That evening, after Cynthia had gone to bed, William Wetherell sat down
at Jonah Winch's desk in the rear of the store to gaze at a blank sheet
of paper until the Muses chose to send him subject matter for his weekly
letter to the Guardian. The window was open, and the cool airs from the
mountain spruces mingled with the odors of corn meal and kerosene and
calico print. Jethro Bass, who had supped with the storekeeper, sat in
the wooden armchair silent, with his head bent. Sometimes he would sit
there by the hour while Wetherell wrote or read, and take his departure
when he was so moved without saying good night. Presently Jethro lifted
his chin, and dropped it again; there was a sound of wheels without, and,
after an interval, a knock at the door.
William Wetherell dropped his pen with a start of surprise, as it was
late for a visitor in Coniston. He glanced at Jethro, who did not move,
and then he went to the door and shot back the great forged bolt of it,
and stared out. On the edge of the porch stood a tallish man in a
double-breasted frock coat.
"Mr. Worthington!" exclaimed the storekeeper.
Mr. Worthington coughed and pulled at one of his mutton-chop whiskers,
and seemed about to step off the porch again. It was, indeed, the first
citizen and reformer of Brampton. No wonder William Wetherell was
mystified.
"Can I do anything for you?" he asked. "Have you missed your way?"
Wetherell thought he heard him muttering, "No, no," and then he was
startled by another voice in his ear. It was Jethro who was standing
beside him.
"G-guess he hain't missed his way a great deal. Er--come in--come in."
Mr. Worthington took a couple of steps forward.
"I understood that you were to be alone," he remarked, addressing Jethro
with an attempted severity of manner.
"Didn't say so--d-didn't say so, did I?" answered Jethro.
"Very well," said Mr. Worthington, "any other time will do for this
little matter."
"Er--good night," said Jethro, shortly, and there was the suspicion of a
gleam in his eye as Mr. Worthington turned away. The mill-owner, in fact,
did not get any farther than the edge of the porch before he wheeled
again.
"The affair which I have to discuss with you is of a private nature, Mr.
Bass," he said.
"So I callated," said Jethro.
"You may have the place to yourselves, gentlemen," Wetherell put in
uneasily, and then Mr. Worthington came as far as the door, where he
stood looking at the storekeeper with scant friendliness. Jethro turned
to Wetherell.
"You a politician, Will?" he demanded.
"No," said Wetherell.
"You a business man?"
"No," he said again.
"You ever tell folks what you hear other people say?"
"Certainly not," the storekeeper answered; "I'm not interested in other
people's business."
"Exactly," said Jethro. "Guess you'd better stay."
"But I don't care to stay," Wetherell objected.
"Stay to oblige me--stay to oblige me?" he asked.
"Well, yes, if you put it that way," Wetherell said, beginning to get
some amusement out of the situation.
He did not know what Jethro's object was in this matter; perhaps others
may guess.
Mr. Worthington, who had stood by with ill-disguised impatience during
this colloquy, note broke in.
"It is most unusual, Mr. Bass, to have a third person present at a
conference in which he has no manner of concern. I think on the whole,
since you have insisted upon my coming to you--"
"H-hain't insisted that I know of," said Jethro.
"Well," said Mr. Worthington, "never mind that.
"Perhaps it would be better for me to come to you some other time, when
you are alone."
In the meantime Wetherell had shut the door, and they had gradually
walked to the rear of the store. Jethro parted his coat tails, and sat
down again in the armchair. Wetherell, not wishing to be intrusive, went
to his desk again, leaving the first citizen standing among the barrels.
"W-what other time?" Jethro asked.
"Any other time," said Mr. Worthington.
"What other time?"
"To-morrow night?" suggested Mr. Worthington, striving to hide his
annoyance.
"B-busy to-morrow night," said Jethro.
"You know that what I have to talk to you about is of the utmost
importance," said Worthington. "Let us say Saturday night."
"B-busy Saturday night," said Jethro. "Meet you to-morrow."
"What time?"
"Noon," said Jethro, "noon."
"Where?" asked Mr. Worthington, dubiously.
