THE TIMELY ORACLE.
A year passed by. Caruthers dozed with his cob pipe between the
fingers of his limp hand, waiting for clients whose step was not heard
upon the stairs. But the office had not been wholly without business.
Once a man called to seek advice, which was given, free, as an
advertisement for more work from his neighborhood, and once Lyman had
defended a man charged with the theft of a sheep. The mutton was found
in the fellow's closet and the hide of the animal was discovered under
his bed; and with such evidence against him it was not expected that a
lawyer could do much, so, when the prisoner was sentenced to the
penitentiary, Caruthers congratulated his partner with the remark:
"That was all right. We can't expect to win every time. But we were
not so badly defeated; you got him off with one year, and he deserved
two. To cut a thief's sentence in two ought to help us."
"Among the other thieves," Lyman suggested.
"Oh, yes," Caruthers spoke up cheerfully. "A lawyer's success depends
largely upon his reputation among thieves."
"Or at least among the men who intend to stretch the law. Let me see;
we have been in business together just one year, and our books balance
with a most graceful precision. We are systematic, anyway."
"Yes," Caruthers replied, letting his pipe fall to the floor, "system
is my motto. No business, properly systematized, is often better than
some business in a tangle."
Warren, the editor, appeared at the door. "Are you busy?" he asked.
"Well, we are not in what you might call a rush," Lyman answered. "Are
you busy?" he inquired, with a twinkle in his eye.
Before answering, Warren stepped into the room and sat down with a
distressful sigh. "I am more than that," he said, dejectedly. "I am in
hot water, trying to swim with one hand."
"What's the trouble?"
"Oh, a sort of summer, fall, spring and winter complaint." He took out
a note book, turned over the leaves, returned it to his pocket and
said: "I lack just sixty-five, this time."
"Dollars?" Lyman asked.
Warren gave him a quick, reproachful look. "Now, Judge, what airs have
I ever put on to cause you to size me up that way? Have I ever shown
any tax receipts? Have I ever given any swell dinners? Sixty-five
cents is the amount I am short, Judge, and where I am to get it, the
Lord only knows. My paper is lying over yonder in the express office,
doing no good to anybody, but they won't let me take it out and stamp
intelligence upon it. The town sits gaping for the news, with a bad
eye on me; but what can I do with a great corporation arrayed against
me? For sixty-five cents I could get the paper out, and it's full of
bright things. The account of your defense of the sheep thief is about
as amusing a thing as I ever read, and it will be copied all over the
country; it would put a nation in a good humor irrespective of party
affiliations, but sixty-five millions of people are to be cheated, and
all on account of sixty-five cents, one cent to the million."
"Things are down to a low mark when you have to make your estimates
on that basis. One cent to the million," said Lyman with a quiet
laugh.
"Distressful," Warren replied. "The country was never in such a fix
before. Why, last year about this time I raised eighty cents without
any trouble at all."
"Yes," said Lyman, "you raised it of me."
"That's a fact," Warren admitted. "But do you think the country is as
well off now as it was then?"
"Not financially, but it may be wiser."
"Now, look here, Judge, am I to accept this as an insinuation?"
"How so?" Lyman asked, looking up, his eyes full of mischief.
"Why, speaking of being wiser. I don't know but you meant--well, that
you were too wise to help me out again. You can't deny that the notice
of the partnership was all right."
"We have no complaint to enter on that ground," Caruthers drawled.
"Pardon me, Chancellor, but it wasn't your put-in," Warren replied.
"Your suggestions are worth money and you ought not to throw them
away. But the question is, can I get sixty-five cents out of this
firm?"
"Warren," said Lyman, "I am in sympathy with your cheerful distress."
"But are you willing to shoulder the debt of sixty-five millions of
people? Are you in a position to do that?"
"No," Caruthers drawled, leaning over with a strain and picking up his
pipe from the floor.
"Chancellor," said the editor, "as wise as you are, your example is
sometimes pernicious and your counsel implies evil."
"Oh, I am simply speaking for the firm," Caruthers replied. "As an
individual Lyman can do as he pleases with his capital. Come in, sir."
Some one was tapping at the door, and Lyman, looking around,
recognized the short and wheezing bulk of Uncle Buckley Lightfoot, the
oracle. He almost tumbled out his chair to grasp the old fellow by the
hand; and then, smoothing his conduct, he introduced him, with
impressive ceremony.
"Yes, sir," said the old man, sitting down and looking about, "he got
away from us a little the rise of a year ago, and I don't think Fox
Grove has been the same since then; and it is a generally accepted
fact that the children don't learn more than half as much. Me and
Jimmie and Lige agreed on this point, and that settled it so far as
the community was concerned. And Sammy, we hear that you have got to
be a great lawyer. A man came through our county not long ago and
boasted of knowing you, and a lawyer must amount to a good deal when
folks go about boasting that they know him. And look here, my wife
read a piece out of the paper about you--yes, sir, read it off just
like she was a talkin'; and when she was done I 'lowed that maybe,
after all, you hadn't done such an unwise thing to throw yourself
headlong into the excitement of this town. And mother she said that no
matter where a man went, he could still find the Lord if he looked
about in the right way, and I didn't dispute her, but just kept on a
sittin' there, a wallopin' my tobacco about in my mouth. Yes, sir; I
am powerful tickled to see you."
