THE SON THAT WAS DEAD
"The ox is dressed and hung," said Pliny Pickett, with the air of a man
announcing that the country has been saved from destruction.
"Uh!... How much 'd he dress?" asked Scattergood Baines, moving in his
especially reinforced armchair until it creaked its protest.
"Eight hunderd and forty-three--accordin' to Newt Patterson's scales."
"Which hain't never been knowed to err on the side of overweight," said
Scattergood, dryly.
"The boys has got the oven fixed for roastin' him, and the band gits in
on the mornin' train, failin' accidents, and the dec'rations is up in
the taown hall--'n' now we kin git ready for a week of stiddy rain."
"They's wuss things than rain," said Scattergood, "though at the minnit
I don't call to mind what they be."
"Deacon Pettybone's north mowin' is turned into a baseball grounds, and
everybody in town is buyin' buntin' to wrap their harnesses, and
Kittleman's fetched in more 'n five bushels of peanuts, and every young
un in taown'll be sick with the stummick ache."
"Feelin' extry cheerful this mornin', hain't ye? Kind of more
hopeful-like than I call to mind seein' you fer some time."
"Never knowed no big celebration to come off like it was planned, or
'thout somebody gittin' a leg busted, or the big speaker fergittin' what
day it was, or suthin'. Seems like the hull weight of this here falls
right on to me."
"Responsibility," said Scattergood, with a twinkle in his eye, "is a
turrible thing to bear up under. But nothin' hain't happened yit, and
folks is dependin' on you, Pliny, to see 't nothin' mars the party."
"It'll rain on to the _pe_-rade, and the ball game'll bust up in a
fight, and pickpockets'll most likely git wind of sich a big gatherin'
and come swarmin' in.... Scattergood," he lowered his voice
impressively, "it's rumored Mavin Newton's a-comin' back for this here
Old Home Week."
"Um!... Mavin Newton.... Um!... Who up and la'nched that rumor?"
"Everybody's a-talkin' it up. Folks says he's sure to come, and then
what in tunket'll we do? The sheriff's goin' to be busy handlin' the
crowds and the traffic and sich, and he won't have no time fer extry
miscreants, seems as though.... Folks is a-comin' from as fur 's Denver,
and we don't want no town criminal brought to justice in the middle of
it all. Though Mavin's father 'd be glad to see his son ketched, I
calc'late."
"Hain't interviewed Mattie Strong as ree-gards _her_ feelin's, have ye?"
"I wonder," said Pliny, with intense interest, "if Mattie's ever heard
from him? But she's that close-mouthed."
"'Tain't a common failin' hereabouts," said Scattergood. "How long since
Mavin run off?"
"Eight year come November."
"The night before him and Mattie was goin' to be married."
"Uh-huh! Takin' with him that there fund the Congo church raised fer a
new organ, and it's took them eight year to raise it over ag'in."
"And in the meantime," said Scattergood, "I calc'late the tunes off of
the old organ has riz about as pleasin' to heaven as if 'twas new.
Squeaks some, I'm told, but I figger the squeaks gits kind of filtered
out, and nothin' but the true meanin' of the tunes ever gits up to Him."
Scattergood jerked a pudgy thumb skyward.
"More 'n two hunderd dollars, it was--and Mavin treasurer of the church.
Old Man Newton he resigned as elder, and hain't never set foot in church
from that day to this."
"Bein' moved," said Scattergood, "more by cantankerousness than grief."
"I'll venture," said Pliny, "that there'll be more'n five hunderd old
residents a-comin' back, and where in tunket we're goin' to sleep 'em
all the committee don't know."
"Um!... G'-by, Pliny," said Scattergood, suddenly, and Pliny,
recognizing the old hardware merchant's customary and inescapable
dismissal, got up off the step and cut across diagonally to the post
office, where he could air his importance as a committeeman before an
assemblage as ready to discuss the events of the week as he was himself.
It was a momentous occasion in the life of Coldriver; a gathering of
prodigals and wanderers under home roofs; a week set aside for the
return of sons and daughters and grandchildren of Coldriver who had
ventured forth into the world to woo fortune and to seek adventure.
