THE MOUNTAIN AND MAHOMET
The eleventh of July. The little Berry house stood high on its joists
and rollers, in the middle of the Hill Boulevard, directly opposite
the Edwards lot. Close behind it loomed the big “Colonial.” Another
twenty-four hours, and, even at its one-horse gait, the depot master's
dwelling would be beyond the strip of Edwards fence. The “Colonial”
would be ready to move on the lot, and Olive Edwards, the widow, would
be obliged to leave her home. In fact, Mr. Williams had notified
her that she and her few belongings must be off the premises by the
afternoon of the twelfth.
The great Williams was in high good-humor. He chuckled as he talked with
his foreman, and the foreman chuckled in return. Simeon Phinney did
not chuckle. He was anxious and worried, and even the news of Gertie
Higgins's runaway marriage, brought to him by Obed Gott, who--having
been so recently the victim of another unexpected matrimonial
alliance--was wickedly happy over the postmaster's discomfiture, did not
interest him greatly.
“Well, I wonder who'll be the next couple,” speculated Obed. “First
Polena and old Hardee, then Gertie Higgins and Sam Bartlett! I declare,
Sim, gettin' married unbeknownst to anybody must be catchin', like the
measles. Nobody's safe unless they've got a wife or husband livin'. Me
and Sol Berry are old baches--we'd better get vaccinated or WE may come
down with the disease. Ho! ho!”
After dinner Mr. Phinney went from his home to the depot. Captain Sol
was sitting in the ticket office, with the door shut. On the platform,
forlornly sprawled upon the baggage truck, was Issy McKay, the picture
of desolation. He started nervously when he heard Simeon's step. As
yet Issy's part in the Bartlett-Higgins episode was unknown to the
townspeople. Sam and Gertie had considerately kept silence. Beriah had
not learned who sent him the warning note, the unlucky missive which had
brought his troubles to a climax. But he was bound to learn it, he would
find out soon, and then--No wonder Issy groaned.
“Come in here, Sim,” said the depot master. Phinney entered the ticket
office.
“Shut the door,” commanded the Captain. The order was obeyed. “Well,
what is it?” asked Berry.
“Why, I just run in to see you a minute, Sol, that's all. What are you
shut up in here all alone for?”
“'Cause I want to be alone. There's been more than a thousand folks in
this depot so far to-day, seems so, and they all wanted to talk. I don't
feel like talkin'.”
“Heard about Gertie Higgins and--”
“Yes.”
“Who told you?”
“Hiram Baker told me first. He's a fine feller and he's so tickled, now
that his youngster's 'most well, that he cruises around spoutin' talk
and joy same as a steamer's stack spouts cinders. He told me. Then Obed
Gott and Cornelius Rowe and Redny Blount and Pat Starkey, and land knows
how many more, came to tell me. I cut 'em short. Why, even the Major
himself condescended to march in, grand and imposin' as a procession, to
make proclamations about love laughin' at locksmiths, and so on. Since
he got Polena and her bank account he's a bigger man than the President,
in his own estimate.”
“Humph! Well, he better make the best of it while it lasts. P'lena ain't
Hetty Green, and her money won't hold out forever.”
“That's a fact. Still Polena's got sense. She'll hold Hardee in check,
I cal'late. I wouldn't wonder if it ended by her bossin' things and the
Major actin' as a sort of pet poodle dog--nice and pretty to walk out
with, but always kept at the end of a string.”
“You didn't go to Higgins's for dinner to-day, did you?”
“No. Nor I shan't go for supper. Beriah's bad enough when he's got
nothin' the matter with him but dyspepsy. Now that his sufferin's are
complicated with elopements, I don't want to eat with him.”
“Come and have supper with us.”
“I guess not, thank you, Sim. I'll get some crackers and cheese and such
at the store. I--I ain't very hungry these days.”
He turned his head and looked out of the window. Simeon fidgeted.
