Ralph in Columbia.
"All right, grandpa," said Ralph, mechanically sitting up, though his
ideas were still mixed with his dreams.
"I am not your respected grandparent," said Mr. Quigg from the stove,
where he was lighting the fire, "but I'll dare say he would call you
just as early."
The lad laughed at himself as he sprang up and, after washing and
brushing, hastened to help Mr. Quigg with his morning tasks.
He happened to glance out and noticed that their car was on a siding
and that numerous other tracks contained many coaches and freight cars
of different kinds. A small engine was puffing up and down among them,
while on every side beyond were tall buildings and vacant lots.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Where you said you wanted to go--Columbia."
"Looks like a dirty place," commented Ralph, having had the raw edge of
his curiosity sufficiently dulled at Hendersonville to make him a
little critical already.
"Wait till we get out where you can see something. It's a fine town.
I made a hundred dollars in a week here once."
This sounded like a fortune to Ralph.
"You see, one of the home artists was sick and the other one on a whiz
down at Charleston, and the Legislature was in session. So I just took
pictures and raked in the shekels. Here comes my dray. Shove all the
dishes into that chest, Ralph. We've lots to do today."
A truck driven by a negro and drawn by two mules, hitched up tandem
fashion, now backed up to the open door of the car.
"Hello Sam!" called out, Mr. Quigg. "Got my telegram, did you?"
"Yaas, suh. Marse Thompson, he read um."
"Now, give us a hand, Ralph," continued the artist. "We'll put the
tent on first."
The lad, having bestowed the dishes, lent willing aid in loading the
dray, while Mr. Quigg superintended operations.
"I guess you will have to go along with Sam," said he to Ralph. "He'll
want some help at unloading. Then you must stay there and watch the
things until we come with the next load."
So it was that Ralph found himself presently perched high up on the
dray and rattling through the streets, while Sam sat in front, guiding
his team by a single rein, and a deal of vociferation.
They came finally to a vacant corner lot where they began to unload.
"Do you know of a man here called Captain Shard?" asked the boy, at
length remembering the individual he desired to find.
"Reckon I does. Bless grashus! Ain't I a wukin' fer dat same man de
bigger heft er de time?"
"What kind of a man is he?"
"Fust rate; fust rate. Dat is if he don't hab nuttin' begainst yo'.
When he do, den--look out."
This rather supported the tenor of Mrs. Dopples' cautions, and Ralph
paused a moment before he asked:
"Where can I find him?"
"Yo' membah dat big liv'ry stable on de Main Street as we come erlong?"
"Where there were so many wagons and carriages around?"
"Yaas, suh. Dat's him. De cap'n he own um all. Disher team 'longs
ter de cap'n too. Dey some says--Hi yo! If he ain' a comin' right
now! Oh, cap'n! Say yo' wanter see him, suh?"
Ralph would have declined such a sudden meeting, but before he could
think of any excuse, a portly, fine looking man, with flowing chin
beard and dark, piercing eyes, stopped as he was sauntering by.
"What is it, Sam?" he demanded, at the same time scanning Ralph
casually.
"Dish yer white boy, he astin' where 'bout he kin find yo', suh. I up
an' tol' him, when--bless de land!--yere yo' is."
Sam gathered up his reins, cracked his whip, and tore away down the
street without another word.
Ralph, from the divided nature of his thoughts, could think of nothing
to say until the captain spoke again.
"Well, what is it you want of me--a--what is your name?"
"Ralph Granger," blurted forth the boy, then was sorry he had committed
himself.
Captain Shard glanced sharply at Ralph's coarsely clad figure, and
noticed the home made texture of his clothes.
"Granger--Granger," he muttered as if to himself. "From the mountains,
ain't you?" he added quickly.
Ralph was so unaccustomed to lying that he said "Yes," notwithstanding
the prickings occasioned by what Aunt Dopples had said.
"Who sent you to me?"
"A man by the name of Dopples, who married one of my kin folks."
"Tildy Dopples a relative of yours?" The captain appeared surprised.
Ralph, feeling that he was in for it, boldly told who and what he was,
omitting any allusion to the feud, however. As he continued, the
captain, who had been pondering as he listened, suddenly scowled.
"Was your father's name Ralph, too?" asked he, and when the boy nodded
affirmatively, added: "And was his father's name Bras Granger?"
"Yes," replied Ralph. "I lived with him after--after----" he
hesitated, conscious of speaking too frankly.
"After a Vaughn killed him!" interposed the captain with emphasis, then
added: "Did you know my mother was a Vaughn, boy? And that a brother
of hers was killed in a duel by a cousin of your father's?"