Preparations had been in the making for months, and the village was
resolved that its collateral relatives to the remotest generation should
be made aware that Coldriver was not deficient in the necessary "git up
and git" to wear down its visitors to the last point of exhaustion.
Pliny Pickett, chairman of numerous committees and marshal of the
parade, predicted it would "lay over" the Centennial in Philadelphia.
The greased pig was to be greasier; the barbecued ox was to be larger;
the band was to be noisier; the speeches were to be longer and more
tiresome; the firemen's races and the ball games, and the fat men's
race, and the frog race, and the grand ball with its quadrilles and
Virginia reels and "Hull's Victory" and "Lady Washington's Reel" and its
"Portland Fancy," were all to be just a little superior to anything of
the sort ever attempted in the state. Numerous septuagenarians were
resorting to St. Jacob's oil and surreptitious prancing in the barn, to
"soople" up their legs for the dance. It was to be one of those
wholesome, generous, splendid outpourings of neighborliness and good
feeling and wonderful simplicity and kindliness, such as one can meet
with nowhere but in the remoter mountain communities of old New England,
where customs do not grow stale and no innovation mars. If any man would
discover the deep meaning of the word "welcome," let him attend such a
Home-coming!
Though Coldriver did not realize it, the impetus toward the Home-coming
Week had been given by Scattergood Baines. He had seen in it a
subsidence of old grudges and the birth of universal better feeling. He
had set the idea in motion, and then, by methods of indirection, of
which he was a master, he had urged it on to fulfillment.
Scattergood went inside the store and leaned upon the counter, taking no
small pleasure in a mental inventory of his heterogeneous stock. He had
completed one side, and arrived at the rear, given over to stoves and
garden tools, when a customer entered. Scattergood turned.
"Mornin', Mattie," he said. "What kin I help ye to this time?"
"I--I need a tack hammer, Mr. Baines."
"Got three kinds: plain, with claws, and them patent ones that picks up
tacks by electricity. I hold by them and kin recommend 'em high."
"I'll take one, then," said Mattie; but after Scattergood wrapped it up
and gave her change for her dollar bill, she remained, hesitating,
uncertain, embarrassed.
"Was they suthin' besides a tack hammer you wanted, Mattie." Scattergood
asked, gently.
"I--No, nothing." Her courage had failed her, and she moved toward the
door.
"Mattie!"
She stopped.
"Jest a minute," said Scattergood. "Never walk off with suthin' on your
mind. Apt to give ye mental cramps. What was that there tack hammer an
excuse for comin' here fer?"
"Is it true that _he's_ coming back, like the talk's goin' around?"
"I calc'late ye mean Mavin. Mean Mavin Newton?"
"Yes," she said, faintly.
"What if he did?" said Scattergood.
"I don't know.... Oh, I don't know."
"Want he should come back?"
"He--If he should come--"
"Uh-huh!" said Scattergood. "Calc'late I kin appreciate your feelin's.
Treated you mighty bad, didn't he?"
"He treated himself worse," said Mattie, with a little awakening of
sharpness.
"So he done. So he done.... Um!... Eight year he's been gone, and you
was twenty when he went, wa'n't ye? Twenty?"
"Yes."
"Hain't never had a feller since?"
She shook her head. "I'm an old maid, Mr. Baines."
"I've heard tell of older," he said, dryly. "Wisht you'd tell me why you
let sich a scalawag up and ruin your life fer ye?"
"He wasn't a scalawag--till _then_."
"You hain't thinkin' he was accused of suthin' he didn't do?"
"He told me he took the money. He came to see me before he ran away."
"Do tell!" This was news to Scattergood. Neither he nor any other was
aware that Mavin Newton had seen or been seen by a soul after the
commission of his crime.
"He told me," she repeated, "and he said good-by.... But he never told
me why. That's what's been hurtin' me and troublin' me all these years.
He didn't tell me why he done it, and I hain't ever been able to figger
it out."
"Um!... _Why_ he done it? Never occurred to me."
"It never occurred to anybody. All they saw was that he took their organ
money and robbed the church. But why did he do it? Folks don't do them
things without reason, Mr. Baines."
