DORSEY.
It was Mitchell's day to cook, and when Milford came in to dinner, the
hired man told him that he had something of importance to tell.
"Out with it," said Milford.
"No, not till you eat. I never like to choke off a man's appetite. I
wouldn't like to have a man choke off mine. I'd be like old Matt
Lindsey. The court said he must hang for murderin' a peddler. His
lawyers took his case before the supreme bench. And after it had been
argued one of 'em came down to the jail to see old Matt. Just about that
time the jailer brought in his dinner. Old Matt said to the lawyer,
'Don't tell me till I've eat this stuff. Afterwards I mightn't be in the
humor, and I don't want to miss a meal.' And it was a good thing he eat
first."
"Well, is what you've got to say so bad as all that?"
"Not a hangin' affair, but it's bad enough. The fact is, you can make it
just as bad as you want it."
"If it rests with me, I'll not make it very bad. I'll tell you that."
"But I'll be hanged if it hain't made you turn pale. Why, you're scared,
Bill. Oh, it's not so bad. I'll tell you now, seein' that I've already
choked off your appetite. Why, there's a feller over at Mrs. Stuvic's
that's too fresh. I was out by the windmill and your girl and a woman
came along; and this feller was standin' off, not far away, talkin' to a
chump that was with him, and he made a remark about the girl--won't tell
you what it was, for a feller that's stuck don't like to hear such
things repeated--I know I wouldn't. And I said to myself at the time,
'If Bill knowed that he'd mash your mouth.'"
"What sort of a looking fellow is he?" Milford quietly asked.
"Big feller. The hired man over there says his name's Dorsey. Just got
here, I believe."
"All right. Did you fix the fence where the sheep broke in?"
"Somebody left the gap down. It's all right now."
"Did you wrap the collar so it won't hurt the horse's shoulder?"
"Yes, works all right, now. Haven't got enough to eat, have you?"
"Not very hungry to-day," said Milford as he walked out. The hired man
called after him, but he did not stop. He took the straight road to Mrs.
Stuvic's. He saw Mrs. Blakemore coming out to the gate. She smiled upon
him as he drew near. She said that she had just received a letter from
George. He was in business again; a real estate firm had taken him as an
experiment. He made a large sale the second day, and was now regularly
employed at a good commission. It had made her very happy. She never
would forget Mr. Milford; there was no doubt about it, he had inspired
her husband with strength. Milford asked if a man named Dorsey were at
the house. She said that she believed there was; he was at dinner. "If
you want to see him, I'll tell Mrs. Stuvic," she said.
"I wish you would. Tell her I want to see him now. I haven't time to
wait."
"I will. But isn't that glorious news from George? Oh, you don't know
how low-spirited he was. Sometimes I thought he never would get up
again. Don't you know that just a word, even though lightly spoken, may
sometimes spur one to renewed action? Oh, it's undoubtedly a fact."
"Yes, words may sometimes be ashes, but often they are coals of fire.
Will you please--"
"Oh, that's a good sentiment. I must remember it and tell George. He'll
be out again Saturday evening. But I'll go and tell Mrs. Stuvic that you
want to see--that's the man coming out now."
A strong-looking man came walking out toward the gate. Mrs. Blakemore
stepped aside, and he was about to pass when Milford said: "Your name is
Dorsey, I understand."
"That's it," the man replied, taking a toothpick out of his mouth.
"I'd like to see you a moment on business; over in the grove."
"What's your name?"
"Come over into the grove. I want to see you a moment. My name's
Milford."
"Do you want to see me about a horse? I want to hire one. Is that it?"
"Yes, over in the grove."
"All right. Got him there? I don't care whether he's gentle or not. I
can manage him all right. The first thing one of you farmers tells a
fellow is that his horse is gentle, when he knows that all he wants is
an opportunity to run away. So you may save yourself that trouble."
