HE TREATS AN ATTACK OF LIFE
Scattergood Baines lounged back in his armchair, reinforced by iron
crosspieces to sustain his weight, and basked in the warmth from the
Round Oak stove, heated to redness by the clean, dry maple within. He
was drowsy. For the time he had ceased even to search for a scheme
whereby he could rid his hardware stock of one dozen sixteen-pound
sledge hammers acquired by him at a recent auction down in Tupper Falls.
His eyes were closed and his soul was at peace.
Somebody rattled the door knob and then rapped on the door. This was so
unusual a method of seeking entrance to a hardware store that
Scattergood sat up abruptly, blinking.
"Wa-al," he said, tartly, "be you comin' in, or be you goin' to stand
out there wagglin' that door knob all day?"
"I'm coming in, Mr. Baines, as soon as I can contrive to open the door,"
replied a male voice, a voice that appeared incapable of expressing
impatience; a gentle voice; the voice of a man who would dream dreams
but perform few actions.
"Um!... It's you, hey? What d'you allus carry books under your arm for?
How d'you calculate to be able to open doors, with both hands full?"
The knob turned at last, and Nahum Pound, long schoolmaster in the
little district school on Hiper Hill, came in hesitatingly, clutching
with each arm half a dozen books which struggled to escape with the
ingenuity of inanimate objects. Nahum's hair was white; his face was
vague--lovably vague.... A man of considerable, if confused, learning,
he was.
"Well?" said Scattergood. "Got suthin' on to your mind? Commence
unloadin' it before it busts your back."
"It's Sarah," said Nahum, helplessly.
"Um!... Sairy, eh? What's Sairy up to?"
"I don't seem to gather, Mr. Baines. She's--she's difficult. Something
seems to be working in her head."
"Twenty-two, hain't she? Twenty-two?... Prob'ly a number of things
a-workin' in her head. Got any special symptoms?"
"She--she wants to leave home, Mr. Baines." Nahum said this with mild
amazement. His amazement would have been no greater--and not a whit less
mild--had his daughter announced her intention to swim from New York to
Liverpool, or to marry the chef of the Czar of Russia.
"Um!... Can't say's that's onnatural--so's to require callin' in a
doctor. Live five mile from town, don't you? Nearest neighbor nigh on to
a mile. Sairy gits to see company only about so often or not so seldom
as that, eh?" Scattergood shut his eyes until there appeared at the
corners of them a network of little wrinkles. "I'm a-goin' to astonish
you, Nahum. This here hain't the first girl that ever come down with the
complaint Sairy's got!... They's been sev'ral. Complaint's older 'n you
or me.... Dum near as old as Deacon Pettybone. Uh-huh!... She's got a
attack of life, Nahum, and the only cure for it ever discovered is to
let her live.... Sairy's woke up out of childhood, Nahum. She's jest
openin' her eyes. Perty soon she'll be stirrin' around brisk.... When
you goin' to drive her in, Nahum? To-morrer?"
"You--you advise letting her do this thing?"
"When you goin' to fetch her in, Nahum?" Scattergood repeated.
"She said she was coming Monday."
"Um!... G'-by, Nahum." This was Scattergood's invariable phrase of
dismissal, given to friend or enemy alike. It was characteristic of him
that when he was through with a conversation he ended it--and left no
doubt in anybody's mind that it _was_ ended. Nahum withdrew
apologetically. Scattergood called after him, "Fetch her here--to me,"
he said, and, automatically, it seemed, reached for the laces of his
shoes. A problem had been presented to him which required a deal of
solving, and Scattergood could not concentrate with toes imprisoned in
leather. He even removed the white woolen socks which Mandy, his wife,
compelled him to wear in the winter season. Presently he was twiddling
his pudgy toes and concentrating on Sarah Pound. He waggled his head.
"After livin' out there," he said to himself, "she'll think Coldriver's
livin'--and so 'tis, so 'tis.... More sometimes 'n 'tis others.
Calculate this is like to be one of 'em...."
Scattergood was just thinking about dinner on Monday when Nahum Pound
brought his daughter Sarah into the store. One glance at Sarah's face
taught Scattergood that she was in suspicious, if not defiant, mood. If
he had a doubt of the correctness of his observation, Sarah removed it
efficiently.
"Scattergood Baines," she said, "if you think you're going to boss me
like you do father, and everybody else in this town, you're mistaken. I
won't have it.... Understand that, I won't have it."
Scattergood rubbed his chin and puffed out his fat cheeks, and smiled
with deceiving mildness. "Sairy," he said, "you needn't to be scairt of
my interferin' with you in your goin's and comin's. I'd sooner stick my
hand into a kittle of b'ilin' pitch than to meddle with a young woman
in your state of mind.... I hain't hankerin' to raise no blisters."