"He wouldn't tell you?"
"I asked him--and I asked him to take me along with him. I'd 'a' gone
gladly, and folks could 'a' thought what they liked. But he wouldn't
tell, and he wouldn't have me, and I hain't heard a word from him from
that day to this.... But I've thought and figgered and figgered and
thought--and I jest can't see no reason at all."
"Took it to run away with--fer expenses," said Scattergood.
"There wasn't anything to run away from until _after_ he took it. I
_know_. Whatever 'twas, it come on him suddin. The night before we was
together--and--and he didn't have nothin' on his mind but plans for him
and me ... and he was that happy, Mr. Baines!... I wisht I could make
out what turned a good man into a thief--all in a minute, as you might
say. It's suthin', Mr. Baines, suthin' out of the ordinary, and always I
got a feelin' like I got a right to know."
"Yes," said Scattergood, "seems as though you had a right to know."
"Folks is passin' it about that he's comin' home. Is there any truth
into it?"
"I calc'late it's jest talk," said Scattergood. "Nobody knows where he
is."
"He'll come sometime," she said.
"And you calc'late to keep on waitin' fer him to come?"
"Until I'm dead--and after that, if it's allowed."
"I wisht," said Scattergood, "there was suthin' I could do to mend it
all."
"Nobody kin ever do anythin'," she said.... "But if he should venture
back, calc'latin' it had all blown over and been forgot!... His father'd
see him put in prison--and I--I couldn't bear that, it seems as though."
"There's a bad thing about borrowin' trouble," said Scattergood. "No
matter how hard you try, you can't ever pay it back. Wait till he
croaks, and then do your worryin'."
"I've got a feelin' he's goin' to come," she said, and turned away
wearily. "I thought maybe you'd know. That's why I came in, Mr. Baines."
"G'-by, Mattie. G'-by. Come ag'in when you feel that way, and you
needn't to buy no tack hammer for an excuse."
Scattergood slumped down in his chair on the store's piazza, and began
pulling his round cheeks as if he had taken up with some new method of
massage. It was a sign of inward disturbance. Presently a hand stole
downward to the laces of his shoes--a gesture purely automatic--and in a
moment, to the accompaniment of a sigh of relief, his broad feet were
released from bondage and his liberty-loving toes were wriggling with
delight. Any resident of Coldriver passing at that moment could have
told you Scattergood Baines was wrestling with some grave difficulty.
"It stands to reason," said he to himself, "that ever'body has a reason
for ever'thing, except lunatics, and lunatics think they got a reason.
Now, Mavin he wa'n't no lunatic. He wouldn't have stole church money and
run off the night before his weddin' jest to exercise his feet. They
hain't no reason, as I recall it, why he needed two hunderd dollars.
Unless it was to git married on.... And instid of that, it busted up the
weddin'. I calc'late that matter wa'n't looked into sharp enough ... and
eight years has gone by. Lots of grass grows up to cover old paths in
eight year."
A small boy was passing at the moment, giving an imitation of a cowboy
pursuing Indians. Scattergood called to him.
"Hey, bub! Scurry around and see if ye kin find Marvin Preston. Uh-huh!
'F ye see him, tell him I'm a-settin' here on the piazza."
The small boy dug his toes into the dust and disappeared up the street.
Presently Marvin Preston appeared in answer to the indirect summons.
"How be ye, Marvin? Stock doin' well?"
"Fust class. See the critter they're figgerin' on barbecuin'? He's a
sample."
"Um!... Lived here quite a spell, hain't you, Marvin? Quite a spell?"
"Born here, Scattergood."
"Know lots of folks, don't ye? Got acquainted consid'able in town and
the surroundin' country?"
"A feller 'u'd be apt to in fifty-five year."
"Call to mind the Meggses that used to live here?"
"Place next to the Newton farm. Recollect 'em well."
"Lived next to Ol' Man Newton, eh? Forgot that." Scattergood had not
forgotten it, but quite the contrary. His interest in the Meggses was
negligible; his purpose in mentioning them was to approach the Newtons
circuitously and by stealth, as he always approached affairs of
importance to him.
