TO THE LOWEST BIDDER
There was an unusually large number of people gathered in front of
Thomas Marshall's store one morning about the last of May. Women were
there as well as men, and all were talking and laughing in a most
pleasant way. The cause of this excitement was explained by a notice
tacked on the store door.
"The Board, Lodging, and Clothing of David Findley, Pauper, will be let
to the lowest bidder for a period of one year, on Wednesday, May 30th
inst., at Thomas Marshall's store, Chutes Corner, at 10 o'clock A. M.
"Signed
"J. B. FLETCHER
T. S. TITUS
O. R. MITCHELL
_Overseers of Poor_."
This notice had been posted there for about two weeks, and had
attracted the attention of all the people in the parish. It was out of
the ordinary for such a sale to take place at this season of the year.
Hitherto, it had occurred at the last of December. But this was an
exceptional case, and one in which all were keenly interested.
"I hear he is stark crazy," Mrs. Munson was saying to a neighbour,
Peter McQueen, "and that he has a funny notion in his head."
"Should say so," McQueen replied. "Any man who has lived as he has for
months must be pretty well off his base. Why, he didn't have a scrap
of food in the house when he was found by Jim Trask one morning the
last of April. Jim has been keeping him ever since."
"Isn't he able to work?" Mrs. Munson inquired.
"Seems not. I guess he's a scholar or something like that, and did
some book-keeping in the city until he drifted this way. He must have
had a little money to live as long as he has. He's always been a
mystery to me."
"And to everybody else, I guess."
"Yes, so it appears. But it's a great pity that we've got to be
burdened with the likes of him. Our taxes are heavy enough now without
having to take care of this strange pauper. We've got too many on our
hands already for our good."
"But do you know anything about that queer notion of his, Pete?" Mrs.
Munson asked.
"Ho, ho, I've heard about it, and I guess it's true all right. He's in
love with Break Neck Falls, and makes regular trips there every day,
and sometimes at night. Jim followed him once, and saw him standing
upon that high rock right by the falls. He kept waving his hands and
shouting to the water, though Jim could not make out what he was
saying. He has some writing on a piece of paper which he keeps very
close. He has told, though, that his plan will do wonderful things for
the city and the whole surrounding country. He once said that we don't
know what a valuable thing we have right in our midst. I guess we've
lived here longer than he has, and should know a thing or two. It is
not necessary for a half-cracked old man to come and tell us of our
possessions. But, say, here he is now, coming along in Jim Trask's
farm waggon."
As the team drew near, all eyes were turned in its direction, for the
first glimpse of "Crazy David," as he was generally called. There was
no difficulty about seeing him for he was sitting by Jim's side on the
rough board seat. He looked much older and careworn than the night he
had awakened from his dream, and found his wood-box, cupboard, and
pocket-book empty. He had sat huddled on the seat for most of the way
up the road, but when near the store he lifted his eyes and fixed them
curiously upon the people before him. There was something pathetically
appealing in the expression upon his face. He seemed like a man trying
to recall something to his mind. He appeared strangely out of place in
that rough farm waggon. Even his almost ragged clothes could not hide
the dignity of his bearing as he straightened himself up and tried to
assume the appearance of a gentleman. The people saw this effort on
his part, and several wondered and spoke about it afterwards.
At first the old man did not seem to realise the purpose of the
gathering. But when he saw the auctioneer mount a box alongside of him
and call for bids, the truth of the entire situation dawned upon him.
He was to be sold as a pauper to the lowest bidder, so he heard the
auctioneer say. For an instant a deep feeling of anger stirred within
his bosom, and he lifted his head as if to say something. But seeing
the eyes of all fixed upon him, he desisted.
"What am I offered for the keep of this old man?" the auctioneer cried.
"The lowest bid gets him."
"Two hundred dollars," came from a man not far off.
"Two hundred dollars!" and the auctioneer turned fiercely upon him.
"You're out for a bargain, Joe Tippits. Why, he's worth that to any
man for a year's work. He'll be able to do many an odd job. Come, you
can do better than that."
