“STINGY GABE”
“And that,” said Captain Bailey, mollified by the renewed interest of
his listeners, “was, 'Bully! I'll do it!'
“So he calls a meetin' of everybody interested, at his new house. About
every respectable man in town was there, includin' me. Most of the
billiard-room gang was there, likewise. Jotham, of course, wa'n't
invited.
“Gabe calls the meetin' to order and the minister makes a speech tellin'
about the scheme. 'Our generous and public-spirited citizen, Honorable
Atkinson Holway,' had offered to build a suitable clubhouse, fix it up,
and donate it to the club, them and their heirs forever, Amen. 'Twas to
belong to the members to do what they pleased with--no strings tied to
it at all. Dues would be merely nominal, a dollar a year or some such
matter. Now, who favored such a club as that?
“Well, 'most everybody did. Daniel Bassett, chronic politician, justice
of the peace, and head of the 'Conservatives' at town meetin', he made
a talk, and in comes him and his crew. Gaius Ellis, another chronic, who
is postmaster and skipper of the 'Progressives,' had been fidgetin'
in his seat, and now up he bobs and says he's for it; then every
'Progressive' jines immediate. But the billiard-roomers; they didn't
jine. They looked sort of sheepish, and set still. When Mr. Fisher begun
to hint p'inted in their direction, they got up and slid outdoor. And
right then I'd ought to have smelt trouble, but I didn't; had a cold in
my head, I guess likely.
“Next thing was to build the new clubhouse, and Gabe went at it hammer
and tongs. He had a big passel of carpenters down from the city, and
inside of three months the buildin' was up, and she was a daisy, now I
tell you. There was a readin' room and a meetin' room and an 'amusement
room.' The amusements was crokinole and parchesi and checkers and the
like of that. Also there was a gymnasium and a place where you could
play the pianner and sing--till the sufferin' got acute and somebody
come along and abated you.
“When I fust went inside that clubhouse I see 'twas bound to be
'Good-by, Bill,' for Jotham. His customers would shake his ratty old
shanty for sartin, soon's they see them elegant new rooms. I swan, if I
didn't feel sorry for the old reprobate, and, thinks I, I'll drop around
and sympathize a little. Sympathy don't cost nothin', and Jotham's
pretty good company.
“I found him settin' alongside the peanut roaster, watchin' a couple of
patients cruelize the pool table.
“'Hello, Bailey!' says he. 'You surprise me. Ain't you 'fraid of
catchin' somethin' in this ha'nt of sin? Have a chair, anyhow. And a
cigar, won't you?'
“I took the chair, but I steered off from the cigar, havin' had
experience. Told him I guessed I'd use my pipe. He chuckled.
“'Fur be it from me to find fault with your judgment,' he says.
'Terbacker does smoke better'n anything else, don't it.'
“We set there and puffed for five minutes or so. Then he sort of jumped.
“'What's up?' says I.
“'Oh, nothin'!' he says. 'Bije Simmons got a ball in the pocket, that's
all. Don't do that too often, Bije; I got a weak heart. Well, Bailey,'
he adds, turnin' to me, 'Gabe's club's fixed up pretty fine, ain't it?'
“'Why, yes,' I says; ''tis.'
“'Finest ever I see,' says he. 'I told him so when I was in there.'
“'What?' says I. 'You don't mean to say YOU'VE been in that clubroom?'
“'Sartin. Why not? I want to take in all the shows there is--'specially
the free ones. Make a good billiard room, that clubhouse would.'
“I whistled. 'Whew!' says I. 'Didn't tell Gabe THAT, did you?'
“He nodded. 'Yup,' says he. 'I told him.'
“I whistled again. 'What answer did he make?' I asked.
“'Oh, he wa'n't enthusiastic. Seemed to cal'late I'd better shut up my
head and my shop along with it, afore he knocked off one and his club
knocked out t'other.'
“I pitied the old rascal; I couldn't help it.