"I won't stay penned up 'way out there in the country another day. I've
got a right to live. I've got a right to see folks and to go places,
and--to--to live!"
"To be sure.... To be sure. Jest itchin' to kick the top bar off'n the
pasture fence. Most certain you got a right to live, and nobody hain't
goin' to hender you ... least of all me. But there's jest one
observation I'd sort of like to let loose of, and that's this: Your
life's a whole lot like one of your arms and legs--easy busted. To be
sure, it kin be put in splints and mended up ag'in, but maybe you'll go
limpy or knit crooked so's nothin' kin keep the busted place from
showin'. Bearin' that in mind, if I was you, I wouldn't be too careless
about scramblin' up into places where you was apt to git a fall.... I
calc'late, Sairy, that it's better to miss the view than to fall out of
the tree...."
"I'm going to see the view if I fall out of every tree I climb," Sarah
said, hotly.
"Don't object if I find you a boardin' house?"
"I'm going to board with Grandma Penny that was--Mrs. Spackles."
Scattergood nodded. "G'-by, Sairy.... G'-by, Nahum." He watched father
and daughter leave the store with a twinkle in his eyes, not a twinkle
of humor, but the twinkle that always came when his interest in life,
always keen, was aroused to a point where it tingled. "Calc'late to be
kep' busy--more 'n ordinary busy," he offered as an opinion to be
digested by the Round Oak stove. Presently he added: "She's perty ...
and bein' perty is kind of a remarkable thing ... bein' perty and
young.... Don't seem like God ought to hold folks accountable fer bein'
young, nor yet fer bein' good to look at ... but they's times when it
seems like He does...." On his way back to the store after dinner,
Scattergood stopped at the bank corner, hesitated a moment, and then
mounted the stairs to the offices above. A door bearing the legend,
"Robert Allen, Attorney at Law," admitted him to a large, bare office,
such as one finds in such towns as Coldriver.
"Howdy, Bob?" said Scattergood.
"Good day, Mr. Baines," said the young man behind the desk, who had
suddenly pretended to be very much occupied with important matters as
his door opened.
"Um!... Busy time, eh? Better come back later."
"No. No, indeed. Take this chair right here, Mr. Baines. What can I do
for you?"
"Depends. Uh-huh! Depends.... Calc'late to make a perty good livin',
Bob?"
"No complaints."
"Studied it yourself, didn't you--out of books? No college?"
"Yes."
"Hard work, wasn't it? Mighty hard work?"
"It might have been easier," said Bob, wondering what Scattergood was
getting at.
"Like to be prosecutin' attorney for this county, Bob?"
Prosecuting attorney! With a salary of twenty-five hundred dollars a
year--and the prestige! Bob strove valiantly to maintain a look of
dignified interest, but with ill success.
"I--I might consider it. Yes, I would consider it."
"Um!... Figgered you would," said Scattergood, dryly. "Hain't got no
help in the office," he observed. "Need some, don't you? Somebody to
write letters and sort of look after things, eh?"
"Why--er--I've never thought about it."
"If you was to think about it, you'd calc'late on payin' about six
dollars a week, wouldn't you?" Bob swallowed hard. Six dollars a week
was a great deal of money to this young man, just embarking on the
practice of his profession. "Guess that would be about right," he said.
"Got anybody in mind, Bob? Thinkin' of anybody specific for the place?"
Bob shook his head.
"Um!... Nahum Pound's daughter's boardin' with Grandma Penny, that's now
Mis' Spackles. All-fired perty girl, Bob. Don't call to mind no pertier.
Sairy's her name.... G'-by, Bob. G'-by."
He walked to the door, but paused. "About that six dollars, Bob--I was
figgerin' on payin' that out of my own pocket."
Bob Allen was not accustomed to the oversight of employees--least of all
to an employee who was very satisfying to look at, who was winsomely
young, whose mere presence distracted his thoughts from that rigorous
concentration upon the logical principles of the law.... He did not know
what to do with Sarah once he had hired her, and it required so much of
his time and brain power to think up something for her to do that it is
fortunate his practice was neither large nor arduous. It is no mean
tribute to the young man that he kept Sarah so busy with apparently
necessary matters that she had no occasion to doubt the authenticity of
her employment.