"Know 'em well? Know 'em as well's you knowed the Newtons?"
"Not by no means. I've knowed Ol' Man Newton better 'n 'most anybody,
seems as though."
"Um!... Le's see.... Had a son, didn't he?"
"Run off with the organ money," said Marvin, shortly.
"Remembered suthin' about him. Quite a while back."
"Eight year. Allus recall the date on account of sellin' a Holstein
heifer to Avery Sutphin the mornin' follerin' ... fer cash."
"Him that was dep'ty sheriff?"
"That's the feller."
"Um!... Ever git a notion what young Mavin up and stole that money fer?"
"Inborn cussedness, I calc'late."
"Allus seemed to me like Ol' Man Newton might 'a' made restitution of
that there money," said Scattergood, tentatively.
"H'm!" Marvin cleared his throat and glanced up the street. "Seein's how
it's you, I dunno but what I kin tell you suthin' you hain't heard, nor
nobody else. Young Mavin sent that there money back to his father in a
letter to be give to the church--and the ol' man _burned_ it. That's
what he up and done. Two hunderd good dollars went up in smoke. Said
they was crimes that was beyond restitution or forgiveness, and robbin'
the House of God was one of 'em."
"Um!... Now, Marvin, I'd be mighty curious to learn if the ol' man got
that information from God himself or if it come out of his own head....
No matter, I calc'late. 'Twan't credit with the church young Mavin was
after when he sent back the money, and the Lord _he_ knows the money
come, if the organ fund never did find it out."
"Guess I'll take a walk down to Spackles's and look over the steer. They
tell me he dressed clost to nine hunderd. Hope they contrive to cook him
through and through. Never see a barbecued critter yit that was done....
Folks is beginnin' to git here. Guess they won't be a spare bedroom in
town that hain't full up."
Scattergood pulled on his shoes and, leaving his store to take care of
itself, walked up the road, turned across the mowing which had been
metamorphosed into an athletic field, trusted his weight to the
temporary bridge across the brook, and scrambled up the bank to the
great oven where the steer was to be baked, and where the potato hole
was ready to receive twenty bushels of potatoes and the arch was ready
to receive the sugar vat in which two thousand ears of corn were to be
steamed. Pliny Pickett was in charge, with Ulysses Watts, sheriff, and
Coroner Bogle as assistants. They had fired up already, and were sitting
blissfully by in the blistering heat, bragging about the sort of meal
they were going to purvey, and speculating on whether the imported band
would play enough, and how the ball games would come out, and naming
over the folks who were expected to arrive from distant parts.
"This here town team hain't what it was ten year ago," said the sheriff.
"In them days the boys knowed how to play ball. There was me 'n' Will
Pratt and Pliny here 'n' Avery Sutphin, that was sheriff 'fore I
was...."
"What ever become of Avery?" Pliny asked.
"Went West. Heard suthin' about him a spell back, but don't call to mind
what it was. Wonder if he'll be comin' back with the rest?"
"Dunno. Think there's anythin' in the rumor that Mavin Newton's comin'?"
"Hope not," said the sheriff, assuming an official look and feeling of
the suspender to which was affixed his badge of office. "Don't want to
have no arrestin' to do durin' Old Home Week."
"Calc'late to take him in if he comes?"
"Duty," said Sheriff Watts, "is duty."
"When it hain't a pleasure," said Scattergood. "Recall what place Avery
Sutphin went to?"
"Seems like it was Oswego. Some'eres out West like that."
"Wisht all the town 'u'd quit traipsin' over here," said Pliny. "Never
see sich curiosity. They needn't to think they're goin' to git a look at
the critter while he's a-cookin'. No, siree. Nobody but this here
committee sees him till he's took out final, ready fer eatin'."
All that day visitors arrived in town. They drove in, came by train and
by stage--and walked. There was no house whose ready hospitality was not
taxed to its capacity, and the ladies in charge of the restaurant in
Masonic Hall became frantic and sent out hysterical messengers for more
food and more help. Every house was dressed in flags and bunting. Even
Deacon Pettybone, reputed to be the "nearest" inhabitant of the village,
flew one small cotton flag, reputed to have cost fifteen cents, from his
front stoop. The bridge was so covered with red, white, and blue as to
quite lose its identity as a bridge and to become one of the wonders of
the world, to be talked about for a decade. As one looked up the street
a similarity of motion, almost machinelike, was apparent. It was an
endless shaking of hands as old friend met old friend joyously.
