AN AMBITION.
In the evening the hired man returned with his trousers drawing shorter
every moment. He swore that he was going to kill the peddler, which of
course meant that he would buy another pair from him. He would take off
the wretched leg-wear and hang weights to the legs, he said. No peddler
could get ahead of him. He called himself an inventive "cuss." He said
that his grandfather had sat upon a granite hillside and with a
jackknife whittled out a churn-dasher that revolutionized the art of
butter-making in that community. He smacked his mouth as he spoke of the
delights of the day just ended. It had been like sitting under a
rose-bush, with sweetened dew dripping upon him. He had seen his girl
trip from one rapture to another, mirroring a smile from the sun and
throwing it at him. Her face was joy's looking-glass. And aside from all
that, she had sense. She was an uncommon woman. He was not afraid to
tell her everything. It was certain to go no further. He could read a
woman the moment he set eyes upon her. They all invited confidence, but
few of them were worthy of it. Milford did not have it in his heart to
smash the fellow's idol. He said that he was pleased to know that so
true a woman had been found.
"Oh, you can trust her all right, Bill. But to tell you the truth, I
don't believe you could trust the girl that has set her cap for you. Her
tongue's too slippery, and I said to myself that you'd better stick to
the Norwegian. I'm not stuck on foreigners myself. The girl I married
had a smack of the Canadian French about her. But Lord, she was putty.
You ought to have seen her eyes--black as a blackberry, and dancin' a
jig all the time. And they danced me out of the set, I tell you that. I
could have her again if I wanted her. But I don't exactly want her.
Would you, Bill?"
"I'd cut her throat."
"Say, you ought to see her throat, speakin' about throats. Puttiest
thing you ever seen in your life--white as snow----"
"With the pink of the sunset falling on it," said Milford, with his
gluttonous mind's eye upon the Norwegian's neck.
"If that ain't it, I'm the biggest liar that ever milked a cow. Just
exactly it. And yet you wouldn't advise me to take her again."
"I'd kick her downstairs," said Milford.
"Yes, that's all right, Bill; but it would save getting a divorce.
Still, my other girl's the thing. I can put confidence in her, and the
first one was tricky. I couldn't tell her a thing that wan't repeated.
I'll stand for anythin' sooner than bein' repeated all the time. How are
you gettin' along over at the house?"
Milford put him off with the remark that everything was all right so far
as he knew. A man may gabble of a love that is spreading over the
heart, but when it has gathered the whole world beneath its wings he is
more inclined to silence.
The hired man continued to talk. Before he met the freckled woman he had
looked forward to sixteen hours a day at eighteen dollars a month. He
had not dared to see the flush of the sunrise light his bedroom window,
except perhaps on some odd Sunday when he might steal the sweet essence
of a forbidden nap, but his "love" for that woman had promised him an
unbroken dream at dawn and a breakfast of soft-boiled eggs at eight.
After all, it was fortunate that the first woman had run away. She was
saucy and had made his heart laugh, at times, but he was a hired man
still, and the cold dew of the morning had cracked his rough boots and
caused his wet trousers to flap about his ankles.
"Bill," he asked, "do you ever expect to wear a boiled shirt all the
week and sleep till after sun-up?"
Milford had learned that this was the hired man's notion of elegance and
of ease. He answered that such a time might come.
"It's got to come with me," said Mitchell. "It's comin', and I'd be a
fool to dodge it. Yes, sir, and I'm goin' to have me about a dozen
shirts made. I don't care so much about the coat and pants; I want the
shirts. And I want 'em made as broad as I can fill 'em out, with a
ruffle or two, and as white as chalk. That's the way I want to be
dressed when fellers come to me and ask if I want to hire a man. Bill,
you look like you've made up your mind to do some thin'. What is it? Git
married?"
"I came here with my mind already made up," Milford replied, new lines
seeming to come to the surface of his countenance. "And I'm not going to
change it," he declared, louder of tone, as if he had been debating with
himself. "I'm going to follow the line, and then if something else
comes, all the better."
"What is your line, Bill?"
"Haven't you learned enough not to ask that?"
"Oh, well, but I didn't know but you'd found out there wouldn't be any
harm in tellin' me. We've been working together a good while, and I've
got an interest in you. I've told you what my object is."
"To wear white shirts and to see the sun shine in on you of a morning, I
believe. That's a good enough object."
"I think so, Bill. At least, it won't do nobody no harm. And I tell you
what's a fact: I'd like, after a while, to live in town, so's I could
come out in the country and clar my throat and ask fellers about the
crops. But you always sorter turn up your nose at my object. I wouldn't
at yours. Tell a feller what it is, Bill."
"The idea of every man having an object seems to have become rather
popular in this community," said Milford. "Everybody looks on me with a
sort of suspicion, and this object business comes out of that. You may
not know it, but you've been set as a trap to catch me."
The hired man was genuinely astonished. His mouth flew open, and he
drooled his surprise. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve; he hemmed,
hawed, and grunted. But, after a time, he admitted that his "girl" had
shown the edge of a keen interest in Milford. However, there was nothing
vicious in it. She had never been stirred by a vicious instinct. She was
naturally interested in the man who gave employment to her future
husband. Of course, his object did not amount to much when compared with
Milford's; he was nothing but a hired man, but presidents had been hired
men, and the world could not afford to turn its scornful back upon the
affairs of the farm-hand. The field laborer had a heart, a talkative
heart, perhaps, but a heart that society would one day learn to fear. It
was not heartlessness that would overthrow the political state and
trample upon the rich; it was heart, abused heart, that would give
crushing weight to the vengeful foot. This was the substance of his
talk, the egotism of muscle, a contempt for the luxuries of the refined
brain, but with a longing to imitate the appearance of leisure by
wearing white linen and lying in bed till the sun was high. Milford
recognized the voice of the discontented farmer.