Bob faced a second difficulty, due to his inexperience, and that was
that he was at a loss how to comport himself toward Sarah, as to how
friendly he should be, and as to how much he should maintain a certain
grave dignity and reserve in his dealings with her. This was a matter
which need not have troubled him, for Nature has a way of taking into
her own keeping the bearing of young men toward young women when the two
are thrown much into each other's company. Propinquity is a tremendous
force in the life of humanity. It has caused as many love affairs as
the kicking of other men's dogs has caused street fights--which numbers
into infinity. Consequently, while Bob worried much and selected a
number of widely differing attitudes--a thing which caused Sarah some
uneasiness and no little speculation as to what sort of disposition her
employer possessed--the solution lay not with him at all. It took care
of itself.
Scattergood noted the significance of symptoms. He made a mental
memorandum of the fact that Bob Allen was seldom to be seen among the
post-office loafers; that Bob preferred his office to any other spot;
that Bob had ordered a new suit from a city tailor; that Bob wore a
constant air of anxiety and excitement, and--most expressive symptom of
all for a Coldriver young man--he became interested in residence
property, in lots, and in the cost of erecting dwellings.... Scattergood
looked in vain for reciprocal symptoms to be shown by Sarah. But Sarah
was a woman. What symptoms she exhibited were meaningless even to
Scattergood.
"Bob," said Scattergood, one auspicious day, "got any pref'rence for
prosecutin' attorneys--married or single?"
"It depends," said Bob, cautiously.
"Um!... How's Sairy behavin', Bob?"
"She's--she's--" Bob became incoherent, and then speechless.
"Calc'late I foller you, Bob.... Git your point of view exact.... About
prosecutin' attorneys, Bob, I prefer 'em married."
"Mr. Baines," said Bob, "if I could get Sarah Pound to marry me, I
wouldn't give a tinker's dam who was prosecutor."
"Mishandlin' of fact sim'lar to that," said Scattergood, dryly, "has
been done nigh on to a billion times.... Any idee how Sairy stands on
sich a proposition?"
"She's about equally fond of me and the letter press," said Bob,
dolefully.
"Good sign," said Scattergood. Then after a short pause: "Say, Bob,
still rent out drivin' hosses at the livery?... G'-by, Bob."
Bob was astonished to find how easy it is to ask a girl to go driving
the second time--after you have spent an anxious, dubious, fearsome day
screwing up your courage to ask her the first time. He was delighted,
too, because he even fancied Sarah now discriminated between him and the
letter press--in his favor. Bob came fresh and unsophisticated to the
business in hand, which was courtship. Sarah had never before been
courted, but she recognized a courtship when she saw it at such close
range, and found it delightfully exciting. Bob did his clumsy, earnest,
honest best, and Sarah, somewhat to her surprise, became more satisfied
with the universe and with her share in its destinies.... In short,
matters were progressing as nature intended they should progress, and
Scattergood felt almost that they might be trusted to go forward to a
satisfactory denouement without his interference.
Then old Solon Beatty died!
This solved one of Bob Allen's problems; it furnished plenty of
authentic work for Sarah Pound--for Bob was retained as attorney for old
Solon's estate, which he found to be in an amazing state of confusion.
Old Solon left behind him, reluctantly, property of divers kinds, and in
numerous localities, valued at upward of a hundred thousand dollars,
split and invested into as many enterprises and mortgages and savings
accounts as there were dollars! This made work. There were papers to
sort and list, to file and to schedule--clerical work in abundance. It
interfered with the more important business of courtship, but even in
this respect it was not without a certain value.
"Who's going to get all this money?" Sarah asked, one morning after she
had been listing mortgages until her head ached with the sight of
figures and descriptions. "Does Mary Beatty get it all?"
"Not unless we find a will somewhere. Everybody thought Solon's
niece--which is Mary Beatty--would get the whole estate. Solon intended
it should go that way, and the Lord knows she's worked for him and
nursed him and coddled him enough to deserve it. Gave her whole life up
to the old codger ... But we can't find a will, and so she won't get but
half. The rest goes to Solon's nephew, Farley Curtis ... under the
statute of descent and distribution, you know," he finished, learnedly.
"Farley Curtis.... I never heard of him."
"He's never been here--at least not for years. But he'll be along now.
We're due to see him soon."
"Correct," said a voice from the door, which had opened silently. In it
stood a young man of dress and demeanor not indigenous to Coldriver.
"You're due to see Farley Curtis--so you behold him. Look me over
carefully. I was due--therefore I arrive." The young man laughed
pleasantly, as if he intended his words to be regarded as whimsical,
yet, somehow, Bob felt the whimsicality to be surface deep; that Curtis
was a young man with much confidence in himself, who felt that if he
were due he would inevitably arrive.
