THE DEACON’S DIPLOMACY.
FIERCELY the squire was limping to and fro, between his office-room and
Mrs. Peternot’s kitchen, compressing his lips, and striking the floor
every now and then with his cane, as he exclaimed, “He shall lay in
jail! I’ll prosecute him! State’s prison’s too good for him!” when his
wife called from the window, “Squire! squire! Here’s Deacon Chatford,
jest drove up; beckonin’ and hollerin’!”
“What now, I wonder?” said Peternot, as he put on his hat and went out,
frowning, to meet his neighbor. “Wal! what is it, deacon?”
“I’ve thought of a plan,” said Mr. Chatford, hurriedly. “Get in here;
we’ll talk as we ride. There’s not a minute to lose!”
“What plan?” demanded the stern old squire.
“For settling the difficulty.”
“The diffikilty can’t be settled, unless peradventur’ the boy gives up
the money.”
“That’s just it!” cried the deacon. “He said he was willing to give it
up; and now it’s fallen into my hands.”
“The treasure? in your hands?” exclaimed Peternot, limping quickly
towards the buggy.
“That is,” said the deacon, remembering his wife’s injunction, to use a
little worldly wisdom on the occasion,—“yes, I may say, in my hands, for
I know where it is; I’ve secure possession on ’t; and I’ve resolved—But
jump in! jump in! for we must overhaul Sellick before he delivers the
boy up at the jail.”
“Wal, wal! This sounds like!—Wife! wife!” called Peternot, “hand out my
gre’t-cut! May be cool ridin’.—In your hands? The best news yit! It’s
comin’ out right, arter all! But, as you say, we must ketch Sellick
’fore he gits to the jail; the case ’ll haf to go before the gran’ jury,
if we don’t.—Wife! wife! can’t ye step quick for once?”
Mrs. Peternot did “step quick for once”; out came the overcoat, and into
it went the stiff-jointed old man. Then away rattled the buggy with the
two neighbors seated side by side.
“Ketch ’em ’fore they git to the jail, and I can manage Judge Garty,”
said Peternot. “But I must have some guarantee that the coin will be
actooally restored to me, if I git the boy off.”
“If you require any other guarantee than my word of honor,” began the
deacon—“Get up, Maje, go long.”
“That ought to be enough; sartin, sartin! pervided you’re sure you can
put me into clear possession of the money, without any peradventur’
about it. Where is it? at your house?”
“It was brought to my house half an hour ago by two of the Huswick boys.
And that reminds me,” said the deacon, “one of the conditions is, that
you shall withdraw your complaint against Hank and Cub. I forgot to
mention that.”
“If they’ve re’ly gi’n up the booty—but I can’t quite see into ’t!” said
Peternot. “It don’t seem like the Huswick tribe to part with plunder
once fairly in their hands, for fear of a writ out arter ’em. Must be
they don’t know the vally of the coin.”
“Very likely!” said the deacon, dryly. “At any rate, they have sent it
to me, and commissioned me to make their peace with you.” And he whipped
up old Maje again.
“That seems fair. Though I own I’ve had my mind set on punishin’ on ’em,
the rogues! They swindled me out of five dollars, when they carried the
coin home for me; but I s’pose I can afford to forgive ’em that. So I
say, if I don’t find they’ve kep’ back a part of the treasure, I’ll
agree to drop the complaint.”
“And another thing, squire!” said the artful deacon. “You must do the
right thing by the boy; you must do something handsome for Jack.”
“Yes, yes! sartin!” said Peternot. “I’ll make him a present; can’t say
jest what, but somethin’ liberal, somethin’ fair and liberal, deacon, I
promise!”
The deacon had to turn away to hide the smile upon his features. He did
not press Peternot, to know what that “something fair and liberal”
should be.
He now gave his attention to urging on old Maje’s paces, fearing to mar
a good matter by speaking a word too much. Would not Mrs. Chatford give
him a little credit for “gumption” after this? Had he not managed the
affair with the sagacity of an accomplished politician? He began to
wonder a little at the stupidity he had shown on some previous
occasions, a man of his diplomatic ability; thinking particularly of the
manner in which he had given Kate’s half-dollar to the jeweller, instead
of Jack’s.
“Strange how I could have made such a blunder!” he remarked,
inadvertently, to the squire.
“What blunder?” cried the squire, quickly.
Poor Mr. Chatford saw that he was on the point of letting out the very
secret he had prided himself on keeping; and he lost faith in his
“gumption” on the spot.
“O, I’m such a terrible absent-minded man!” he exclaimed. “I’m forever
forgetting something. Remember how I drove over to the Basin that
Saturday night, and walked home, never thinking of the horse and buggy,
till next morning, when we thought they had been stolen, and had that
famous hunt for the thieves? That’s the way Jack came to live with us.
Pippy arrested him, and brought him home, and he has been with us ever
since,” Mr. Chatford went on, congratulating himself on having steered
clear of the dangerous rock. “Get up, Maje! don’t be so blamed lazy!
There’s my nephew, Syd Chatford, crossing the road; I’ll ask him if he
has seen ’em pass.”
“I heard he had applied for the winter’s school in our deestrict,” said
the squire. “I hope you won’t forgit my nephew’s claims. It’ll help
clear up all these diffikilties, and make us better neighbors than ever,
if you’ll bear in mind that Byron was one of the fust to apply, and give
him a trial.”
“I’ll do what I can,” replied the deacon; “for, really, I don’t consider
Syd just the man for the place, though he is my nephew.—Here! hello!
Syd!” Syd, who had crossed the street, and was walking towards the
house, turned back at his uncle’s call, and approached the buggy, in a
smart, stiff way.
“I haven’t a minute to talk,” cried the deacon. “Have you seen our Jack
ride by with Neighbor Sellick?”
“Yes, about twenty minutes ago,” replied Syd.
“So long!” exclaimed the deacon. “Driving fast?”
“Pretty good jog,” replied Syd. “What’s to pay?”
“I declare, we must do better than this, squire, or they’ll be there
first, in spite of us!” And Mr. Chatford chirped, and shouted, “Get up!
go ’long!” and lashed old Maje again, to the no small astonishment of
his nephew, who, gazing after the cantering horse and rattling buggy,
wondered if the usually slow and quiet deacon had not been taking a
glass of something strong.
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