Milford conducted him to a spot out of view from the house. He halted
and threw his hat on the ground. He told him what the hired man had
said.
"Well," said Dorsey, "this is a fine proceeding."
"Take off your coat."
"What are you going to do?"
"Whip you if I can."
"But I'm not looking for any trouble."
"You may not have looked for it, but you've found it."
"Say, this is all nonsense. You won't tell me what I said, and I don't
remember. But let me tell you something. You can't whip me. I can mop
the earth with you--my way. Is that the way you want to fight?"
"Yes. _My_ way would mean something. But it won't do in this country.
Take off your coat."
The fellow was an athlete. Milford was no match for him. He had the
strength, but not the skill in boxing. But once Milford got him down,
ran under and snatched his feet from under him. In a moment, though, he
was up again, meeting strength with skill. Three times he knocked
Milford down. It was useless to continue to fight. Milford held up his
hands. "We'll call it off for the present," he said, panting.
"Suit yourself. I've got nothing to fight about except to keep from
getting licked, and it's for you to say when to stop."
"Well, I say stop, for the present. I haven't been used to fighting your
way. I'm from the West, and if I had you there we'd soon settle it. It's
not over with as it is. I'll see you again. Do you expect to come back
out here this summer?"
"Well, I'm not going to let you keep me away. You don't know what you've
run up against, young fellow. I teach boxing in town. That's my lay."
"All right. I'll see you again."
"But my way, understand. Don't come any Western business on me."
"I'll see you again and your way. I never was beaten long at a time."
"Good enough. Got through seeing me about the horse?"
"I'm through. No, wait a moment. If you go back to the house and say
anything about this affair, I'll try you the Western way. Do you
understand?"
"Oh, it's nothing to me. I won't mention it. Good-day. I'll take care of
your horse."
Milford went home, covered with blood. He washed himself and lay down
under the walnut tree to steam in his anger. His lip was cut and his
cheek was bruised. He jumped up suddenly, ran into the house and took
two pistols out of a battered leather bag, but he put them back and sat
down in the door to cool. The hired man came around the corner of the
house.
"I guess you must have found him," he said, halting with a smile and a
nod.
"Yes, and he was too much for me. But I'll get even with him."
"That's the way to look at it. May take a long time, but it's to come
round all right. I used to drive a team in Chicago. And one day I had to
cuss the driver of a coal wagon, and he ups with a lump of coal and
smashes my face. I was a long time getting even with him, but I got
there."
"Did you kill him?"
"Kill him! Well, I should say not. I didn't have enough money to kill
him and get away with it. I just waited, watchin' him close every time I
saw him. And one day he jumped off his wagon, slipped on the ice and
broke his leg. Satisfied me, and after that I turned him loose."
"Bob, do you know anything about boxing?"
"I used to be somethin' of a scrapper. Why?"
"I want you to teach me."
"Don't believe I'd be a very good teacher. But, say, I know a feller
that's all right. He used to be a sort of a prize fighter and he's now
got a little saloon up here at Antioch, 'bout ten miles up the road. His
name's Mulligan."
"All right. You go ahead with your work just as if I was with you. I'm
going up there."
"Sure enough? All right. When I get through with one thing I'll go at
another."
Milford trudged off across the fields toward the village of Antioch. At
a well beneath a tree where cows stood in the shade, he stopped to bathe
his face. He saw his dark countenance wrinkling in the disturbed water;
he committed the natural folly of talking to himself. "You are a fool,"
he said, looking down into his wavering eye. "You are a fool, and you
want to prove it." He smiled to think how easy it was to produce the
testimony. In such cases nature cheerfully gives her deposition.
He continued his way across the fields, through a skirt of wooded land
and out into a road. Bicycles crackled past him. A buggy overtook him.
Some one spoke. He looked round and recognized the "discoverer" and the
Norwegian. It was only a two-seated vehicle, but they invited him to
ride. He declined to accept their kindness, trying to hide his face. He
said that he had heard Mrs. Stuvic say that the buggy was not strong.