"Mr. Allen, I suppose," said Curtis, extending his hand. "I am told you
are handling the legal affairs of my late uncle's estate."
Sarah Pound eyed the newcomer, and as the young men shook hands compared
them, to Bob Allen's disadvantage. To inexperience any comparison must
be to Bob's disadvantage, for Curtis was handsome, dressed with taste,
and gifted with a worldly certainty of manner and an undeniable charm.
Sarah had never encountered all these attributes in a single individual.
She drew on her reading of fiction and knew at once that she was in the
presence of that wonderful creature she had seen described so
frequently--a gentleman. As for Bob Allen, he was big, rugged, careless
of dress, kindly, without pretense of polish.... And besides, to
Curtis's advantage there attached to him a certain literary glamour--of
heirship--and a mystery due to his sudden appearance out of the great
unknown that lay beyond the confines of Coldriver.
"I am in the dark," said Curtis. "All I know is that Uncle Solon is
dead. It is proper I should come to you for information, is it not? For
instance, there is no harm in asking if there is a will?"
"None has been found," said Bob, not graciously. He had taken a dislike
to this stranger instinctively, a dislike which increased at an amazing
pace as he noted Curtis's eyes cast admiring glances upon Sarah Pound.
"In which case," said the young man, "I suppose I may regard myself as
an interested party."
"Yourself and Miss Beatty are the heirs--so far as has been determined."
"You have searched all my uncle's papers?"
"We have gone through them, but not so thoroughly as to reach a final
conclusion. He was a peculiar old man."
"And no will has been found? No--other papers--" Curtis smiled
deprecatingly. "It is only natural I should be interested," he said, and
smiled at Sarah.
"Was there anything special you wanted to ask?"
"Only if there was a will--or other paper." There was a curious
hesitation in Farley Curtis's voice as he spoke the last two words. "I'm
glad, of course, there's not.... Thank you. Think I'll stay in town till
the thing is settled up. Probably see you often. Pleased to have met
you." He included Sarah in the bow with which he took his leave.
For a few days Farley Curtis lived at the Coldriver House, then moved
to Grandmother Penny's, where Sarah Pound boarded. Secretly Bob Allen
was furious, without apparent cause. He had no reason to draw
conclusions, for boarding houses were scarce in Coldriver. What Sarah
thought of the event was not so easily discovered.
Bob would naturally have discussed immediately the significance of
Farley Curtis's arrival in Coldriver, with Scattergood, for everybody in
Coldriver went to Scattergood with whatever important occurrence that
befell, but Scattergood was absent on a political mission. When he
returned Bob lost no time in laying the matter before him.
"Um!... Calculated he'd turn up. Natural.... Acted kind of anxious, eh?
What was it he said about a will--or somethin'?"
Bob repeated Curtis's conversation minutely.
"Um!... That young man didn't suspect--he _knew_," said Scattergood,
reaching automatically for his shoes. "What he wanted to know was--has
it been found?... Um!... Not a will. Somethin'. Somethin' he's afraid of
bein' found.... Hain't the kind of feller I'd like to see spendin' old
Solon's money.... Guess you and me'll go through them papers ag'in."
So with minute care Bob and Scattergood examined the documents and
memoranda and receipts and accounts of Solon Beatty, but no will, no
minute reference to Farley Curtis, was discovered. They went again to
Solon's house to question Mary and to rummage there with the hope of
falling upon some such hiding place as the queer old man might have
chosen as the safe depository of his will. Mary Beatty was not helpful;
middle-aged, with wasted youth behind her; she was even resentful that
her meticulous housekeeping should be disturbed.
Scattergood and Bob sat down in the parlor, discouraged. It was evident
there was no will. Solon had neglected to attend to that matter until
it was too late.... Scattergood wiggled his feet uneasily and stared at
the motto over the door.
"Solon didn't run much to religion," he observed.
"No," said Mary Beatty.
"Um!... Have a Bible, maybe? One of them big ones?"
"Up in his room, Mr. Baines. It always laid on the table
there--unopened."
"Opened it yourself lately, Mary? Been readin' the Scriptures out of
that p'tic'lar book?"
"No."
"Um!... Got a kind of a hankerin' to read a verse or two," said
Scattergood. "Come on, Bob. You 'n' me'll peruse Solon's Bible some."
The huge Bible with its Dore illustrations lay on the marble-topped
table in old Solon's bedroom. Scattergood opened it--found it stiff with
lack of use, its pages clinging together as if their gilt edging had
never been broken.... Bob leaned over Scattergood while the old man
rapidly thumbed the pages.... He brought to light a pressed flower, and
shrugged his shoulders. What moment of softness in the life of a hard
old man did this flower commemorate?... A letter whose ink was faded to
illegibility! Even Solon Beatty had once known the rose-leaf scent of
romance.