"You remember the speeches of the last campaign," said he. "You believe
that the laborer is to overturn society. All right. But that has nothing
to do with my object. That makes no difference, however, since
everything leads to the distress of the farmer. But I want to tell you
and all the rest that it is your own fault, as one and as a whole. You
never read anything but murders and robberies, or the grumblings of some
skate that wants an office. You haven't schooled yourselves into
sharpness enough to see that he is trying to use you. You get up before
sunrise, and work till after dark, and think that the whole world is
watching you. The world doesn't care a snap, I'll tell you that."
"And that's just it, Bill; the world's tryin' to do us."
"Yes, and it will do you."
"I know it, and that's the reason I want to marry out of it."
"That is to say, you want to 'do' a woman to get out of it yourself.
What do you expect to give her?"
"Why, I'll give her a good husband, a man that'll fight for her, do
anything----"
"Except to work for her," Milford broke in. The hired man grinned. "He
said that a good husband was about all that a woman ought to expect,
these days; he would not fall short, and a man who did not disappoint a
good woman came very near to the keeping of all commandments. He was not
going to marry for property. But if property made a woman beautiful to
the rich, why should it make her ugly to the poor?"
"But you say she is homely and freckled."
"I said freckled, Bill; I didn't say homely. Why, I like freckles. I
think they are the puttiest things in the world. They catch me every
time. A trout wouldn't be half as putty if he wan't speckled. And if
this woman is a trout and has snapped at my fly, all right. The world
ain't got a right to say a word."
"The world doesn't know that you are born or ever will be."
"Oh, I know you don't think I amount to much, Bill; I know the world
don't care for me, but I'll make her care one of these days."
"When the worm turns on the woodpecker."
"That's all right, Bill. Have all the flings you want. But I'll tell you
one thing: I don't talk about the Bible bein' the greatest book in the
world, and then go in the woods and lay for a feller to mash his mouth.
Oh, I know all about it. My girl's brother see the feller git on the
train with his jaw tied up, and I knowed what had happened."
"You say the fellow's mouth was mashed?" said Milford.
"Yes, mashed as flat as a pancake."
"Then you want to keep your mouth shut."
"All right, Bill, I understand."
Milford walked about the room. "We are neglecting everything," he said.
"It's time to feed the cattle." They went out to the barn, neither of
them speaking. Mitchell climbed into the loft and tossed down the hay;
Milford measured out oats to the horses. In silence they returned to the
house.
"Why don't you say something?" said Milford.
"When I said the feller's mouth was mashed you said I wanted to keep
mine shut. I help you learn how to box till you could out-box me, and I
guess you can mash my mouth easy enough, Bill."
"But do you think I would, Bob?"
"No, I can't hardly think so. Got any smokin' tobacco?"
"Fresh bag up there on the shelf. Fill up that briar of mine--the
old-timer."
"But you don't want nobody to smoke it, do you?"
"You may keep it; I've got another one."
"But you've had that one so long, Bill."
"Then it's all the sweeter."
"I'm a thousand times obliged to you."
"All right." He was silent for a thoughtful minute, and then he said:
"The summer is about gone. It will leave on the train next Tuesday."
The hired man nodded as if he understood. "And I've got to be lookin'
out for somethin' to do in the winter," he said. "I don't reckon you can
afford to keep me."
"Yes, I want you. I expect to be busy all winter, trading around. Your
wages may go on just the same."
"You don't mean at eighteen dollars?"
"I said just the same."
Mitchell's face beamed with satisfaction. "That would scare some of
these farmers around here half to death," said he. "They never think of
payin' more than ten in winter."
"But I'm not one of these farmers round here."
"That's what you ain't, and I don't know what you have been, nur what
you're goin' to be, but to me you're about the best feller I ever struck
up with."
They talked of affairs on the farm, the hay, the ripening corn. In the
renting of the place a number of ragged sheep had been included, a
contingent sale; and a few months of care had wrought almost a miracle
in the appearance of the flock, so much so that the old woman regretted
her terms and would have withdrawn from them, but Milford had insisted
upon a witnessed contract. They talked about the sheep, the increase to
come in the winter, the sale of lambs in the early summer. They laid
plans for work in the fall, for the cutting and the husking of the corn.
"But I thought you were going to marry," said Milford.
"Yes, but not for a year, Bill. I've got a good deal to attend to first.
I've got to get a divorce, you know. That won't take long, of course,
but a man's divorce ought to get cool before he marries again. I've
talked to my girl about it, and she thinks so. She's a proper thing."
"Did it ever occur to you that she can't be a very proper thing to talk
to you about marriage or to receive attentions from you before you get
your divorce?"
"I don't guess she ever thought of that. But I believe she did say she
wanted I should get a divorce before I said much more about it. It's all
right, anyway. I don't believe in holding a woman to strict rule. If you
force the rule on her before you're married, she'll force it on you
afterwards, and then where'll you be? Well," he added, leaning over to
untie his shoe, "believe I'll go to bed. I'm glad you're pleased with my
work. I want to save up enough to git them shirts, you know. It wouldn't
look right to draw on her at once. Some fellers would, but I'm rather
careful that way."