|HOAG led the way through the gate and up the walk toward the house.
“Do you think you'll be likely to settle down here again?” he inquired.
“Oh, I shall now--I shall now,” Paul returned, eagerly. “I've been so
homesick for these old mountains and valleys that I shall never want to
leave them. It is that way with most men; they never find any spot so
attractive as the place where they were brought up.”
“The reason I asked,” Hoag said, with a touch of pride, “was this. I've
increased my interests here a powerful sight since you went away. I've
added on two more good-sized farms. My tannery is double what it was,
an' my flour-mill's a new one with the patent-roller process. Then I run
a brickyard t'other side o' town, and a shingle-mill and a little spoke
an' hub factory. I tell you this so you'll understand the situation. I'm
gittin' too stiff an' heavy to ride about much, an' I've got to have a
general superintendent. The fellow that was with me for the last four
years left me high an' dry a week ago, after a row me an' him had over
a trifle, when you come to think about it. It just struck me that you
might want to think it over an' see how you'd like the job.”
“I should like it, I am sure,” Paul said, gratefully.
“I am going to stay here, and I'll have to keep busy.”
“Well, we'll talk it over to-morrow,” Hoag said, in quite a tone of
satisfaction. “I reckon we'll agree on the price. If you are as hard a
worker as you used to be I'll be more 'an pleased.”
They were now at the veranda steps. The front door was locked; Hoag
opened it with a key which was fastened to his suspenders by a steel
chain, and the two went into the unlighted hall. The owner of the house
fumbled about in the dark until he found a couple of candles on a table,
and, scratching a match on his thigh, he lighted them.
“Now we are all hunky-dory,” he chuckled. “I'm goin' to give you a good
room, an' if I don't live on the fat of the land as to grub nobody else
does. If we come to terms, I'll want you to stay right here, whar I can
consult you at a moment's notice.”
“That would be nice indeed,” Paul returned, as he followed his host up
the uncarpeted stairs to a hall, which was the counterpart of the one
below.
At the front end of the hall Hoag pushed a door open and entering a
large bedroom, put one of the candles on the mantelpiece. “Here you
are,” he said, pleasantly, waving his heavy hand over the furniture,
which consisted of a table, a couple of chairs, a bureau, wardrobe, and
a fully equipped wash-stand. “You 'll have to admit”--Hoag smiled
at this--“that it is better than the place you was headed for. The
last time I peeped in that jail thar wasn't any beds that I could
see--niggers an' tramps was lyin' on iron bars with nothin' under 'em
but scraps o' blankets.”
Just then there was the sound of a creaking bed in the room adjoining.
Hoag put his own candle down on the table. “It's Henry,” he explained.
“He's been poutin' all day. Me'n him had some hot words at supper. He
wants me to furnish some money for him to go in business on. Him an'
another man want to start a produce store in Grayson, but I won't put
hard cash in inexperienced hands. It would be the same as stickin' it
in a burnin' brush-heap. He's quit drinkin' an' gamblin', but he won't
work.”
“I've seen young men like him,” Paul said. “Henry wasn't brought up to
work, and he may be helpless. He ought to be encouraged.”
“Well, I'll not encourage him by puttin' a lot o' cash in his clutches,”
Hoag sniffed. “If he'd set in an' work like you used to do, for
instance, thar's no tellin' what I would do for him in the long run.
Well, I'm keepin' you up. I'll see you in the mornin'. Good night.”
“Good night,” Paul said.
With his lighted candle in his hand Hoag went down-stairs and turned
into his own room, adjoining the one in which Jack and his grandmother
slept. Putting his candle on a table, he began to undress. He had
finished and was about to lie down when he heard a light footfall in the
next room. A connecting door was pushed open and a tall, slender boy
in a white nightgown stood in the moonlight which streamed through a
vine-hung window and fell on the floor.
“Is that you, Daddy?”
“Yes, son.” There was an odd note of affection in Hoag's welcoming tone.
“Do you want anything?”
The boy crept forward slowly. “I got scared. I woke and heard you
talkin' up-stairs like you was still quarreling with Henry.”
“You must have been dreaming.” The father held out his arms and drew the
boy into a gentle embrace. “Do you want to sleep with your old daddy?”
“Oh yes!” Jack crawled from his father's arms to the back part of the
bed and stretched out his slender white legs against the plastered wall.
“May I sleep here till morning, and get up when you do?”
“Yes, if you want to. Do you railly love to sleep in my bed?”
Hoag was now lying down, and Jack put his arm under his big neck and
hugged him. “Yes, I do; I don't like my little bed; it's too short.”