"One seventy-five," came from another.
"Too much," the auctioneer cried. "The parish can't stand that."
"One fifty, then."
"That's better, Joe. Try again. You're a long way off yet."
"I'll take the critter fer one hundred dollars, and not a cent less."
At these emphatic words all turned and stared hard at the speaker. A
perceptible shiver passed through the bystanders, while several
muttered protests were heard.
"Oh, I hope he won't get him, anyway," Mrs. Munson whispered to a
neighbour. "Jim Goban isn't a fit man to look after a snake, and if he
gets Crazy David in his clutches may God have mercy upon the poor old
man."
"One hundred dollars I am offered," again the voice of the
auctioneer rang out. "Can any one do better than that? One
hundred dollars. Going at one hundred dollars. I shan't dwell.
One--hundred--dollars--and--sold to Jim Goban for one hundred dollars."
This inhuman traffic did not seriously affect the people who had
gathered for the auction. When it was over, they quickly dispersed, to
discuss with one another about the life Jim Goban would lead Crazy
David. It was an incident of only a passing moment, and mattered
little more to them than if it had been a horse or a cow which had been
sold instead of a poor feeble old man.
It was the custom which had been going on for years, and it was the
only way they could see out of the difficult problem of dealing with
paupers.
When Jim Goban reached home with his purchase, dinner was ready. There
were five young Gobans who stared curiously upon David as he took his
seat at the table. Mrs. Goban was a thin-face, tired looking woman who
deferred to her husband in everything. There was nothing else for her
to do, as she had found out shortly after their marriage what a brute
he was.
David was pleased at the presence of the children and he often turned
his eyes upon them.
"Nice children," he at length remarked, speaking for the first time
since his arrival.
"So ye think they're nice, do ye?" Jim queried, leaning over and
looking the old man in the eyes.
"Why, yes," David replied, shrinking back somewhat from the coarse
face. "All children are nice to me, but yours are especially fine
ones. What nice hair they have, and such beautiful eyes. I suppose
the oldest go to school."
"Naw. They never saw the inside of a school house."
"You don't say so!" and David looked his astonishment. "Surely there
must be a school near here."
"Oh, yes, there's a school all right, but they've never gone. I don't
set any store by eddication. What good is it to any one, I'd like to
know? Will it help a man to hoe a row of pertaters, or a woman to bake
bread? Now, look at me. I've no eddication, an' yit I've got a good
place here, an' a bank account. You've got eddication, so I
understand, an' what good is it to you? I'm one of the biggest
tax-payers in the parish, an' you, why yer nothing but a pauper, the
Devil's Poor."
At this cruel reminder David shrank back as from a blow, and never
uttered another word during the rest of the meal. The iron was
entering into his soul, and he was beginning to understand something of
the ignominy he was to endure at this house.
"Now look here," Jim began when they were through with dinner, "I've a
big pile of wood out there in the yard, an' I want ye to tote it into
the wood-house an' pile it up. I'll show ye where to put it. I'm
gittin' mighty little fer yer keep, an' I expect ye to git a hustle on
to help pay fer yer grub an' washin'."
"Don't be too hard on him, Jim," Mrs. Goban remarked. "He doesn't look
very strong."
"Don't ye worry, Kitty, I'll attend to that. I know a wrinkle or two."
David was accordingly taken to the wood-house and Jim explained to him
how and where he was to pile the wood. "Ye needn't kill yerself," he
told him in conclusion. "But I want ye to keep busy, fer when that
job's through I've got something else on hand. Ye can sit down when ye
feel a little tired, but don't sit too long or too often, see?"
For about half an hour David worked patiently at the wood, piling it as
neatly as possible. The work was not hard, and he was quite satisfied
with his task. He was alone, anyway, and could think about his beloved
falls. His hands, however, were soft, and ere long they were bruised
and bleeding from the rough sticks. At length a sharp splinter entered
his finger, and he sat down upon a stick to pull it out. In trying to
do this, it broke off leaving a portion deeply embedded in the flesh,
which caused him considerable pain. Not knowing what to do, he sat
looking upon the finger in a dejected manner.
