That very evening Henley took even another step in his amusing
enterprise. He returned to the store after supper and sat writing
letters till about eight o'clock. Then he got up, brushed his clothes,
and made Pomp polish his boots, and adjusted his black string tie before
a glass over the water-pail and basin. Then he went out and walked
leisurely up the street till he came to the dark stairway of a little
public hall over a feed-store. He ascended the steps with a respectful
tread and entered the hall. It was furnished with crude unpainted
benches and lighted by kerosene lamps in concave-mirrored brackets on
the white walls. At the end stood a table holding a pitcher of water, a
goblet, and a Bible, and behind the table sat an earnest-eyed,
middle-aged evangelistic preacher, who bowed and smiled in agreeable
surprise at the new-comer. The room held fifty or sixty men and women,
all silently awaiting the beginning of the services. Henley seated
himself on the front bench nearest the preacher, and put his hat on the
floor, and dropped his handkerchief into it.
The meeting was opened with the singing by the congregation of familiar
hymns, in which Henley joined harmoniously with a fair bass. It was
known of him that he never declined an invitation to lead in prayer, and
on being asked this evening he readily complied. His voice was deep and
round and mellow, and the burden of his utterances was suitable to that
or any other religious occasion, being a sort of singsong tribute to
the eternal glory of humility and submission to the divine will. The
prayer was followed by a rousing sermon from the preacher, and, in
closing, he called attention, as Henley evidently had gathered from some
source that he would do, to the future plans of the organization. The
time was ripe for work in the highways and byways--the sowing of seed in
out-of-the-way places, and the preacher was to "take the road" with one
or two good singers, a cornet-player, and a cottage-organ, and give
people in isolated mountain-nooks a chance to hear the Word and profit
thereby for their eternal weal.
He had just seated himself and was mopping his perspiring brow when
Henley rose and stood hemming and hawing and clearing his throat.
"I want to say in this same connection," he began, "that I plumb approve
of this new idea of taking the great and living Truth into remote
corners of our spiritually dark land. Here in Chester we are, you might
say, basking in the sunshine of Christian civilization, but away out off
of the main roads in the mountains the Book hain't read and prayer
hain't held except now and then. I heard that you had already entered
into negotiations with an Atlanta tent factory to furnish you with a
tabernacle, an' I must say it ain't a bad notion, because many a fine
bush-arbor meeting has been busted all to flinders by sudden showers
that good, stout canvas would shed as well as a roof of shingles. I want
to contribute five dollars toward the fund myself; but I'm here to
confess to you frankly that I wouldn't like to see the money throwed
away. The great majority of them meeting-tents on the market are simply
made to sell and not for hard use. They look all right in the
sample-room, but they are full of starch to give 'em body, and when they
get wet they are about as porous as a fish-net."
"That's a fact, Brother Henley," spoke up the preacher, with a slow and
deliberate nod. "We've been looking around and receiving circulars from
all sides, and we have found it purty hard to run across a durable tent
at a price we can afford; but there was a drummer here from Nashville
the other day, and he claimed--"
"I'd advise you to let drummers alone, too," and Henley brushed away the
preacher's words with a firm and all-wise hand. "You see, in my constant
contact at the store I know 'em all the way down to the ground. They are
the most ungodly pack on earth. Most of 'em drink and play poker, an'
never look inside of a Bible. The fact is, if I may be allowed to speak
of it at such a time, I happened myself, awhile back, to buy a whopping
big tent from a stranded show. I thought at the time that some such a
need as this might arise, and so I bid it in. To get it, I had to pay
for a lot of old planks and such-like, but in doing it I secured a
rattling good thing. It was a bargain; but I could let a good
organization like yours have it for a sight less than a new tent not
halt as big would cost. It would last a lifetime. It is big enough to
hold the multitude that ate the loaves and fishes. It was made for rough
wear and must have cost a pile of money. I don't know but what we all
could agree on a price--that is, if I had any idea of how much your body
would feel disposed to--to invest in a tent."
"We have fifty dollars in the treasury," spoke up the preacher, with an
eagerness that blended in his face and voice. "Of course, it may not be
near enough to--" He blew his nose and coughed.
Henley stroked his face thoughtfully, and he had the look of a man who
was making a polite effort to be resigned to disappointment.
"Well, of course, I _had_ hoped that I might do much better than that,"
he said finally, looking around at the anxious group, "but, as I said
at the start, I want to help you along. You know I said I'd contribute
five myself, so--to be accurate--we'd better call the price fifty-five.
Then I'll take what you've got in the treasury and call it even."
There was a murmur and shuffle of released suspense throughout the hall.
The preacher beamed joyfully as he reached forward and shook Henley
warmly by the hand.
"There's no use putting it to a vote," he said. "I'll take the
responsibility and accept your magnificent offer right now. Brethren, we
are in luck. A special providence seems to have been at work through the
whole thing. A vain and ungodly enterprise broke down in our midst, and
we are, by our act, directing streams of evil into channels of good. In
putting this tent to our use we will be turning over the tables of the
money-changers, and causing grain of righteousness to grow where tares
of evil flourished."
