is likely to explode with the first escape of steam, the slight relief
of pressure precipitating the catastrophe. Tom had resolved not to speak
a word to Lockwood, but his wounded and indignant pride had brooded over
Rachel's rejection the livelong night, and now the air of patronage in
Lockwood drew from him this beginning; then his own words aggravated his
feelings, and speech became an involuntary explosion.
"You called me down-stairs," he said, "and got me into this scrape. Do
you think I don't know what it was for? You took pains to have word
about it go where it would do me the most harm."
"I didn't do any such thing," said Lockwood.
"You did," said Tom. "You told Ike Albaugh Saturday. You're a
cold-blooded villain, and if you cross my path again I'll shoot you."
By this time he was talking loud enough for all in the store to hear.
The villager who wanted nails had sidled a little closer to the center
of the explosion, the young man tilting to and fro on the threshold of
the front door had come inside the store and was deeply engaged in
studying the familiar collection of pearl buttons, colored sewing-silks,
ribbons, and other knick-knacks in the counter showcase, while the
carpenter had forgotten his haste, and turning about stood now with his
tool-box under his arm, looking at Tom Grayson and Lockwood with blunt
curiosity.
"That's a nice way to treat me, I must say," said Lockwood, in a kind of
whine of outraged friendship. "You'd 'a' gone home bareheaded and in
your shirt-sleeves and your stocking-feet, if 't hadn't 'a' been fer
me."
"I'd 'a' gone home with my money in my pocket, if you and Dave Sovine
hadn't fixed it up between you to fleece me. I 'xpect you made as much
out of it as Dave did. You've got me out 'v your way now. But you look
out! Don't you cross my track again, George Lockwood, or I'll kill you!"
In a new country, where life is full of energy and effervescence, it is
much easier for an enraged man to talk about killing than it is in a
land of soberer thinking and less lawlessness. The animal which we call
a young man was not so tame in Illinois two generations ago as it is
now. But Tom's threat, having given vent to his wrath, lowered the
pressure: by the time he had made this second speech his violence had
partly spent itself, and he became conscious that he was heard by the
three persons in the store, as well as by Snyder, the junior proprietor,
who stood now in the back door. Tom Grayson turned and strode out of the
place, dimly aware that he had again run the risk of bringing down the
avalanche by his rashness. For if Tom was quickly brought to a
white-heat, radiation was equally rapid. Long before noon he saw clearly
that he had probably rendered it impossible to keep the secret of his
gambling from his uncle. All the town would hear of his quarrel with
Lockwood, and all the town would set itself to know to the utmost the
incident that was the starting-point of a wrath so violent.
If Tom had not known by many frosty experiences his uncle's
unimpressionable temper, he would have followed his instinct and gone
directly to him with a frank confession. But there was nothing to be
gained by such a course with such a man.
VI
UNCLE AND NEPHEW
Thomas Grayson the elder was one of those men who contrive to play an
important part in a community without having any specific vocation. He
had a warehouse in which space was sometimes let for the storage of
other people's goods, but which also served to hold country produce
whenever, in view of a probable rise in the market, he chose to enter
the field as a cash buyer in competition with the "storekeepers," who
bought only in exchange for goods. Sometimes, in the fall and the
winter, he would purchase hogs and cattle from the farmers and have them
driven to the most promising market. He also served the purpose of a
storage reservoir in the village trade; for he always had money or
credit, and whenever a house, or a horse, or a mortgage, or a saw-mill,
or a lot of timber, or a farm, or a stock of goods was put on the market
at forced sale, Grayson the elder could be counted on to buy it if no
better purchaser were to be found. He had no definite place of business;
he was generally to be found about the street, ready to buy or sell, or
to exchange one thing for another, whenever there was a chance to make a
profit.
