Lennox sent me a note from Queenstown. I wondered, reading the brief
cheerful account of his crossing, if he guessed how much I would give
to have him cornered for a half-hour's interview. That he could
throw considerable light on the puzzle I did not doubt, any more than
that he had promptly put the ocean between us with a view to avoiding
the very question I wanted to put to him. Anyway he was securely out
of reach, and there was no use in wasting speculation.
My motor-cycle had arrived some time ago, but up to now I had not
made use of it. It was housed in the carriage-shed, to Peter's great
curiosity. Once I had caught him meddling with it surreptitiously,
and my lecture, garnished with many lies as to what would happen to
him if he pursued investigations, wrought the desired effect on his
superstitious mind. Devils offered to Peter the most natural
explanation for anything he failed to understand. Having a free
morning, it occurred to me to put the engine in order, and Peter,
cleaning harness nearby, watched my proceedings with distrustful
curiosity.
"Is yoh gwine _ride_ dat 'ar thing, doctah?" he asked me.
"Sure!" I stood up, wiping my grimed hands on a piece of cotton
waste. "Don't you think it's a likely thing to scare the ha'nts
with, Pete?"
"Yoh talk er de ha'nts, doctah, 'cause yoh ain' done _seen_ 'em.
When yoh's done seen 'em, doctah, I raikon yose gwine talk er suthin'
eke."
"If I meet one on this, Pete, it'll give him such fits he won't do
any han'ting for a week. Give me that monkey-wrench."
He eyed me gloomily.
"Dat ar thing's got a debbil in 'um sure, an' yoh ain' git no better
er one debbil by mixin' 'um up wid anuffer--no, _sah_!"
"Peter," I said, "you are too conservative."
"I d'know dat. I d'know dat! De debbil's de dibbil, an' dar ain' no
good yet come er mixin' up wid him. 'Tain' in de Bible nor 'tain' in
nature, an' I ain' holdin' wid no such dealin's."
"Well, Pete, I'm going to back my devil against your rabbit's foot,
anyhow."
Pete looked suspicious.
"Who's been talkin' 'bout rabbit's foots, doctah?"
"No one. Turn your pockets out, Pete!"
His hand clapped involuntarily to the side of his trousers.
"I got ter put dat harness away, an' I ain' got the time t' be
hindered in! Sholy to Gawd, doctah, yoh ain' s'pose _I_ carry no
trash like that!"
He straightened himself with dignity, hanging the harness up on its
pegs. I finished my job and went into the surgery. I had written to
the city for the drug I wanted for Lessing. It arrived yesterday,
and I had made up the powders. They were lying on the desk with a
rubber band about them, and the packet caught my eye as I came in. I
called to Pete.
"I want you to take a prescription over to Mr. Lessing," I said.
"You can take the buckboard and bring back that sack of feed from
Sliefer's at the same time."