THE "BOOSY."
Lyman had been helping Warren with the work of putting the paper to
press, and he was tired, but when he had lighted the lamp he drew the
writing paper toward him, and took up a pen, turning it between his
fingers, as if waiting for a word, but it did not come, and he sat
there musing. His heart was heavy, though not with a sadness, but with
an overweight of gentleness, a consciousness that he stood as a
protector to bide the time of the lover's coming. He was proud, but
had no vanity. He knew that he could win friendship, for in friendship
a strong and rugged quality was a factor, but he did not realize that
the same rugged quality appealed to a deeper affection. In his work he
saw the character of woman, and he could fancy her capricious enough
to give her heart to the most awkward of men, but when he turned this
light upon himself, so many blemishes were brought out that he stepped
back from the glaring revelation. He believed that in his peculiar
position Eva gave him the affection that a daughter might give a
father, and he was determined that this charming relationship should
not be undone by the appearance, on his part, of a selfish love; and
in his resolve he was strong, but in cold dread he looked forward to
the time when she should come with a new light in her eyes and ask him
to release her. Suddenly a noise came from below, the tramping of feet
upon the veranda. Could it be a surprise party at so late an hour? He
listened. The door was opened, but there was no sound of greetings, no
laughter. The visitors were evidently trying to soften their
foot-weight, but the house shook under their uneven tread. He heard
the click of the stair-door latch; the stairs groaned. He remembered
what Sawyer had said, and caution prompted him to lock the door. The
next moment there came a gentle tap, but he knew that the gentleness
was assumed, for he heard suppressed breathing at the head of the
stairs.
"Who's there?" he asked.
"Open the door."
"But who's there?"
"The good of the community."
"Well, I don't know that I have any business with you at this time of
night, Mr. Good-of-the-Community."
"But we have business with you. Open the door or we'll break it down."
Lyman stepped back and snatched open the table drawer. He straightened
up and thought for a moment. They were throwing themselves against the
door. He seized a light chair and stood near the door. Word to hurry
up came from below. The door creaked.
"Once more, are you going to open it?"
"Wait a moment," said Lyman. "I don't know who you are, but I can
guess at your business. You are violating the law, you are
house-breakers and I wish to tell you--"
Crash went the door. And crash went the chair. The opening was narrow.
The first man fell back. The second man staggered. The third man
hesitated, then sprang upon Lyman, giving him no time to strike.
Across the floor they struggled, the old house shaking. They strove to
choke each other, they rolled upon the floor. Lyman got hold of the
fellow's throat. His fingers were like steel clamps. The White-Cap
gurgled. Lyman got up, dragged him to the door and tumbled him down
the stairs. Just then there came shrieks from below. The two women had
returned. The White Caps were treading one upon another in their hurry
to get out. Lyman, with a chair post in his hand, followed them. They
ran through the sitting-room, a flutter of white in the dark. Lyman
went into the dining-room, whence the women had run. The lamp had been
relighted, and there sat old Jasper, fast asleep.
"There's nothing to be alarmed about," said Lyman, as the women with
their hands in the air, ran to him. "A few White Caps out of
employment wanted work, and got it. There, now, don't take on. Sit
down, Aunt Tobithy. Oh, old Uncle Jasper is all right."
"He is drunk," said the old woman, anger driving away her fright.
"They have made him drunk and he would sit there and sleep and let
them burn the house over his head. Oh, was there ever anything so
disgraceful! Jasper! Jasper!" she shook him.
"Horse that would trot--trot--" the old man muttered.
"Oh, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Take hold of him, Annie, and
let's put him to bed."
"I'll take care of him," said Lyman. They put him to bed and then sat
down. "I don't understand it," the old woman remarked. "Did they hurt
you?"
"No, they didn't get at me. They were at a disadvantage, out on the
narrow landing, while I had plenty of room to swing around in. I must
have hurt two of them pretty badly."
"What do you think of it?" Annie inquired
"Sawyer," said Lyman.
The old woman made a noise that sounded like a cluck. "And he fixed it
so we were to go over to his mother's," she said. "Oh, it's perfectly
clear. And he brought whisky here and got Jasper drunk. I do think
this is the worst community the Lord ever saw. Talk about churches and
school-houses, when such things are allowed to go on."
"What are you going to do about it, Mr. Lyman?" Annie asked. "Are you
going to have them arrested?"
