_Sable Plots_
So I spreads out both my hands like as if I'm plumb cowed down and
licked, and then I starts in handing out to her the yarn which I'd spent
half the night before piecing it together in my mind. It's a mighty nice
kind of romancing, if I do say so, and full of plausibleness, 'specially
that part of it which is built up on what I remembers the old judge
having told me about the curious case which come up that time in one of
the adjoining counties. But the rest of it, including the most fanciest
touches, such as Mr. Clarence and the old maiden-lady aunt and the two
sets of triplets and all, has been made up to order right out of my own
head, and I asks credit.
And now, whilst I'm setting there telling it to her and watching her
close to see how she's taking it, I'm praying to the Good Lord, asking
Him will He please, Master, forgive me for onloading such a monstrous
pack of what-ain't-so on an onsuspecting and worked-up lady. And at the
same time I'm hoping the spirit of Mr. Dallases' dear departed father,
which he was one of the nicest, quietest old gentlemen that ever
breathed, won't come ha'nting me for low-rating his memory so
scandalous. I knows full well he must be turning over in the grave
faster and faster every minute which passes. I only can trust he don't
see fit to rise from it.
"Miss DeWitt," I says, "lissen, please, an' you shell know all: You see,
ma'am, ever'thin' in this connection dates back to the time w'en Mr.
Dallases' paw made his dyin' will some six or seven yeahs ago. 'Course,
as you doubtless has learned befo' now, he lef' the bigges' part of the
estate tied up."
"I don't know any such thing," she says, breaking in again and even more
savage-like than before. "Do you mean to tell me Dallas is not the sole
master of his own property?"
I sort of stammers and hesitates like I'm astonished that she don't know
that part of it, neither. My hanging back only makes her yet more fierce
to hear the rest.
"Wellum," I goes on to say when finally I sees she's liable to blow
clean up if I delays further, "the real facts of the case is 'at he
ain't actually got no property a-tall, ez you mout say. He only draws
down one-ha'f the intrust frum it. He don't get nigh ez much income,
neither, ez whut folkses mout think frum his free way of spendin' his
money right an' lef'. Ez a matter of fact, an' in the strictes'
confidences, Miss DeWitt," I says, "he is mos' gin'elly alluz in debt to
the trustees by reason of him bein' overdrawed. But, course," I says,
"'at part of it ain't neither yere nor thar, is it? Ef Mr. Dallas wants
to slather his money 'bout so fast that ever' dollar he spends looks to
outsiders lak it's ten or twelve, tha's his bus'ness. Lemme git back on
the main track. Le's see, now? I wuz specifyin' to you 'bout the will,
wuzn' I?
"Well, it's lak this: W'en folkses down our way heared the terms of the
will they wuz a heap of 'em said the old gen'elman's mind must a-went
back on him in his last sickness fur him to be layin' down any sech
curious 'quiremints ez them wuz. Yassum, some even went fu'ther 'en 'at.
Some went so fur ez to say it wuz the streak of onsanity w'ich runs in
the Pulliam fambly croppin' out ag'in in a fresh place."
"Oh, so it's insanity now!" she says. "The longer you talk the more
interesting things I learn. Go on--go on!"
"Yassum," I says, "I'm goin'. Yassum, they wuz quite a host of folkses
w'ich come right out an' said Mr. Dallas an' Mr. Clarence, ary one or
both of 'em, would be amply justified in contestin' the will on the
grounds 'at the late lamentable wuz out of his haid at the time he
drawed it up. But no, ma'am, not them two! I figgers they knowed they
own dear paw well 'nuff to know the idee w'ich he toted in his mind.
'Sides w'ich, all the members of that fambly is sort of techy on the
subjec' of the lil' trickle of onsanity 'at flows in the blood, w'ich, I
reckin, they natchelly is to be 'scused fur that. An' ef one or the
other of 'em went to the big cotehouse tryin' to bust up the will on
the claim 'at the ole gen'elman didn't rightly know whut he wuz doin'
to'des the last, it'd only quicken up the talk 'bout the craziness
strain. An' so, on 'count of the Pulliam pride an' all, they jes' lef'
it stand lak it wuz. An' 'en, on top of 'at, Mr. Clarence he turned sort
of onsatisfactory in the haid an' he strayed off an' wuzn' heared of
ag'in till yere recently. An' 'en, soon ez Mr. Clarence wuz found, Mr.
Dallas he come on up yere an' you an' him met an'----"
"In Heaven's name, quit drooling and get somewhere," she says, making
her words pop like one of these here whip-lashes. "What did the will
say?"