“Thar, kiss daddy on the cheek and go to sleep,” Hoag said, under the
thrill of delight which the boy's caresses invariably evoked. “It's
late--awful late fer a chap like you to be awake.”
Jack drew his arm away, rolled back against the cool wall, and sighed.
“Daddy,” he said, presently, just as Hoag was composing himself for
sleep, “I don't want Grandma to tag after me so much. She watches me
like a hawk, an' is always saying if I don't look out I'll grow up and
be good for nothing like Henry. Daddy, what makes Henry that way?”
“I don't know; he's just naturally lazy. Now go to sleep.”
“Some folks like Henry very, very much,” the boy pursued, getting
further and further from sleep. “Grandma says he really is trying to be
good, but don't know how. Was you like him when you was young, Daddy?”
“No--I don't know; why, no, I reckon not. Why do you ask such silly
questions?”
“Grandma told Aunt Dilly one day that you always did drink, but that you
didn't often show it. She said Henry had quit, and that was wonderful
for any one who had it in his blood like Henry has. Is it in my blood,
too, Daddy?”
“No.” Hoag's patience was exhausted. “Now go to sleep. I've got to rest,
I'm tired, and must work to-morrow.”
“Are you a soldier, Daddy?” Jack pursued his habit of ignoring all
commands from that particular source.
“No, I'm not. Now go to sleep; if you don't, I'll send you back to your
own bed.”
“Then why does Mr. Trawley call you 'Captain'?”
“Who said--who told you he called me that?” Hoag turned his massive head
on his pillow and looked at the beautiful profile of his son, as it was
outlined against the wall.
“Oh, I heard him the other day, when he rode up after you to go
somewhere. I was in the loft at the barn fixing my pigeon-box and heard
him talking to you down at the fence. Just as he started off he said,
'Captain, your men will wait for you at the usual place. They won't stir
without your commands.'”
Hoag's head moved again; his eyes swept on to the ceiling; there was a
pause; his wit seemed sluggish.
“Are you really a captain, Daddy?” Jack raised himself on his elbow
and leaned over his father's face, “No; lie down and go to sleep,” Hoag
said, sternly. “Some people call me that just out of--out of respect,
just as a sort o' nickname. The war is over; thar ain't no real captains
now.”
“I think I know why they call you that.” Jack's delicate face was warm
with pride, and his young voice was full and round. “It is because you
are the bravest an' richest and best one. That's why Mr. Trawley said
they wouldn't stir till you told them. I asked Grandma about it, and she
looked so funny and acted so queer! She wouldn't say anything to _me_,
but she went straight to Aunt Dilly, and they talked a long time, and
Grandma looked like she was bothered. That was the night the White Caps
rode along the road after that runaway negro. I saw Grandma watching
from the window. She thought I was asleep, but I got up and looked out
of the other window and she didn't know it. Oh, they looked awful in
their long, white things. Aunt Dilly was down in the yard, and she told
Grandma that God was going to have revenge, because the Bible said so.
She said Cato had left his cabin and was hiding in the woods for fear
they might get _him_. She said Cato was a good nigger, and that it was a
sin to scare him and all the rest like that. Daddy, what _are_ the White
Caps? Where do they come from?”
“Oh, from roundabout in the mountains!” Hoag returned, uneasily. “Now go
to sleep. You are nervous; you are shaking all over; those men won't
hurt you.”
“But they _do_ get white folks sometimes, and take them out and whip
them,” Jack said, tremulously. “Aunt Dilly said one day to Cato that
they begun on the blacks, but they had sunk so low that they were after
their own race now. What would we do if they was to come here after--”
The little voice trailed away on the still air, and glancing at the
boy's face Hoag saw that the pretty, sensitive lips were quivering.
“After who?” he asked, curious in spite of his caution.
“After Henry,” Jack gulped. “They might, you know, to whip him for not
working. They did whip a poor white man last summer because he let his
wife and children go hungry. Daddy, if they was--really _was_ to ride
up here and call Henry out, would you shoot them? What would be the use,
when there are so many and every one has a gun?”
“They--they are not coming after Henry.” Hoag was at the end of his
resources. “Git all that rubbish out o' your head an' go to sleep!”
“How do you know they won't come, Daddy? Oh, Daddy, Henry really is
my only brother an' I love 'im. You don't know how good he is to me
sometimes. He mends my things, and makes toys for me with his knife, and
tells me stories about sailors and soldiers and Indians.”
Hoag turned on his side and laid a caressing hand on the boy's brow.
“Now, now,” he said, soothingly, “let's both go to sleep.”
“All right, Daddy.” Jack leaned over his father's face and kissed him.
“Good night.”
“Good night.” Hoag rolled over to the front side of the bed,
straightened himself out and closed his eyes.