"Bet ye don't know who I be?"
"I'd 'a' know'd you in Chiny. You're Mort Whittaker's wife--her that was
Ida Janes. Hair hain't so red as what it was."
"You've took on flesh some, but otherwise--'Member the time you took me
to the dance at Tupper Falls--"
"An' we got mired crossin'--"
"An' Sam Kettleman come in a plug hat."
This conversation, or its counterpart, was repeated wherever resident
and visitor met. Old days lived again. Ancient men became middle-aged,
and middle-aged women became girls. The past was brought to life and
lived again. Sometimes it was brought to life a bit tediously, as when
old Jethro Hammond, postmaster of Coldriver twenty years ago, made a
speech seventy minutes long, which consisted in naming and locating
every house that existed in his day, and describing with minute detail
who lived in it and what part they played in the affairs of the
community. But the audience forgave him, because it knew what a good
time he was having.... Houses were invaded by perfect strangers who
insisted in pointing out the rooms in which they were born and in which
they had been married, and in telling the present proprietors how
fortunate they were to live in dwellings thus blessed.
The band arrived and met with universal satisfaction, though Lafe Atwell
complained that he hadn't ever see a snare drummer with whiskers. But
their coats were red, with gorgeous frogs, and their trousers were sky
blue, with gold stripes, and the drum major could whirl his baton in a
manner every boy in town would be imitating with the handle of the
ancestral broom for months to come.... Through it all Scattergood Baines
sat on the piazza and beamed upon the world, and rejoiced in the
goodness thereof.
Only one resident took no part in the holiday making, and that was Old
Man Newton, who had closed his house, drawn the blinds, and refused to
make himself visible while the celebration lasted. He took a savage
pleasure in thus making himself conspicuous, knowing well how his
conduct would be discussed, and viewing himself as a righteous man
suffering for the sins of another.
In the darkness of the evening street Mattie Strong accosted Scattergood
that evening, clinging to his arm tremulously.
"Mr. Baines," she whispered, affrightedly, "he's come!"
"Who's come?"
"Mavin Newton--he's here, in town."
Scattergood frowned. "See him?"
"Hain't seen him, but he's here. I kin feel him. I knowed it the minute
he come."
"Calc'late I've seen everybody here, and _I_ hain't seen him."
"He's here, jest the same. I'm a-lookin' fer him. Whatever name he come
under, or however he looks, I'll know him. I couldn't make no mistake
about Mavin."
"Mattie, I hope 'tain't so.... I hope you're mistook."
"I--I don't know whether I hope so or not. I--Oh, Mr. Baines, I'd rather
be with him, a-comfortin' him and standin' by him, no matter what he
done--"
Scattergood patted her arm. "I calc'late," he said, softly, "that God
hain't never invented no institution that beats the love of a good
woman.... I'll look around, Mattie.... I'll look around."
It was the next morning, at the ball game, when Mattie spoke to
Scattergood again.
"I've seen him," she whispered, and there was a note of happiness in her
voice and a look of renewed youth in her eyes. "He's here, like I said."
"Where?"
Mattie lowered her voice farther still. "Look at the band," she said.
"Nobody resembles him there," said Scattergood, after a minute.
"Wait till they stop playin'--and then see if they hain't somebody
there that takes holt of the fingers of his right hand, one after the
other, and kind of twists 'em.... Look sharp. Mavin he allus done that
when he was nervous--allus. I'd know him by it, anywheres."
Scattergood watched. Presently the "piece" ended and the musicians laid
down their instruments and eased back in their chairs.
"Look," said Mattie.
The bearded snare drummer was performing a queer antic. It was as if his
fingers were screwed into his hand and had become loosened while he
drummed. No, he was tightening them so they wouldn't fall off. One
finger after another he screwed up, and then went over them again to
make certain they were secure.
