THE COMING OF ANDY BISHOP
Later in the forenoon, when Tessibel returned home from an errand to
Kennedys', she found Daddy Skinner on the bench at the side of the
shanty, one horny hand clutching the bowl of a pipe in which the ashes
were dead. It took but one sharp glance from the red-brown eyes for Tess
to note that his face was white, almost grey; she saw, too, with a
quiver of loving sympathy, that his lower lip hung away from his dark
teeth as though he suffered. She sprang toward him, and dropped to her
knees, at his side.
"Daddy Skinner!" she exclaimed. "Daddy Skinner, ye're sick! Ye're sick,
darlin'!... Tell me, Daddy, what air the matter? Tell Tessibel."
She laid her hand tenderly on his chest. His heart was beating a heavy
tattoo against the blue gingham shirt.
"Ye hurt here?" she queried breathlessly.
The pipe dropped to the soft sand, and Skinner's crooked fingers fell
upon the profusion of red curls. Then he slowly tilted up her face.
"Yep, I hurt in there!" he muttered brokenly.
And as ashen and more ashen grew the wrinkled old countenance, Tessibel
cried out sharply in protest.
"Why, Daddy, what d'ye mean by yer heart's hurtin' ye?... What do ye
mean, Daddy?... I thought the doctor'd fixed yer heart so it wouldn't
pain ye no more."
The man considered the appealing young face an instant.
"I want to talk to ye about somethin'," said he, presently, "and I know
ye'll never tell anythin' Daddy tells ye."
With a little shake of her head that set the tawny curls a-tremble,
Tessibel squatted back on her feet.
"'Course I won't tell nobody, but if ye've got a pain in yer heart,
daddy, the doctor--"
"I don't need no doctor, brat. I jest--jest got to talk to ye, that air
all."
A slender girlish figure cuddled between Daddy Skinner's knees, and warm
young lips met his. Never had Tess seen him look just that way, not even
when he had been taken from her to prison. The expression on his face
was hopeless, forlornly hopeless, and to wait until he began to speak
took all the patience the eager girl-soul could muster.
"Brat, dear," he sighed at length, "I ain't needin' to tell ye again
what I went through in Auburn, hev I?"
Brown eyes, frightened and fascinated, sought and found the faded greys.
"'Course not, Daddy Skinner! But what fer air ye talkin' about Auburn
Prison?... Ye promised me, Daddy, ye'd forgit all about them days, an'
now what're ye rememberin' 'em fer?"
Skinner's face blanched, and drops of sweat formed in the spaces behind
his ears and trickled in little streams down his neck.
"I got to remember 'em, child," he groaned.
"What fer I want to know? Ye'd best make a hustle an' tell me or, in a
minute, I'll be gettin' awful mad."
The pleading, sorrowful face belied the threat, and a pair of red lips
touched Skinner's hand between almost every word.
"Do ye bring to mind my tellin' ye about any of the fellers up there,
Tessibel?" came at length from the man's shaking lips.
Tess stroked his arm lovingly.
"Sure, Daddy, I remember 'bout lots of 'em, an' how good they be, an'
how kind, an' how none of 'em be guilty."
"Ye bet none of 'em be guilty," muttered Daddy Skinner. "Nobody air ever
guilty who gets in jail.... Folks be mostly guilty that air out o'
prison to my mind."
"That air true, Daddy Skinner," she assented, smiling. "Sure it air
true, but it ain't no good reason fer you to be yappin' 'bout Auburn,
air it?... Now git that look out of yer eyes, an' tell Tessibel what air
troublin' ye!"
But Daddy Skinner's grave old face still kept its set expression. The
haunted look, born in his eyes in the Ithaca Jail, had returned after
all these happy months. Tess was frantic with apprehension and dread.
"Ye know well's ye're born, Daddy, nobody can hurt ye," she told him
strenuously. "Ye've got Tessibel, and ye've got--" She was about to say,
"Frederick," but substituted, "Professor Young."
The girl lovingly slipped her fingers over her father's heavy hand and
drew it from her curls.
"Ye're goin' to peel it off to me now, ain't ye?" she coaxed.
"Let's go inside the shanty," said the fisherman, in a thick voice.