"They ought to be hanged," the old lady spoke up. "Oh, I knew
something would happen the moment I put my foot off the place. I never
did know it to fail. And I might have told this morning that something
wrong was goin' to take place, for I had to try twice or three times
before I could pick up anything when I stooped for it, and I saw a hen
out in the yard trying to crow. But, Mr. Lyman," she added,
reflectively, "I do hope you will think twice before you go to law
about it. I don't tell you not to, mind you, for I am the last one in
the world to tell a person not to have the law enforced, but if you
could see that old woman--Zeb's mother--you wouldn't want to do a
thing to bend her down with grief; it makes no difference how many
laws it would enforce."
"And besides what would the law do?" Annie broke in, to strengthen her
mother's position. "You might have him arrested and all that, and a
trial and a scandal, too, but after all, it wouldn't amount to
anything. I should think that his conscience would punish him enough.
And you couldn't have the others arrested without bringing him into
it."
"You don't need to argue any longer," Lyman replied. "The merest
reference to his old mother settles it with me. The law part would be
a farce anyway. But let me remind you that it is quite a serious thing
when an American citizen is ordered to leave his home at the whim of a
scoundrel."
He bade them good night and went up to his room. The door lay upon the
floor and fragments of the cast-iron lock were scattered about. The
image of Sawyer arose before him, as he had appeared in the office,
and so hateful and disturbing was the picture, that he arose and
bathed his face, as if to wash out the vision. He heard a man's voice
below and he stepped to the head of the stairs and listened. He
recognized the voice of the town marshal. Already the law had begun
its feeble farce. The marshal came up the stairs and looked around, at
the door and the fragments of the lock. He took up a bit of iron and
put it into his pocket, as if he had found a ton's weight of evidence.
"I'll take this along," he said gravely.
"Help yourself," said Lyman.
"Yes, for little things count," the marshal replied with the air of a
great and mysterious detective. "And now," he added, "have you any
idea or any suspicion as to who led this gang?"
Lyman had sat down and was crossed-legged, swinging one foot. "Oh," he
answered carelessly, "I guess you know who it is. However, we will let
the subject drop. I don't wish to discuss it."
"But, my dear sir, the law--"
Lyman held up his hand. "Let us hear nothing more about the law," said
he. "Good night."
The marshal tramped down the stairs and Lyman went to bed to forget
the mob and to dream of the rippling creek and a voice that was softer
and sweeter than the echo of a flute. At early morning there came a
rapping on the stairway, to summon him to breakfast. Old Jasper, with
his hot hands in his pockets and with a sick expression of countenance
was doddering about the sitting room.
"Ah, Lord," he said, when Lyman stepped down upon the floor. "Walt a
minute. Let me shut this door. The smell of the kitchen gig--gig---
gags me. Lyman, I do reckon I ought to take a rusty knife and cut my
infamous old throat. Yes, I do. I deserve it. And all because I wanted
to renew my youth. I know I've said it before, but I want to say right
now that I'll never touch another drop of the stuff as long as I live,
I don't care if Noah had it with him in the Ark. But it is a fact that
I sat here asleep while a mob was in my house?"
"Yes," said Lyman, "you were asleep when I came down stairs."
"Well, sir, it's news to me. And it shows what licker will fetch a man
to. It will take me some little time to explain it to Tobithy."
"I suppose it will," said Lyman, smiling at him.
"Oh, it's a fact. Women fight against reason, you know, as long as
they can. Yes, sir, it will take me a month to convince her that I
wa'n't drunk. I admit that I drank a few drinks, small ones, not
enough to hurt me if I had been right at myself, but I was tired and
sleepy before I touched a drop. Lyman, I wish you would explain it to
her. She's got a good deal of confidence in you--a good deal more than
she has in me. I wish you would tell her that I wasn't drunk."
"I think the best plan, Uncle Jasper, would be to say nothing about
it."
"All right, we'll let it drop then. But I'll have to reason with her,
and, as I said before, it is goin' to take some time to explain. Go in
to breakfast and let me sit down here in my misery. Say, if you could
hint that I am awfully sorry I'd be obliged to you; and if you could
give them to understand that you don't think I'm goin' to live long,
it would be a big favor."
When Lyman stepped out upon the street he was soon made to feel that
the White Cap affair had become common property. Some of the villagers
were inclined to treat it as a great joke, but the graver ones looked
upon it as a serious infraction of the law. Sawyer's name was not
mentioned, but everyone appeared to understand that he was the leader.
Warren was standing at the foot of the office stairs as Lyman came up.
They smiled at each other.
"Well," said Warren, "have you got another piece of news to
suppress?"