"Nothing there," said Bob.
"The reason folks seldom find things," said Scattergood, "is that they
say 'Nothin' there' before they've half looked.... They might be any
quantity of things in this Bible that we hain't overhauled yet." The old
man stood a moment frowning down at the book. "Births and deaths," he
said to himself. "Births and deaths--and marryin's...." Rapidly he
turned to the illumined pages on which were set down the family records
of the Beattys. "Um!... Jest sich a place as he'd pick out.... What you
make of this, Bob?"
Scattergood loosened a sheet of paper which had been lightly glued to
the page. "Hain't got my specs, Bob."
The young lawyer read it, re-read it aloud. "I, Farley Curtis, one of
the two legal heirs of Solon Beatty, of Coldriver Township, do hereby
acknowledge the receipt of ten thousand dollars, the same to be
considered an advance of my share of the said Solon Beatty's estate.
For, and in consideration of the said ten thousand dollars I hereby
waive all claims to any further participation in the said estate, and
agree that I will not, whether the said Solon Beatty dies testate or
intestate, make any claim against the said estate, nor upon Mary Beatty,
who, by this advance to me, becomes sole heir to the said estate.'"
Bob drew a long breath. Scattergood stared owlishly at Mary Beatty.
"Now, what d'you think of that, eh? Shouldn't be s'prised if that was
the i-dentical paper that was weighin' on the mind of young Mr. Curtis.
Shouldn't be a mite s'prised if 'twas."
"What is it, Mr. Baines?" asked Mary Beatty. "A will?"
"Wa-al, offhand I'd say it was consid'able better 'n a will. Ya-as....
Wills kin be busted, but this here docyment--I calc'late it would take
mighty powerful hammerin' to knock it apart."
"And, Mary," said Bob, "if I were you I shouldn't mention the finding of
it."
"Not to a soul," said Scattergood. "We'll take it mighty soft and spry
and shet it up in Bob's safe.... Anybody know the combination to it
besides you, Bob?"
"Nobody but you, Mr. Baines."
"Oh, me!... To be sure, me."
"And Miss Pound." "Um!... Sairy, eh? Course.... Sairy."
Within twenty-four hours everybody in Coldriver knew a paper of great
significance had been discovered affecting the heirs to Solon Beatty's
estate, and that the paper was locked in Bob Allen's safe. Bob had not
talked; Scattergood certainly had been silent, and Mary Beatty solemnly
averred that no word had passed her lips. Yet the fact was there for all
to contemplate.... Farley Curtis devoted an entire day to the
contemplation of it in his room at Grandmother Penny's.... That evening
he invited Sarah Pound to drive with him. She found him a delightful and
entertaining companion.
Sunday was still two days away when Bob looked up from his desk to say
to Sarah: "This Beatty matter has kept us so busy there hasn't been any
time for pleasure. You must be tired out, Miss Pound. Wouldn't you like
to start early Sunday and drive over to White Pine for dinner--and come
back after the sun goes down? It's a beautiful drive."
"I'm sorry," said Sarah, flushing with a feeling that was akin to guilt,
"but I am engaged Sunday."
Bob turned again to his work, cast into sudden gloom, and wondering
jealously what was Sarah's engagement. Sarah, not altogether easy in her
mind, nor wholly pleased with herself, endeavored to justify herself for
being so lightly off with the old and on with the new.... She compared
Bob to Farley Curtis, and found the comparison not in Bob's favor. Not
that this was exactly a justification, but it was a salve. Sarah was in
the shopping period of her life--shopping for a husband, so to speak.
She was entitled to the best she could get ... and Bob did not seem to
be the best. Farley was sprightly, interesting, with the manners of a
more effete world than Coldriver; Bob was awkward, ofttimes silent,
lacking polish. Farley was solicitous in small matters that Bob failed
utterly to perceive; Farley was always skilled in minute points of
decorum, whose very existence was unknown to Bob. In short, Farley was
altogether fascinating, while Bob, at best, was commonplace. Yet, not in
her objective mind, but deep in her centers of intuition, she was
conscious of a hesitancy, conscious of something that urged her toward
Bob and warned her against Farley Curtis.
On Sunday Bob saw Sarah drive away with Curtis--and spent a black day of
jealousy and heartburning. During the succeeding two weeks he spent many
black days and sleepless nights, for Curtis monopolized Sarah's leisure,
and Sarah seemed to have thrown discretion to the winds and clothed
herself against fear of Coldriver's gossip, for she seemed to give her
company almost eagerly to the stranger.... And Coldriver talked.