With the door closed and barred, the father and daughter sat for some
time in troubled silence.
"I asked if ye remembered some of my pals in Auburn Prison, an' ye said
ye did, didn't ye, Tessibel?" asked Skinner, suddenly.
Tess gave an impatient twist of her shoulders.
"An' I told ye I did, Daddy," she replied. "'Course I do. I ain't never
forgot nobody who were good to you, honey."
"An' ye're pretty well satisfied, ain't ye, brat, most of 'em there air
innercent?"
"Ye bet, Daddy darlin', I air that!"
"Well, what if one of them men who were good to yer old father'd come
an' ask ye to do somethin' for 'im?"
With an upward movement of her head, Tessibel scrambled to her feet.
"Why, I'd help 'im!" she cried in one short, quick breath. "I'd help
'im; 'course I would."
"An' ye'd always keep it a secret?"
"Keep what a secret?"
Daddy Skinner's face grew furtive with fear.
"Why--well now, s'posin' Andy Bishop--ye remember Andy, the little man I
told ye about, the weenty, little dwarf who squatted near Glenwood?"
Tess nodded, and the fisherman went on, hesitant.
"He--were accused--of murderin'--"
"Waldstricker--Ebenezer Waldstricker's father?" interjected Tess. "Sure,
I remember!" Her eyes widened in anxiety. "Andy were sent up there fer
all his life, weren't he? An' weren't he the one Sandy Letts swore
agin?... 'Satisfied' Longman says Waldstricker give Sandy money for
tellin' the jury what he did."
"Like as not," answered Skinner. "Anyhow, Bishop were there fer life! He
air been there five years a innercent man.... My God, _Auburn fer five
years_!"
The last four words were wailed forth, the look of hopeless horror
deepening in his old eyes. Then he threw back his shoulders and spoke
directly to Tess.
"Well, what if he skipped out o' jail, an' what if he'd come here an'
say, 'Kid, 'cause what I done fer yer dad, now you do somethin' fer
me!'"
Tess was trembling with excitement as she stood before her father. The
generosity of her loving nature instinctively responded to his apparent
need. She was instantly eager to show her love and loyalty.
"I'd do it, Daddy!" she exploded. "I'd do it quick!"
"But what if--if--if--if--it made ye lots of trouble an'--an'--mebbe
some of yer friends--if they found it out--wouldn't think 'twere right?"
A queer, obstinate expression lived a moment in the girl's eyes. Then
she smiled.
"I ain't got no friends who'd say it were wrong to help somebody what'd
helped my darlin' old daddy."
Skinner bent his heavy brows in a troubled frown over stern eyes.
"But ye couldn't tell yer friends about it, kid," he cautioned.
A mist shone around the girl's thick lashes.
"Daddy, ye know I never blat things I hadn't ought to.... Slide yer arms
'round yer brat's neck, look 'er straight in the eye, an' tell 'er 'bout
Andy; an' if she can help, she sure will."
A noise in the vicinity of the cot gave Tessibel an involuntary start.
She turned her head slowly and saw two feet protruding from under her
bed. Clinging to Daddy Skinner, she watched, with widening lids, a
dwarfed figure crawl slowly into full view, and Tess found herself
staring into a pair of beautiful, boyish, blue eyes.
A slow smile broke over the dwarf's face.
"Yer brat's the right sort, Orn," he cried, in the sweetest tenor voice
Tess ever heard. "Ye don't need to make her promise no more.... Her word
air good's God's law."
"So it air, Andy," replied Orn. "Tessibel, this air my friend, Andy
Bishop, an' he were a good pal, as good as any man ever had."
For one single, tensely-strung moment, Tessibel contemplated the ugly
little figure and the upraised, appealing face. Then as a sudden sense
of protection spurred her to immediate action, she sent back a welcoming
smile. Two or three quick steps took her to the dwarf's side.
"I air going' to help ye, Andy," she announced brokenly. "Ye was in
prison fer life, wasn't ye, huh?"
"Yep, an'--an' I broke out, kid.... An' I ain't able to tell how I done
it."
"Oh, never mind that!" soothed Tessibel. "Ye was lookin' in the window
last night, wasn't ye?"
The dwarf rolled his eyes at the squatter, then back to the girl.