“'Jotham,' says I, 'I ain't the wust friend you've got in South Orham,
even if I don't play pool much. If I was you I'd clear out of here and
start somewheres else. You can't fight all the best folks in town.'
“He didn't make no answer. Just kept on a-puffin'. I got up to go. Then
he laid his hand on my sleeve.
“'Bailey,' says he, 'when Betsy Mayo was ailin', her sister's tribe was
all for the Faith Cure and her husband's relations was high for patent
medicine. When the Faith Curists got to workin', in would come some of
the patent mediciners and give 'em the bounce. And when THEY went home
for the night, the Faithers would smash all the bottles. Finally they
got so busy fightin' 'mong themselves that Betsy see she was gettin' no
better fast, and sent for the reg'lar doctor. HE done the curin', and
got the pay.'
“'Well,' says I, 'what of it?'
“'Nothin',' says he. 'Only I've been practisin' a considerable spell. So
long. Come in again some time when it's dark and the respectable element
can't see you.'
“I went away thinkin' hard. And next mornin' I hunted up Gabe, and says
I:
“'Mr. Holway,' I says, 'what puzzles me is how you're goin' to elect the
officers for the new club. Put up a Conservative and the Progressives
resign. H'ist the Progressive ensign and the Conservatives'll mutiny. As
for the billiard-roomers--providin' any jine--they've never been known
to vote for anybody but themselves. I can't see no light yet--nothin'
but fog.'
“He winks, sly and profound. 'That's all right,' says he. 'Fisher and I
have planned that. You watch!'
“Sure enough, they had. The minister was mighty popular, so, when 'twas
out that he was candidate to be fust president of the club, all hands
was satisfied. Two vice presidents was named--one bein' Bassett and
t'other Ellis. Secretary was a leadin' Conservative; treasurer a head
Progressive. Officers and crew was happy and mutiny sunk ten fathoms.
ONLY none of the billiard-room gang had jined, and they was the fish we
was really tryin' for.
“'Twas next March afore one of 'em did come into the net, though we'd
have on all kinds of bait--suppers and free ice cream Saturday nights,
and the like of that. And meantime things had been happenin'.
“The fust thing of importance was Gabe's leavin' town. Our Cape winter
weather was what fixed him. He stood the no'theasters and Scotch
drizzles till January, and then he heads for Key West and comfort.
Said his heart still beat warm for his native village, but his feet was
froze--or words similar. He cal'lated to be back in the spring. Then
the Reverend Fisher got a call to somewheres in York State, and felt
he couldn't afford not to hear it. Nobody blamed him; the salary paid
a minister in South Orham is enough to make any feller buy patent ear
drums. But that left our men's club without either skipper or pilot, as
you might say.
“One week after the farewell sermon, Daniel Bassett drops in casual on
me. He was passin' around smoking material lavish and regardless.
“'Stitt,' says he, 'you've always voted for Conservatism in our local
affairs, haven't you?'
“'Well,' says I, 'I didn't vote to roof the town hall with a new
mortgage, if that's what you mean.'
“'Exactly,' he says. 'Now, our men's club, while not as yet the success
we hoped for, has come to be a power for good in our community. It needs
for its president a conservative, thoughtful man. Bailey,' he says, 'it
has come to my ears that Gaius Ellis intends to run for that office. You
know him. As a taxpayer, as a sober, thoughtful citizen, my gorge rises
at such insolence. I protest, sir! I protest against--'
“He was standin' up, makin' gestures with both arms, and he had his
town-meetin' voice iled and runnin'. I was too busy to hanker for a
stump speech, so I cut across his bows.
“'All right, all right,' says I. 'I'll vote for you, Dan.'
“He fetched a long breath. 'Thank you,' says he. 'Thank you. That makes
ten. Ellis can count on no more than nine. My election is assured.'