"What's the matter? You seem to be in trouble."
At these words David looked quickly around, and saw a young girl
standing by his side. Though her dress was old and worn, her face was
bright, and her eyes sparkled with interest.
"Here, let me take that splinter out," she ordered, as she sat down by
his side, and drawing forth a needle, began to probe into the flesh.
"There, I've got it!" she cried in triumph. "My! it's a monster.
You'll have to be more careful after this. You should have gloves."
"Thank you very much," David replied. "To whom am I indebted for this
kindness?"
"Oh, I'm Betty Bean, that's all."
"And you live here?"
"No. I'm just dying here."
"Dying!" David exclaimed in surprise. "Why, you don't look like a
dying person."
"Maybe I don't, but I am. I'm just staying here because I have to. My
mother's a widow, and I want to earn some money to help her, and as
this was the only place I could get I had to take it."
"So you do not like it, then?"
"Who would like any place where there is such a brute as Jim Goban?
My, I'm sorry for you. To think of any man getting into his clutches."
"But surely I won't be any worse off than you are."
"I'm not so sure about that. You see, I'm about boss here, and do and
say just what I like."
"How's that?"
"Well, I'm the only person Jim can get to work here. All the girls for
miles around know what kind of a creature he is, and they wouldn't come
for any amount of money. They're scared to death of him. But I'm not,
and I tell him right to his face what I think of him, and the way he
treats his poor wife. He would like to horsewhip me, but he knows that
if I leave no one else would come in my place. But I'm glad now that I
am here so I can look after you."
"Look after me!"
"Yes. I guess you'll need me all right. I know who you are, and I'm
sorry for you. I'm going to stand between you and Jim Goban. He's
scared to death of me, for I'm the only one who dares give him a
tongue-lashing, and I do it whenever it is necessary, which is quite
often."
"You're a brave girl," and David looked with admiration upon the slight
form by his side. "How old are you?"
"Fifteen last March. But one's age is nothing. I've done a woman's
work ever since I was ten. I stand up for my rights now, though. When
I first came here Jim was bound that I should work all the time. But
at last I told him that I was going to have every Saturday afternoon
off, especially in summer, so I could go home or out upon the river.
Can you row?" she suddenly asked.
"A little," was the reply.
"That's good. Now, look, I'm going to take you out in the boat next
Saturday, and you're going to meet somebody there you'll like."
"Somebody I like," David repeated. "Who is it?"
"It's a woman, that's who it is. But I'm not going to tell you her
name. She only came here last week, and she is so fond of the water,
and spends so much time upon it. Oh, you'll like her when you see her.
She's a beauty, with such lovely eyes and dark hair. And she's not a
bit stuck up, either. She just talks in a friendly way, and makes you
feel easy all over. There, now, I guess you'd better pile some more
wood. I have a bit of work to do, and when I'm through I'll come out
and give you a hand. I like to be with you. I know we're going to be
friends."
The girl rose, and was about to leave. She paused, however, and looked
inquiringly into the old man's face.
"Do you smoke?" she asked.
Into David's eyes came an eager expression, which Betty was not slow to
see.
"I know you do," she cried, "but you have no tobacco."
"I have a pipe," and David fumbled into a pocket of his coat. "But I
haven't had a smoke for weeks, because----"
"I know, I know," the girl hastily replied. "I'll get you some in a
jiffy."
She was gone only a short time when she returned, and handed David half
a fig of tobacco.
"There, take that," she said. "It's a piece Jim left on the kitchen
window-sill."
"But is it right for me to take it?" David asked.
"Sure it's right. Didn't Jim agree to feed and lodge you for one year?
You can't live without tobacco. It's a part of your food, see? If Jim
says anything about it, I'll soon settle him."
"You are a good girl," David returned, as with trembling hands he
hastily whittled off a few slices of tobacco with an old knife, and
filled his pipe. "This will put new life into me. I can never repay
you for your kindness."