“Sol,” he said, after a pause, “we'll be past Olive's by to-morrer
night.”
No answer. Sim repeated his remark.
“I know it,” was the short reply.
“Yes--yes, I s'posed you did, but--”
“Sim, don't bother me now. This is my last day here at the depot, and
I've got things to do.”
“Your last day? Why, what--?”
Captain Sol told briefly of his resignation and of the coming of the new
depot master.
“But you givin' up your job!” gasped Phinney. “YOU! Why, what for?”
“For instance, I guess. I ain't dependent on the wages, and I'm sick of
the whole thing.”
“But what'll you do?”
“Don't know.”
“You--you won't leave town, will you? Lawsy mercy, I hope not!”
“Don't know. Maybe I'll know better by and by. I've got to think things
out. Run along now, like a good feller. Don't say nothin' about my
quittin'. All hands'll know it to-morrow, and that's soon enough.”
Simeon departed, his brain in a whirl. Captain Solomon Berry no longer
depot master! The world must be coming to an end.
He remained at his work until supper time. During the meal he ate and
said so little that his wife wondered and asked questions. To avoid
answering them he hurried out. When he returned, about ten o'clock, he
was a changed man. His eyes shone and he fairly danced with excitement.
“Emeline!” he shouted, as he burst into the sitting room. “What do you
think? I've got the everlastin'est news to tell!”
“Good or bad?” asked the practical Mrs. Phinney.
“Good! So good that--There! let me tell you. When I left here I went
down to the store and hung around till the mail was sorted. Pat Starkey
was doin' the sortin', Beriah bein' too upsot by Gertie's gettin'
married to attend to anything. Pat called me to the mail window and
handed me a letter.
“'It's for Olive Edwards,' he says. 'She's been expectin' one for a
consider'ble spell, she told me, and maybe this is it. P'r'aps you'd
just as soon go round by her shop and leave it.'
“I took the letter and looked at it. Up in one corner was the printed
name of an Omaha firm. I never said nothin', but I sartinly hustled on
my way up the hill.
“Olive was in her little settin' room back of the shop. She was pretty
pale, and her eyes looked as if she hadn't been doin' much sleepin'
lately. Likewise I noticed--and it give me a queer feelin' inside--that
her trunk was standin', partly packed, in the corner.”
“The poor woman!” exclaimed Mrs. Phinney.
“Yes,” went on her husband. “Well, I handed over the letter and started
to go, but she told me to set down and rest, 'cause I was so out of
breath. To tell you the truth, I was crazy to find out what was in that
envelope and, being as she'd give me the excuse, I set.
“She took the letter over to the lamp and looked at it for much as
a minute, as if she was afraid to open it. But at last, and with her
fingers shakin' like the palsy, she fetched a long breath and tore off
the end of the envelope. It was a pretty long letter, and she read it
through. I see her face gettin' whiter and whiter and, when she reached
the bottom of the last page, the letter fell onto the floor. Down went
her head on her arms, and she cried as if her heart would break. I never
felt so sorry for anybody in my life.
“'Don't, Mrs. Edwards,' I says. 'Please don't. That cousin of yours is
a darn ungrateful scamp, and I'd like to have my claws on his neck this
minute.'
“She never even asked me how I knew about the cousin. She was too much
upset for that.
“'Oh! oh!' she sobs. 'What SHALL I do? Where shall I go? I haven't got a
friend in the world!'
“I couldn't stand that. I went acrost and laid my hand on her shoulder.
“'Mrs. Edwards,' says I, 'you mustn't say that. You've got lots of
friends. I'm your friend. Mr. Hilton's your friend. Yes, and there's
another, the best friend of all. If it weren't for him, you'd have been
turned out into the street long before this.'”
Mrs. Phinney nodded. “I'm glad you told her!” she exclaimed. “She'd
ought to know.”
“That's what I thought,” said Simeon.
“Well, she raised her head then and looked at me.