“Seein' that there wa'n't but nineteen reg'lar voters who come to the
club meetin's, if Bassett had ten of 'em it sartin did look as if he'd
get in. But on election night what does Gaius Ellis do but send a wagon
after old man Solomon Peavey, who'd been dry docked with rheumatiz
for three months, and Sol's vote evened her up. 'Twas ten to ten, a
deadlock, and the election was postponed for another week.
“This was of a Tuesday. On Wednesday I met Bije Simmons, the chap who
was playin' pool at Jotham's.
“'Hey, Bailey!' says he. 'Shake hands with a brother. I'm goin' to jine
the men's club.'
“'You BE?' says I, surprised enough, for Simmons was a billiard-roomer
from 'way back.
“'Yup,' he says. 'I'll be voted in at next meetin', sure. I'm studyin'
up on parchesi now.'
“'Hum!' I says, thinkin'. 'How you goin to vote?'
“'Me?' says he. 'Me? Why, man, I wonder at you! Can't you see the
fires of Conservatism blazin' in my eyes? I'm Conservative bred and
Conservative born, and when I'm dead there'll be a Conservative gone.
By, by. See you Tuesday night.'
“He went off, stoppin' everybody he met to tell 'em the news. And on
Thursday Ed Barnes dropped in to pay me the seventy-five cents he'd
borrowed two years ago come Fourth of July. When I'd got over the
fust shock and had counted the money three times, I commenced to ask
questions.
“'Somebody die and will you a million, Ed?' I wanted to know.
“'No,' says he. 'It's the reward of virtue. I'm goin' to be a better
man. I'm jinin' the men's club.'
“'NO!' says I, for Ed was as strong a billiard-roomer as Bije.
“'Sure!' he answers. 'I'm filled full of desires for crokinole and
progressiveness. See you Tuesday night at the meetin'.'
“And, would you b'lieve it, at that meetin' no less'n six confirmed
members of the billiard-room gang was voted into the men's club. 'Twas
a hallelujah gatherin'. I couldn't help thinkin' how glad and proud
Gabe and Mr. Fisher would have been to see their dreams comin' true.
But Bassett and Ellis looked more worried than glad, and when the votin'
took place I understood the reason. Them new members had divided even,
and the ballots stood Bassett thirteen and Ellis thirteen. The tie was
still on and the election was put off for another week.
“In that week, surprisin' as it may seem, two more billiard-roomers seen
a light and jined with us. However, one was for Bassett and t'other for
Ellis, so the deadlock wa'n't broken. Jotham had only a couple of his
reg'lars left, and I swan to man if THEY didn't catch the disease inside
of the follerin' fortni't and hand in their names. The 'Billiard, Pool,
and Sipio Saloon,' from bein' the liveliest place in town, was now the
deadest. Through the window you could see poor Jotham mopin' lonesome
among his peanuts and cigars. The sayin' concernin' the hardness of
the transgressor's sleddin' was workin' out for HIM, all right. But the
conversions had come so sudden that I couldn't understand it, though I
did have some suspicions.
“'Look here, Dan,' says I to Bassett, 'are you goin' to keep this up
till judgment? There ain't but thirty votin' names in this place--except
the chaps off fishin', and they won't be back till fall. Fifteen is for
you and fifteen for Gaius. Most astonishin' agreement of difference ever
I see. We'll never have a president, at this rate.'
“He winked. 'Won't, hey?' he says. 'Sure you've counted right? I make it
thirty-one.'
“'I don't see how,' says I, puzzled. 'Nobody's left outside the club but
Jotham himself, and he--'
“'That's all right,' he interrupts, winkin' again. 'You be on hand next
Tuesday night. You can't always tell, maybe somethin'll happen.'
“I was on hand, all right, and somethin' did happen, two somethin's, in
fact. We hadn't much more'n got in our seats afore the door opened,
and in walked Gaius Ellis, arm in arm with a man; and the man was the
Honorable Stingy Gabe Atkinson Holway.
“'Gentlemen,' sings out Gaius, bubblin' over with joy, 'I propose three
cheers for our founder, who has returned to us after his long absence.'
