"But, Alec," goes on the parson, "that Simpson has gone back t' Noo
York----"
"_What?_"
"Yas. He put all his doctor truck into his gasoline wagon last night
and choo-chooed outen town. If _he's_ there, and _she_ goes, wal,--I
don't like the looks of it."
"I don't neither, parson. He's crooked as a cow-path, that feller.
Have you tole her paw?"
"No, but I will," says the parson.
I went over to the deepot again. Havin' done a little thinkin', I
wasn't so scairt about Simpson by now. 'Cause why? Wal, y' see, I
knowed
Mace didn't have no money; ole Sewell wouldn't give her none; and she
wasn't the kind of a gal t' borra. So it was likely she'd be in Briggs
fer quite a spell.
I found Up-State settin' outside the eatin'-house. I sit down byside
him. Allus, them days, whenever I come in sight of the station, he was
a-hangin' 'round, y' savvy. He'd be on a truck, say, 'r mebbe on the
edge of the platform. If it was all quiet inside at the lunch-counter,
he'd be watchin' the mesquite, and sorta swingin' his shoes. But if
Macie was singin', he'd be all scrooched over with his face covered
up--and pretty quiet.
When Macie sung, it was The Mohawk Vale ev'ry time. Now, that seemed
funny, bein' she was mad at me and that was my fav'rite song. Then,
it didn't seem so funny. One of the eatin'-house gals tole me,
confidential, that Up-State had lots of little chins with Macie acrosst
the lunch-counter, and that The Mohawk Vale was "by request."
_I_ didn't keer. Let Up-State talk to her as much as he wanted to.
_He_ couldn't make me jealous--not on you' life! I wasn't the finest
lookin' man in Oklahomaw, and I wasn't on right good terms with Mace.
But Up-State--wal, Up-State was pretty clost t' crossin' the Big Divide.
All this time not a word 'd passed 'twixt Macie and her paw. The ole
man was too stiff-necked t' give in and go to her. (He was figgerin'
that she'd git tired and come home.) And Macie, she wasn't tired a
blamed bit, and she was too stiff-necked t' give in and go t' Sewell.
Wal, when the boss heerd about Up-State and Mace, you never _seen_ a man
so sore. He said Up-State was aigin' her on, and no white man 'd do
_that_.
Y' see, he had some reason fer not goin' shucks on the singin' and
actin' breed. We'd had two bunches of op'ra folks in Briggs at
diff'rent times. One come down from Wichita, and was called "The Way to
Ruin." (Wal, it shore looked its name!) The other was "The Wild West
Troupe" from Dallas. This last wasn't West--it was from Noo York
_di_rect--but you can bet you' boots it was _wild_ all right. By
thunder! you couldn't 'a' helt nary one of them young ladies with a
hoss-hair rope!
But fer a week of Sundays, he didn't say nothin' to Up-State. He just
boiled inside, kinda. Then one day--when he'd got enough steam up, I
reckon,--why, he opened wide and let her go.
"Up-State," he begun, "I'm sorry fer you, all right, but----"
Up-State looked at him. "Sewell," he whispers, "I don't want _no_
man's pity."
"Listen to me," says the boss. "Macie's my little gal--the only child
I got left now, and I warn you not to go talkin' actress to her."
"Don't holler 'fore you git hit," whispers Up-State, smilin'.
The boss got worse mad then. "Look a-here," he says, "don't give me
none of that. You know you lie----"
Up-State shook his haid. "I'm not a man any more, Sewell," he
whispers. "I'm just what's left of one. I didn't used to let
_no_body hand out things that flat to me."
I stuck in _my_ lip. (_One_ more time couldn't hurt.) "Now, Sewell,"
I says, "put on the brake."
He got a holt on hisself then. "This ain't no josh to me, Cupid," he
says. (He was tremblin', pore ole cuss!) "What you think I heerd this
mornin'? Mace ain't makin' enough money passin' slumgullion to them
passenger cattle all day, so she's a-goin' over to Silverstein's
ev'ry night after this to fix up his books. I wisht now I'd never
sent her t' business college."