He had married late; and even in marrying he took care to make a prudent
investment. His wife brought a considerable addition to his estate and
no unduly expensive habits. Like her husband, she was of a thrifty
disposition and plain in her tastes. The temptations to a degree of
ostentation are stronger in a village than in a city, but Mrs. Grayson
was not moved by them; she lent herself to her husband's ambition to
accumulate. Not that the Graysons were without pride; they thought,
indeed, a good deal of their standing among their neighbors. But it was
gratifying to them to know that the village accounted Grayson a good
deal better off than some who indulged in a larger display. The taking
of Tom had been one of those economic combinations which men like
Grayson are fond of making. He knew that his neighbors thought he ought
to do something for his brother's family. To pay the debt on the farm
would be the simplest way of doing this, but it would be a dead
deduction from the ever-increasing total of his assets. When, however,
Barbara had come to him with a direct suggestion that he should help her
promising brother to a profession, the uncle saw a chance to discharge
the obligation which the vicarious sentiment of his neighbors and the
censure of his own conscience imposed on him, and to do it with
advantage to himself. He needed somebody "to do choores" at his house;
the wood had to be sawed, the cow had to be milked, the horse must be
fed, and the garden attended to. Like most other villagers, Grayson had
been wont to look after such things himself, but as his wealth and his
affairs increased, he had found the chores a burden on his time and some
detraction from his dignity. So he, therefore, took his namesake into
his house and sent him to the village school for three years, and then
put him into the office of Lawyer Blackman, to whom he was wont to
intrust his conveyancing and law business. This law business entailed a
considerable expense, and Thomas Grayson the elder may have seen more
than a present advantage in having his nephew take up the profession
under his protection. But the young man's unsteadiness, late hours, and
impulsive rashness had naturally been very grievous to a cool-headed
speculator who never in his life had suffered an impulse or a sentiment
to obstruct his enterprises.
Of domestic life there was none in the house of Thomas Grayson, unless
one should give that name to sleeping and waking, cooking and eating,
cleaning the house and casting up accounts. With his wife Grayson talked
about the diverse speculations he had in hand or in prospect, and
canvassed his neighbors chiefly on the business side of their lives,
pleasing his pride of superior sagacity in pointing out the instances in
which they had failed to accomplish their ends from apathy or sheer
blundering. The husband and wife had no general interest in anything; no
playful banter, no interesting book, no social assemblage or cheerful
game ever ameliorated the austerity of their lives. The one thread of
sentiment woven into their stone-colored existence was a passionate
fondness for their only child Janet, a little thing five years old when
Tom came into the house to do chores and go to school,--a child of seven
now that Tom was drifting into trouble that threatened to end his
professional career before it had been begun. Janet was vivacious and
interesting rather than pretty, though her mass of dark hair,
contrasting with a fair skin and blue eyes, made her appearance
noticeable. Strict in their dealings with themselves and severe with
others, Janet's father and mother did not know how to refuse her
anything; she had grown up willful and a little overbearing; but she was
one of those children of abundant imagination and emotion that
sometimes, as by a freak of nature, are born to commonplace parents.
Those who knew her were prone to say that "the child must take back";
for people had observed this phenomenon of inheritance from remote
ancestors and given it a name long before learned men discovered it and
labeled it atavism.
A fellow like Tom, full of all sorts of impetuosities, could not help
being in pretty constant conflict with his uncle and aunt. On one
pretext or another he contrived to escape from the restraints of the
house, and to spend his evenings in such society as a village offers. A
young man may avoid the temptations of a great city, where there are
many circles of association to choose from; but in a village where there
is but one group, and where all the youth are nearly on a level,
demoralization is easier. Tom had a country boy's appetite for
companionship and excitement; he had no end of buoyant spirits and
cordial friendliness; and he was a good teller of amusing stories,--so
that he easily came to be a leader in all the frolics and freaks of the
town. His uncle administered some severe rebukes and threatened graver
consequences; but rebukes and threats served only to add the spice of
peril to Tom's adventures.
The austerity of acquisitiveness is more tedious to others, perhaps,
than the austerity of religious conviction. To a child like Janet,
endowed with passion and imagination, the grave monotony of the Grayson
household was almost unbearable. From the moment of Tom's coming she had
clung to him, rejoicing in his boyish spirits, and listening eagerly to
his fund of stories, which were partly made up for her amusement, and
partly drawn from romances which he had somewhat surreptitiously read.