“We give the cheers--that is, some of the folks did. Bassett and our
gang wa'n't cheerin' much; they looked as if somebody had passed 'em
a counterfeit note. You see, Gabe Holway was one of the hide-boundest
Progressives afloat, and a blind man could see who'd got him back again
and which way he'd vote. It sartinly looked bad for Bassett now.
“Gaius proposes that, out of compliment, as founder of the club, Mr.
Holway be asked to preside. So he was asked, though the Conservatives
wa'n't very enthusiastic. Gabe took the chair, preached a little sermon
about bein' glad to see his native home once more, and raps for order.
“'If there's no other business afore the meetin',' says he, 'we will
proceed to ballot for president.'
“But it turned out that there was other business. Dan Bassett riz to his
feet and commenced one of the most feelin' addresses ever I listened to.
“Fust he congratulated all hands upon the success of Mr. Holway's
philanthropic scheme for the betterment of South Orham's male citizens.
Jeered at at fust by the unregenerate, it had gone on, winnin' its way
into the hearts of the people, until one by one the said unregenerate
had regenerated, and now the club numbered thirty souls and the
Honorable Atkinson.
“'But,' says Dan, wavin' his arms, 'one man yet remains outside. One
lone man! The chief sinner, you say? Yes, I admit it. But, gentlemen,
a repentant sinner. Alone he sits amid the wreck of his business--a
business wrecked by us, gentlemen--without a customer, without a friend.
Shall it be said that the free and open-handed men's club of South Orham
turned its back upon one man, merely because he HAS been what he was?
Gentlemen, I have talked with Jotham Gale; he is old, he is friendless,
he no longer has a means of livelihood--we have taken it from him. We
have turned his followers' steps to better paths. Shall we not turn
his, also? Gentlemen and friends, Jotham Gale is repentant, he feels
his ostrichism'--whatever he meant by that--'he desires to become
self-respecting, and he asks us to help him. He wishes to join this
club. Gentlemen, I propose for membership in our association the name of
Jotham W. Gale.'
“He set down and mopped his face. And the powwow that broke loose was
somethin' tremendous. Of course 'twas plain enough what Dan's game was.
This was the 'somethin'' that was goin' to happen.
“Ellis see the way the land lay, and he bounces up to protest. 'Twas
an outrage; a scandal; ridiculous; and so forth, and so on. Poor Gabe
didn't know what to do, and so he didn't do nothin'. A head Conservative
seconds Jotham's nomination. 'Twas put to a vote and carried easy. Dan's
speech had had its effect and a good many folks voted out of sympathy.
How did I vote? I'LL never tell you.
“And then Bassett gets up, smilin', goes to the outside door, opens it,
and leads in the new member. He'd been waitin' on the steps, it turned
out. Jotham looked mighty quiet and meek. I pitied the poor old codger
more'n ever. Snaked in, he was, out of the wet, like a yeller dog, by
the club that had kicked him out of his own shop.
“Chairman Gabe pounds for order, and suggests that the votin' can go on.
But Ellis jumps up, and says he:
“'What's the sense of votin' now?' he asks sarcastic. 'Will the lost
lamb we've just yanked into the fold have the face to stand up and bleat
that he hasn't promised to vote Conservative? Dan Bassett, of all the
contemptible tricks that ever--'
“Bassett's face was redder'n a ripe tomatter. He shakes his fist in
Gaius's face and yells opinions and comments.
“'Don't you talk to me about tricks, you ward-heeler!' he hollers.
'Why did you fetch Mr. Holway back home? Why did you, hey? That was the
trickiest trick that I--'
“Gabe pretty nigh broke his mallet thumpin'.
“'Gentlemen! gentlemen!' says he. 'This is most unseemly. Sit down,
if you PLEASE. Mr. Ellis, when the purpose of this association is
considered, it seems to me very wrong to find fault because the chief of
our former antagonists has seen the error of his ways and become one of
us. Mr. Bassett, I do not understand your intimation concernin' myself.
