RIFTS
Before the birds had taken their heads from under their wings Miss Mercy
Lane was up and crashing through the brambles on a hunt for "Red"
McGonnigle.
It was a morning to thrill the soul of a taxi-cab driver, but it had no
interest for Miss Mercy. The dew on the petals of the wild-rose, the
opaline tints of a sweet-scented dawn meant nothing to that lady as,
without a collar, her shirt-waist wrongly buttoned, her hair twisted
into a hard "Psyche" knot, she searched for her enemy.
In her earnest desire to get in touch with Mr. McGonnigle as soon as
possible, she clumped about, peering into the faces of the helpers, who
had thrown their tarps down upon whatever spot looked a likely place for
sleeping.
Pinkey she found without difficulty; also Mr. Hicks, who, awakened by
the feeling that someone was looking at him, sat up and in a scandalized
tone told her to go right away, from him. "Red" McGonnigle, however,
whether by accident or premeditation, had repaired with his blankets to
a bed-ground where the Almighty could not have found him with a
spy-glass. In consequence, Wallie was awakened suddenly by the booming
voice of Miss Mercy demanding to know Red's whereabouts.
Her lids were puffed as if she had not closed them, and through the
slits her eyes gleamed at him. She looked so altogether formidable as
she stood over him that his first impulse was to duck his head under the
covers.
Since it was manifestly impossible for Wallie to get to his feet as
politeness demanded, and it seemed ridiculous to sit up in bed and
converse with a lady he knew so slightly, it appeared that the best
thing to do in the circumstances was to remain as he was, prostrate and
helpless, and this he did--to take such a dressing down as made him
tingle.
Aiming her finger at him, Miss Mercy declared that deliberately,
wilfully, maliciously, "Red" McGonnigle had set her tent on a _hump_.
More than that, he had cut down an alder, leaving some three or four
sharp prongs over which he had spread her blankets. She would have been
as comfortable on the teeth of a hay-rake, and had not even dozed in
consequence. With her own ears she had heard "Red" McGonnigle threaten
to "fix" her, and he had done it. If he was not discharged she would
return to Prouty at the first opportunity. This was final.
Wallie argued vainly that it was an accident, that "Red" was altogether
too chivalrous to take such a low-down revenge upon a lady, and
explained that in any event it would be impossible to dispense with his
services at this juncture. He declared that he regretted the matter
deeply and promised to prevent a recurrence.
But Miss Mercy was adamant, and intimated that Wallie was in sympathy
with his hireling if not in actual "cahoots" with him.
Wallie realized that it would be impossible to resent the implication
with proper dignity while lying on the flat of his back looking up at
his accuser, so he said nothing, whereupon Miss Mercy flung at him as
she departed:
"I intend to ask a ride back to Prouty from the first passerby, and I
shall _knock_ you and your ranch at every opportunity!"
She returned to her teepee to complete her toilette while Wallie took
his boots from under his pillow and drew them on glumly, feeling that
much of the joy had been taken from what promised to be a perfect
morning.
Mr. Hicks, too, started breakfast in a mood that was clearly melancholy,
for as he rattled the pots and pans Wallie heard him reciting:
"And when my time comes, let me go--not like the galley slave at night
scourged to his dungeon--but like one sustained and soothed by an
unfaltering trust----" He stopped suddenly, and then in a voice that
chilled Wallie's blood he shouted:
"Jumping Je-hoshaphat! Git out o' that grub-box!"
He had caught Mrs. Budlong in the act of spreading jam on a cracker.
"How dare you speak so to me?" she demanded, indignantly.
For answer, Mr. Hicks replied autocratically:
"You ought to know by this time that I don't allow dudes snooping around
when I'm cooking."
"You are insulting--I shall report you."
Mr. Hicks laughed mockingly:
"You do that and see what it gets you."
The cook quite evidently knew his power, for when Mrs. Budlong carried
out her threat Wallie could only reply that he dared not antagonize
Hicks, since to replace him would cause delay, inconvenience, and
additional expense to everybody.
Mrs. Budlong rested all her chins upon her cameo breastpin and received
the explanation coldly.
"Verra well," she said, incisively, "verra, verra well! I shall buy jam
and crackers at the first station, Mr. Macpherson, and carry them with
me."
Wallie had no heart to say more than:
"Indeed, Mrs. Budlong, I am so sorry----"
But she was already on the way to report the controversy to her husband.
