THE PRODIGAL BECOMES OBSTINATE.
When the door had closed behind Leslie and the old woman, Franz
Francoise dropped his chin upon his breast, and leaning his broad
shoulders against the door-frame, stood thinking, or half asleep, it
would have been difficult to guess which; while Papa began a slow,
cat-like promenade up and down the room, paying no heed to Franz or his
occupation, and thinking, beyond a doubt.
After a little, Franz, arousing himself with a yawn, staggered to the
nearest chair, and dropped once more into a listless attitude. In
another moment, Mamma reëntered the room.
As she passed him, Franz laid a detaining hand upon her arm, and leering
up into her face, whispered thickly:
"I say, old un, ye seem ter be troubled with gals. Don't ye want me to
git rid o' _this_ one fer ye?"
A moment the old woman pauses, and looks down at her Prodigal in
silence. Then she brings her hideous face close to his and whispers:
"My boy, that other un, ef we'd a-kept her, ud a-done us hurt. This un,
ef we kin keep her, will make all our fortunes."
"Honor bright?" drawls Franz, looking up at her sleepily, and
suppressing a yawn.
"Honor bright, my boy."
"Then," and he rises and stretches out his arms, "we'd better keep her."
Mamma favors him with a nod and a grin of approval, and then goes over
to where Papa has halted and stands eyeing the whisperers.
The household belongings here are, as we have said, somewhat more
respectable and extensive than those of the former nests occupied by
these birds of passage. There were several chairs; a quantity of
crockery and cooking utensils; some decent curtains at the windows; and
a couch, somewhat the worse for wear and not remarkable for cleanliness,
in this room.
Toward this couch Franz moves with a shuffling gait, and flinging
himself heavily down upon it, he settles himself to enjoy a quiet nap,
paying no heed to Papa and Mamma, who, standing near together, are
watching him furtively. It is some time before Franz becomes lost in
dreamland. He fidgets and mumbles for so many minutes that Mamma becomes
impatient. But he is quiet at last.
And then the two old plotters, withdrawing themselves to the remotest
corner of the room, enter into a conversation or discussion, which,
judging from their rapid gesticulations, their facial expression, and
the occasional sharp hiss, which is all that could have been heard by
the occupant of the couch were he ever so broad awake, must be a
question of considerable importance, and one that admits of two
opinions.
For more than an hour this warm discussion continues. Then it seems to
have reached an amicable adjustment, for they both wear a look of
relief, and conversation flags. Presently Mamma turns her face toward
the couch.
"I wonder ef he is asleep," she whispers. "Somehow, that boy bothers
me."
"There's nothin' ails him," replies the old man, in the same guarded
whisper, "only what he come honestly by. He's lookin' out fer number
one, same as we are; an' he won't trust _all_ his secrets to nobody's
keepin', no more'n we won't. He's our own boy--only he's a leetle too
sharp fer my likin'. Hows'ever, he's a lad to be proud of, an' it won't
do to fall out with him."
"Nobody wants to fall out with him," retorts Mamma. "He's going to be
the makin' of us, only--mind this--he ain't to know too much, unless we
want him to be our master. Look at the scamp, a-layin' there! I'm goin'
to see ef he is asleep."
She takes the candle from the table, snuffs the wick into a brighter
blaze, and moves softly toward the couch. The Prodigal's face is turned
upward. Mamma scans it closely, and then brings the candle very near to
the closed eyes, waving it to and fro rapidly.
There is no slow awakening here. The two hands of the sleeper, which
have rested in seeming carelessness loosely at his sides, move swiftly
and simultaneously with his body. And Mamma's only consciousness is that
of more meteors than could by any possibility emanate from one candle,
and a sudden shock to her whole frame. She is sitting upon the floor,
clutching wildly at the candle, while Franz, a dangerous-looking
revolver in either hand, is glaring fiercely about him.
And all this in scarce ten seconds!
"Wot's up?" queries Franz shortly, "wot the dickens--"
Papa comes forward, chuckling softly, but keeping cautiously out of
range of the two weapons. And Mamma begins to scramble to her feet.
"Hullo!" says Franz, as he seems to notice Mamma's position for the
first time; "wot ails _you_?"
Papa is so amused that he giggles audibly; he was never heard to laugh
an honest laugh.
"Git up, old lady," commands Franz, withdrawing his eyes from Mamma; and
he stands as at first, until she has risen.
Then he glances sharply about the room, and asks impatiently: "Come,
now, what have ye been up to?"
"Ye see, Franzy," begins Mamma in a conciliating tone, "I went ter take
a look at ye--"
"Oh, ye did!"