Long before he had reached the end of his harangue, Warren had taken
hold of his arm. "It was my paper your wife read it in," he said in
tones as solemn as grace over meat. "I am the editor of the paper,
and two dollars will get it every week for a year."
The old man shrugged himself out of the editor's imploring clasp, and
looked at him. "Why," said he, "you don't appear to be more than old
enough to have just come out of the tobacco patch, a picking off
worms, along with the turkeys. But, in the excitement of the town,
boys, I take it, are mighty smart. However, my son, I ain't got any
particular use for a paper, except to have a piece read out of it once
in awhile, but I'll tell you what I'll do. If you'll agree to print
some pieces that Sammy will write for you, I'll take your paper. He
was always a writin' and a tearin' it up when he boarded with me, and
I was sorry to see him wastin' his labor in that way when he mout have
been out in the woods shootin' squirrels; so if you'll agree----"
"I print his sketches every week, and some of them have been stolen by
the big city papers," the editor cried, unable longer to restrain
himself.
"Then I didn't know what I was missin'. Two dollars, you say? Well;
here you are, sir, and now you just rip me off a paper every week.
See if that's a two dollar bill."
"It's a five," Warren gasped.
"Glad it's that much; change it, please."
"I'll go out and get it changed."
"Don't put yourself to that much trouble. Give it to Sammy and I bet
he'll change it in a jiffy, for it don't take a lawyer more than a
minute to do such things."
Caruthers looked up with a squint in his eye.
"I think," said Lyman, "that we'd better let him go out and get the
change; that is, unless my partner can accommodate us."
"I have nothing short of a twenty," Caruthers replied, shutting his
eyes.
"Then run along, son, and fetch me the change," said the old man. "But
hold on a minute," he added, as Warren made a glad lunge toward the
door. "Be sure that the money changers in the temple don't cheat you,
for I hear they are a bad lot, and me and Jimmie and Lige have agreed
that they ought to have been lashed out long ago."
"They have never succeeded in getting any money out of me," Warren
laughed; and as he was going out he said to Lyman: "I am going to
flash this five in the face of the Express Company. I didn't know
before that your pen was made of a feather snatched from an angel's
wing."
"Yes, sir," Uncle Buckley began, looking at Lyman, and then at
Caruthers, "we have missed him mightily. Mother says he was the most
uncertain man to cook for she ever run across. Sometimes he'd eat a
good deal, and then for days, while he was a studyin' of his law, and
especially when he was a writin' and a tearin' up, he wouldn't eat
hardly anything. So you see he kept things on the dodge all the time,
and that of itself was enough to make him interestin' to the women
folks. We've had it pretty lively out in Fox Grove. The neighbors all
wanted me to split off and go along with them into the new party, but
I told 'em all my ribs was made outen hickory and was Andy Jackson
Democrat. But the new party swept everything and got into power; and I
want to know if anybody ever saw such a mess as they made of the
legislature."
The old man began to move uneasily and to glance about with an anxious
expression in his eye. "Sammy," said he, "of course I know you, but I
ain't expected to know everybody."
"Yes," said Lyman, smiling at him.
"Well, it just occurred to me whether I wa'n't jest a little brash to
let that young feller off with that money. In the excitement of the
town he might forget to come back."
"Don't worry; he'll be back. There he comes now."
Warren came in, his face beaming, and gave the old man the money due
him. Uncle Buckley looked at him a moment, and then, with an air of
contrite acknowledgment, shook his head as he seriously remarked:
"I done you an injury jest now, by sorter questionin' whether you
wouldn't run off with that change, and I want to ask your pardon."
"Oh, that's all right," Warren laughed.
"No, it ain't all right, and I want to apologize right here in the
presence of----"
"All right, you may tie it on as a ribbon if you want to, but it isn't
necessary. Now you sit over here with me and tell me all about
yourself and your neighborhood, for I'm going to give you a write-up
that'll be a beauty to behold. You fellows go ahead with your nodding,
and don't pay any attention to us. But you want to listen. Come to my
sanctum, Mr. Lightfoot."
"I reckon it's safe," said the old man, following him. Caruthers
turned his slow eyes upon Lyman. "Has that old fellow got any money?"
he asked.
"Well, he's not a pauper."
"Suppose we could strike him for a hundred for six months?"
"No, he's a friend of mine."
"But," said Caruthers, "if we are going to raise money we'll have to
borrow from friends. Our enemies won't let us have it."
"That's true, but our enemies in protecting themselves should not be
permitted to drive us against our friends. That old man would let me
have every cent he has. But he has labored more than forty years for
his competence, and I will not rob him of a penny."
"Rob him," Caruthers spoke up with energy. "We'll pay him back."
"How?"
"Oh, you know how. With a little money we can get a start. We can
rent an office on the ground floor, and then business will come."
"Yes," said Lyman, "but I don't want that old man to be mixed up in
the excitement. Suppose we try the bank."