"Band stand in Brampton Street," said Jethro, and the storekeeper was
fain to bend over his desk to conceal his laughter, busying himself with
his books. Mr. Worthington sat down with as much dignity as he could
muster on one of Jonah's old chairs, and Jonah Winch's clock ticked and
ticked, and Wetherell's pen scratched and scratched on his weekly letter
to Mr. Willard, although he knew that he was writing the sheerest
nonsense. As a matter of fact, he tore up the sheets the next morning
without reading them. Mr. Worthington unbuttoned his coat, fumbled in his
pocket, and pulled out two cigars, one of which he pushed toward Jethro,
who shook his head. Mr. Worthington lighted his cigar and cleared his
throat.
"Perhaps you have observed, Mr. Bass," he said, "that this is a rapidly
growing section of the state--that the people hereabouts are every day
demanding modern and efficient means of communication with the outside
world."
"Struck you as a mill owner, has it?" said Jethro.
"I do not care to emphasize my private interests," answered Mr.
Worthington, at last appearing to get into his stride again. "I wish to
put the matter on broader grounds. Men like you and me ought not to be so
much concerned with our own affairs as with those of the population
amongst whom we live. And I think I am justified in putting it to you on
these grounds."
"H-have to be justified, do you--have to be justified?" Jethro inquired.
"Er--why?"
This was a poser, and for a moment he stared at Jethro, blankly, until he
decided how to take it. Then he crossed his legs and blew smoke toward
the ceiling.
"It is certainly fairer to everybody to take the broadest view of a
situation," he remarked; "I am trying to regard this from the aspect of a
citizen, and I am quite sure that it will appeal to you in the same
light. If the spirit which imbued the founders of this nation means
anything, Mr. Bass, it means that the able men who are given a chance to
rise by their own efforts must still retain the duties and
responsibilities of the humblest citizens. That, I take it, is our
position, Mr. Bass,--yours and mine."
Mr. Worthington had uncrossed his legs, and was now by the inspiration of
his words impelled to an upright position. Suddenly he glanced at Jethro,
and started for Jethro had sunk down on the small of his back, his chin
on his chest, in an attitude of lassitude if not of oblivion. There was a
silence perhaps a little disconcerting for Mr. Worthington, who chose the
opportunity to relight his cigar.
"G-got through?" said Jethro, without moving, "g-got through?"
"Through?" echoed Mr. Worthington, "through what?"
"T-through Sunday-school," said Jethro.
Worthington dropped his match and stamped on it, and Wetherell began to
wonder how much the man would stand. It suddenly came over the
storekeeper that the predicament in which Mr. Worthington found himself
whatever it was--must be a very desperate one. He half rose in his chair,
sat down again, and lighted another match.
"Er--director in the Truro Road, hain't you, Mr. Worthington?" asked
Jethro, without looking at him.
"Yes."
"Er--principal stockholder--ain't you?"
"Yes--but that is neither here nor there, sir."
"Road don't pay--r-road don't pay, does it?"
"It certainly does not."
"W-would pay if it went to Brampton and Harwich?"
"Mr. Bass, the company consider that they are pledged to the people of
this section to get the road through. I am not prepared to say whether
the road would pay, but it is quite likely that it would not."
"Ch-charitable organization?" said Jethro, from the depths of his chair.
"The pioneers in such matters take enormous risks for the benefit of the
community, sir. We believe that we are entitled to a franchise, and in my
opinion the General Court are behaving disgracefully in refusing us one.
I will not say all I think about that affair, Mr. Bass. I am convinced
that influences are at work--" He broke off with a catch in his throat.
"T-tried to get a franchise, did you?"
"I am not here to quibble with you, Mr. Bass. We tried to get it by every
legitimate means, and failed, and you know it as well as I do."
"Er--Heth Sutton didn't sign his receipt--er--did he?"
The storekeeper, not being a politician, was not aware that the somewhat
obscure reference of Jethro's to the Speaker of the House concerned an
application which Mr. Worthington was supposed to have made to that
gentleman, who had at length acknowledged his inability to oblige, and
had advised Mr. Worthington to go to headquarters. And Mr. Stephen
Merrill, who had come to Brampton out of the kindness of his heart, had
only arranged this meeting in a conversation with Jethro that day, after
the reform speech.
