THE MERITS OF HORSEFLESH
June hung suspended as ripe fruit. Rains had come. The country was
blossoming with a promise of abundant crops. No longer were there
breaths of sultry air in shady places. The heavy foliage, fattened by
reinvigorated sap and fanned by refreshing breezes, rustled as though it
were sprinkling ozone to the ground; and the Colonel complained of
exhaustion from the sheer indulgence of joyous deep breathing.
These last two months had brought a settled condition to those at Arden.
At first pleasantly aroused by the advent of Dale, they were again
comfortably back in their accustomed grooves, while he, also, found a
niche which fitted his cosmos with a fair degree of ease. He was at home
with them now, and natural; and--when not absorbed with study--talked
freely in a slow magnetic way that compelled listeners. The early
reticence had given place to the full sway of an enthusiast, and
everyone within his orbit felt the influence of a peculiarly strong
attraction.
More and more was he surprising them. Merging from obscurity to the
light of action, he had developed into a human dynamo, generating power
at a high rate of speed and storing it in the dry cells of his brain.
Brent accused him of consuming so much of the atmosphere that nothing
remained; he said the air seemed lifeless after this absorbing student
had passed. He was perilously near done for, he confided to the Colonel,
if Dale's mental instrument corralled all the energetic thought waves of
Arden, and Miss Liz captured the peace and independence. And the old
gentleman had laughed like a boy, because the mountaineer was so
generously surpassing Jane's most sanguine hope.
The happiest laugh of all was from Dale, himself--that low, inaudible
movement of the throat wherewith he expressed his gayest moods. He had
been turned out in the pasture of his heart's desire, and was gathering
a harvest with feverish hands. Since the first Monday morning after his
arrival, when he crept to the schoolhouse at break of day and waited in
the opposite thicket with his long rifle to see if Tusk would come
again, the mantle of civilization wrapped quickly about him.
In the succeeding days, the mysteries of spelling and other problems
flew like chaff before his irresistible energy. He had struck a gait
which created wonderment in all. Hours bounded in no way his efforts.
Late afternoons, evenings, and nights, had been devoted to intense study
of which he could not tire. Early mornings, before breakfast, had found
him poring over a book, and the day's lessons were recited with unerring
accuracy while he dressed.
Since school had closed this zeal did not cease; rather did it grow more
ardent as Jane gave him her undivided time by especially directing
studies apace with his rapid advancement. As she fed, he devoured--as a
ravenous animal would have torn its food--and fiercely demanded more.
From the blind girl he had acquired, with this thirst for knowledge, a
tremendous power of concentration; but, to the regret of those about
him, had failed utterly to absorb any of her power of self-sacrifice.
That spiritual side--that all important lesson of unselfishness--had
never reached him. He was as blind to it as she was to the light of day,
and in spite of all Jane could do, or the Colonel could do, his nature
closed tighter about the one idea of self-advancement.
For a week after his memorable first day upon the survey, he had rushed
to Brent's room each morning at dawn to get the party started; and Brent
had good-naturedly submitted. But now the engineer suddenly balked,
flatly refusing to take him out again. Miss Liz arose in her wrath, but
he told her that he would not risk another day of starvation should this
fanatic choose to throw the lunch away--and it was too much work going
every day, anyhow. But, the fact of the matter was, Dale had become a
serious handicap. He was not content to act as pole-man, or carry the
chain. He could have done either of these well enough, because Brent had
taught two of the brighter negroes whom he regularly took along. No,
Dale must be continually at the transit, looking through it, changing
its direction, asking a thousand irrelevant questions, and demoralizing
the entire force. So after one week of struggle, Brent told him that he
should not come any more until he had at least learned enough to
realize how little he knew. It was a disappointment to Jane, but she
persuaded Miss Liz not to press the issue, deciding that it might be
better in the long run for Dale to proceed more systematically in
fundamental things and lay his foundation with greater care.
In the freshness of this June morning he was back again in the library,
bent over the pages of a book, and the room seemed quieter for his
intensity. Outside, on the shady porch, the Colonel showed indications
of reading, but in reality his eyes had slyly turned to the lawn where
Zack and Bip were in a heated argument over the respective merits of
horseflesh.
An hour before, this sturdy six-year-old heir apparent to the house of
Hart, had arrived on his Shetland pony to see Grandfather May--a usual
weekly procedure. Along with him, as was also the invariable custom,
ponderous Aunt Timmie drove in her buggy--"her" buggy by adoption after
it had been discarded by "de white folks." Whenever she climbed into
this moth-eaten vehicle, whose wheels pointed outward and inward all at
the same time, she never permitted the child to forget that it was her
own sweet willingness thus to risk her life which made these excursions
possible. She was in the big house now, inspecting every surface and
crevice for a particle of dust, contemptuously sniffing and
soliloquizing:
"De place is jest nachelly gwine to rack an' ruin! Zack ain' got no moh
sense 'bout takin' cyare of a house den a rag-dawl!"
