FLYING HEELS
The six dusty miles from the station to the plantation would have been
tedious ordinarily, but the boys were too full of high spirits to let
little things like dust and heat affect them. The buckboard creaked and
jounced along, and the mules seemed to have even more than their share
of the general disinclination to hurry. The old negro gave the boys news
of all that had been going on at the plantation since Lee’s last time
home.
“Ah’m afraid dat Marse Jim Boolus am fixin’ to make you an’ you ma all
de trouble dat he kin,” said the old darkey, shaking his head. “Seems
like he’s gettin’ meaner and more no-account every year dat passes over
his haid.”
“The old rascal!” exclaimed Lee, with flashing eyes. “I’ll make him
sorry some day for all the trouble he’s caused my family.”
“Dere’s lots of odder folks feels de same way,” said Jim. “Ev’body in de
parish hates him like pisen, but de more people hates him de mo’ he
seems to like it.”
On the boat Lee had said quite a little of this Jim Boolus to Bobby and
Fred. He was a mean old skinflint, who had thriven on the misery of
others, and by many a shady deal had brought ruin on honest people.
While everybody knew him to be unscrupulous and dishonest, he was so
cunning and crafty that he always managed to keep out of the grip of the
law. At present he was trying to prove his ownership to a large part of
Mrs. Cartier’s estate, and she was in serious danger of losing it.
The boys were still discussing ways and means to frustrate the wily
schemings of the crafty old land shark when the buckboard turned off the
dusty road, pursued its leisurely way up a long graveled avenue shaded
by stately trees, and drew up before a wide-flung old mansion flanked by
wide verandas. Before it had stopped Lee jumped out and ran to meet a
pleasant faced lady who was descending the steps. After their first
affectionate greeting Lee introduced Bobby and Fred to her.
“These are my two friends, Mother, Bobby Blake and Fred Martin,” he
said. “I guess you’ve heard so much about them in my letters to you that
you hardly need an introduction.”
“Indeed yes,” she smiled. “And I hope that Lee’s mother will be just as
good friends with you as Lee is.”
Mrs. Cartier was so gracious and hospitable that the boys were quickly
at their ease and felt as though they had known her a long time.
Lee showed them their room, a beautiful large one with big, comfortable
looking beds and dark, cool curtains at the windows.
“When you fellows have gotten some of the dust off you, come on down and
I’ll show you around,” said Lee, as he left them.
“Well,” remarked Bobby, when he and Fred were alone, “it looks to me as
though we had come to a pretty fine place to spend our vacation. Mrs.
Cartier certainly has a way of making a fellow feel welcome.”
“She certainly has,” returned Fred, “I’ve often heard about Southern
hospitality, and now I know what it’s like.”
“I wish we could do something to fix that skinflint old neighbor of
theirs,” continued Fred, after a pause.
“Well, there’s no telling; maybe we can,” said Bobby.
Shortly afterwards Bobby and Fred went downstairs, and found Lee waiting
for them on the veranda.
“I thought you fellows must have been overcome by the excitement of that
buckboard ride and dropped asleep,” grinned Lee. “You never used to take
as long as that to get spruced up back at school, especially when you
happened to get up late and thought you’d be late for breakfast.”
“When in Rome do as the Romans do,” quoted Bobby. “When you hit a place
where everybody seems to take things easy, why be in a hurry?”
“Hurray!” shouted Lee. “I can see that you’ve got the making of a
Southern gentleman in you, all right. ‘Never be in a hurry’ is one of
the first things you learn around here.”
“That’s all right, sometimes,” put in Fred. “But when you’re toting a
football down a field with the goal posts looking to be about ten miles
away, and eleven fellows doing their best to grab you around the knees
and sit on your chest, hurrying is the one thing you’re most anxious to
do.”
“Right!” laughed Bobby. “Not to mention the way the coach feels about
it.”
“Well, I’ll have to admit that a coach _doesn’t_ believe in taking
things easy,” said Lee, “but then, I guess probably most coaches don’t
come from the South.”