When they had bathed their faces and hands in the river the evening
before someone had referred to it poetically as "Nature's wash-basin."
Wallie, seeing Mrs. Appel with her soap and towel on the way to
"Nature's wash-basin," was inspired by some evil spirit to inquire how
she had rested.
"Rested!" she hissed at him. "Who could rest, to say nothing of
sleeping, within six blocks of Mr. Penrose? A man who snores as he does
should not be permitted to have his tent among human beings. If it is
ever placed near mine again, Wallie, I shall insist upon having it
removed if it is midnight. Knowing the trouble he has had everywhere, I
am surprised at your not being more considerate."
"To-night I will attend to it. I regret very much----" Wallie mumbled.
Mrs. J. Harry Stott beckoned him aside as breakfast was being placed on
the table.
Mrs. Stott had a carefully cultivated mispronunciation of great elegance
when she wished to be impressive, and as soon as she began Wallie
realized that something portentous was about to be imparted to him. Even
the way she raised her eyebrows made him warm all over with a sense of
guilt of something of which he was ignorant.
"You will excuse me if I speak frankly?"
Wallie gulped, wondering fearfully what she knew and how much.
She went on in a voice which seemed to have hoarfrost on it:
"But the fact is, I am not in the habit of eating with the _help_."
Wallie felt relief surge over him. His face cleared and he laughed
light-heartedly.
"I know that, of course, Mrs. Stott, but out here it is different.
Camping is particularly democratic. It has never occurred to 'Red' or
Hicks that they are not welcome at the table, and I fear that they would
be greatly offended if I should suggest----"
Mrs. Stott drew herself up haughtily.
"That is no concern of mine, Wallie. It is a matter of principle with
me to keep servants in their places. I am not a snob, but----"
"Sh-ss-sh!" Wallie looked over his shoulder in Hicks' direction.
In clarion tones she continued:
"I cannot consent to letting down the barriers even in these
unconventional surroundings. You can adjust the matter to suit yourself,
but I ab-so-lute-ly refuse to sit cheek by jowl with the cook and
McGonnigle!"
Wallie grew solemn, as well he might, for along with the tact of a
diplomat to a Balkan state it required the courage of a lion to convey
the information to one of Hicks' violent disposition that he was not fit
to sit at table with the wife of the rising young attorney.
It weighed on his mind through breakfast, and he was not made more
comfortable by the fact that "Red," stimulated to effervescence by so
large an audience, tossed off his _bon-mots_ in a steady stream,
unconscious that his wit was not a treat to all who heard him and that
his presence was regarded as anything but highly desirable, while Mr.
Hicks brought his tin-plate and, by chance purely, elbowed himself a
place beside Mrs. Stott with the greatest assurance.
Wallie decided to postpone the delicate talk of dropping a hint to Mr.
Hicks until later in the day, as he had plenty to engage his attention
with Miss Mercy's departure confronting him.
"Red" denied the crime with which he was charged with a face of
preternatural innocence, declaring that he was shocked that any one
should attribute to him such a heinous offence as purposely leaving four
sharp alder prongs under a lady's blankets. Nobody--bar none--had a
greater respect for the sex than "Red" McGonnigle!
But Miss Mercy was not to be pacified by apologies however abject, or
explanations however convincing. Implacable, and maintaining a haughty
silence, she packed her suitcase and put an outing flannel
nightgown--with a nap so long that it looked like a fur garment--in a
fishnet bag. Having made stiff adieux to the party, she went and sat
down on a rock by the roadside to await some passerby who would take her
to Prouty.
She quite enjoyed herself for a time, thinking what a strong character
she was, and how independent. A weaker woman would have allowed herself
to be persuaded to overlook the incident, but she was of different
metal. For nearly an hour this thought gave her great satisfaction, but,
gradually, the monotony began to pall and she had a growing feeling of
resentment that nobody missed her. It seemed deceitful, after making
such an ado over her decision to leave them, to resign themselves so
quickly to her absence. Mattie Gaskett might come and renew her
entreaties for her to return, or, at least, keep her company!
The occasional bursts of laughter that reached her were like personal
affronts and, finally, she included everybody in her indignation at
"Red" McGonnigle. But, as the time dragged, her mood changed
perceptibly. Though she would not admit it in her secret heart, she
wished that someone would come and coax her to reconsider. From this
stage, while the tents were being dismantled and packed into the
bed-wagon accompanied by much merriment, she came to a point where she
tried to think of some excuse that would enable her to return without
seeming to make any concession.