I shall adjourn this meetin' until next Friday evenin', gentlemen.
Meanwhile, let us remember that we ARE gentlemen.'
“He thumped the desk once, and parades out of the buildin', dignified
as Julius Caesar. The rest of us toddled along after him, all talkin' at
once. Bassett and Ellis glowered at each other and hove out hints about
what would happen afore they got through. 'Twas half-past ten afore I
got to bed that night, and Sarah J.--that's Mrs. Stitt--kept me awake
another hour explainin' whys and wherefores.
“For the next three days nobody done anything but knock off work and
talk club politics. You'd see 'em on the corners and in the post office
and camped on the meetin'-house steps, arguin' and jawin'. Dan and Gaius
was hurryin' around, moppin' their foreheads and lookin' worried. On
Thursday there was all sorts of rumors afloat. Finally they all simmered
down to one, and that one was what made me stop Stingy Gabe on the
street and ask for my bearin's.
“'Mr. Holway,' says I, 'is it true that Dan and Gaius have resigned and
agreed to vote for somebody else?'
“He nodded, grand and complacent.
“'Then who's the somebody?' says I. 'For the land sakes! tell me. It's
as big a miracle as the prodigal son.'
“I remember now that the prodigal son ain't a miracle, but I was excited
then.
“'Stitt,' says he, 'I am the “somebody,” as you call it. I have decided
to let my own wishes and inclinations count for nothin' in this affair,
and to accept the office of president myself. It will be announced at
the meetin'.'
“I whistled. 'By gum!' says I. 'You've got a great head, Mr. Holway, and
I give you public credit for it. It's the only course that ain't full of
breakers. Did you think of it yourself?'
“He colored up a little. 'Why, no, not exactly,' he says. 'The fact is,
the credit belongs to our new member, Mr. Gale.'
“'To JOTHAM?' says I, astonished.
“'Yes. He suggested my candidacy, as a compromise. Said that he, for
one, would be proud to vote for me. Mr. Gale seems thoroughly repentant,
a changed man. I am counting on him for great things in the future.'
“So the fuss seemed settled, thanks to the last person on earth you'd
expect would be peacemaker. But that afternoon I met Darius Tompkins,
Bassett's right-hand man.
“'Bailey,' says he, 'you're a Conservative, ain't you? You're for Dan
through thick and thin?'
“'Why!' says I, 'I understand Dan and Gaius are both out of it now, and
it's settled on Holway. Dan's promised to vote for him.'
“'HE has,' says Tompkins, with a wink, 'but the rest of us ain't. We
pledged our votes to Dan Bassett, and we ain't the kind to go back on
our word. Dan himself'll vote for Gabe; so'll Gaius and his reg'lar
tribe. That'll make twelve, countin' Holway's own.'
“'Make seventeen, you mean,' says I. 'Gaius and his crowd's fifteen and
Dan's sixteen and Gabe's seven--'
“He winked again, and interrupted me. 'You're countin' wrong, my boy,'
says he. 'Five of Gaius's folks come from the old billiard-room gang.
Just suppose somethin' happened to make that five vote, on the quiet,
for Bassett. Then--'
“A customer come in then, and Tompkins had to leave; but afore he went
he got me to one side and whispers:
“'Keep mum, old man, and vote straight for Dan. We'll show old Holway
that we can't be led around by the nose.'
“'Tompkins,' says I, 'I know your head well enough to be sartin that it
didn't work this out by itself. And why are you so sure of the billiard
roomers? Who put you up to this?'
“He rapped the side of his nose. 'The smartest politician in this
town,' says he, 'and the oldest--J. W. Gale, Esq.! S-s-sh-h! Don't say
nothin'.'
“I didn't say nothin'. I was past talk. And that evenin' as I went past
the billiard room on my way home, who should come out of it but Gaius
Ellis, and HE looked as happy as Tompkins had.