The others agreed that this was very probable, and then set out on a
tour of the plantation. This covered several hundred acres, and in the
days “before the war” had evidently been a profitable estate. Besides
the big, rambling old mansion, there were numerous barns and
outbuildings, including what had formerly been quarters for numerous
slaves. Most of these buildings were unused and out of repair now, and,
except in the busy planting and picking seasons, there were only five
old servants on the place. Aunt Dinah, the cook, deserved first place,
because she was past master (or mistress) of the art of cookery, and
could turn out dishes that had spread her fame for miles in a country of
good cooks.
Uncle Josh, a faithful old darkey, whose wrinkled face was framed in
snow white hair, acted as “handy man” and did odd jobs where-ever they
were needed, although forever complaining about a mysterious ailment
that he invariably referred to as “de misery in mah back.” There were
three other more or less lazy but entirely good-natured darkeys, who did
whatever else was necessary in a carefree but somewhat inefficient
manner.
“They mean well enough, and they think the world of mother and me, but
unless somebody’s watching them they’ll never hurt themselves with
overwork,” explained Lee. “When I’m through school and college and can
take charge of this place, I’m going to get more action or know the
reason why.”
He took Bobby and Fred through the big barn, where now only a few horses
and mules were stabled, although there was room for a hundred. As they
passed one stall, there was a flash of vicious hoofs, which narrowly
missed Fred, who was the nearest.
“Wow!” he exclaimed, as he jumped back, “I pretty near stopped something
that time. That beast must have a grudge against me, I guess.”
“Oh, it isn’t against you, in particular,” said Lee. “He’s got a grudge
against the whole human race. That’s old Baldy, and I really believe
he’s the meanest mule that ever lived, and if you know anything about
mules, you’ll realize that that’s saying something. I should have warned
you about him, but I didn’t think about it.”
“Oh, well it doesn’t matter as long as he missed me,” said Fred. “You
can bet I’ll watch out for him in the future.”
“It’s a circus to see the darkeys when they have to harness him,” said
Lee. “They’re all afraid of him, and yet they respect him, too, because
he’s as strong as two ordinary mules, and when he feels like it can do a
hard day’s work. I think they’re going to hitch him up in a little
while, and if you like we’ll hang around and watch the fun.”
You can be sure Bobby and Fred had no objection to this, and sure
enough, in a little while two husky colored men appeared and took down
the necessary harness from pegs on the wall.
“Are you going to hitch up old Baldy?” asked Lee.
“We aim to, Marse Lee,” said one, whose first name was Mose, and whose
last name nobody ever seemed to have heard. “But dat mule doan always
calculate to do jest whut we wants him to.”
“’Deed he don’t,” agreed the other. “Las’ time Ah come near him, he done
took de seat outen my pants, an Ah shore thought Ah was headed straight
for Kingdom Come ’fore Ah could get away from him.”
The negro who had spoken first approached the stall cautiously, but the
mule heard him coming, and, with ears laid viciously back, lashed out at
him with flying heels. But the negro was on his guard, and jumped to one
side barely in time to save himself.
“Reckon ole Baldy ain’t feelin’ friendly toward me to-day no-how,” said
Mose, with a somewhat nervous grin. “Reckon Ah’d better untie him from
de stall nex’ door.”
He went cautiously into the stall adjoining that of old Baldy, and
reached over gingerly to untie his halter. But the mule was not to be
caught napping, and he made a wicked nip at the negro’s hand. He just
missed the hand, but caught the ragged coat sleeve in his white teeth,
and tore a long strip from it.
“Mah goodness!” exclaimed the negro, “Ah’d rather monkey wid a load o’
dynamite dan wid dat mule.”
“Try it again, an’ I’ll take his mind offen you,” said the other negro.
He picked up a long rake from a corner, and with this began prodding at
the rear end of the mule, while his companion again cautiously
approached the halter. This ruse was successful, for the animal was so
occupied with trying to kick the rake handle into bits, that he hardly
noticed anything else, and Mose had no trouble this time in untying the
halter.
“Watch out dare, niggah!” he admonished his assistant. “Everybody git
out of de way an’ let this critter sail.”
The boys scattered to places of safety, as the mule, finding his head
free, backed out of the stall and made for the open door. There was a
fenced-in yard surrounding the stable, and he galloped around this,
kicking up his heels and hee-hawing. The two negroes dashed pellmell
after him, followed by the laughing boys.
“Now the real fun will begin,” said Lee. “Just watch them try to harness
him up.”