Bob spoke bitterly of the matter to Scattergood.
"Um!..." grunted Scattergood, "don't seem to recall any statute
forbiddin' any young feller to git him any gal he kin. Eh?"
"No. But this Curtis--there's something wrong there. He isn't intending
to play fair.... I--He's got some kind of a purpose, Mr. Baines."
"Think so, eh? What kind of a purpose?" Scattergood had his own ideas on
this subject, but did not disclose them. It was in his mind that Curtis
cultivated Sarah because of Sarah's propinquity of a certain paper which
the man had reason to believe was in Bob Allen's safe.
Bob's face was set and stern, granite as the hills among which he had
been born and which had become a part of his nature. "If he doesn't play
fair ... if he should--hurt her ... I'd take him apart, Mr. Baines."
"Calc'late you would," said Scattergood, tranquilly, "but there's a law
in sich case, made and pervided, callin' that kind of amusement
murder ..."
It was not Scattergood's custom to publish his emotions; nevertheless
he was worried. He appreciated the state of mind which had brought Sarah
to Coldriver--the spirit of restless, resentful youth, demanding the
world for its plaything. He knew Sarah's high temper, her eagerness for
adventure.... He knew that thousands of girls before her had been
fascinated by well-told tales of the life to be lived out in the world
of cities, of wealth, of artificial gayeties ... the lure of travel, of
excitement.... And Scattergood did not covet the duty of carrying a
woeful story to old Nahum Pound, the gentle schoolmaster.
His uneasiness was not decreased by a bit of unpremeditated
eavesdropping that fell in his way the next evening.... Farley Curtis
was talking, Sarah Pound was listening--eagerly.
"You can't understand what living is," the man was saying, "How could
you? You haven't lived. Here in this backwater you will never live....
You move around in a fog of monotony. Every day the same. But out
there.... Everything! Everything you want and can imagine is there for
the taking. A beautiful woman can take what she wants--that's what it's
all for--for her to help herself to. Life and excitement and
pleasure--and love ... they are all out there waiting."
Sarah sighed.
"Did you ever try to imagine Paris, London, Madrid, Rome?" he went on.
"You can't do it.... But you can see them. I--I would take you if you
would let me ... if things fall out right. I'm poor ...but with this
Beatty money I could take you anywhere. It would give us everything we
want.... Half of that money belongs to me rightfully, doesn't it?"
"I suppose so."
"But I may not get it."
She was silent.
"There is a paper," he said, "and that paper may stand between you and
me--and Paris and Rome and the world...." He paused, and then said,
carelessly: "Won't you go with me, Sarah--away from this? Won't you let
me take you, to love and to make happy?"
Presently she spoke, so low her voice was scarcely audible to
Scattergood. "I don't know.... I don't know," she said.
Scattergood had heard enough. He stole away silently. The time had come
to act, if he were going to act ... if no woeful story were to be
carried to old Nahum Pound concerning his daughter. He might even be too
late.... The lure of great cities and foreign shores might have done its
work, and Farley Curtis's eloquence have served its purpose.
In the morning Bob Allen was early at his office. His first act was to
open the safe to take out a packet of papers he had been laboring over
the afternoon before.... The packet was not where he had placed it the
night before. He remembered distinctly how he had shoved it into a
certain pigeonhole.... It was not there. He found it in the compartment
below.... Bob was not easily startled or frightened, so now he paused
and took his memory to account. No.... The fault was not with his
memory. He had done exactly as he remembered doing.... Somebody had
opened that safe since he closed it; somebody had fingered its
contents.... He caught his breath, not at the fear of loss, but in
sudden terror of the means by which that loss had been brought about,
the person who might have been the instrument.... Furiously he began
going over the contents of the safe--money, securities, papers.
Everything seemed intact. But one thing remained--the little drawer. He
had put off opening that, because he dreaded to open it, for it
contained the paper that excluded Farley Curtis from a share in his
uncle's estate.... Bob compelled himself to turn the little key, to
open the drawer.... It was empty!...
Bob walked slowly to his desk and sat down, his eyes fixed upon the safe
as if it fascinated him.... Facts, facts! His soul demanded facts. Those
at hand were few, simple. First, the safe had been opened by some one
who knew the combination. Three persons existed who might have opened
it--or betrayed its combination: Scattergood, himself, Sarah Pound....
Second, he knew he had not opened it nor betrayed the combination.
Third, he was equally certain Scattergood had not done so.... Fourth--he
groaned!...