When he was away, Janet watched for his return; she romped with him in
defiance of the stiff proprieties of the house, and she followed him at
his chores. She cherished a high admiration for his daring and
rebellious spirit, often regretting that she was not a boy: it would be
fine to climb out of a bedroom window at night to get away to some
forbidden diversion! On the other hand, the unselfish devotion of Tom to
the child was in strange contrast with the headlong willfulness of his
character. He made toys and planned surprises for her, and he was always
ready to give up his time to her pleasure.
It is hardly likely that Grayson would have borne with his nephew a
single year if it had not been for Janet's attachment to him. More than
once, when his patience was clean tired out, he said to his wife
something to this effect:
"I think, Charlotte, I'll have to send Tom back to his mother. He gets
nothing but mischief here in town, and he worries me to death."
To which Mrs. Grayson would reply: "Just think of Janet. I'm afraid
she'd pine away if Tom was sent off. The boy is kind to her, and I'm
sure that's one good thing about him."
This consideration had always settled the question; for the two main
purposes of life with Grayson and his wife were to accumulate property
and to gratify every wish of their child. Having only one sentiment, it
had acquired a tremendous force.
VII
LOCKWOOD'S REVENGE
When Tom, after his violent speech on that unlucky Monday morning, had
gone out of Wooden & Snyder's store, George Lockwood turned to Snyder,
the junior partner, and said, with his face a little flushed:
"What a fool that boy is, anyhow! He came in here the other night after
the store was shut up and played cards with Dave Sovine till he lost all
the money he had. I tried my best to stop him, but I couldn't do it. He
went on and bet all the clo'es he could spare and lost 'em. I had to
lend him the money to get 'em back. It seems Tom's girl--John Albaugh's
daughter--heard of it, and now he will have it that I went in
partnership with Sovine to get his money, and that I wanted to get
Rachel Albaugh away from 'im."
"You oughtn't to have any card-playing here," said Snyder.
"I told the boys then that if they come in here again they mustn't bring
any cards."
"Tom's a fool to threaten you that way. You could bind him over on that,
I suppose," said Snyder.
"I s'pose I could," said George.
But he did nothing that day. He prided himself on being a man that a
body couldn't run over, but he had his own way of resisting aggression;
he was not Esau, but Jacob. He could not storm and threaten like Tom;
there was no tempest in him. Cold venom will keep, and Lockwood's
resentments did not lose their strength by exposure to the air. The day
after Tom's outburst, Lockwood, having taken time to consider the
alternatives, suggested to Snyder, that while he wasn't afraid of Tom,
there was no knowing what such a hot-head might do. Lockwood professed
an unwillingness to bind Tom over to keep the peace, but thought some
influence might be brought to bear on him that would serve the purpose.
Snyder proposed that Lockwood should go to see Tom's uncle, but George
objected. That would only inflame Tom and make matters worse. Perhaps
Snyder would see Blackman, so that Lockwood need not appear in the
matter? Then Blackman could speak to Grayson the elder, if he thought
best.
The calculating temper, and the touch of craftiness, pliancy, and tact
in Lockwood served the ends of his employers in many ways, and Snyder
was quite willing to put his clerk under obligations of friendship to
him. Therefore, when he saw Tom go out of the office, Snyder mounted the
stairs and had an interview with Blackman. As the lawyer was intrusted
with all the bad debts and pettifogging business of Wooden & Snyder, any
suggestion from a member of the firm was certain to receive attention.
Snyder told the lawyer that Lockwood didn't want to drag Tom before a
squire, and suggested that Blackman could settle it by getting the uncle
to give the fellow a good admonition. He offered the suggestion as
though it were quite on his own motion, he having overheard Tom's
threat. The hand of George Lockwood was concealed; but it was only
Lockwood who knew how exceedingly vulnerable Tom's fortunes were on the
side of his relations with his uncle. That evening Blackman sat in
Grayson's sitting-room. He was a man with grayish hair, of middle
height, and rather too lean to fill up his clothes, which hung on his
frame rather than fitted it; and if one regarded his face, there seemed
too little substance to quite fill out his skin, which was not precisely
wrinkled, but rather wilted. Grayson had turned around in his
writing-chair and sat with one leg over the arm, but Blackman had
probably never lolled in his life: he was possessed by a sort of
impotent uneasiness that simulated energy and diligence. He sat, as was
his wont, on the front rail of the chair-seat, as though afraid to be
comfortable, and he held in his hand a high hat half full of papers,
according to the custom of the lawyers of that day, who carried on their
heads that part of their business which they could not carry in them.