"You try it. McElwin does not care for me particularly. Suppose you go
over and see him. Offer him a mortgage on our library."
"I'll do it. Wait until Uncle Buckley has been pumped; I want to bid
him good-bye."
"Go through there, and see him on your way out. The bank will be
closed pretty soon."
"All right. But don't hang a hope on the result."
Lyman shook hands with Uncle Buckley, and then went across the street
to the First National Bank, the financial pride of Old Ebenezer. The
low brick building stood as a dollar mark, to be stared at by farmers
who had heard of the great piles of gold heaped therein, and James
McElwin, as with quick and important step he passed along the street,
was gazed upon with an intentness almost religious. Numerous persons
claimed kinship with him, and the establishment of third or fourth
degree of cousinhood had lifted more than one family out of obscurity.
The bank must have had a surplus of twenty thousand dollars, a glaring
sum in the eyes of the grinding tradesmen about the public square. An
illustrated journal in the East had printed McElwin's picture,
together with a brief history of his life. The biographer called him a
self-made man, and gave him great credit for having scrambled for
dimes in his youth, that he might have dollars in middle life. That he
had once gone hungry rather than pay more than the worth of a meal at
an old negro's "snack house," was set forth as a "sub-headed" virtue.
He had married above him, the daughter of a neighboring "merchant,"
whose name was stamped on every shoe he sold. The old man died a
bankrupt, but the daughter, the wife of the rising capitalist,
remained proud and cool with dignity. The union was illustrated with
one picture, a girl, to become a belle, a handsome creature, with a
mysterious money grace, with a real beauty of hair, mouth and eyes.
The envious said that circumstances served to make an imperious
simpleton of her.
It was this man, with these connections, that Lyman crossed the
street to see. But to the lawyer it was not so adventurous as grimly
humorous. His Yankee shrewdness had pronounced the man a pretentious
fraud.
The banker was in his private office, busy with his papers. Lyman
heard him say to the negro who took in his name: "Mr. Lyman! I don't
know why he should want to see me. But tell him to come in."
As Lyman entered the banker looked up and said: "Well, sir."
Lyman sat down and crossed his legs. The banker looked at his feet,
then at his head.
"Mr. McElwin," said Lyman, "we have not met before, though I, of
course, have seen you often, but----"
"Well, sir, go on."
"Yes, that's what I am doing. I say that we have not met, but I board
at the house of a relative of yours, and I therefore feel that I know
you."
"Board with a relative of mine?" the banker gasped.
"Yes, with Jasper Staggs, and I want to tell you that he is about as
kind hearted an old fellow as I ever met, quaint and accommodating.
He is a cousin of yours, I believe."
"Well,--er, yes. But state your business, if you please. I am very
busy."
"I presume so, sir, but I am afraid that my business may not strike
you in a very favorable way. I want to borrow one hundred dollars."
"Upon what collateral, sir?"
"Mainly upon the collateral of honor."
The banker looked at him. Lyman continued: "I feel that such a
statement in a bank sounds like the echo of an idle laugh, but I
mention honor first, because I value it most. I also have, or
represent, a law library."
"Is it worth a hundred dollars?"
"Well, I can't say that it is, but I should think that the library,
reinforced by my honor, is worth that much."
The banker began to stroke his brown beard. "So you have come here to
joke, sir----"
"Oh, not at all," Lyman broke in, "this is a serious matter."
"It might be if I were to let you have the money."
"That isn't so bad," Lyman laughed. "But seriously, I am in much need
of a hundred dollars, and if you'll let me have it for six months I
will pay it back with interest."
"I can't do it, sir."
"You mean that you won't do it."
"You heard me, sir."
"I realize the bad form in which I present my case, Mr. McElwin, and I
know that if you had made a practice of doing business in this way you
would not have been nearly so successful, but I will pledge you my
word that if you will let me have the money----"
"Good day, sir, good day."
Lyman walked out, not feeling so humorous as when he went in. He
looked up and down the dingy, drowsy street. At first he might have
been half amused at his failure, tickled with the idea of describing
it to Caruthers and the newspaper man, but a sense of humiliation came
to him. He knew that in the warfare of business his operation was but
a guerrilla's dash, and he was ashamed of himself; and yet he
reflected that his great enemy might have been gentler to him. He
walked slowly down the street, without an objective point; he passed
the group of village jokers, sitting in front of the drug store, with
their chairs tipped back against the wall; he passed the planing mill,
with its rasping noise, and in his whimsical fancy it sounded like the
Town Council snoring. He loitered near a garden where plum trees were
in bloom; he looked over at a solemn child digging in the dirt; he
caught sight of a pale man with the mark of death upon him, lying near
a window, slowly fanning himself. He spoke to the child and the
wretched little one looked up and said: "I am digging a grave for my
pa." Lyman leaned heavily upon the fence; his heart was touched, and
taking out a small piece of money he tossed it to the boy. The grave
digger took it up, looked at it a moment in sad astonishment, put it
aside and returned to his work.
The office was deserted when Lyman returned. Caruthers had not hung a
hope on the result of the attempted negotiations.