"Yep, that were me, but I didn't do no murder, brat; that air the main
thing an' Sandy Letts lied when he told the jury I done it."
"He said as how ye gunned Ebenezer Waldstricker's father, eh?" Tess
interrupted. "Eb air the richest man in Ithaca, an' him an' his sister
air been to Europe, but they come back early in the spring. I see 'em
every Sunday at Hayt's when I go there to sing. He air goin' to marry
Mr. Young's sister, Helen, an' he air gittin' some pink peach when he
gets her, ye can bet on that."
"But he'll get me by my neck if he can," lamented the dwarf, in despair.
"Waldstricker air a mean duffer--a mighty mean duffer."
"He air awful religious," reflected Tess, soberly. "I s'posed he were
awful good."
The dwarf made a gesture of disgust with his hand.
"Well, good or bad, I never killed his daddy," he returned. "I saw Owen
Bennett when he done it, but him an' Sandy socked it off on me. I got
life an' Owen got ten years.... There ain't no makin' him own up he done
it, air there, Orn?"
"Nope," mumbled the fisherman. "Most men won't take life sentence by
confessin' when by keepin' still they c'n git off with ten years."
"Mr. Waldstricker air a awful big, handsome lookin' man," asserted Tess,
thoughtfully. "Folks says he air good to the poor, too. He air the
biggest, fattest, elegantest elder in our church."
Andy flipped his fingers in the air and summed up what he thought of the
last statement in five words.
"Shucks! That fer the church," mocked he.
"It air just like Sandy Letts to lie about ye," remarked Tess, changing
the subject abruptly. "There ain't a hatefuller man in the Silent City
'n him. He makes a pile of money, though.... Once last fall he dragged
the lake fer two students an' got a thousand apiece fer handin' 'em over
to their folks, dead."
"He'd git five thousand fer handin' me over to Waldstricker, alive,"
replied Andy, solemnly. "I wouldn't a gone up if 't 'adn't been fer him.
He can lie faster'n a horse can trot."
Heaving a deep sigh, Orn turned to his daughter.
"What we goin' to do with my pal, Tess?" he asked. "He's got to keep out
of sight of folks.... Eb Waldstricker's five thousand bucks fer gettin'
'im back to Auburn will be settin' men like Sandy flyin' all over the
state."
The dwarf shivered from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.
"I don't want 'em to git me," he whimpered disconsolately. "Ye won't let
'em git me, will ye, Orn?... Will ye, kid?"
Tess cheered the dwarf's despairing mood by a reassuring smile and
confident nods of the shining curls.
"Nope," she promptly promised.
And, "Nope," repeated Orn, grimly. "Git back under the bed, now, old
man. Any minute Sandy might be comin' in. Ye can't depend on that
squatter. He'd steal the pennies off'n his dead mammy's eyes."
As was her habit when thinking, Tess threaded her fingers through
several red curls, while her eyes followed Andy Bishop crawling feet
first under her cot.
"I bet ye didn't do nothin' wicked, ye poor little shaver," she
remarked.
"Bet I didn't do no Waldstricker murder," answered the dwarf.
"I know where I can hide 'im," she then said, with a satisfied smile.
"I'll fix up the garret fer 'im. 'Tain't very big, but no one but me
ever goes up there. You, there, under the bed, ye ain't 'fraid of bats
or owls, air ye?"
"Nope," came forth a sweet voice. "I ain't 'fraid of nothin' nor nobody
but Ed Waldstricker and Sandy Letts."
Tess giggled in glee.
"Well, they nuther one of 'em gits in my garret if I see 'em first,"
said she, "an' the owls air as tame as cats, an' 'll be company when
ye're lonely nights. Deacon air the speckled one an' he loves every inch
of Daddy an' me. If ye're good to 'im, he'll love you, too, Andy."
Turning to her father, "The person what'll help Andy air Professor
Young, I bet."
Daddy Skinner's face fell perceptibly, and two long lines marked off the
sides of his nose.
"Who's he?" came from under the bed in a stifled breath.
"He air a awful nice man," explained Tess. "He lives in Graves' old
place on the hill, an' he learns me new things out of books every
day.... His sister's teachin' me to sew, too. I told ye she air goin' to
marry--"
"Tessibel," interrupted Skinner, gravely fearful. "Ye said jest now
Waldstricker were a goin' to marry Young's sister. That makes them two
families kinda like one. Ye bet Young'd stand by his sister's man....