The Shetland pony, meanwhile, was standing at a safe distance from Uncle
Zack's mule, looking very wicked indeed with its long forelock hanging
frowsily between its eyes, and seeming to have comprehended some of the
slanders which this old darky--making a great pretense of being
angry--had uttered. To the side, and ready to champion her little
friend, stood Mesmie, daughter of Bradford, the overseer, with one bare
foot pressing nervously on the instep of its mate, and her fingers
twisting the end of her long, golden plait. This was apprehension, not
embarrassment. The old negro's pretended anger invariably deceived this
little girl--as it frequently puzzled the boy.
"Dar ain' no use talkin'," Uncle Zack stamped the ground. "I'se been
waitin' on de May fam'ly fer up'ards of a hund'ed yeahs, an' dis am de
fu'st time any of 'em done 'sult me!"
There was a pause while Bip looked at him with wide, serious eyes, and
the Colonel from his secluded vantage point silently chuckled.
"I didn't mean to insult you, Uncle Zack," the little boy explained. "I
only said that Daniel, here, couldn't have anything to do with such a
mis'rable mule. Daniel's a thoroughbred!"
"Thurerbred!" Zack scornfully repeated. "Jes' heah dat! Why, he ain' big
'nough to be no kind o' bred! He ain' got 'nough blood in 'im to call it
real breedin'!"
The boy's face flushed. "He's by Shadeland Wildon," he cried, "and out
of Hurstbourne Trinket! I'd like to see you find any pony stock better'n
that!"
Uncle Zack appeared to ponder over this. As a matter of fact, he had
once told Bip this same thing in these very words. Now he temporized by
squinting up at the sun.
"An' what's more," the little fellow hotly declared, "they're both
registered way back to the war--an' lots before that! Grandfather says
if he didn't know Daniel was Daniel, he'd think he was Shadeland Wildon
every time I rode him in here--'cause he's got his sire's chestnut an'
white markin's to a dot, an' his size to a hair! Now what you got to say
'bout breedin'!"
"'Pears to me," the old fellow soliloquized, still squinting upward,
"'twon't be long 'foh lunch time. Didn' I heah somefin 'bout gwine down
whar de Willer-de-Wispies lives at?"
"Oh, yes," Bip cried, his anger passing like a bird shadow. "But, Uncle
Zack, you've got to ride a horse! I can't have Daniel learnin' laziness
from that old mule!"
"Laziness!" the old man exclaimed. Then, all at once, he seemed to be
watching something in the trees. "I 'member onct," he began in a
ruminating fashion, "when a li'l boy come up to me an' sez: 'Unc Zack,'
he sez, 'which is de oldes', ladies or gemmen?'"
He watched the boy with a downward glance from the corner of his eye,
but the little fellow maintained a dignified composure. How often did he
wish Uncle Zack would forget those questions which now seemed to him a
hundred times more infantile by the old man's interpretation! How many
times had Uncle Zack prevailed in having his own way by merely referring
to them! Now he continued:
"An' onct, when I wuz settin' in mah doh, dis same li'l man come pokin'
'long an' sez, sez he: 'Unc Zack, how-cum you kin see yoh knuckles when
yoh fist is shet up tight, an' cyarn' see 'em when yoh han's out
straight?'"
"That's one thing you never did tell me," the boy accusingly cried. "You
couldn't!"
"I couldn'?" he asked in pained surprise. "Does you mean I couldn'? Why,
ain' you 'shamed of yohse'f talkin' dat a-way to ole Zack! I could
a-tol' you, spry's yoh please, but it warn't good fer li'l boys jes'
den."
"Then tell me now!" Bip challenged.
"How ole is you, honey?" came the irrelevant question.
"I'll be seven next time," he answered.
"Seven nex' time!" The wrinkled face became more wrinkled as he looked
out over the fields and began to shake with laughter. "Seven nex' time!
What you know 'bout dat!"
"What's funny, Uncle Zack?"
"Jes' dat, dat's all. Come 'long, now, an' we'll git de mule ready!"
"Ain't you going to tell me 'bout my knuckles?" the little boy asked, as
they moved to the horse-block where, in deep humility, an old saddle
rested.
"Shucks! Dat ain' no fun!" Zack contemptuously asserted. "Knuckles is
cu'ious things, knuckles is; an' dar ain' no sense gittin' all riled up
'bout 'em, no way. Didn' I never tell you 'bout de bantam hen dat got
her knuckles scyared up wid de water snake?"
"No, you didn't! But tell me first 'bout mine!" The little boy was
trotting to keep up now, and the old man lengthened his strides.