“Friday night that clubroom was filled. Every member was there, and most
of 'em had fetched their wives and families along to see the fun. There
was whisperin' and secrecy everywheres. Honorable Gabe took the chair
and makes announcements that the shebang is open for business.
“Up gets Dave Bassett and all but sheds tears. He says that he made up
his mind to vote, not for himself, but for the founder and patron of
the club, the Honorable Atkinson Holway. He spread it over Gabe thick
as sugar on a youngster's cake. And when he set down all hands applauded
like fury. But I noticed that he hadn't spoke for nary Conservative but
himself.
“Then Gaius Ellis rises and sobs similar. He's stopped votin' for
himself, too. His ballot is for that grand and good man, Gabriel
Atkinson Holway, Esq. More applause and hurrahs.
“And then who should get up but Jotham Gale. He talks humble, like a
has-been that knows he's a back number, but he says it's his privilege
to cast his fust vote in that club for Mr. Holway, South Orham's pride.
Nobody was expectin' him to say anything, and the cheers pretty nigh
broke the winders.
“Gabe was turrible affected by the soft soap, you could see that. He
fairly sobbed as he sprinkled gratitude and acceptances. When the agony
was over, he says the votin' can begin.
“I cal'lated he expected somebody'd move to make it unanimous, but they
didn't. So the blank ballots was handed around, and the pencils got
busy. Gabe app'ints three tellers, Bassett and Ellis, of course, for
two--and the third, Jotham Gale.
“'As a compliment to our newest member,' says the chairman, smilin'
philanthropic.
“When the votes was in the hat, the tellers retired to the amusement
room to count up. It took a long time. I see the Conservatives and
Progressives nudgin' each other and winkin' back and forth. Five
minutes, then ten, then fifteen.
“And all of a sudden the biggest row bu'st loose in that amusement room
that ever you heard. Rattlety--bang! Biff! Smash! The door flew open,
and in rolled Bassett and Ellis, all legs and arms. Gabe and some of the
rest hauled 'em apart and held 'em so, but the language them two hove at
each other was enough to bring down a judgment.
“'Gentlemen! gentlemen!' hollers poor Gabe. 'What in the world? I am
astounded! I--'
“'You miserable traitor!' shrieks Gaius, wavin' a fist at Dan.
“'You low-down hound!' whoops Dan back at him.
“'Silence!' bellers Gabe, poundin' thunder storms on the desk. 'Will
some one explain why these maniacs are--Ah, Mr. Gale--thank goodness,
YOU at least are sane!'
“Jotham walks to the front of the platform. He was holdin' the hat and a
slip of paper with the result set down on it.
“'Ladies and feller members,' says he, 'there's been some surprisin'
votin' done in this election. Things ain't gone as we cal'lated they
would, somehow. Mr. Holway, your election wa'n't unanimous, after all.'
“The way he said it made most everybody think Gabe was elected, anyhow,
and I guess Holway thought so himself, for he smiled forgivin' and says:
“'Never mind, Mr. Gale,' says he. 'A unanimous vote was perhaps too much
to expect. Go on.'
“'Yes,' says Jotham. 'Well, here's the way it stands. I'll read it to
you.'
“He fixes his specs and reads like this:
“'Number of votes cast, 32.'
“'Honorable Atkinson Holway has 4.'
“'WHAT?' gasps Stingy Gabe, fallin' into his chair.
“'Yes, sir,' says Jotham. 'It's a shame, I know, but it looks as nobody
voted for you, Mr. Holway, but yourself and me and Dan and Gaius. To
proceed:
“'Daniel Bassett has 9.'
“The Conservatives and their women folks fairly groaned out loud.
Tompkins jumped to his feet, but Jotham held up a hand.
“'Just a moment, D'rius,' he says. 'I ain't through yet.'
“'Gaius Ellis has 9.'
“Then 'twas the Progressives' turn to groan. The racket and hubbub was
gettin' louder all the time.