"With the candle in my hand."
"Jest so; an' to get a good look, ye stuck it pretty close to my eyes.
Wanted to see ef I was asleep, or playin' possum, eh? Wall," replacing
one revolver in a hip-pocket, and trifling carelessly with the other,
while he seats himself upon the couch, "what did ye find out?"
Though his tone was one of quiet mockery, there was an angry gleam in
his eyes, and neither Papa nor Mamma ventured a reply.
[Illustration: "Mamma brings the candle very near to the closed eyes,
waving it to and fro, rapidly."--page 309.]
"I'll tell ye what ye discovered, an' it may be a good lesson fer ye,"
he goes on in a low tone that was full of fierce intensity. "Ye have
discovered that Franz Francoise asleep, and the same feller awake, are
pretty much alike. It's jest as onsafe to trifle with one as with the
other. I've slept nearly ten years o' my life with every nerve in me
waitin' fer a sign to wake quick and active. I've taught myself to go to
sleep always with the same idea runnin' in my head. An' since I got
out o' that pen down there, I'm always armed, and I'm always ready. The
brush of a fly'll wake me, and it'll take me just five seconds to shoot.
So when ye experiment 'round me agin, ye want to fly kinder light. And,
old woman, ye may thank yer stars that ye was so close ter me that ye
didn't come in for nothin' more'n a tumble."
He sits quite still for a few moments, and then rising slowly, goes over
and seats himself on the edge of the table near which Papa stands.
"When I stowed myself away over there," resumes Franz, "I was more or
less muddled. But I'm straight enough now, an' my head's clear. I've
just reckelected about that gal's comin', an'--I say, old woman, can she
hear us if she happens to be awake?"
"No," replies Mamma, "she can't--not unless we talk louder than we're
likely to."
"Then haul up yer stool. We're goin' ter settle about her."
The look which Mamma casts toward her worser half says, as plainly as
looks can speak: "It's coming." And then she compresses her lips, and
draws a chair near the table, while Papa occupies another, and Franz
looks down upon the pair from his more elevated perch.
"Now, then," begins Franz, "Who's that 'ere gal?"
No answer from the two on the witness-stand. They exchange glances, and
remain mute.
"Next," goes on Franz, as if quite content with their silence, "wot's
all this talk about child-stealin'?"
Still no answer. Franz remains tranquil as before, and by way of
diversion probably, squints along the shining barrel of his six shooter,
and snaps the trigger playfully.
"Have ye got that gal's young un?" he asks, still seeming to find the
revolver an object of interest, "or hain't ye?" Down comes the dangerous
weapon upon the knee of its owner, and quite by accident, of course, it
has Papa's head directly in range.
Seeing which, that worthy moves quickly aside with an exclamation of
remonstrance. But Mamma is made of other stuff. She leans forward and
leers up into the face of her Prodigal.
"It seems ter me, youngster," she sneers, "that gal's took a strong hold
on yer sympathies. Ain't ye gettin' terrible curious?"
"May_be_," retorts Franz, returning her gaze with interest; "an'
may_be_, now, 'tain't so much _sympathy_ as ye may suppose. I don't
think sympathy runs in this 'ere family. The pint's right here, and this
is a good time to settle it. You two's hung onter me ter stay by yer,
an' strike together fer luck, but I'm blessed ef I'm goin' ter strike in
ther dark. _I'm_ goin' ter see ter the bottom o' things, er let 'em
alone. An' afore we drop this, I want these 'ere questions answered: Who
is that gal, an' why does she talk about bein' your gal? Who is the
young-un she talks of, an' have you got it? I'm goin' ter know yer lay
afore _I_ move."
"Franz," breaks in Papa deprecatingly, "jest give yer mother a chance.
Maybe ye won't ride sich a high horse when ye hear her plans fer yer
good."
And then, as if she has just received her cue, Mamma breaks in:
"Ah-h, Franz," she says contemptuously, "I'm disappinted in ye! Wot were
ye thinkin' on, ter go an' weaken afore a slip of a gal like that,
talkin' such chicken talk, an' goin' back on yer old mother!"
"I thought ye said ye'd got ter hang onto that gal, an' she'd make all
our fortin's," comments Franz.
"An' so I did."
"Well," and he favors her with a knowing leer, "if that's a fact,
somebody needs ter git inter her good books, an' she don't 'pear to take
much stock in you two."
He points this sentence with a wink at Papa. And this gentleman, seeming
to see his son's gallantry in a new light, indulges in one of his
giggles. Even Mamma grins visibly as she leans forward and pats him on
his knee.