Mr. Worthington sprang to his feet, and flung out a hand toward Jethro.
"Prove your insinuations, air," he cried; "I defy you to prove your
insinuations."
But Jethro still sat unmoved.
"H-Heth in the charitable organization, too?" he asked.
"People told me I was a fool to believe in honesty, but I thought better
of the lawmakers of my state. I'll tell you plainly what they said to me,
sir. They said, 'Go to Jethro Bass.'"
"Well, so you have, hain't you? So you have."
"Yes, I have. I've come to appeal to you in behalf of the people of your
section to allow that franchise to go through the present Legislature."
"Er--come to appeal, have you--come to appeal?"
"Yes," said Mr. Worthington, sitting down again; "I have come to-night to
appeal to you in the name of the farmers and merchants of this
region--your neighbors,--to use your influence to get that franchise. I
have come to you with the conviction that I shall not have appealed in
vain."
"Er--appealed to Heth in the name of the farmers and merchants?"
"Mr. Sutton is Speaker of the House."
"F-farmers and merchants elected him," remarked Jethro, as though stating
a fact.
Worthington coughed.
"It is probable that I made a mistake in going to Sutton," he admitted.
"If I w-wanted to catch a pike, w-wouldn't use a pin-hook."
"I might have known," remarked Worthington, after a pause, "that Sutton
could not have been elected Speaker without your influence."
Jethro did not answer that, but still remained sunk in his chair. To all
appearances he might have been asleep.
"W-worth somethin' to the farmers and merchants to get that road
through--w-worth somethin', ain't it?"
Wetherell held his breath. For a moment Mr. Worthington sat very still,
his face drawn, and then he wet his lips and rose slowly.
"We may as well end this conversation, Mr. Bass," he said, and though he
tried to speak firmly his voice shook, "it seems to be useless. Good
night."
He picked up his hat and walked slowly toward the door, but Jethro did
not move or speak. Mr. Worthington reached the door opened it, and the
night breeze started the lamp to smoking. Wetherell got up and turned it
down, and the first citizen was still standing in the doorway. His back
was toward them, but the fingers of his left hand--working convulsively
caught Wetherell's eye and held it; save for the ticking of the clock and
the chirping of the crickets in the grass, there was silence. Then Mr.
Worthington closed the door softly, hesitated, turned, and came back and
stood before Jethro.
"Mr. Bass," he said, "we've got to have that franchise."
William Wetherell glanced at the countryman who, without moving in his
chair, without raising his voice, had brought the first citizen of
Brampton to his knees. The thing frightened the storekeeper, revolted
him, and yet its drama held him fascinated. By some subtle process which
he had actually beheld, but could not fathom, this cold Mr. Worthington,
this bank president who had given him sage advice, this preacher of
political purity, had been reduced to a frenzied supplicant. He stood
bending over Jethro.
"What's your price? Name it, for God's sake."
"B-better wait till you get the bill--hadn't you? b-better wait till you
get the bill."
"Will you put the franchise through?"
"Goin' down to the capital soon?" Jethro inquired.
"I'm going down on Thursday."
"B-better come in and see me," said Jethro.
"Very well," answered Mr. Worthington; "I'll be in at two o'clock on
Thursday." And then, without another word to either of them, he swung on
his heel and strode quickly out of the store. Jethro did not move.
William Wetherell's hand was trembling so that he could not write, and he
could not trust his voice to speak. Although Jethro had never mentioned
Isaac Worthington's name to him, Wetherell knew that Jethro hated the
first citizen of Brampton.
At length, when the sound of the wheels had died away, Jethro broke the
silence.
"Er--didn't laugh--did he, Will? Didn't laugh once--did he?"
"Laugh!" echoed the storekeeper, who himself had never been further from
laughter in his life.
"M-might have let him off easier if he'd laughed," said Jethro, "if he'd
laughed just once, m-might have let him off easier."
And with this remark he went out of the store and left Wetherell alone.