“'There's ten votes left,' goes on Jotham, 'and they bear the name
of Jotham W. Gale. I can't understand it, but it does appear that I'm
elected president of this 'ere club. Gentlemen, I thank you for the
honor, which is as great as 'tis unexpected.'
“Gabe and the Progressives and the Conservatives set and looked at each
other. And up jumps 'Bije Simmons, and calls for three cheers for the
new president.
“Nobody jined in them cheers but the old billiard room gang; they did,
though, every one of 'em, and Jotham smiled fatherly down on his flock.
“I s'pose there ain't no need of explainin'. Jotham had worked it all,
from the very fust. When the tie business begun and Gaius and Dan was
bribin' the billiard roomers to jine the club, 'twas him that fixed how
they should vote so's to keep the deadlock goin'. 'Twas him that put
Bassett up to proposin' him as a member. 'Twas him that suggested Gabe's
comin' back to Gaius. 'Twas him that--But what's the use? 'Twas him all
along. He was IT.
“That night everybody but the billiard-room gang sent in their
resignation to that club. We refused to be bossed by such people. Gabe
resigned, too. He was disgusted with East Harniss and all hands in it.
He'd have took back the clubhouse, but he couldn't, as the deed of gift
was free and clear. But he swore he'd never give it another cent.
“Folks thought that would end the thing, because it wouldn't be
self-supportin', but Jotham had different idees. He simply moved his
pool tables and truck up from the old shop, and now he's got the finest
place of the kind on the Cape, rent free.
“'I told you 'twould make a good billiard saloon, didn't I, Bailey?' he
says, chucklin'.
“'Jotham,' says I, 'of your kind you're a perfect wonder.'
“'Well,' says he, 'I diagnosed that men's club as sufferin' from acute
politics. I've been doctorin' that disease for a long time. The trouble
with you reformers,' he adds, solemn, 'is that, when it comes to
political doin's, you ain't practical.'
“As for Stingy Gabe, he shut up his fine house and moved to New York.
Said he was through with helpin' the moral tone.
“'When I die,' he says to me, 'if I go to the bad place I may start in
reformin' that. It don't need it no more'n South Orham does, but 'twill
be enough sight easier job.'
“And,” concluded Captain Stitt, as soon as he could be heard above the
“Haw! haws!” caused by the Honorable Holway's final summing-up of his
native town, “I ain't so sure that he was greatly mistook. What do you
think, Sol?”
The depot master shook his head. “Don't know, Bailey,” he answered,
dryly. “I'll have to visit both places 'fore I give an opinion. I HAVE
been to South Orham, but the neighborhood that your friend Gabe compared
it to I ain't seen--yet. I put on that 'yet,'” he added, with a wink,
“'cause I knew Sim Phinney would if I didn't.”
Captain Bailey rose and covered a yawn with a plump hand.
“I believe I'll go over to Obed's and turn in,” he said. “I'm sleepy as
a minister's horse tonight. You don't mind, do you, Obed?”
“No-o,” replied Mr. Gott, slowly. “No, I don't, 'special. I kind of
thought I'd run into the club a few minutes and see some of the other
fellers. But it ain't important--not very.”
The “club” was one of the rooms over Mr. Higgins's store and post
office. It had been recently fitted up with chairs and tables from
its members' garrets and, when the depot and store were closed, was a
favorite gathering place of those reckless ones who cared to “set up
late”--that is, until eleven o'clock. Most of the men in town belonged,
but many, Captain Berry among them, visited the room but seldom.
“Checkers,” said the depot master, referring to the “club's” favorite
game, “is too deliberately excitin' for me. To watch Beriah Higgins and
Ezra Weeks fightin' out a game of checkers is like gettin' your feet
froze in January and waitin' for spring to come and thaw 'em out. It's a
numbin' kind of dissipation.”
But Obed Gott was a regular attendant at the “club,” and to-night he
had a particular reason for wishing to be there. His cousin noticed his
hesitation and made haste to relieve his mind.
