was as impotent to interrupt any
statement I chose to make as if she were bound and gagged. Therefore,
with inward relish and outward regret, I answered that my wife had been
so unfortunate as to twist her ankle and had been confined to her bed
for two days.
He only paused to express the proper condolences before returning to the
point; leaning forward confidentially, he lowered his voice. "The fact
is, Mr. Waydean, I sympathize with your stand in the matter, but we must
all make sacrifices for the good of the community. You must consider
that these men give liberally, and how, may I ask, could the revenue be
made up if they left the church?"
More was implied by the diplomatic suggestiveness of his tone than by
the words. There was a pause, during which I pursed up my lips,
half-closed my eyes, and thoughtfully rubbed the bristles on my chin.
"Well," I remarked at length, in a reflective tone, "I suppose you think
I might do a little better?"
"To be quite frank, I think you might," he responded. "It is a delicate
matter to mention, but you have the reputation of being the wealthiest
man in the neighborhood, and--and----"
"And the closest," I added, with a touch of asperity. "To be quite frank
with _you_, Mr. Hughes, I didn't take much stock in your predecessor, or
I might have given more; but now I may perhaps feel differently. You
make Bunce and Lemon attend to their own beams, and I'll tell you what
I'll do. I'll--" Again that falsetto cough from the next room checked my
flow of speech. I had completely forgotten Marion, having become so
absorbed in my part.
"Well?" he asked expectantly.
I glanced around nervously and lowered my voice almost to a whisper.
"I'll give as much cash as I gave before; besides, I'll give half my
crop."
"Half your crop!" he exclaimed in amazement.
"Half--my--crop," I solemnly asserted; "if you care to send for it.
Perhaps you could get Bunce and Lemon to team the produce to market?"
"I'll attend to that," he responded cheerfully. "I'll get up a bee, and
lend a hand myself. I hope,--ho, ho, ho!--that you will have a large
crop. What do you propose to grow next year?"
"Well, I--I haven't quite decided."
"Considering that I have a half-interest, let me suggest potatoes."
"Potatoes!" I exclaimed. "Why, they're not worth digging this
year--fifteen cents a bag!"
The minister laughed. "Ninety-nine farmers out of a hundred will reason
in the same way," he said; "then the crop will be short and the prices
high. Be the hundredth man, and plant potatoes."
I thanked him for the advice, which seemed to me to be excellent. He
rose to go, then placed his hand affectionately on my shoulder. "Keep
your pew," he said, "and leave me to settle with Brothers Bunce and
Lemon; but if, as a favor to me, you could keep from--_going to
sleep_?----"
I could not resist the urgent friendliness of his appeal. "Mr. Hughes,"
I responded, "I can promise never to close my eyes while listening to
your sermons; more than that, I'll see that Bunce and Lemon keep awake
also."
His eyes twinkled with appreciative humor as he thanked me, and a sudden
remorse seized me for taking advantage of his insistent belief that I
was Peter Waydean. I might have yielded to my inclination to confess,
had not Marion's cough given place to a series of energetic movements
which I interpreted as a threat that she was preparing to enter the room
to expose my duplicity. As a usual thing I am easily intimidated, but
sometimes when I get beyond my depth I become bold, defiant, reckless. I
had, after all, done no wrong; I had merely accepted a situation that
had been forced upon me. My wife, on the contrary, had behaved with
heartless indifference. After training me to depend upon her judgment,
after teaching me to obey the dictates of her conscience, she had,
without a word of warning, sympathy or apology, left me to wrestle alone
with a momentous question; left me to be tossed about like a tailless
kite or a rudderless boat. Well, it was my plain duty to teach her a
lesson, and I saw the way to point a pretty moral and at the same time
settle my doubts as to the wisdom of allowing Peter to work my land on
shares. Marion had refused her opinion on this matter; she might now
listen while I appealed to a stranger.
"Mr. Hughes," I said hurriedly, as he picked up his hat, "sit down for
five minutes more--I want to ask your advice."
He did so, and briefly,--very briefly, for the sounds indicated that
Marion was desperately sponging her skirt on the dining-room table,--I
sketched a proposition similar to Peter's. "Now," I concluded, "do you
consider that a fair arrangement for the city man as well as for the
farmer?"
"A fair arrangement!" he exclaimed. "Where is the city man's share?"
"Wouldn't it be in the money he wouldn't spend by not working the land
himself?" I asked earnestly.
He laughed in joyous abandonment. "Really, Mr. Waydean," he gasped, "you
have an extraordinary mind. But it doesn't pay to juggle with one's
conscience, even in the case of a city man--it would be downright
extortion."
Again I was moved by his geniality to confess that I was not the man I
seemed; again was this virtuous resolve crushed. Before I could speak,
he went on: "You wouldn't have asked me this if your conscience hadn't
troubled you. Three hundred dollars bonus for the farmer--and _all_ the
produce!" Again his smile broke out afresh as he looked at me in mild
reproof. "Oh, I know what you're thinking. I, too, thought at one time
that amateur farmers were designed by Providence to add to the
prosperity and entertainment of legitimate cultivators of the soil,
but--oh, dear me!--three hun--ho, ho, ho!--Why, you'd kill your goose."
"Goose!" I cried fiercely. "Do you mean to call me a goose?"
"No, no,--I was going to say you'd kill your goose----"
"_Don't_ say it, then," I adjured him, with bitter resentment. "If you
mention anything oval and metallic and glittering, I'll have a--a
nervous prostration. Why do men of your profession want to wreck the
nerves of your listeners by firing off the most obvious remarks, the
stalest platitudes, the most hackneyed metaphors? Why can't you
sometimes say something unexpected? I'd go to church if I could listen
to sermons in which I didn't always know what was coming next."
It was his turn to wince. An angry flush mounted to his cheeks, and he
positively glowered at me. "Permit me to say," he thundered, extending
his right arm in a pulpit gesture, "that I wasn't going to mention the
gol"--I don't know what he wasn't going to mention, for I clapped my
hands over my ears just in time to escape hearing, because I felt that I
really couldn't bear a certain reference that he seemed bent upon
making. The next words that reached me were: "--was about to say that if
you pluck all the feathers off your goose out of season the result will
be fatal. Mr. Waydean, you are behaving in----"
"Don't," I implored--"don't Mr. Waydean me again. I'm _not_ old Waydean.
I'm----"
"You're not--Peter Waydean?" he gasped.
"No,--I'm not."
"I--I was told this was the Waydean homestead."
"It is," I said, regaining my composure, "but he doesn't live here."