As Henley walked homeward along the lonely road he mused: "I could have
run that crowd up to seventy-five as easy as not. They would have raked
up the balance, but I reckon a fellow ought to let well enough alone."
Of all the denizens of Chester and its environs, no one had keener
enjoyment over the gossip concerning these various deals than Dixie
Hart. She had enough of the speculative tendency in her make-up to
heartily appreciate the situation in all its phases, and she was glad,
too, that her friend had found, so soon after his return home, such good
opportunities to exercise his rare gifts. She went into the store only a
day or two after the sale of the tent, and found Henley alone.
"So you won out in that venture, after all?" she laughed. "And, if what
folks say is true, you made big money."
"I'm not out of the woods yet," he smiled. "There is always a drawback,
you know." He pointed through the open doorway to the lion's cage on the
shoemaker's lot across the street. "I've still got that thing, and I'm
afraid it's going to be a white elephant. I'm sorry, too, for I'd like
to make a clean sweep, just because folks bet that I'd lose heavy. I'd
give the cage away if I could do it, but, like a fool, I went and said
that I'd show 'em that I could turn every item in the lot over at a
profit."
"What are you asking for it?" Dixie inquired.
"Twenty-five dollars," he replied. "If I can't sell it like it stands
I'll split it up an' use the iron some way or other."
"It would be a pity to do that," the girl said, thoughtfully. "Let me
take a look at it."
He stood in the doorway and watched her as she crossed the street in her
easy, graceful way, and then he saw her approach the lion's cage, turn
the bolt of the door, and look in, and heard the sound of her fist as it
rapped against the wooden sides. Then she disappeared. She had entered
the cage and was out of sight for several minutes. Emerging, she came
directly across the street to Henley, her head hanging thoughtfully, a
slight flush on her face.
"You may think I've plumb lost my senses," she smiled, "but I want to
buy that thing. I've heard so much about your deals that I'm itching to
speculate some myself. You seem to have come to the end of your rope as
far as this cage is concerned, and I want to try my hand. They say two
heads is better 'n one, if one is a cabbage-head."
"_You?_--good Lord, what could you do with it?" Henley gasped.
"A heap of things," she retorted, lightly. "You've been offering it for
twenty-five dollars, and I'm going to take you up. I had just started to
the bank to deposit some money, and so I happen to have the ready
cash."
She put her hand into her pocket and drew out a roll of bills, but
Henley held up his hand protestingly, and flushed red.
"You don't spend your hard-earned money like that and through my foolish
example," he said. "I've had experience in all sorts of junk-handling,
and what I do is a different matter. Besides, I know there's no money to
be made out of that thing. I got the cream out of the deal, and I won't
let you throw money away."
Jim Cahews came in at this moment, and, redder in the face than ever,
Henley explained the situation.
"Alf's right, Miss Dixie," the clerk joined in. "You'd better take his
advice. If there was anything in that old pile of iron he'd have seen it
long ago."
But her money was lying on the show-case before Henley's eyes, and she
had retreated to the door.
"I've bought it," she insisted. "It's mine, and I'm going to make some
money out of it, too. I'm tired of working like a corn-field nigger for
puny profits, while you men make jokes here in the shade and get rich at
it."
Henley refused to touch the money. His flush had given place to a look
of pained concern.
"I can't--just can't let you do it!" he said. "Like a good many women, I
reckon, Dixie, you look at the dealings of men from the outside, and are
willing to go an' plunge into unknown waters and get ducked and leave
your money at the bottom. Profit ain't ever made by getting in at the
tail-end of another fellow's venture. I've squeezed this thing dry,
and--"
"I'm a more experienced milker than you are," Dixie laughed, "and the
cage is mine. There's your money. It's mine, and if I make money out of
it I won't have you grumbling, either."
Henley and Cahews exchanged glances of actual alarm.
"What do you intend to do with it?" Henley almost snapped in his
impatience.
"Did anybody ask you what you intended to do with it when _you_ bought
it?" Dixie asked. "You haven't any right to ask. But I'll tell you _one_
thing. I'm not going to turn it into a corn-crib, though it would make a
dandy, and one that no nigger could steal from. I'm buying it to sell
for at least twice as much as I've paid for it, and I want you to watch
me. I've been tickled mighty nigh to death over your late deals, and I
want to amuse you. I know you'd like to see me make some money, and I'm
going to do it as sure as I'm knee-high to a duck."
When she had gone Henley and Cahews stood in the doorway disconsolately
staring after her as she walked briskly down the street.
"You see, Jim, I'm afraid I'm responsible for it," the storekeeper said,
with a frown. "She's got a long head for a woman in most matters, but
she's had it turned by watching this little game of mine. It is the
first time I've ever seen her fly off the handle at all. As a rule she's
very cautious, but, Lord, Lord, the idea of paying twenty-five dollars
for that thing! Why, if it gets out she'll be the laughing-stock of the
town."