Bob comprehended what had happened; why Farley Curtis had wooed so
persistently Sarah Pound. It was not out of love nor desire, but for a
more sordid purpose ... it was to win her love, to blind her to honor,
to make a tool of her, and through her to secure possession of that bit
of paper which stood between him and riches.
Presently Sarah Pound entered. Bob could not force himself to look at
her; did not speak. She gazed at him curiously, and when she saw the
grayness of his face, the lines about his mouth, and eyes that advanced
his age by twenty years, she felt a little catch at her heart, a
breathlessness, a sudden alarm.
"Miss Pound," he said, in a voice which he himself could not recognize
as his own, "you needn't take off your hat.... You--you actually came
back here! You were bold enough to come again to this office.... I
fancied you would be gone--from Coldriver." His voice broke queerly. "I
suppose you realize what you have done--and are satisfied with the
price--the price of forfeiting the respect of every honest man and woman
you know! That is a great deal to give up. It ought to command a high
price--treachery.... I hope you are getting a sufficient return.... It
means nothing to you, of course, but--I loved you. I thought about you
as a man thinks about the woman he hopes will be his wife ... and his
children's mother ... so it--pains--to find you despicable...."
Sarah's little fists clenched, her eyes glinted.
"How dare you?" she cried. "What affair is it of yours what I do?...
You're a silly, jealous idiot." With which childish invective she flung
out of the office.
In an hour Bob Allen was calmer, and so the more unhappy. His mind
cleared, and, being cleared, it directed him to carry his trouble to
Scattergood Baines.
"Um!... Gone, eh?" said Scattergood. "Sure it's gone?... Um!..."
"Yes, and Sarah Pound will be gone, too. How dared she come back to my
office?... Now she'll go with Curtis."
"Shouldn't be s'prised," said Scattergood, waggling his head. "I heard
Farley a-pointin' out to her the _dee_-sirability of Paris and Rome and
sich European p'ints last night.... You calculate Sairy took the paper?"
"What else can I think?"
"To be sure.... Um!... Paris, Rome, London--might be argued into
stealin' it myself, if I was a gal. Um!... Ever see a toad ketch flies,
Bob? Does it with his tongue. There's toad men, Bob, that goes huntin'
wimmin the same way--with their tongues. Su'prisin' the number and
quality they ketch, too. What was you plannin' on doin', Bob? Goin' back
to your office, wasn't you? And keepin' your mouth shet? Was that the
idee? Eh?"
"I don't know what to do, Mr. Baines."
"Didn't figger on droppin' around to Grandma Penny's boardin' house
about eight sharp, did you? Eight sharp.... And kind of settin' down
quiet on the front porch? Jest settin'? Eh?... G'-by, Bob."
After Bob left the store Scattergood sat half an hour staring at the
stove; then he left the store to its own devices and wandered up the
street toward Grandmother Penny's. He encountered Sarah Pound as she
came out through the gate.
"Howdy, Sairy?" he said, cheerfully. "Havin' consid'able amusement with
life--eh?"
"I've been enjoying myself, Mr. Baines," Sarah said, making an effort at
coldness and dignity.
"Bet you hain't enjoyin' yourself enough to warrant your doin' a favor
for an old feller like me, eh?... This evenin', for instance?"
"I--I'm going away this evening."
"Um!... Goin' away, eh? Alone? Or along with somebody?"
"That's my own affair."
"To be sure.... To be sure, but the train don't leave till nine, does
it? Couldn't manage to do me a favor at eight?"
"What is the favor, Mr. Baines?"
"'Tain't much. Sca'cely anythin' a-tall. I calc'late to be a-settin' in
Grandma Penny's parlor at eight sharp. I won't keep you waitin' more 'n
a second--unless somebody happens to be with me a-talkin' my arm off. If
they hain't nobody with me, why, you walk right in. If they is somebody,
why, you jest stand outside of the door a second, and they'll be gone.
Then you come in. But don't come rompin' in if you hear voices. It's a
mite of business, and 'twon't take but a second. Calc'late you kin
manage that, eh?"
"Yes," she said, shortly.
"Promise?"
"Yes."
"G'-by, Sairy."
At five minutes before eight Scattergood Baines rapped at Grandmother
Penny's door and asked to speak to Farley Curtis, "Tell him it's
somethin' p'tic'lar reegardin' the Beatty estate," he said, and stepped
into the parlor. Farley appeared almost instantly; dapper, his usual
courteous, self-possessed self. Scattergood began a peculiar and
roundabout conversation after the manner of a man who fears to broach a
subject plainly. Farley showed his irritation.
"Mr. Baines," he said, "suppose you get down to business. I'm going away
this evening."
