|THE next afternoon, following a conference with the owner of the
cotton-mill, which took place at Tye's shop, Paul returned home. As he
was about to ascend the stairs to his room he met Mrs. Tilton in the
hall.
“Have you seen Jim?” she inquired; and when he had answered in the
negative she added: “He was asking whar you was at. I thought I'd
sort o' warn you to look out for him; he ain't in the best of tempers.
Some'n's gone crooked somewhar or other. He actually cussed me just now
an' slapped little Jack for the first time in over a year. The child was
just comin' to git in his lap, an' he's been cryin' as if his heart was
broke ever since.”
“Where is Mr. Hoag?” Paul asked.
“He's down at the tannery shippin' some leather.” There were still
several minutes to spare before supper-time, and Paul decided to seek
his employer at once, so he turned down to the tannery. As he approached
the warehouse the rumble of the iron truck-wheels on the heavy floor
reached him, and above the din he heard Hoag's gruff voice giving
commands to two negro laborers. Stepping upon the platform, Paul saw his
employer near the wide sliding door just within the dust-filled room,
and he approached him.
“Anything I can do?” he asked, politely.
“Do! Does it look like thar's anything to do?”
Hoag hurled the words at him, his eyes flashing beneath beetling brows,
his lip curled and drawn tight across tobacco-stained teeth.
Paul stared at him unflinchingly. “Shipments have always been made in
the morning,” he said, calmly. He drew a note-book from his pocket and
opened it. “I had this down for the first thing to-morrow.”
“It ain't what _you_ have down, but what I want done, when an' how I
like it. I couldn't find _you_, so I had to do it _myself_.”
“We won't talk about that at all,” Paul retorted, drawn into anger
he was trying hard to control. “I know I earn my salary, and I'll be
treated like an intelligent human being while I am at work or I'll quit.
Do you understand that? I'll quit!”
“Damn your soul”--Hoag looked about on the floor as if for something
with which to strike the speaker to earth--“do you mean to stand thar
an' give me any of your jaw?”
“Not any more than you need to make you act like a man.” Paul bent a
steady and fearless gaze on him that made him flinch and drop his eyes.
But Hoag was not subdued. He blinked sullenly for a moment, swore at a
negro who was staggering past under an overloaded truck, followed him to
the wagon at the door, where he stood, a mere husk of a man buffeted
by fierce inner storms. Presently he came back to Paul; he had
unconsciously crushed the order for the leather in his hand and broken
the tip of his pencil.
“Thar's no use beatin' about the bush,” he began, in a tone which showed
that he was now more sure of his ground. “I'm goin' to give you the
truth straight from the shoulder. An' if you don't like it you kin lump
it.” Another loaded truck was passing and Hoag stopped it. He made a
flurried effort to count the rolls, and failing to do so, he waved his
hand impatiently, swore at the man, and the truck was trundled on to the
door.
“You needn't waste time getting to it,” Paul began firmly. “I know
what's the matter with you. You've made up your mind that slavery is not
yet over. You've heard about what I am doing for my mother, and--”
“That's it,” Hoag's dead face flared. “I may as well tell you the truth
an' be done with it. Not a dollar--not one dollar of my money shall go
to a low-lived, dirt-eatin' skunk like Jeff Warren.”
“_Your_ money? No; not a penny of _your_ money,” Paul laughed,
sarcastically.
“Well, haven't you gone an' moved his whole lay-out into Mayburn's new
house an' laid in furniture an' supplies an'--an'--”
“Oh, yes, but not at _your_ expense,” Paul continued to smile. “I knew
you would want me to quit working for you when I did it; still, I did
it, and I'm going to keep it up.”
“You say you are!” Hoag had never had his will more flatly opposed.
“Well, listen to me, young man. You are gittin' entirely too big for
your pants. I took you up when you come back here under the ban of the
law an' couldn't 'a' got a job like this to save your neck. I've been
payin' you a hundred a month, but seein' that you are countin' on livin'
like a royal prince, an' spendin' your wages on the rag-tag an' bobtail
scum of the earth, from now on your pay is cut to seventy-five dollars a
month.”