As it happened, the only person who gave Miss Mercy any thought as she
waited forlornly by the roadside was Aunt Lizzie Philbrick. Although she
and Miss Mercy had not been speaking since the episode of the butterfly,
her tender conscience was troubled that she had not said good-bye to
her. The more she thought about it the more strongly it urged her to be
forgiving and magnanimous to the extent of wishing Miss Mercy a pleasant
journey. With this purpose in view Aunt Lizzie left the others and
started for the roadside. If she had not been otherwise engaged at the
moment, Miss Mercy might have seen Aunt Lizzie's white sailor hat
bobbing above the intervening bushes, but she was intent on learning the
cause of a rustling she had heard in the leaves behind her. It was a
snake, undoubtedly, and it flashed through Miss Mercy's mind that here
was her opportunity not only to return to camp but to go back a heroine.
She set her fishnet bag on the stump she vacated and provided herself
with a cudgel before starting to investigate. Advancing cautiously, she
saw a bunch of tall grass wave in a suspicious manner. She smote the
clump with her cudgel, and a large, warty toad jumped out into the open.
It was stunned, and stood blinking as if trying to locate the danger.
"Nasty thing!" exclaimed Miss Mercy, viciously, and raised her club to
finish it.
The blow landed, and Miss Mercy and the toad saw stars simultaneously,
for Aunt Lizzie brought down a four-foot stick and crushed in the crown
of Miss Mercy's alpine hat.
"You dread-ful woman!" Aunt Lizzie shrieked at her, and it was her
purpose to strike again but the stick was rotten, and since only some
six inches remained in her hand, she had to content herself with crying:
"You horrible creature! You unnatural woman! 'Shady' Lane--you belong in
an asylum!"
Since Miss Mercy had been told this before, she resented it doubly, and
no one can say what else might have happened if Wallie, hearing the
disturbance, had not hurried forward to discover what was occurring.
"She was killing a hop-toad!" Aunt Lizzie screamed, hysterically. Then
her legs collapsed, while Miss Mercy boomed that if she did, it was none
of Aunt Lizzie's business--it was not her hop-toad.
The astounding news passed from mouth to mouth that Aunt Lizzie and Miss
Mercy had been fighting in the brush with clubs, like Amazons, and
everyone rushed forward to view the combatants and to learn the
details, but the chugging of a motor sent Miss Mercy into the middle of
the road to flag it before they could hear her side of the story.
It proved to be no less a person than Rufus Reed, who was transporting
provisions on a truck between Prouty and a road-camp in the Park. Rufus
welcomed company and intimated that his only wonder was that they were
not all leaving.
So Miss Mercy clambered up beside Rufus and without looking back started
on her return journey to Zanesville, Ohio, to soothe the brow of the
suffering and minister to the wants of the dying in her professional
capacity.
Pinkey sombrely looked after the cloud of dust in which Rufus and the
Angel of Mercy vanished.
"That's one chicken we counted before it was hatched," he observed,
regretfully, to Wallie.
The scenery was sublime that morning and the party were in ecstasies,
but mere mountains, waterfalls, and gorges could not divert Wallie's
mind from the disquieting fact that he must somehow convey the
information to Mr. Hicks that his presence at table with the guests was
undesirable.
As he rode, he framed tactful sentences in which to break the news to
that formidable person, and he had finally a complete and carefully
prepared speech which he meant to deliver in a friendly but firm manner.
The result he could only guess at. Hicks might quit, or he might resent
the affront to his dignity with any convenient weapon, or after a savage
outburst of sarcasm he might make the best of the situation. The only
thing that Wallie could not imagine was a calm acquiescence. It would be
easier to replace Mr. Hicks, however, than to acquire a new party of
dudes at this late season, so Wallie nerved himself to the ordeal.
The passengers who preferred to ride in the surrey had now increased to
a number which made it necessary for them to sit in each other's laps,
and it devolved upon Wallie to drive their horses. Herding loose horses
is sometimes a task to strain the temper, and these were that kind of
horses, so that by the time the party reached the noon-day camp Wallie
was in a more fitting mood to confront Mr. Hicks than when they had
started.