Blackman told the story of Tom's gambling as he had heard it, and of his
threatening Lockwood, while the brows of Tom's uncle visibly darkened.
Then the lawyer came to what he knew would seem to Grayson the vital
point in the matter.
"You know," he said, "if George Lockwood was a-mind to, he could bind
Tom to keep the peace; though I don't s'pose Tom meant anything more
than brag by talking that way. But it wouldn't be pleasant for you to
have Tom hauled up, and to have to go his bail. I told Snyder I thought
you could fix it up without going before the squire." Blackman passed
his heavily laden hat from his right hand to his left, and then with the
right he nervously roached up his stiff, rusty hair, which he habitually
kept standing on end. After which he took a red silk handkerchief from
his hat and wiped his face, while Grayson got up and walked the floor.
"I shouldn't like to have to go anybody's bail," said the latter after
awhile; "it's against my principles to go security. I suppose the best
thing would be to send him back to the country to cool off."
Blackman nodded a kind of half assent, but did not venture any further
expression of opinion. He rose and deposited his silk handkerchief in a
kind of coil on the papers in his hat, and then bent his head forward
and downward so as to put on the hat without losing its contents; once
it was in place he brought his head to a perpendicular position, so that
all the mass of portable law business settled down on the handkerchief,
which acted as a cushion between Blackman's affairs and his head.
Tom came in as Blackman went out, and something in the manner of the
latter gave him a feeling that he had been the subject of conversation
between the lawyer and his uncle. He went directly to his room, and
debated within himself whether or not he should go down and interrupt by
a frank and full confession the discussion which he thought was probably
taking place between Mr. and Mrs. Grayson. But knowing his uncle's power
of passive resistance, he debated long--so long that it came to be too
late, and he went to bed, resolved to have the first of it with his
uncle in the morning.
There was a very serious conference between the two members of the
Grayson firm that evening. Mrs. Grayson again presented to her husband
the consideration that, if Tom should go away, she didn't see what she
was to do with Janet. The child would cry her eyes out, and there'd be
no managing her. Grayson sat for some time helpless before this
argument.
"I don't see," he said at length, "but we've got to face Janet. We might
as well teach her to mind first as last." It was a favorite theory with
both of them that some day Janet was to be taught to mind. So long as no
attempt was made to fix the day on which the experiment was to begin,
the thought pleased them and did no harm. But this proposition to
undertake the dreadful task at once was a spurt of courage in Thomas
Grayson that surprised his wife.
"Well, Mr. Grayson," she said, with some spirit, "the child's as much
yours as she's mine; and if she's to be taught to mind to-morrow, I
only hope you'll stay at home and begin."
To this suggestion the husband made no reply. He got up and began to
look under the furniture for the boot-jack, according to his custom of
pulling off his boots in the sitting-room every night before going to
bed.
"You see, Charlotte," he said deprecatingly, when he had fished his
boot-jack out from under the bureau, "I don't know what to do. If I keep
Tom, Lockwood'll have him before the squire, and I'll have to pay costs
and go bail for him."
"I wouldn't do it," said Mrs. Grayson promptly. "We can't afford to have
the little we've got put in danger for him. I think you'll have to send
him home, and we'll have to get on with Janet. I'm sure we haven't any
money to waste. People think we're rich, but we don't feel rich. We're
always stinted when we want anything."
The consideration of the risk of the bail settled the matter with both
of them. But, like other respectable people, they settled such questions
in duplicate. There are two sets of reasons for any course: the one is
the real and decisive motive at the bottom; the other is the pretended
reason you impose on yourself and fail to impose on your neighbors. The
minister accepts the call to a new church with a larger salary; he tells
himself that it is on account of opportunities for increased usefulness
that he changes. The politician accepts the office he didn't want out of
deference to the wishes of importunate friends. A widower marries for
the good of his children. These are not hypocrites imposing on their
neighbors; that is a hard thing to do, unless the neighbors really
wished to be humbugged in the interest of a theory. But we keep
complacency whole by little impostures devised for our private benefit.
