AND SATAN CAME ALSO
"It is the little rift within the lute
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all."
--Tennyson.
At the moment when Stephen was sounding the horn to summon the young
mystic to his supper, a promiscuous crowd of loafers with chairs tilted
against the wall of the village tavern received a shock.
They heard the tinkle of bells in the distance, and looking in the
direction of this unusual sound, saw a team of splendid coal-black
horses dash round a corner and whirl a strange vehicle to the door of
the inn.
There were two extraordinary figures on the front seat of the wagon. The
driver was a sturdy, thick-set man whose remarkable personal appearance
was fixed instantly and ineradicably in the mind of the beholder by an
enormous moustache whose shape, size and color suggested a crow with
outstretched wings. As if to emphasize the ferocious aspect lent him by
this hairy canopy which completely concealed his mouth, Nature had
duplicated it in miniature by brows meeting above his nose and spreading
themselves, plume-like, over a pair of eyes which gleamed so brightly
that they could be felt, altho' they were so deep-set that they could
scarcely be seen.
This fierce and buccaneerish person summoned the dozing hostler in a
coarse, imperative voice, flung him the reins, sprang from his seat, and
assisted his companion to alight. She gave him her hand with an air of
utter indifference, bestowed upon him neither smile nor thanks, and
dropped to the ground with a light flutter like a bird. Turning
instantly toward the tavern, she ascended the steps of the porch under a
fusillade of glances of astonishment and admiration. Young and
beautiful, dressed in a picturesque and brilliant Spanish costume, she
carried herself with the ease and dignity of a princess, and looked
straight past, or rather through the staring crowd, fastened like
inverted brackets to the tavern wall. Her great, dreamy eyes did not
seem to note them.
When she and her companion had entered the hall and closed the door
behind them, every tilted chair came down to the floor with a bang, and
many voices exclaimed in concert, "Who the devil is she?" Curiosity was
satisfied at eight o'clock in the evening, for at that hour Doctor
Paracelsus Aesculapius, as he fantastically called himself, opened the
doors of his traveling apothecary shop and exposed his "universal
panacea" for sale, while at the same time, "Pepeeta, the Queen of
Fortune Tellers," entered her booth and spread out upon a table the
paraphernalia by which she undertook to discover the secrets of the
future.
When the evening's work was ended, Pepeeta at once retired; but the
doctor entered the bar-room, followed by a curious and admiring crowd.
He was in a happy and expansive frame of mind, for he had done a "land
office" business in this frontier village which he was now for the first
time visiting.
"Have a drink, b-b-boys?" he asked, looking over the crowd with an air
of superiority and waving his hand with an inclusive gesture. The motley
throng of loafers sidled up to the bar with a deprecatory and automatic
movement. They took their glasses, clinked them, nodded to their
entertainer, muttered incoherent toasts and drank his health. The
delighted landlord, feeling it incumbent upon him to break the silence,
offered the friendly observation: "S-s-see you s-s-stutter. S-s-stutter
a little m-m-my own self."
"Shake!" responded the doctor, who was in too complacent a mood to take
offence, and the worthies grasped hands.
"Don't know any w-w-way to s-s-stop it, do you?" asked the landlord.
"No, I d-d-don't; t-t-tried everything. Even my 'universal p-p-panacea'
won't do it, and what that can't do can't be d-d-done. Incurable
d-d-disease. Get along all right when I go slow like this; but when I
open the throttle, get all b-b-balled up. Bad thing for my business.
Give any man a thousand d-d-dollars that'll cure me," the quack replied,
slapping his trousers pocket as if there were millions in it.
"Co-co-couldn't go q-q-quite as high as that; but wouldn't mind a
hu-hu-hundred," responded the landlord cordially.
"Ever hear the story about the landlord's troubles in the Mexican war?"
asked one of the by-standers turning to the quack.
"Tell it," he responded laconically.
Several members of the group looked at each other and exchanged
significant winks as the narrator began his tale.
"They made him sergeant of a company, but had to reduce him to the
ranks, because when he was drilling the boys one day they all marched
into the river and got drowned before he could say h-h-halt."
The doctor laughed and the others joined him out of courtesy, for the
story was worn threadbare in the bar-room.
"Tell about his going on picket duty," suggested some one.
"Captain ordered him out on the line," said the first speaker, "and he
refused. 'T-t-tain't no use,' says he.
"'Why not?' says the captain.
"'C-c-cause,' says he, 'if some d-d-dirty Mexican g-g-greaser should
c-c-come along, he'd run me through the g-g-gizzard before I could ask
him for the c-c-countersign.'"
More tipsy laughter followed.
"Tell you what it is, b-b-boys," said the quack, growing communicative
under the influence of the liquor and the fellowship, "if it wasn't for
this b-b-blankety-blanketed impediment in my s-s-speech, I wouldn't
need to work more'n about another y-y-year!"
"How's that?" asked someone in the crowd.
"C-c-cause if I could talk as well as I c-c-can think, I could make a
fortune 'side of which old John Jacob Astor's would look like a
p-p-penny savings b-b-bank!"
"You could?"
"You bet your sweet life I c-c-could. And I'm just keeping my eyes open
for some young f-f-fellow to help me. For 'f I can find a man that can
do the t-talking (I mean real talk, you know; talk a crowd blind as
b-b-bats), I've got something better'n a California g-g-gold mine."
"Better get Dave Corson," said the village wag from the rear of the
crowd, and up went a wild shout of laughter.
"Who's D-D-Dave Corson?" asked the doctor.
"Quaker preacher. Young feller 'bout twenty years old."
"Can he t-t-talk?"
"Talk! He kin talk a mule into a trottin' hoss in less'n three minutes."
"He's my man!" exclaimed the doctor, at which the crowd laughed again.
"What the d-d-deuce are you laughing at?" he asked, turning upon them
savagely, his loud voice and threatening manner frightening those who
stood nearest, so that they instinctively stepped back a pace or two.
"No offence, Doc," said one of them; "but you couldn't get him."
"Couldn't get him! Why couldn't I g-g-get him?"
"He's pious."
"Pious! What do _I_ care?"
"Well, these here pious Quakers are stiff in their notions. But you kin
jedge fer yourself 'bout his talkin', fer there's goin' ter be an
appinted Quaker meetin' to-morrow night, and he'll speak. You kin go an'
listen, if you want to."
"I'll be there, boys, and d-d-don't you forget it. I'll hook him! Never
saw anything I couldn't buy if I had a little of the p-p-proper stuff
about me. Drink to my l-l-luck, boys, and watch me!"
The landlord filled their glasses once more, and low gurglings,
smothered swallows, and loud smacking of lips filled the interim of
interrupted conversation.
"I say, Doc, that daughter of yours knows her biz when it comes to
telling fortunes," ventured a young dandy, whose head had been turned by
Pepeeta's beauty.
"D-d-daughter!" snapped the quack, turning sharply upon him; "she's not
my daughter, she's my wife!"
"Wife! Gosh! You don't say?" exclaimed the crestfallen dandy.
"Yes, wife! And I'll j-j-just warn any of you young f-f-fellers that if
I catch you trying to p-p-plow with my heifer, you'll be food for
buzzards before sun-up!"
He swept his eyes savagely round the circle as he spoke, and the subject
dropped.
The conversation turned into other channels, and flowed in a maudlin,
sluggish manner far into the night. Every member of the bibulous party
was as happy as he knew how to be. The landlord's till was full of
money, the loafers were full of liquor, and the doctor's heart was full
of vanity and trust in himself.