“That's all right, Obed,” he said, “go to the club, by all means. I
ain't such a stranger at your house that I can't find my way to bed
without help. Good-night, Sim. Good-night, Issy. Cheer up; maybe the
Major's glassware IS priceless. So long, Cap'n Sol. See you again some
time tomorrer.”
He and Mr. Gott departed. The depot master rose from his chair. “Issy,”
he commanded, “shut up shop.”
Issy obeyed, closing the windows and locking the front door. Captain
Sol himself locked the ticket case and put the cash till into the small
safe.
“That'll do, Is,” said the Captain. “Good-night. Don't worry too much
over the Major's glass. I'll talk with him, myself. You dream about
pleasanter things--your girl, if you've got one.”
That was a chance shot, but it struck Issy in the heart. Even during
his melancholy progress to and from Major Hardee's, the vision of Gertie
Higgins had danced before his greenish-blue eyes. His freckles were
engulfed in a surge of blushes as, with a stammered “Night, Cap'n
Berry,” he hurried out into the moonlight.
The depot master blew out the lamps. “Come on, Sim,” he said, briefly.
“Goin' to walk up with me, or was YOU goin' to the club?”
“Cal'late I'll trot along with you, if you don't mind. I'd just as soon
get home early and wrastle with the figures on that Williams movin'
job.”
They left the depot, locked and dark, passed the “general store,” where
Mr. Higgins was putting out his lights prior to adjournment to the
“club” overhead, walked up Main Street to Cross Street, turned and began
climbing the hill. Simeon spoke several times but his friend did not
answer. A sudden change had come over him. The good spirits with which
he told of his adventure with Williams and which had remained during
Phinney's stay at the depot, were gone, apparently. His face, in the
moonlight, was grave and he strode on, his hands in his pockets.
At the crest of the hill he stopped.
“Good-night, Sim,” he said, shortly, and, turning, walked off.
The building mover gazed after him in surprise. The nearest way to the
Berry home was straight down Cross Street, on the other side of the
hill, to the Shore Road, and thence along that road for an eighth of
a mile. The Captain's usual course was just that. But to-night he had
taken the long route, the Hill Boulevard, which made a wide curve before
it descended to the road below.
Sim, who had had a shrewd suspicion concerning his friend's silence and
evident mental disturbance, stood still, looking and wondering. Olive
Edwards, Captain Berry's old sweetheart, lived on the Boulevard. She
was in trouble and the Captain knew it. He had asked, that very evening,
what she was going to do when forced to move. Phinney could not tell
him. Had he gone to find out for himself? Was the mountain at last
coming to Mohammed?
For some minutes Simeon remained where he was, thinking and surmising.
Then he, too, turned and walked cautiously up the Boulevard. He
passed the Williams mansion, its library windows ablaze. He passed
the twenty-five room “cottage” of the gentleman from Chicago. Then
he halted. Opposite him was the little Edwards dwelling and shop. The
curtains were up and there was a lamp burning on the small counter.
Beside the lamp, in a rocking chair, sat Olive Edwards, the widow,
sewing. As he gazed she dropped the sewing in her lap, and raised her
head.
Phinney saw how worn and sad she looked. And yet, how young, considering
her forty years and all she had endured and must endure. She put her
hand over her eyes, then removed it wearily. A lump came in Simeon's
throat. If he might only help her; if SOME ONE might help her in her
lonely misery.
And then, from where he stood in the shadow of the Chicago gentleman's
hedge, he saw a figure step from the shadows fifty feet farther on.
It was Captain Solomon Berry. He walked to the middle of the road
and halted, looking in at Olive. Phinney's heart gave a jump. Was the
Captain going into that house, going to HER, after all these years? WAS
the mountain--
But no. For a full minute the depot master stood, looking in at the
woman by the lamp. Then he jammed his hands into his pockets, wheeled,
and tramped rapidly off toward his home. Simeon Phinney went home, also,
but it was with a heavy heart that he sat down to figure the cost of
moving the Williams “pure Colonial” to its destined location.