It is pleasant to believe that we are acting from Sunday motives, but we
always keep good substantial week-day reasons for actual service. These
will bear hard usage without becoming shiny or threadbare, and they are
warranted not to lose their colors in the sunshine.
"I'm sure," said Grayson, "Tom gets no good here. If anything will do
him any good, it will be sending him to the country to shift for
himself. It'll make a man of him, maybe." No better Sunday reason for
his action could have been found.
"I think it's your duty to send him home," said his wife, who was more
frightened the more she thought of the possible jeopardy of a few
hundred dollars from the necessity her husband would be under of going
Tom's bail. "A boy like Tom is a great deal better off with his mother,"
she went on; "and I'm sure we've tried to do what we could for him, and
nobody can blame us if he will throw away his chance."
Thus the question was doubly settled; and as by this time Mr. Grayson's
boots were off, and he had set them in the corner and pushed the
boot-jack into its place under the bureau with his foot, there was no
reason why they should not take the candle and retire.
But when morning came Grayson was still loth to face the matter of
getting rid of Tom, and especially of contending with Janet. Tom found
no chance to talk with him before breakfast, for the uncle did not come
out of his bedroom till the coffee was on the table, and he was so
silent and constrained that Tom felt his doom in advance. Janet tried to
draw her father and then her mother into conversation, but failing, she
settled back with the remark, "This is the _crossest_ family!" Then she
made an attempt on Tom, who began by this time to feel that exhilaration
of desperation that was usually the first effect of a catastrophe on his
combative spirit, for no man could be more impudent to fate than he.
When Janet playfully stole a biscuit from his plate, he pretended to
search for it everywhere, and then set in a breakfast-table romp between
the two which exasperated the feelings of Grayson and his wife. When
they rose from the table the uncle turned severely on his nephew, and
said: "Tom----"
But before he could speak a second word, the nephew, putting Janet
aside, interrupted him with:
"Uncle, I should like to speak with you alone a minute."
They went into the sitting-room together, and Tom closed the door. Tom
was resolved to have the first of it.
"Uncle, I think I had better go home." Tom was looking out of the window
as he spoke. "I got into a row last week through George Lockwood, who
persuaded me to play cards for money with Dave Sovine. I don't want to
get you into any trouble, so I'm off for Hubbard Township, if you don't
object. There's no use of crying over spilt milk, and that's all there
is about it."
"I'm very sorry, Tom, that you won't pay attention to what I've said to
you about card-playing." The elder Grayson had seated himself, while Tom
now stood nervously listening to his uncle's voice, which was utterly
dry and business-like; there was not the slightest quiver of feeling in
it. "I've got on in the world without anybody to help me, but I never
let myself play cards, and I've always kept my temper. You never make
any money by getting mad, and if you're going to make any money, it's
better to have people friendly. Now, I have to stand a good deal of
abuse. People try to cheat me, and if I take the law they call me a
skinflint; but I shouldn't make a cent more by quarreling, and I might
lose something. I can't keep you, and have you go on as you do. I've
told you that before. You'd better go home. Town will ruin you. A little
hard work in the country'll be better, and you won't be gambling away
the last cent you've got with a loafer like Dave Sovine, and then
threatening to shoot somebody, as you did young Lockwood day before
yesterday. Just think what you are coming to, Tom. I've done my best for
you, and you'll never be anything but a gambler and a loafer, I'm
afraid."
These hard words sounded harder in the level and self-complacent voice
of the senior Grayson, who spoke slowly and with hardly more intensity
than there would have been in his depreciation of a horse he was trying
to buy. "Just think what you're coming to," he repeated, because he
felt that the proper thing to do under the circumstances was to give Tom
a good "talking to," and he couldn't think of anything more to say.
"I don't need you to tell me what I'm coming to," replied Tom, tartly;
"I'm coming to the plow-handle and the grubbing-hoe. I'm sorry to give
you trouble, but what I feel meanest about is mother and poor Barbara. I
know what a fool I've been. But I'm no more a gambler and a loafer than
you are. It'll take me longer to work into the law by myself, but I'll
get there yet, and you'll see it."