The eyes of the two men met. Hoag's were burning with satanic triumph;
Paul's held a certain gleam of pity, and yet they bore down with a
steadiness that stirred the slow surprise of his companion.
“If you mean that as final,” Paul said, “I have something vital and
positive to say myself.”
“I'll not pay a cent more,” Hoag panted. “I'll see you dead an' buried
first. Any young man with the chances you had, to go an' throw 'em all
away for a low-lived tramp clodhopper--”
“We'll leave Warren out of the matter,” Paul interrupted, almost
fiercely. “My proposition to you is this, Mr. Hoag. I do not want to
leave you, because certain things I have got under way in your interests
cannot well be carried out by any one else, and it would be wrong for me
to cause you to lose. Still, I know my value. If I didn't I'd not have
brains enough to manage your affairs as I am managing them. Only this
afternoon I have had the offer of the superintendency of the Doran
Cotton Mills. The pay is double my present salary--with various chances
of promotion.”
“What--what? You say that you--you say that Doran--” But Hoag's
utterance had failed him completely. He stood quivering from head to
foot, his lip hanging low, his teeth parted, his breath hissing as it
passed through them.
“I don't want to quarrel with you,” Paul softened. “It is wrong for two
men to quarrel--especially wrong for one who has learned the full evil
of it as I have, and we need not do it now. But I have certain human
rights which, for reasons of your own, you ignore, and are trying to
trample underfoot. It is my right to help my mother, and any one else
I see fit to help. I cannot do these things if I work for you for less
than my services are worth on the market. I want to remain here, and
if you will pay me the price offered by Doran I will do so, otherwise I
shall leave you.”
“Pay you--pay you two hundred a month”--Hoag gasped--“pay you double
what you now get so that you can spend it on a lazy, good-for-nothin'
scamp? Not on your life! I'll see the last one of you dead first, an'
laid out stark an' cold.”
“Then it is settled,” Paul answered, calmly. “I told Doran I'd let him
have my decision in the morning. I'll leave you on the first of next
month.”
“You can go an' be damned,” Hoag swore under his breath, and raised his
clenched fist and shook it in Paul's face. “Git out o' my sight.”
And with that ultimatum Hoag stalked out to the platform. Paul looked at
him regretfully a moment and then turned away.
He failed to see his employer at the supper-table. He was at work in his
room near bedtime when he heard a heavy, dragging step on the stairs.
The next moment Hoag leaned in the open doorway. His face was flushed
with drink; there was a thwarted glare in his bloodshot eyes.
“I reckon you meant what you said about Doran?” he began, sullenly.
“Yes, I simply stated the facts,” Paul answered.
“You said you'd keep on with me for the price Doran's willin' to pay?”
“Yes,” Paul returned, with dignity. “I meant to put it that way.”
“Well, I reckon”--in blended chagrin and anger--“you are worth as much
to me as you are to him. The offer comes through enemies of mine who
want to injure me--fellers that stand in with Doran--a gang o' narrow
church elders over there, who have got it in for me. You stay on,
an' I'll try not to kick any more over your private matters. Do you
understand?”
“I think so.”
“All right, then. That's all I wanted to say.” Hoag turned to the door.
He stood there for a moment, then slowly faced Paul again.
“There is one other thing,” he said, half-sheepishly. “I got onto the
fact that you went on Henry's note at the bank to git the money for 'im
to go into that business on, an' I thought I'd tell you that I don't
intend to let you lose it. Good business men think Henry is goin' to
make money thar. In fact, I think myself that he may stick to it. I was
in his store to-day an' his partner is well pleased with the work Henry
is doin'. I expect to pay that note off, but I'll let 'im owe the bank
a while. That will be best, I think.” And with that Hoag turned and went
down the stairs.