BLUFF AND REBUFF
The door was locked. Immediately Josie pounded upon it with her
knuckles and a voice demanded:
"Who is there?"
Instead of replying, Josie knocked again, and suddenly the door was
opened and Old Swallowtail stood before her.
"I--I beg your pardon," said she diffidently; "are you the real estate
man?"
"Yes," he replied, standing quietly in the doorway.
"Then you're the man I want to see," she asserted and took a step
forward. But he did not move an inch from his position and his eyes
were fixed steadfastly on her face.
"I have nothing to sell, at present," he remarked.
"But I want to give you something to sell," she retorted impatiently,
summoning her wits to meet the occasion. "Let me in, please. Or do you
transact all your business in the hallway?"
Somewhat to her surprise he stepped back and held the door for her to
enter. Josie promptly walked in and sat down near a round table, one
comprehensive glance fixing in her mind the entire contents of the
small room.
There was one window, dim and unwashed, facing the street. It had a
thick shade, now raised. Originally the room had been square, and
rather crudely plastered and wallpapered, but a wooden partition had
afterward been erected to cut the room into two, so that the portion
she had entered was long and narrow. Its sole furniture consisted of
the round table, quite bare, two or three wooden-bottomed chairs, and
against one wall a rack filled with books. During the interview she
noted that these books were mostly directories of the inhabitants of
various prominent cities in the United States, and such a collection
astonished her and aroused her curiosity.
Just at present, however, the partition proved the most interesting
thing she observed, for beyond it must be another room which was
doubtless the particular sanctum of Old Swallowtail and to which she
scarcely expected to gain admittance. The door was closed. It was stout
and solid and was fitted with both an ordinary door-lock and a hasp and
padlock, the latter now hanging on a nail beside the door.
This much Josie's sharp eyes saw in her first glance, but immediately
her attention was demanded by Mr. Cragg, who took a seat opposite her
and said in a quiet, well modulated voice: "Now, my girl, state your
business." She had planned to tell him how she had come to town to sew
for Mary Louise Burrows, how she had now finished her work but was so
charmed with Cragg's Crossing that she did not care to leave it during
the hot weather to return to the stuffy city. Therefore, she intended
to add, if he would let her make some new dresses for Ingua, she would
work for half her regular wages. Her dress as a sewing-girl would carry
out this deception and the bait of small wages ought to interest the
old man. But this clever plan had suddenly gone glimmering, for in
order to gain admittance to the office and secure an interview with Old
Swallowtail she had inadvertently stated that she had some real estate
to dispose of. So sudden a change of base required the girl to think
quickly in order to formulate a new argument that would hold his
attention.
To gain time she said, slowly:
"My name is Josie Jessup. I'm a sewing-girl by profession."
"Yes, I know," he replied.
"I've been here ten days or so, working for Miss Burrows."
"I have seen you here," said Mr. Cragg.
She wondered how he knew so much, as he had never seemed to favor her
with even a glance when by chance they met in the street. But perhaps
Ingua had told him.
"I like Cragg's Crossing," continued Josie, assuming a confidential
tone, "and I've made up my mind I'd like to live here. There ought to
be plenty of work sewing for the farmers' wives, outside of what Miss
Huckins does, and it don't cost much to live in a small town. In the
city I own a little house and lot left to me by my uncle on my mother's
side, and I've decided to trade it for some place here. Don't you know,
sir, of someone who'd like to move to the city, and will be glad to
make the exchange?"
"I know of no such person," he replied coldly.
"But you will make inquiries?"
"It would be useless. I am very busy to-day, so if you will excuse
me--"
He rose and bowed.
Josie was disappointed. She decided to revert to her first proposition.
"Doesn't your granddaughter need some sewing done, sir?" she asked,
with a frank look from her innocent blue eyes.
He stood still, silently studying her face. With one hand he rubbed his
chin gently, as if in thought. Then he said:
"We cannot afford to hire our sewing done, but I thank you for the
offer. Good morning, Miss--Jessup."
Walking to the door he held it open and bowed gravely as she walked
out. Next moment she heard the key click as it turned in the lock.