"So--I have--heard," faltered Ralph, feeling that he was by no means
beyond the reach of that wretched feud yet.
"Finally, did you know that this brother of my mother was the man who
shot your father?"
"I--never knew until Aunt Dopples told me. I call her aunt."
"Yet, knowing this, they sent you to me. I like Dopples; would do
nearly anything for him I could. His wife was always rather distant.
If she is a Granger that accounts for it."
"She told me you might not like me if you knew who I was, but I--I am
so sick of that useless old feud, that I thought you might not remember
it against me. Down here it seems as if you have too much else to
think of to be always wanting to shoot somebody."
"Right you are, my boy." Captain Shard now shook Ralph's hand
cordially, though his eye held a rather sinister gleam. "What is the
use of forever brooding over old scores? Come round and see me.
Perhaps I can put you in the way of earning a living."
The captain patted Ralph on the shoulder, started off, but called back:
"If my uncle and your great uncle made fools of themselves by carving
each other up, that is no reason you and I should keep up the folly.
We are not in the mountains now--thank goodness!"
Though much relieved at Shard's apparently amicable way of taking
things, Ralph was not altogether comfortable.
"It was a close pull," he thought. "Suppose he had got mad when he
pumped out of me who I was? If Mr. Quigg goes on to the coast, I'll
stick by him. I'm going to get away from that old feud, if I have to
go to Jericho."
As he arrived at this vague geographical decision, he beheld Sam
approaching with a second load. While they were unloading, Mr. Quigg
came up on foot. He soon paid the darky off, then took a survey of
their surroundings.
"This is not a bad stand for a day or two," said he to Ralph. "We'll
put up the tent first; then, while I fix up things inside, you can go
about and stick up some posters. I'll put a few ads. in the newspapers
and, there you are--see?"
Ralph did not see except dimly, yet he assented readily and began to
feel quite an interest in his new occupation already.
The tent was soon stretched and the large skylight adjusted. Some of
the idlers who are always present at any outdoor proceedings in town,
lent a hand now and then, being rewarded with a few nickels by the
artist.
"Now, Ralph," said Mr. Quigg, after the trunks and other movables had
been taken inside, "do you know what a poster is?"
Without waiting for a reply, he lifted from a chest a pile of gaily
colored placards describing in florid style and with gorgeous
illustrations, the unrivaled perfections of Lemuel Quigg as an artist,
the cheapness of his prices, &c., &c.
"What do you think of these?" asked Quigg holding up one of the
largest. "Won't they take the town?"
"It says you are one of the best artists in the world," said Ralph,
scanning the poster gravely. "Are you?"
"Why of course I am!" Here Mr. Quigg stared at Ralph a moment, then
smiled and winked knowingly. "You have to say those things, or people
will not think anything of you--see?"
"Whether it is so or not?"
"To be sure. You must blow your own horn, my boy, if you want to get
on. Humbug 'em right and left, if you look to see the scads come in
fast."
"I wouldn't lie just to make a little money," said Ralph so earnestly
that the artist broke into a laugh.
"You're in training for an angel, you are. Look out you don't starve
though, before your wings sprout. But--let's get to work."
The artist selected a number of posters which he hung over a short
stick, to each end of which was attached a leather strap. This he
slung around Ralph's shoulder, after the manner of a professional bill
sticker.
Then placing in his hand a bucket of paste, which he had prepared that
morning in the car, together with a brush, he inquired:
"Think you can find your way round town without getting lost?"
Ralph was not certain, but said he would try.
"If you get lost, just inquire your way to Main and Third Streets.
That's here. Now come on, and I will show you how to stick bills.
Don't take long to learn this trade."
Ralph followed Mr. Quigg to a vacant wall near by, where he took a
large poster, held it flat against the wall with one hand, gave a
dexterous swipe or two with the brush, reversed it, then with a few
more flourishes drew back and surveyed his work triumphantly.
"Try a small one over yonder," he said to the boy.
Ralph obeyed instructions in an awkward, though passable manner,
whereat the artist looked his approval.
"You'll do, I guess. Be careful about the corners. If a corner
doubles on you, you're in trouble. I'll fasten up, and run round to
the newspapers with a few ads. then finish fixing up. Look sharp;
don't get lost, and be back as soon as you can."
Ralph took his way down Main Street, feeling, as he expressed it, a
good deal like a duck out of water.
Presently he stopped at a high board fence and stuck a couple of bills
without much trouble. Quigg had not instructed him where and where not
to place the posters, and he was pasting a large one against the front
of a closed warehouse, when some one at a near by corner called out:
"Hey, there! Yo' white boy, there! What are yo' up to?"