The cook was busy over the camp-fire when Wallie determined to speak and
have it over.
"Don't let him tree you or run you into the river." Pinkey, who knew
Wallie's purpose, warned him jocosely. "I'm glad it ain't me has the job
of tellin' that hyena that he ain't as welcome as the President."
Wallie could not share Pinkey's amusement. On the contrary, it annoyed
him. That was the worst of his partner nowadays, he was so happy that
nothing troubled him. Perhaps envy was at the bottom of this irritation;
at any rate, Wallie frowned and told himself that he never would have
believed that love could make such a simpleton of anybody.
As Wallie drew nearer, through the smoke and steam rising from various
cooking utensils he noted that Mr. Hicks' expression was particularly
melancholy and his colour indicated that a large amount of bile had
accumulated in his system. There was something tragic in the very way he
stirred the frying potatoes, and as Wallie hesitated Hicks set his fists
on his hips and recited in a voice vibrating with feeling:
"Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like water will-nilly flowing,
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither willy-nilly blowing."
It did not seem a propitious moment to "put Mr. Hicks in his place," as
Mrs. Stott had phrased it, but Wallie had no desire to nerve himself
twice for the same ordeal; therefore, with something of the desperate
courage which comes to high-strung persons about to have a tooth
extracted, Wallie advanced and inquired cordially:
"Well, Mr. Hicks, how are things coming?"
"I am not complaining," replied Mr. Hicks, in a tone which intimated
that once he started enumerating his grievances he would not know where
to finish.
"Pleasant people, aren't they?" Wallie suggested.
"So is a menagerie--after it's eaten."
"They do have appetites," Wallie admitted. "I suppose it's living in the
open."
"I've cooked for section hands on the Burlington, and they were
canary-birds beside these Poland Chinas. We had ought to brought troughs
instead of tinware."
"You mustn't speak so of our guests," Wallie reprimanded.
Hicks went on wrathfully:
"That fat sister in the cameo breastpin--she swiped a can of potted
chicken on me yesterday--she's a regular 'camp-robber'."
Wallie interposed hastily:
"We mustn't have any trouble. I want to get through this trip peaceably.
In fact, Mr. Hicks, it's along this line that I wished to have a word
with you."
Mr. Hicks looked at him quickly and suspiciously.
"Has any of 'em been kickin' on me?"
Wallie hesitated, casting a furtive eye about as he did so for the most
convenient exit.
"Not kicking, I wouldn't say _kicking_, Mr. Hicks, but it has been
suggested--I have been thinking that it might be _pleasanter_ for you
and Red to have your own table."
Mr. Hicks stopped turning over the potatoes and looked at him for what
seemed to Wallie a full minute.
"In other words," he said, finally, in a voice that was oily and
coaxing, as if he wanted the truth from him, "the dudes don't want the
cook and the horse-wrangler to eat with them?"
Wallie noticed uneasily that while Hicks spoke he was tentatively
feeling the edge of the knife he had been using. Instinctively Wallie's
eyes sought the route he had selected, as he replied conciliatingly:
"No reflection upon you and Red is intended, Mr. Hicks; it is just that
Eastern people have different customs, and we have to humour them,
although we may not agree with them."
There was another silence, in which Hicks continued to thumb the knife
in a manner that kept Wallie at a tension, then he said with a suavity
which somehow was more menacing than an outburst:
"Perhaps it _would_ be better for us rough-necks to eat at the second
table. It hadn't occurred to me that our society might not be agreeable
to ladies and gentlemen. I'm glad you mentioned it."
Hicks seemed to purr, actually. His tone was caressing--like the velvet
touch of a tiger--and his humble acceptance of the situation was so
unnatural that Wallie felt himself shiver with apprehension. Was he
capable of putting ground-glass in the sugar, he wondered, or dropping a
spider in something?
"Red" was plainly disgruntled when he found himself, as it were,
segregated, and he sulked openly; but Hicks, on the contrary, was so
urbane and respectful that everyone remarked his changed manner, and
Mrs. Stott triumphantly demanded to know if it were not proof of her
contention that servants were the better for being occasionally reminded
of their position.
"I am not a snob," she reiterated, "but common people really spoil my
appetite when I am obliged to eat with them."
Wallie, however, could not share her elation, for there was that in Mr.
Hicks' eye whenever he met it which renewed his uneasy forebodings as to
ground glass and spiders.