"I--knowed he'd come," Mattie said, happily.
"Um!... This here's kind of untoward. You keep your mouth shet, Mattie
Strong. Don't you go near that feller till I tell you. We don't want a
rumpus to spoil this here week."
"But he's here.... He's here."
"So's trouble," said Scattergood, succinctly.
The rest of that day Scattergood busied himself in searching out old
friends and neighbors of the Newtons. Nothing seemed to interest him
which happened later than eight years before, but no event of that
period was too slight or inconsequential to receive his attention and to
be filed away in his shrewd old brain. He was looking for the answer to
a question, and the answer was piled under the rubbish of eight years of
human activities--a hopeless quest to any but Scattergood.
Comedy and tragedy were alike interesting to him. Just as he lost no
detail of the old man's conduct when his boy disappeared, so he listened
and laughed when Martin Banks recalled to a group how Old Man Newton had
fallen under the suspicion of bootlegging and how the town had seethed
with the downfall of an elder of the church--and all because the old man
had imported two cases, each of a dozen bottles of the Siwash Indian
Stomach Bitters recommended to cure his dyspepsia. There had been a
moment, said Banks, when the town expected to see Newton shut up in the
calaboose under the post office--until the true contents of those cases
was revealed.
During the afternoon Scattergood sent six telegrams to as many different
cities. Late that night he received replies, and sent one long message
to an individual high in office in the state. It was an urgent message,
amounting to a command, for in his own commonwealth Scattergood Baines
was able to command when the need required.
"It's an off chance," he said to himself, "but it's what might 'a'
happened, and if it might 'a' happened, maybe it did happen...."
Wednesday afternoon the band was thrown into consternation, and the town
into a paroxysm of excitement and speculation, when Sheriff Watts
ascended the platform of the musicians and, placing a heavy hand on the
shoulder of the snare drummer, said, loudly, "Mavin Newton, I arrest ye
in the name of the law."
Not a soul in that breathless crowd was there who failed to see Mattie
Strong point her finger in the face of Scattergood Baines, and to hear
her utter the one word, "_Shame!_" Nor did any fail to see her take her
place at the side of the bearded drummer, with her fingers clutching his
arm, and walk to the door of the jail under the post office with the
prisoner.
Then the word was passed about that the hearing would take place before
Justice of the Peace Bender that very evening. So great was the public
clamor that the justice agreed to hold court in the town hall instead of
in his office; and it was rumored that Johnnie Bones, Scattergood
Baines's own lawyer, had been appointed special prosecutor by the
Governor of the state.
Opinion ran against Scattergood. It was free and outspoken. Townsfolk
and visitors alike felt that Scattergood had done ill in bringing the
young man to justice--especially at such a time. He should have let
sleeping dogs lie.... And when it heard that Sheriff Watts had carried a
subpoena to Mavin Newton's father, compelling his presence as a witness
against his own son, there arose a wind of disapproval which quite swept
Scattergood from the esteem of the community.
But the town came to the hearing. In the beginning it was a
cut-and-dried affair. The facts of the crime were established with dry
precision. Then Johnnie Bones called the name of a witness, and the
audience stiffened to attention. Even Old Man Newton, sitting with bowed
head and scowling brow, lifted his eyes to the face of the young lawyer.
"Avery Sutphin," said Johnnie Bones, and the former sheriff, wearing
such a haircut as Coldriver seldom saw within its corporate limits, and
clothed in such clothing as it had never seen there, was brought through
the door by two strangers of official look. He seated himself in the
witness chair.
"You are Avery Sutphin, former sheriff of this town?"
"Yes."
"Where do you reside?"
"In the state penitentiary," said Avery, seeking to hide his face.
"Do you know Mavin Newton?"
"Yes."
"When did you last see him?"
"It was the night of June twelfth, eight year ago."
"Where?"
"In his father's barn."
"What was he doing?"
"Milkin'," said Avery.
"You went to see him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To git some money out of him."
"Did he owe you money?"
"No."
"How much money did you go to get?"
"Two hunderd dollars."
"Did you get it?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what money it was?"
"Church-organ money. He told me."