"To be sure.... To be sure. It's overlappin' eight now, hain't it?"
Scattergood paused, listening. He fancied he heard some one approach and
halt just outside the door. He was certain that a chair creaked on the
porch outside the window.... He cleared his throat and drew a big yellow
envelope from his pocket.
"Calculate I'm ready for business, if you be.... Which d'you calc'late
is most desirable--havin' half a loaf, or no bread?"
"What do you mean?"
"You come to Coldriver on business, didn't you? Money business?"
"Why I came is my own affair."
"Certain.... Certain.... But things gets noised about. Things has got
noised about concernin' a paper that stands betwixt you and half of the
Beatty estate. Heard 'em myself." Scattergood waggled the envelope. "I
hain't exactly objectin' to makin' a leetle quick money
myself--supposin' it kin be done safe, and the blame, if they is any,
throwed somewheres else.... Now, Mr. Curtis, what kind of a course would
you foller if that paper we been talkin' about was to fall into the
hands of a feller that felt like I do about makin' money?"
"What do you mean?" Farley demanded, moving forward eagerly in his
chair.
"Hain't good at guessin', be you?"
"That paper doesn't worry me," said Farley. "Calc'lated on havin' it
before you took the train to-night, eh?"
Farley scowled.
"Uh-huh!... Wa-al, I wasn't seein' sich a chance to make a dollar slip
by. The way you was figgerin' on gittin' that paper, Mr. Curtis, won't
work. I know. Uh-huh! I know, because I got ahead of you. I got that
paper myself.... And we kin deal if I kin be made to feel safe.... Most
things leaks out through wimmin.... Hain't mixin' any wimmin into this,
be you?"
"No."
"Um!... How about Sairy Pound?"
Curtis shrugged his shoulders.
"Calc'latin' on takin' her away with you to-night?"
"Not now," said Farley.
"Seein's how you can't use her to git this paper for you, eh? That it?"
"Yes."
"Calc'lated on marryin' her, didn't you?"
"Fiddlesticks!" said Mr. Curtis, harshly.
"Understand me, I hain't takin' chances.... If this gal's mixed up in
this, I don't deal."
"Do I look like a man who would let a silly, backwoods idiot of a girl
stand between me and money? I'm through with her. She's no use to me
now. You've said that yourself.... She's nothing to me."
"Good.... I got the paper right here, and I'm a-listenin' to your offer
for it...."
"Ten thous--" began Farley, but a swift, furious thrusting open of the
parlor door interrupted, as Sarah Pound flung herself into the room. For
a moment she was speechless with rage.... Shame would come later....
"You contemptible--contemptible--contemptible--" she cried,
breathlessly. "It was a thing like you I--I could choose!... I could
throw away a man for you!... For a suit of clothes, and manners, and a
lying tongue.... I could compare Bob Allen with you--and choose you!...
Oh!..."
"Sairy," said Scattergood.
"But I never would have done it--not that. I'd never have taken that
paper.... You know I wouldn't, Mr. Baines. Say you know that...."
"Wa-al," said Scattergood, dryly, "they hain't no tellin' how fur a
woman'll go when she's bein' bamboozled by a scamp--so I kind of insured
ag'in' your takin' it by takin' it myself.... Er--Mr. Curtis, if I was
you, I'd sort of slip out soft by the back door. Bob Allen's a-waitin'
for you on the front porch.... There's a train at nine."
Scattergood put a clumsy arm about Sarah, who, the moment her wrathful
energy ebbed away, sobbed and sobbed and sobbed with shame and fear.
"Hey, out there," shouted Scattergood, "git a move on you!"
Bob Allen needed no urging. His arm was substituted for Scattergood's,
his breast for Scattergood's--and Sarah made no complaint. "I
wouldn't.... I wouldn't.... You thought I did," she murmured.
"I thought that," said Bob, brokenly. "How can you ever forgive me?...
I--But I love you, Sarah. Won't that make up for it?"
"You--believed it," she repeated, and Scattergood grinned.
"Dummed if she hain't managed to put him in the wrong.... You can't beat
wimmin.... She's put him in the wrong."
Scattergood peered at them a moment, saw what filled him with perfect
satisfaction, and discreetly withdrew. He went out and sat on the porch
and beamed up at the stars.... He sat there a long, long time, and
nobody called him in. He got up, pressed his nose against the window,
and rapped on the glass.
"Everybody forgiv' and fixed up," he called, "so's I kin git to bed with
an easy mind?"
There was no answer. He had not been heard--but what he saw was answer
sufficient for any man.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Scattergood Baines, by Clarence Budington Kelland