ORSO
Mrs. Chester and I hurried back to the yard. There was the bear,
sitting calmly on his haunches, but there was no Italian.
"Now that his master is gone," my hostess exclaimed, "I am afraid of
him! I will not go any farther! Can you imagine anything that can be
done with that beast?"
I had no immediate answer to give, and I was still very much amused at
the absurdity of the situation. Had any one ever before paid his bill
in such fashion? At this moment the stable-man approached us from one
of the outbuildings. "This is my hostler," she said. "Perhaps he can
suggest something."
"This is a bad go, ma'am," said he. "The horse was out in the pasture
all night, but this morning when I went to bring him up I couldn't
make him come near the stable. He smells that bear! It seems to drive
him crazy!"
"It's awful!" she said. "What are we going to do, John? Do you think
the animal will become dangerous when he misses his master?"
"Oh, there's nothin' dangerous about him," answered John. "I was
sittin' talkin' to that Dago last night after supper, and he says his
bear's tamer than a cat. He is so mild-tempered that he wouldn't hurt
nobody. The Dago says he sleeps close up to him of cold nights to keep
himself warm. There ain't no trouble about his bein' dangerous, but
you can't bring the horse into the stable while he's about. If anybody
was to drive into this yard without knowin' they'd be a circus, I can
tell you! Horses can't stand bears."
She looked at me in dismay. "Couldn't he be shot and buried?" she
asked.
I had my doubts on that point. A tame bear is a valuable animal, and I
could not advise her to dispose of the property of another person in
that summary way.
"But he must be got away," she said. "We can't have a bear here. He
must be taken away some way or other. Isn't there any place where he
could be put until the Italian comes back?"
"That Dago's never comin' back," said the boy, solemnly. "If you'd
a-seen him scoot, you'd a-knowed that he was dead skeered, and would
never turn up here no more, bear or no bear."
Mrs. Chester looked at me. She was greatly worried, but she was also
amused, and she could not help laughing.
"Isn't this a dreadful predicament?" she said. "What in the world am I
to do?" At this moment there was an acidulated voice from the kitchen.
"Mrs. Whittaker wants to see you, Mrs. Chester," it cried, "right
away!"
"Oh, dear!" said she. "Here is more trouble! Mrs. Whittaker is an
invalid lady who is so nervous that she could not sleep one night
because she heard a man had killed a snake at the back of the barn,
and what she will say when she hears that we have a bear here without
a master I do not know. I must go to her, and I do wish you could
think of something that I can do;" as she said this she looked at me
as if it were a natural thing for her to rely upon me. For a moment it
made me think of the star that had winked the night before.
Mrs. Chester hurried into the house, and in company with the
stable-man I crossed the yard towards the bear.
"You are sure he is gentle?" said I.
"Mild as milk!" said the man. "I was a-playin' with him last night.
He'll let you do anything with him! If you box his ears, he'll lay
over flat down on his side!"
When we were within a few feet of the bear he sat upright, dangled his
fore paws in front of him, and, with his head on one side, he partly
opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue. "I guess he's beggin' for
his breakfust," said John.
"Can't you get him something to eat?" I asked. "He ought to be fed, to
begin with."
The man went back to the kitchen, and I walked slowly around the bear,
looking at the chain and the post, and trying to see what sort of a
collar was almost hidden under his shaggy hair. Apparently he seemed
securely attached, and then--as he was at the end of his chain--I went
up to him and gently patted one paw. He did not object to this, and
turning his head he let his tongue loll out on the other side, fixing
his little black eyes upon me with much earnestness. When the man came
with the pan of scraps from the kitchen I took it from him and placed
it on the ground in front of the bear. Instantly the animal dropped to
his feet and began to eat with earnest rapidity.
"I wonder how much he'd take in for one meal," said John, "if you'd
give him all he wanted? I guess that Dago never let him have any
more'n he could help."
As the bear was licking the tin pan I stood and looked at him. "I
wonder if he would be tame with strangers?" said I. "Do you suppose we
could take him away from this post if we wanted to?"
"Oh yes," said John. "I wouldn't be afraid to take him anywheres, only
there isn't any place to take him to." He then stepped quite close to
the bear. "Hey, horsey!" said he. "Hey, old horsey! Good old horsey!"
"Is that his name?" I asked.
"That's what the Dago called him," said John. "Hey, horsey! Good
horsey!" And he stooped and unfastened the chain from the post.
I imagined that the Italian had called the bear "Orso," perhaps with
some diminutive, but I did not care to discuss this. I was very much
interested to see what the man was going to do. With the end of the
chain in his hand, John now stepped in front of the bear and said,
"Come along, horsey!" and, to my surprise, the bear began to shamble
after him as quietly as if he had been following his old master.
"See!" cried John. "He'll go anywheres I choose to take him!" and he
began to lead him about the yard.
As he approached the kitchen there came a fearful scream from the open
window.
"Take him away! Take him away!" I heard, in the shrillest accents.
"They're dreadfully skeered," said John, as he led the bear back; "but
he wouldn't hurt nobody! It would be a good thing, though, to put his
muzzle on; that's it hangin' over there by the shed; it's like a
halter, and straps up his jaws. The Dago said there ain't no need for
it, but he puts it on when he's travellin' along the road to keep
people from bein' skeered."