“'You mean Mr. Williams?' she asks.
“That riled me up. 'Williams nothin'!' says I. 'Williams let you stay
here 'cause he could just as well as not. If he'd known that this other
friend was keepin' him from gettin' here, just on your account, he'd
have chucked you to glory, promise or no promise. But this friend, this
real friend, he don't count cost, nor trouble, nor inconvenience. Hikes
his house--the house he lives in--right out into the road, moves it to a
place where he don't want to go, and--'
“'Mr. Phinney,' she sighs out, 'what do you mean?'
“And then I told her. She listened without sayin' a word, but her eyes
kept gettin' brighter and brighter and she breathed short.
“'Oh!' she says, when I'd finished. 'Did he--did he--do that for ME?'
“'You bet!' says I. 'He didn't tell me what he was doin' it for--that
ain't Sol's style; but I'm arithmetiker enough to put two and two
together and make four. He did it for you, you can bet your last red on
that.'
“She stood up. 'Oh!' she breathes. 'I--I must go and thank him. I--'
“But, knowin' Sol, I was afraid. Fust place, there was no tellin' how
he'd act, and, besides, he might not take it kindly that I'd told her.
“'Wait a jiffy,' I says. 'I'll go out and see if he's home. You stay
here. I'll be back right off.'
“Out I put, and over to the Berry house, standin' on its rollers in the
middle of the Boulevard. And, just as I got to it, somebody says:
“'Ahoy, Sim! What's the hurry? Anybody on fire?'
“'Twas the Cap'n himself, settin' on a pile of movin' joist and smokin'
as usual. I didn't waste no time.
“'Sol,' says I, 'I've just come from Olive's. She's got that letter from
the Omaha man. Poor thing! all alone there--'
“He interrupted me sharp. 'Well?' he snaps. 'What's it say? Will the
cousin help her?'
“'No,' I says, 'drat him, he won't!'
“The answer I got surprised me more'n anything I ever heard or ever will
hear.
“'Thank God!' says Sol Berry. 'That settles it.'
“And I swan to man if he didn't climb down off them timbers and march
straight across the street, over to the door of Olive Edwards's home,
open it, and go in! I leaned against the joist he'd left, and swabbed my
forehead with my sleeve.”
“He went to HER!” gasped Mrs. Phinney.
“Wait,” continued her husband. “I must have stood there twenty minutes
when I heard somebody hurryin' down the Boulevard. 'Twas Cornelius Rowe,
all red-faced and het up, but bu'stin' with news.
“''Lo, Sim!' says he to me. 'Is Cap'n Sol home? Does he know?'
“'Know? Know what?” says I.
“'Why, the trick Mr. Williams put up on him? Hey? You ain't heard? Well,
Mr. Williams's fixed him nice, HE has! Seems Abner Payne hadn't answered
Sol's letter tellin' him he'd accept the offer to swap lots, and
Williams went up to Wareham where Payne's been stayin' and offered him a
thumpin' price for the land on Main Street, and took it. The deed's all
made out. Cap'n Sol can't move where he was goin' to, and he's left with
his house on the town, as you might say. Ain't it a joke, though? Where
is Sol? I want to be the fust to tell him and see how he acts. Is he to
home?'
“I was shook pretty nigh to pieces, but I had some sense left.
“'No, he ain't,' says I. 'I see him go up street a spell ago.'”
“Why, Simeon!” interrupted Mrs. Phinney once more. “Was that true? How
COULD you see him when--”
“Be still! S'pose I was goin' to tell him where Sol HAD gone? I'd have
lied myself blue fust. However, Cornelius was satisfied.
“'That so?' he grunts. 'By jings! I'm goin' to find him.'
“Off he went, and the next thing I knew the Edwards door opened, and
I heard somebody callin' my name. I went acrost, walkin' in a kind of
daze, and there, in the doorway, with the lamp shinin' on 'em, was Cap'n
Sol and Olive. The tears was wet on her cheeks, but she was smilin' in
a kind of shy, half-believin' sort of way, and as for Sol, he was one
broad, satisfied grin.