See?... Besides that, Young air a lawyer, an' if ye tell 'im about Andy,
it'll sure be 'is duty to pinch 'im an' put 'im back where he were."
"He helped you once, Daddy!" the girl rebuked him.
"But I were in jail all the time, don't ye see the difference, brat?...
Till 'twere proved Ben Letts done the murder, I were kept in jail, too,
an' they'll put Andy back if ye say anythin' to Young 'bout it."
"They sure will," came the dwarf's sobbing tones.
Tessibel sighed.
"Well, us uns'll have to keep our clacks shut 'bout 'is bein' here,
then," she acquiesced, "an'--an'--Andy'll have to keep in the garret
till the man in Auburn coughs up, that air all, huh?... He can come down
sometimes when it air a rainin' hard or dark nights when there ain't
nobody around, an'--an'--darlin', ye can offen chat with 'im when I air
outside watchin' fer folks.... Now, can't ye, Daddy?"
The young speaker went close to her father, smiling. She wanted to chase
that hunted look from his eyes, to make him feel a little more secure
about his prison friend.
"Please don't be lookin' like that, sweety," she pleaded. "Ye're just
like ye was goin' dead.... I tell ye nobody'll hurt the poor little
feller in the garret.... I'll see to that.... I'll fix it up all comfy
fer 'im."
With this idea of future protection for the little man, Tessibel began
to reconstruct the shanty. Dark curtains were hung at the square little
windows, for it was quite a daily occurrence for Sandy Letts to peek
through them before entering the door. Tessibel didn't wish to shut out
the sunshine and moonbeams, but then there was Andy Bishop to think of,
and Andy already had a warmer place in the squatter girl's heart than
even the sun or moon. Tessibel was beginning to love him, not only
because he'd been a friend to Daddy, but on his own account, because he
was a soul in torment and needed her.
It took quite three hours to arrange the garret for the dwarf's
occupancy. There were many pieces of fishing tackle to be sorted and
hung in the kitchen rafters. The nuts that had been spread out on the
floor to dry, now had to be gathered in sacks and stored in the mud
cellar. The cobwebs must come down, and a cotton tick filled with new,
fresh straw to be put in the garret. It was about three o'clock when
Tessibel ushered the little man up the ladder and displayed the clean
attic.
"'Tain't high 'nough fer me to stand up in," she told him, "but ye'll
get along all right, an' I air goin' to fix ye somethin' so ye can see
to read.... Can ye read?"
"Sure, I can read." Andy's voice rang with pride. "My ma, she's dead
now, she learned me how, she did!"
"Then I'll get ye lots of books," replied Tess, "an' ye'd best always
keep hid less'n I let ye down, 'cause Sandy might catch onto yer bein'
here. Waldstricker's money'll set loose a lot of sneaks like him lookin'
fer ye!"
Late that afternoon the dwarf ate his first meal in the garret, and
Tessibel and Orn Skinner ate theirs at the table, but the conversation
of the father and daughter intermingled now and then with a soft
statement or a question from above, and there was happiness in the
Skinner hut.
As soon as they finished supper, Tess went to the foot of the ladder and
called softly.
"I air goin' to tell ye somethin', Andy,--ye listenin'?"
"Yep, brat. Sure, I air listenin'."
"I air a goin' somewheres to find out somethin'," announced the girl
mysteriously. "Mebbe when I get back I'll tell ye what ye'll like to
hear.... Ye'll stay hid, won't ye?"
"Sure so," agreed Andy.
After bending to kiss her father affectionately, the girl said to him,
"Now, Daddy, I air goin' out a little while, an' you two be awful
careful how loud ye talk.... Somebody might hear ye!"
And for a short moment after the girl had gone there was silence in the
shack. Then a prolonged sigh drifted from the garret.
"My God, Orn, but she air a fine young thing fer ye to be fatherin',
huh? Ain't she?"
Andy's voice, though but little more than a whisper, expressed his
wonder and admiration.
"God's best," muttered Orn, and once more they lapsed into the
companionable silence of good friends.