"It would be well to put it on," said I. "I wonder if we can get him
into it?"
"I guess he'd let you do anything you'd a mind to," replied John, as
he again fastened the chain to the post.
I took down the muzzle and approached the bear. He did not growl, but
stood perfectly still and looked at me. I put the muzzle over his
head, and, holding myself in readiness to elude a sudden snap, I
strapped up his jaws. The creature made no snap--he gazed at me with
mild resignation.
"As far as he goes," said John, "he's all right; but as far as
everything else goes--especially horses--they're all wrong. He's got
to be got rid of some way."
I had nothing more to say to John, and I went into the house. I met
Mrs. Chester in the hall.
"I have had a bad time up-stairs," she said. "Mrs. Whittaker declares
that she will not stay an hour in a house where there is a bear
without a master; but as she has a terrible sciatica and cannot
travel, I do not know what she is going to do. Her trained nurse, I
believe, is now putting on her bonnet to depart."
As she spoke, the joyful anticipation of a few days at the Holly Sprig
Inn began to fade away. I did not blame the bear as the present cause
of my disappointment. He had done all he could for me. It was his
wretched master who had done the mischief by running away and leaving
him. But no matter what had happened, I saw my duty plainly before me.
I had not been encouraged to stay, but it is possible that I might
have done so without encouragement, but now I saw that I must go. The
Fates, who, as I had hoped, had compelled my stay, now compelled my
departure.
"Do not give yourself another thought upon the subject," I said. "I
will settle the whole matter, and nobody need be frightened or
disturbed. The Cheltenham Hotel is only a few miles farther on, and I
shall have to walk there anyway. I will start immediately and take the
bear with me. I am sure that he will allow me to lead him wherever I
please. I have tried him, and I find that he is a great deal gentler
than most children."
She exclaimed, in horror: "You must not think of it! He might spring
upon you and tear you to pieces!"
"Oh, he will not do that," I answered. "He is not that sort of a
bear--and, besides, he is securely muzzled. I muzzled him myself, and
he did not mind it in the least. Oh, you need not be afraid of the
bear; he has had his breakfast and he is in perfect good-humor with
the world. It will not take me long to reach the hotel, and I shall
enjoy the walk, and when I get there I will be sure to find some shed
or out-house where the beast can be shut up until it can be decided
what to do with him. I can leave him there and have him legally
advertised, and then--if nothing else can be done--he can be shot. I
shall be very glad to have his skin; it will be worth enough to cover
his bill here, and the damages to my bicycle. I shall send for that
as soon as I reach the hotel. I can go to Waterton by train and take
it with me. I can have it made all right in Waterton. So now, you see,
I have settled everything satisfactorily."
She looked at me earnestly, and, although there was a certain
solicitude in her gaze, I could also see there signs of great relief.
"But isn't there some other way of getting that bear to the hotel?"
she said. "It will be dreadful for you to have to walk there and lead
him."
"It's the only way to do it," I answered. "You could not hitch a bear
behind a wagon--the horse would run away and jerk his head off. The
only way to take a bear about the country is to lead him, and I do not
mind it in the least. As I have got to go without my bicycle I would
like to have some sort of company. Anyway, the bear must go, and as I
am on the road to the Cheltenham I shall be very glad to take him
along with me."
"I think you are wonderfully brave," she said, "and very good. If I
can persuade myself it will be perfectly safe for you, it will
certainly be a great relief to me."
I was now engaged in a piece of self-sacrifice, and I felt that I must
do it thoroughly and promptly. "I will go and get my valise," I said,
"for I ought to start immediately."
"Oh, I will send that!" she exclaimed.
"No," I answered; "it does not weigh anything, and I can sling it over
my shoulder. By-the-way," I said, turning as I was about to leave the
room, "I have forgotten something." I put my hand into my pocket; it
would not do to forget that I was, after all, only a departing guest.
"No, no," she replied, quickly, "I am your debtor. When you find out
how much damage you have suffered, and what is to be done with the
bear, all that can be settled. You can write to me, but I will have
nothing to do with it now."
With my valise over my shoulder I returned to the hall to take leave
of my hostess. Now she seemed somewhat contrite. Fate and she had
conquered, I was going away, and she was sorry for me.
"I think it is wonderfully good of you to do all this," she said. "I
wish I could do something for you."
I would have been glad to suggest that she might ask me to come again,
and it would also have pleased me to say that I did not believe that
her husband, if he could express his opinion, would commend her
apparent inhospitality to his successor. But I made no such remarks,
and offered my hand, which she cordially clasped as if I were an old
friend and were going away to settle in the Himalayas.
I went into the yard to get Orso. He was lying down when I approached
him, but I think he knew from my general appearance that I was
prepared to take the road, and he rose to his feet as much as to say,
"I am ready." I unfastened the chain from the post, and, with the best
of wishes for good-luck from John, who now seemed to be very well
satisfied with me, I walked around the side of the house, the bear
following as submissively as if he had been used to my leadership all
his life.
I did not see the boy nor the lemon-faced woman, and I was glad of it.
I believe they would have cast evil eyes upon me, and there is no
knowing what that bear might have done in consequence.
Mrs. Chester was standing in the door as I reached the road.
"Good-bye!" she cried, "and good fortune go with you!" I raised my
hat, and gave Orso a little jerk with the chain.