“'Cap'n,' I begun, 'I just heard the everlastin'est news that--'
“'Shut up, Sim!' he orders, cheerful. 'You've been a mighty good friend
to both of us, and I want you to be the fust to shake hands.'
“'Shake hands?' I stammers, lookin' at 'em. 'WHAT? You don't mean--'
“'I mean shake hands. Don't you want to?'
“Want to! I give 'em both one more look, and then we shook, up to the
elbows; and my grin had the Cap'n's beat holler.
“'Sim,' he says, after I'd cackled a few minutes, 'I cal'late maybe that
white horse is well by this time. P'r'aps we might move a little faster.
I'm kind of anxious to get to Main Street.'
“Then I remembered. 'Great gosh all fish-hooks!' I sings out. 'Main
Street? Why, there AIN'T no Main Street!'
“And I gives 'em Cornelius's news. The widow's smile faded out.
“'Oh!' says she. 'O Solomon! And I got you into all this trouble!'
“Cap'n Sol didn't stop grinnin', but he scratched his head. 'Huh!' says
he. 'Mark one up for King Williams the Great. Humph!'
“He thought for a minute and then he laughed out loud. 'Olive,' he says,
'if I remember right, you and I always figgered to live on the Shore
Road. It's the best site in town. Sim, I guess if that white horse IS
well, you can move that shanty of mine right to Cross Street, down that,
and back along the Shore Road to the place where it come from. THAT
land's mine yet,' says he.
“If that wa'n't him all over! I couldn't think what to say, except that
folks would laugh some, I cal'lated.
“'Not at us, they won't,' says he. 'We'll clear out till the laughin' is
over. Olive, to-morrer mornin' we'll call on Parson Hilton and then take
the ten o'clock train. I feel's if a trip to Washin'ton would be about
right just now.'
“She started and blushed and then looked up into his face. 'Solomon,'
she says, low, 'I really would like to go to Niagara.'
“He shook his head. 'Old lady,' says he, 'I guess you don't quite
understand this thing. See here'--p'intin' to his house loomin' big and
black in the roadway--'see! the mountain has come to Mahomet.'”
Mrs. Phinney had heard enough. She sprang from her chair and seized her
husband's hands.
“Splendid!” she cried, her face beaming. “Oh, AIN'T it lovely! Ain't you
glad for 'em, Simeon?”
“Glad! Say, Emeline; there's some of that wild-cherry bounce down
cellar, ain't there? Let's break our teetotalism for once and drink a
glass to Cap'n and Mrs. Solomon Berry. Jerushy! I got to do SOMETHIN' to
celebrate.”
On the Hill Boulevard the summer wind stirred the silverleaf poplars.
The thick, black shadows along the sidewalks were heavy with the perfume
of flowers. Captain Sol, ex-depot master of East Harniss, strolled on
in the dark, under the stars, his hands in his pockets, and in his heart
happiness complete and absolute.
Behind him twinkled the lamp in the window of the Edwards house, so soon
to be torn down. Before him, over the barberry hedge, blazed the windows
of the mansion the owner of which was responsible for it all. The
windows were open, and through them sounded the voices of the mighty
Ogden Hapworth Williams and his wife, engaged in a lively altercation.
It was an open secret that their married life was anything but peaceful.
“What are you grumbling about now?” demanded 'Williams. “Don't I give
you more money than--”
“Nonsense!” sneered Mrs. Williams, in scornful derision. “Nonsense,
I say! Money is all there is to you, Ogden. In other things, the real
things of this world, those you can't buy with money, you're a perfect
imbecile. You know nothing whatever about them.”
Captain Sol, alone on the walk by the hedge, glanced in the direction
of the shrill voice, then back at the lamp in Olive's window. And he
laughed aloud.