"An' didn' I never tell you 'bout de chicken hawk as busted his knuckles
all up tryin' to fly off wid de weather-vane down on de stable dar?"
"Oh, no, Uncle Zack! But tell me 'bout mine, first!"
The old negro stopped stock still and looked down with a frown.
"You'se de mos' pestiferistes' pusson on dis heah place!" Then, catching
an inspiration, he asked: "Why does you swaller when you'se chawin' a
piece of cake?"
"I don't know;--just do. I reckon!"
"Dar now, Mesmie, ain' he a smart li'l man?" the old fellow chuckled.
"Dat's de ve'y reason--you jes' do! An' dat's 'zackly what de knuckles
does--dey jes' do! Now, since we done relieve ourse'ves on dat pint,
le's move 'long!"
Both seemed to have forgotten the discussion on thoroughbreds, but the
old negro still pretended to be haughty; and now, slowly approaching the
mule which narrowly watched from the corner of his eye, he casually
observed:
"De ve'y idee of sayin' mah mule's lazy! Why, he kin nacherly out-run de
life outen a li'l sawed-off dumplin' lak one I sees standin' 'round
heah!"
This was the touch of spark to powder. The boy thrust his hand deep into
his pocket, brought it forth and opened it, then stepped quickly
forward:
"I'll bet you a nickel--an' here it is--that Daniel an' I can beat you
to the pike an' back!"
"Keep 'way! Keep 'way, son!" the old man hastily warned. "Keep 'way from
his heah whirlwind!"
Bip backed slowly off. He understood the uncertainties of this location,
and carefully watched the mule's anticipative ears which were symbols of
treachery.
"Git on 'way, now," Zack again warned. "I'se gwine heist up de saddle!"
"He can't kick me over here," the boy said.
"Don' you believe no sich a-thing," the negro emphatically exclaimed.
"De op'rashions of dis heah telescope extends to jest whar you happen to
be standin'--no moh, an' no less. All he wants to know is yoh ad-dress,
an' he'll pop you suah!"
"Then I'm as safe here as I would be at home," came the logical retort.
Zack stopped what he was about to do and stood with a broad grin on his
face. Slowly he looked from the sturdy little youngster to the mule, and
at last back again.
"De onlies' diff'ence is," he scratched his head, "dat ef you cross de
road now, mebbe you kin do it lak a li'l gemmen; but ef you keep on
foolin' 'roun' dis mule's back-doh, you'se apt to git heisted crost lak
a jay-bird. It's mighty good sense to press yoh luck as fur's it'll go,
honey, but a oudacious sin to set right out to bust it. An' 'member
what ole Zack say 'bout dat, 'caze it mought do you a heap of good some
day!"
Zack's saddle was finally tied on with a piece of clothesline and,
putting his foot in a rope stirrup, he mounted.
"Now I'se gwine arter dat nickel," he declared. "Scramble up on yoh
dumplin' an' come 'long! Li'l Mesmie," he looked down at the girl, "you
stan' right dar an' squint yoh eyes good, an' you'll see de hottes'
Kentucky Derby ever run!"
Bip led his pony to the horseblock, and by much squirming managed to
wriggle on; then trotted over to Uncle Zack.
"We're ready," he cried, his face alight with excitement. "How much
start'll you give me?"
"Staht! I ain' gwine give you _no_ staht! You'se wuss'n a gal!"
"Why ain' you gwine give him no staht?" an indignant voice called, and,
turning, he beheld Aunt Timmie leaning against the house complacently
regarding them.
"Of course you'll give him a start!" the Colonel thundered, thereby
showing to what extent he had been reading during the past half hour.
"It wouldn't be sporty not to give him a start, Uncle Zack," came still
another voice, this time from the shrubbery where Brent, returning from
a dabble at his work, had halted in the keenest amusement.
"Well, 'pon mah word," the old fellow scratched his head. "It looks lak
I'se booked to race de whole fam'ly. Marse John, how much you reckon I'd
ought to give 'im? 'Foh you answers, jes' keep in mind dat dis heah keg
of dynermite I'se ridin' ain' got no shoes on, an' dese heah ropes is
mighty rotten; an', ef we goes our best, de mule ain' gwine be de
onlies' one dat'll need a hawse-doctor! I ain' got no nickel, no-way!"
Timmie was shaking with mirth. "I wish you'd git yohse'f kilt," she
affectionately laughed at him. "Go on, den, an' find de
Willer-de-Wispies. De chile's done been honin' 'bout 'em in his sleep.
An' mind, don' let 'im git nigh no pisen-ivy! An' Zack," she called, as
they were riding away with Mesmie now up behind Bip, "git 'im back heah
by twelve!"
Still chuckling, she waddled around to the front, where only she and
Zack, of all the servants, were permitted to tarry, and sat upon the
lowest step.