"Why did he give it to you?"
"I made him."
"How?"
"Lemme tell it my own way--if I got to tell it.... He'd took my girl,
and I never liked him, anyhow.... There'd been rumors his old man was
bootleggin'. Nothin' to it, of course, and I knowed that. And I needed
some money. Bought a beef critter off'n Marvin Preston next day. So I
went to Mavin and says I was goin' to arrest his old man because I'd
ketched him sellin' liquor, and Mavin he begged me I shouldn't. I told
him the old man would git ten year, anyhow."
"What did Mavin say to that?"
"He jest bowed his head and kind of leaned against the stall."
"Then what?"
"I let on I needed money, and told him if he'd gimme two hunderd dollars
I'd destroy the evidence and let the old man go. He says he didn't have
the money, and I says he had the organ money. He didn't say nothin' for
a spell, and then he says, kind of low, and wonderin', 'Which 'u'd be
the worst? Which 'u'd be the worst?' Then I says, 'Worst what?' And he
says for his father to be ketched for a bootlegger or for him to be a
thief.... I jest let him think about it, and didn't say nothin', because
I knowed how he looked up to his old man.
"Pretty soon he says: 'I'd be a thief, 'cause I couldn't explain. I'd
have to run off--and leave Mattie, that I'm a-goin' to marry
to-morrer.... I could pay it back, but that wouldn't do no good.... But
for father to be arrested, him an elder, and all, would kill him. I
couldn't bear for father to be shamed 'fore all the world or to be
thought guilty of sich a thing.... He's wuth a heap more 'n I be, and he
won't never do it ag'in.' Then he asks if I'll give a letter to his old
man, and I says yes. He walked up and down for maybe a quarter of an
hour, talkin' to himself, and kind of fightin' it out, but I knowed what
he'd do, right along. At the end he come over and says: 'This here means
ruinin' my life and breakin' Mattie's heart ... but I calc'late that's
better 'n holdin' father up to scorn and seein' him in jail.... If they
was only some other way!' His voice was stiddylike, but he was right
pale and his eyes was a-shinin'. I remember how they was a-shinin'. 'I
calc'late,' he says, 'that I kin bear it fer father's sake.' Then he
says to me, kind of fierce, 'If ever you let on to anybody why I done
this, if it's in a hunderd years, I'll come back and kill you.' For a
while he kept still again, and then he went in the house and got the
money, and wrote a letter to his old man, and I promised to give it to
him--but I tore it up."
"What did the letter say?"
"It just said somethin' to the effect that he was willin' to do what he
done if his old man would give over breakin' the law and go to livin'
upright like he always done, and that he hoped maybe God seen a
difference in stealin' on account of the reasons folks had for doin'
it--but if God didn't make no difference, why, he'd rather bear it than
have it fall on his old man."
"And then?"
"I took the money and come away. And he run away. And that's all."
The town hall was very still. The stillness of it seemed to pierce and
hurt.... Then it was broken by a cry, a hoarse cry, wrenched from the
soul of a man. "My boy!... My boy!..." Old Elder Newton was on his
feet, tottering toward his son, and before his son he sank upon his
knees and buried his hard, weathered old face upon Mavin's knees.
Justice of the Peace Bender cleared his throat.
"This here," he said, "looks to me to be suthin' the folks of this town,
the friends and neighbors of this here father and son, ought to settle,
instid of the law. Maybe it hain't legal, but I dunno who's to
interfere.... Folks, what ought to be done to this here boy that done a
crime and suffered the consequences of it, jest to save his father from
another crime the old man never done a-tall?"
Neither Mavin nor his father heard. The old elder was muttering over and
over, "My boy that was dead and is alive again...."
Scattergood arose silently and pointed to the door, and the crowd
withdrew silently, withdrew to group about the entrance outside and to
wait. They were patient. It was an hour before Elder Newton descended,
his son on one side and Mattie Strong on the other.... The band, with a
volunteer drummer, lifted its joyous voice, and, looking up, the trio
faced a banner upon which Scattergood had caused to be painted, "Welcome
Home, Mavin Newton."
Coldriver had taken judicial action and thus voiced its decision.