"Ah, you sly dog, ah-h! Look what luck's throwed in our way, my boy!
Ye're bound ter be rich, if ye jest listen to yer mother."
"It'll take a power o' listenin' unless yer git down ter business. An'
now, once more, wot does the gal mean by talkin' about a child that's
stole?"
"Never mind the young un, boy," replies Mamma, her face hardening again;
"how do ye like the _gal_?"
"Like the gal? Wot's that got ter do with it?"
"Listen, Franz," and Mamma bends forward with uplifted forefinger; "I'll
explain all that needs explainin' by an by. S'pose it should turn out as
that gal, that's come here and throwed herself into our hands, should
fall heir to--well, to a pile o' money. What would you be willin' to do
ter git the heft of it?"
"Most anything," replies Franz coolly, and letting his eyes drop to the
weapon in his hand. "I shouldn't 'weaken,' nor play 'chicken,' old un.
But I'd want ter see the fortin' ahead."
"Hear the boy!" chuckles Mamma in delight. "But we don't want none o'
_that_," nodding toward the revolver. "It's a live gal ye want." Then
leaning forward, she whispers sharply: "_You have got ter marry the
gal_!"
Franz stares at his mother for full ten seconds. Then slowly lowering
first one leg and next the other, he stands upon his feet, and embracing
himself with both arms, he indulges in what appears to be a violent fit
of noiseless laughter.
"Marry the gal!" he articulates between these spasms. "Oh, gimmini!
won't she be delighted!"
"Delighted or not," snarls Mamma, considerably annoyed by this levity on
the part of her Prodigal, "she'll be brought to consent."
But the spasm has passed. Franz resumes his position on the table, and
looks at Mamma, this time with the utmost gravity, while he says:
"Look here, old woman, that's a gal as can't be drove. Ye can't force
her ter marry yer han'some son. An' ye can't force yer han'some son ter
marry her--not unless he sees some strong inducements. An' then, ye
don't expect ter make a prisoner o' that gal, do yer? That racket's
played out, 'cept in the theatres. I don't know what sent her here, but
I'm pretty sure she'll be satisfied with a short visit."
"Franz," remonstrates Mamma, "listen to me. That gal, the minit we step
for'ard an' prove her identity, is goin' to come into a fortin' as big
as a silver mine. And we shan't prove her identity--till she's married
ter you."
Suddenly the manner of the Prodigal, which has presented thus far a
mixture of incredulity and indifference, changes to fierce anger. Again
he comes down upon his feet, this time with a quick spring that causes
Papa to start and tremble once more.
"Now, you listen," he says sharply. "The quicker yer stop this fool
business, the better it'll be fer yer plans. Who's that gal, I say? How
did she git inter yer clutches? What's this fortin', and where's it
comin' from? When ye've answered these 'ere questions, ye kin talk ter
_me_; not afore."
"Jest trust us fer that, Franzy," says Papa softly.
"Not any! Then here's another thing: how are ye goin' ter git that gal's
consent?"
"Trust us fer that, too," says Mamma, in a tone betokening rising anger.
"We know how ter manage her."
"An' that means that ye've got her young un! Now look here, both on ye.
Do you take me fer a stool-pigeon, to go into such a deal with my eyes
blinded? Satisfy me about the gal, an' her right to a fortin', an' let
me in to the young un deal, an' I'm with ye. I don't go it blind."
And now it is Mamma's turn. She bounds up, confronting her Prodigal,
with wrath blazing in her wicked eyes.
Papa turns away and groans dismally: "Oh, Lord, they're goin' to
quarrel!"
"Look here, Franz Francoise," begins Mamma, in a shrill half whisper,
"ye don't want ter go too fur! I ain't a-goin' ter put all the power
inter _yer_ hands. If this business ain't worth somethin' to me, it
shan't be to you. I kin soon satisfy ye on one pint: the gal ain't my
gal, but she came honest into my hands. I'm willin' ter tell ye all
about the gal, an' her fortune, but ye kin let out the young-un
business. That's my affair, and I'll attend to it in my own way. Now,
then, if I'll tell ye about the gal, prove that there's money in it, and
git her consent, will ye marry her an'--"
[Illustration: "Look here, Franz Francoise, ye don't want to go too
far!"--page 316.]
"Whack up with ye afterwards?" drawls Franz, all trace of anger having
disappeared from his face and manner. "Old woman, I'll put it in my
pipe an' smoke it. Ye kin consider this confab ended."
Turning upon his heel he goes back to the couch, drops down upon it with
a yawn, and composes himself to sleep.