"Yassum," I says, "yassum, I jest is reached 'at p'int, now. The will
say 'at the estate is to be helt in trust fur the time bein' an' 'en
w'en the two sons comes of age they is free to marry, only they is both
bound to marry somebody or other befo' they reaches they twenty-fif'
birthday. An' the one w'ich has the most chillen to his credit at the
end of five yeahs frum his weddin' day, he gits the main chunk of the
prop'ty, whilst the other is cut down to jest----"
"The most children?" she says; only by now she's saying it so savigrous
that she practically is yelling it. "The most----?"
"Yassum," I says, "tha's it--the most chillen. You see, ma'am, they
seems to run to chillen, someway, the Pulliamses does. When a Pulliam
gits married, look out fur baby-carriages, tha's all. They don't seem to
have chillen by driblets, neither, lak some people does. They is more
apt to have 'em by triplets. They is two complete sets of triplets on
record in times gone past, an' ever' generation kin be depended on to
perduce at leas' one set of twins.
"Or even more! Now, f'rinstances, you tek Mr. Dallas an' Mr.
Clarence--both twins. Tek they father befo' 'em an' they maiden aunt,
Miss Sarah Pulliam, deceasted--twins some mo'. Only, you never heared
much 'bout Miss Sarah in her lifetime owin' to her bein' kep' onder
lock an' key fur spasms of a kind of wildness comin' over her now an'
then. Then ag'in, amongst Mr. Dallases' own brothers an' sisters, tek
his two lil' twin sisters, not to mention the four or five singles w'ich
come 'long right stiddy an' reg'lar. Yassum, it's been 'at way in the
famby fur ez fur back ez the oldest inhabitant kin remember.
"But the gineration w'ich Mr. Dallas belongs to, it turned out sickly
fur the most part, an' so, by the time the ole gen'elman come to die,
all his chillen had died off on him, 'scusin' Mr. Dallas an' Mr.
Clarence, w'ich them two wuz all they wuz left out of a big swarm. Oh, I
jedges the paw knowed whut he wuz 'bout! I reckin he craved 'at his
breed should once more multiply freely an' replenish the earth wid a
whole multitude of lil' Pulliamses. An' so he purvided fur a healthy
competition betwixt his two sons to see----"
"Wait!" she says. "Let me see if I understand you? You say that by the
terms of that old maniac's will the bulk of his estate was tied up so to
go eventually to the son who had the most children five years after
marriage. Well, then, what does the remaining son--the loser--get?"
"He gits a hund'ed an' fifty dollars a month fur life--I think tha's
whut it come to," I says. "Mebbe it mout be a hund'ed an' sebenty-five,
I won't be shore. An' he also draws down fifty dollars a month extry fur
each chile he's got livin'. But tha's all. The home place an' the
tobacco bus'ness an' the money in the bank an' all else, they goes to
the winner, onlessen each one, at the end of them five yeahs is got a
ek'el number of chillen in w'ich case the estate is divided even-stephen
betwixt 'em. Yassum!"
"Then why didn't both brothers marry as soon as they came of age?" she
asks me, sort of suspicious. But I was expecting that very question to
come forth sooner or later, and I was prepared beforehand for it.
"Wellum," I says, "you see, I reckin Mr. Dallas figgered they wuzn' no
need to be in a rush seein' 'at Mr. Clarence wuz so kind of
ondependable. Ef the truth must be knowed, Mr. Clarence wuz downright
flighty. He had spells w'en he'd furgit his own name an' go wanderin'.
Yassum! An' right after he come of age he took a 'specially severe spell
an' he sauntered so fur away they plum' lost track of him. It wasn't
'twell last July 'at he wuz located ag'in. It seems lak he'd been
detained somewhars out West in a sort of a home whar they keeps folks
w'ich is liable to fits of chronic oneasiness in the haid. But now,
suddenly, his refreshed memory had come back to him an' the doctors
pernounced him cured an' turned him loose ag'in; an' the latest word wuz
'at he wuz thinkin' 'bout gittin married down in Texas or one of 'em
other distant places, out yonderways. So Mr. Dallas must a-realized 'at
'twuz up to him to stir his stumps an' git hisse'f married off, too;
'specially ez he had done passed his twenty-fo'th birthday the month
befo'. Well, seemed lak, he couldn't find no young lady down home w'ich
wuz suitable to his fancies, although some folks did say, quiet-lak, 'at
they wuz a local prejudice springin' up on the part of parents ag'inst
havin' they daughters marryin' him. But betwixt you an' me, ma'am, I
never tuk no stock in 'at, 'cause most of the time Mr. Dallas is jest ez
rationable ez whut you an' me is. It's only w'en he gits excited 'at he
behaves a lil' peculiar-lak. Well, anyways, Mr. Dallas he come on up
yere an' he met you. So now it looks lak ever'thing is goin' turn out
all right, an' mebbe we'll beat out Mr. Clarence after all, in w'ich
case Mr. Dallas won't have to be worryin' at the end of five yeahs 'bout
whar he's gain' to rake up the cash to pay back the money w'ich he's
overdrawed out of the estate, nur nuthin'. So that's how come me to
mention chillen w'en I fust come in, ma'am. An' I trusts you
understan's?"