"I am afraid so," Lyman answered, as he started up the stairs.
"You are afraid so?" said Warren, tramping beside him. "How much
longer is this suppression act to remain in force? Confound it, you
help make three-fourths of the news in the neighborhood and then won't
print it because it concerns you. All news concerns somebody, you must
understand."
They went into the editorial room. Lyman took up his pipe and Warren
stood looking at him. Lyman sat down and lighted his pipe. "My boy,"
said he, "it may seem hard, but I have a reason for keeping this thing
out of print. It is not for myself, for my own sense of delicacy does
not protest against it, but it would wound an old woman, and we can't
afford to do that. We might say something about the mob, but it won't
do to mention names."
"You mean Mrs. Sawyer?"
"Yes; it would hurt her."
"Lyman, you are the best writer I ever saw, but you were not intended
for a newspaper man."
"I know that, my boy. If I thought we could sell ten thousand papers
I wouldn't print a thing to hurt an old woman."
"Oh, I don't want to hurt an old woman or a young one either," said
Warren, "but I look at the principle of the thing. Somebody's hurt
every time a paper comes from the press, and if everybody was as
tender-hearted as you are, there would be no newspapers after awhile,
and then where would we be?"
"We would be slower, less wise, but in many instances more
respectable," Lyman replied. He leaned back in his chair, slowly
puffing his pipe.
"From the high-grade point of view I reckon you're right," said
Warren, raking up the newspapers on the table, "but we can't all live
on the high grades. By the way," he added with a laugh, "I walked over
to the express office this morning and took my paper out, as if it
were a matter of course. The fellow looked at me and sighed, and I
thought he was going to say something about the numerous times I had
bled under the hob-nailed heel of his company. But he didn't; he asked
me to send him the paper, and he paid for it right there. Oh, things
are getting pretty bright when trusts and corporations begin to bid
for your influence. But what are you going to do with that fellow
Sawyer?" he asked, becoming grave, or rather, more serious, for
gravity could hardly spread over his lightsome face.
"I don't know," Lyman answered.
"But you can't afford to keep on letting him hurt you; you'll have to
hunt him to shut him off."
"Yes, I'll have to do something, but I don't know what it will be. I
have met a good many mean men--mean fellows at a saw mill, and I
thought that a mean mill man was about the meanest--but Sawyer strikes
off somewhat in advance of any meanness I ever encountered."
"Well, don't you get mad? Don't you feel like you want to take a gun
and shoot him?"
"Yes, I have all sorts of feelings with regard to him; and sometimes
when I awake at night it is a good thing he is not within reach. But
I'll try to worry along with him. I don't expect to stay here very
much longer."
Warren caught his breath, as if he had stuck a splinter into his
finger, and his face pinched up with sharp anxiety. "I have been
expecting to hear that," he said, smoothing out the papers on the
table. "I have been looking for it, and I don't blame you in the
least, though I hate to give you up. But," he added, brightening, "you
have given me a start and they can't take it away from me. I'm all
right and I know you are. And the first thing you know, I'm going to
get married and settle down. I am about half way in love with a girl
now. She put her hand on a high seat and jumped right up into a wagon.
And when she batted her eyes, I wondered that they didn't crack like a
whip, they were so sharp. I said to myself right then that I was about
half way in love with her, and I watched her as she sat there, eating
an apple; and when she drove away I went and got an apple and ate it,
and I never tasted an apple before, I tell you. It must be a great
girl that can give flavor to fruit."
"Who is she?" Lyman asked, his eyes brightening with amusement.
"I don't know her name. She drove in with her father--I reckon he was
her father--and I didn't find out her name or anything about her. I
went into the store where the man bought a jug of molasses and asked
the clerk in there if he knew the man, and he said he didn't. But
I'll find out and will marry her if she has no particular objections.
A woman who can jump like that and then flavor an apple can catch me
any day."
"You don't know but that she may be already married," said Lyman.
"Oh, no. We must not suppose that. Why, that would kill everything. Of
course the fellow with her might be her husband, but it would be
nonsense to presume so when, with the same degree of reason, I can
presume he is not. If you've got to do any presuming, always presume
for the best."
Lyman threw himself back and laughed. "Neither the ancients nor the
moderns ever evolved from life any better philosophy than that," he
declared. "Why, of course she is not married, nor shall she be until
you marry her. It was intended that she should flavor your life, even
as she flavored the apple. Here comes someone. Why, it's McElwin. Step
out into the other room a moment, please. I believe he wants to see me
alone."