They were going to the village of Lake Villa. They might stop at the
mill and have a word with the Professor. Milford remarked that the
Professor would no doubt be pleased to see them, but that he was no
doubt very busy. They drove on without having noticed the wounds on his
face. To one not bent upon a vengeful mission, to a thoughtful man with
a mind in tone with the scented air, the soft sky, the spread of green,
the gleam of water, the clouds of blackbirds, such a stroll would have
been rich with an inner music played upon many sweet chords. At a
crossroads stood an old brick house, an ancient rarity upon a landscape
white-spotted with wooden cottages. It was a rest for the eye, a place
for a moment of musing, a page of a family's record, a bit of
dun-colored history. It was built long before the railroad set the
clocks of the country, before man entered into business copartnership
with the minute and employed the second as his agent. It was a relief to
look upon a worn door-sill, a rotting window-blind hanging by one hinge.
In the years long gone the congressman's carriage, laboring through the
mud, had halted there, and the statesman had warmed himself at a fire of
wood, delighting an old Whig with predictions of a glorious victory. At
this place Milford halted to get a drink of water and to sit for a few
moments in the shade. A man came out and asked him if he wanted a team.
He had a team that would not run away. He was not prepared to take
boarders, but when it came to a team he was there. He had driven great
men, pork-packers of Chicago. The man who owned the enormous ice-house
over on the lake had ridden with him. And it was probably one of the
largest ice-houses in the world. It took thousands of dollars the year
before to paint it. Milford told him that he did not want a team, and
the fellow shambled off in disgust.
There was not much time to be wasted, for the sun was now far over
toward the west. Milford's anger had settled into a cool determination,
and he walked easier, not so hard upon the ground. He began to notice
more things, a cat sitting at a window, looking out upon the narrow
world, a boy with a goat harnessed to a wagon, a farmer who starved his
boarders, hauling veal to the railway, to be shipped to town. He fell in
with a tramp and divided smoking tobacco with him. They strolled along
together.
"Beautiful country to walk through," said Milford.
"That's no lie," said the tramp.
"But all countries are about the same when times are hard, I should
think," Milford remarked.
"That's no pipe," said the tramp.
"They tell us, however, that we are to have better times."
"They are smokin'," said the tramp.
Their roads separated, and they parted company. The sun was down when
Milford reached the village. It was an easy matter to find Mulligan's
saloon. One of the oldest citizens pointed it out. Mulligan was
half-dozing behind his bar. Several men were at a table, playing cards.
Milford made short work of his introduction. He told his story. There
was but one way to get even. Mulligan laughed. That sort of revenge
appealed to his Irish heart. He would give lessons, and it should not
cost a cent. He put out his whisky bottle. His face beamed. He was glad
to meet a civilized man. The very fact that Milford had come on such a
mission was a proof of an improvement in the country.
"Dorsey," he said. "Dorsey. He can't box; I never heard of him. Well,
we'll make a jelly out of his face."
They went out to supper together. "This man has heard of me and has come
miles to get lessons," said Mulligan to the tavern keeper.
They boxed till late at night and shook hands warmly at parting.
Earnestness is genius, and when Milford set out for home, the moon on
his right shoulder, he felt that he had made surprising progress. It was
nearly daylight when he reached the end of his journey. The hired man
was going out to the barn.
"You are born to be a great man," said Mitchell. "The cards are shuffled
and cut that way and you can't help it. What are you goin' to do now?"
"I'm going to sleep for a few hours and then get to work."
"When are you goin' to take another lesson?"
"Day after to-morrow."
"Ain't that feller a bird?"
"He understands his business."
"About when do you think you can tackle your job again?"
"Not till I have learned how. I'm going to get some gloves and have you
box with me between times."
He went into the house and lay down, and when Mitchell came in he was
asleep with his head on his fist.