Josie, feeling a sense of failure, slowly went down the stairs, entered
the store and perched herself upon the sugar-barrel. Old Sol was
waiting on a farmer's wife and only gave the girl a glance.
Josie reflected on her interview with Mr. Cragg while it was fresh in
her mind. He was no crude, uneducated country bumpkin, despite his odd
ways and peculiar dress. Indeed, the man had astonished her by his
courtesy, his correct method of speech, his perfect self-assurance. Her
visit was calculated to annoy him and to arouse his impatience. After
Ingua's report of him she expected he would become scornful or
sarcastic or even exhibit violent anger; yet there had been nothing
objectionable in his manner or words. Still, he had dismissed her as
abruptly as possible and was not eager to grasp an opportunity to
exchange real estate.
"That isn't his business at all," she told herself. "It's merely a
blind, although he actually did rent the Kenton Place to Colonel
Hathaway...I wonder what he does in that office all day. In the inner
room, of course. That is his real workshop...He's quite gentlemanly. He
has a certain amount of breeding, which Ingua wholly lacks....He must
realize what a crude and uncultured little thing his granddaughter is.
Then why hasn't he tried to train her differently?...Really, he quite
awed me with his stately, composed manner. No one would expect that
sort of man to be a murderer. But--there! haven't I been warned that
the educated gentleman is the worst type of criminal, and the most
difficult to detect?"
Sol's customer went away and the old man approached the barrel.
"Well," he said, "wanter buy anything to-day?"
"No," said Josie pleasantly, "this is only a social call. I've just
come from Old Swallow-tail's office and thought a word with you would
cheer me up."
"You! You be'n to Ol' Swallertail's office! Sakes alive, gal, I
wouldn't dare do that myself."
"Why not?"
"He goes crazy when he gits mad."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Ev'rybody here knows it, from the three-year-olds up. What did ye go
to him for?"
"A little matter of business."
"An' he slammed the door in yer face?"
"No, indeed."
"That's funny," said old Sol, rubbing his forehead in a perplexed way.
"He was very decent to me," continued Josie. "Acted like a gentleman.
Talked as if he'd been to school, you know."
"School? Well, I should say he had!" exclaimed the storekeeper. "Ol'
Swallertail's the most eddicated man in these 'ere parts, I guess. Ol'
Nick Cragg, his daddy, wanted for him to be a preacher--or a priest,
most likely--an' when he was a boy his ol' man paid good money to hev
him eddicated at a the--at a theo--at a collidge. But Hezekiah wa'n't
over-religious, an' 'lowed he didn't hev no call to preach; so that's
all the good the eddication ever done him."
"_You've_ never felt the need of an education, have you?" asked the
girl, artlessly.
"Me? Well, I ain't sayin' as I got no eddication, though I don't class
myself in book-l'arnin' with Ol' Swallertail. Three winters I went to
school, an' once I helped whip the school-teacher. Tain't ev'ry one has
got _that_ record. But eddication means more'n books; it means keepin'
yer eyes open an' gitt'n' onter the tricks o' yer trade. Ev'ry time I
git swindled, I've l'arned somethin', an' if I'd started this store in
New York instid o' Cragg's Crossin', they might be runnin' me fer
president by this time."
"But what could Cragg's Crossing have done without you?" inquired
Josie. "It seems to me you're needed here."
"Well, that's worth thinkin' on," admitted the storekeeper. "And as for
Old Swallowtail, he may have learned some tricks of his trade too. But
I don't know what his trade is."
"Nobody knows that. I don't b'lieve that business o' his'n is a trade
at all; I'll bet it's a steal, whatever its other name happens to be."
"But he doesn't prosper."
"No; he ain't got much t' show fer all these years. Folks used to think
he'd got money saved from the sale of his land, till Ned Joselyn come
here an' dallied with Ol' Swallertail's savin's an' then took to the
woods. It's gener'ly b'lieved that what Cragg had once Ned's got now;
but it don't matter much. Cragg hain't got long ter live an' his feed
don't cost him an' his little gal much more'n it costs to feed my cat."
There was no further information to be gleaned from Sol Jerrems, so
Josie walked home.