And with that I smiles at her like I'm expecting that now, seeing she
knows all the tidings, she'll be jubilated over the prospects, too.
But she ain't smiling--I lay she ain't got a smile left in her entire
system. She's mighty nigh choking, but it ain't no happy emotion that
she's choked up with; if you was a blind man you could a-told that much
from the sounds she's making. She's saying things fast and furious.
Remarks is just foaming from her; but the trouble is she keeps on
getting her statements all jumbled up together so they don't make good
sense. And yet, notwithstanding, I still can follow her thoughts. I
catches the words: "_most_ children"--she duplicates that several
times--and "twins" and "triplets" and "insanity" and "one hundred and
fifty dollars a month." And all mixed in with this is loose odds and
ends of language which seems to indicate she thinks somebody has been
withholding something back on her or trying to take an unfair advantage
of her, or something. She certainly is in a swivit. A little more and
she'd be delirious--she would so!
All of a sudden she flings herself out of the room, with her necklaces
and things clashing till she sounds like a runaway milk-wagon, and she
makes for the telephone in the hall, and I can hear her trying very
frantic to get our number rung up. For a minute my heart swarms up in
my throat; anyhow, some of my organs swarms up there where I can taste
'em. I'm so afraid Mr. Dallas may forget his promise to me and come to
the 'phone! If he does, the whole transaction is liable to be busted up
just when I've strove so hard to fix everything nice and lovely. That's
why my heart climbs up in my windpipes. But after a little bit I can
breathe easy some more because it's plain, from what I overhears, that
Central tells her she can't get no responsives from the other end of the
wire. So then, after one or two more tries, she gives up trying and she
comes back into the setting-room, still spilling mumbling words, but
"children" continues to be the one she seems to favor the most, and she
says to me that she has a message to send to Mr. Dallas, which she wants
me for to take it to him.
Still playing my part, I says to her I truly hopes there ain't going to
be nothing in the message which will put Mr. Dallas in a bad humor with
me. But she don't appear to hear my pleading voice. She's already set
down over at a little writing-desk in the corner, and she's got a pen
in her hand and she's writing away like a house on fire. The pen is
squeaking the same as if it was in torment, and them five or six
bracelets on her arm is clinking sweet music to my ear. I ain't no
seventh son of a seventh gun, which they tells me they has the gift of
prophecy laid upon them at birth, nor yet I ain't no mind-reader, but,
even so, I says to myself that I don't need but one guess at the true
nature of what 'tis she's writing.
She gets through quite soon--there's only just one single sheet of
paper, and she folds it up and creases it hard like she's trying to mash
it in two, and she jams it in an enveloper and seals the enveloper and
shoves it into my waiting hand, and she says to me:
"There! Now you take this note to the man you work for, immediately!"
"Yassum," I says; "is they any answer to come back?"
"Answer?" she says, "No--no--_no_--NO!"
So I goes right out, leaving her still saying it at the top of her
voice. It seems to me it's high time to go, if not higher. Besides,
it's mighty hard trying to carry on a conversation with an
overwrought-up lady which she has only got one word left in stock, which
that one is a little short word like "No."
So I takes my foot in my hand and I marvils thence from there fast as
ever my willing legs can take me. And as I goes along on my way,
speeding 'cross-town bound for our quarters, I'm trying to think of a
stylish word which in times gone by I has heard some of the white folks
use as a pet name for a note from one loving soul to another. Pretty
soon it comes to me--_billet doux_!
I stops right still where I is at:
"Bill-Lee do, huh?" I says to myself. "Yas, sometimes Bill-Lee do. But
this time--glory, hallelujah, amen!--Bill-Lee do not!"