CHAPTER VIII
AT THE CHURCH BAZAAR
Two days later brought Tom Chepstow's church bazaar. Dave had not yethad the opportunity of interceding with Betty and her uncle on behalfof Jim, but to-day he meant to fulfil his obligations as Tom's chiefsupporter in church affairs, and, at the same time, to do what he couldfor the man he had promised to help.
The whole morning the valley was flooded with a tremendous summerdeluge. It was just as though the heavens had opened and emptied theirwaters upon the earth. Dave viewed the prospect with no very friendlyeye. He knew the summer rains only too well; the possibilities of floodwere well grounded, and just now he had no desire to see the river risehigher than it was at present. Still, as yet there was no reason foralarm. This was the first rain, and the glass was rising.
By noon the clouds broke, and the barometer's promise was fulfilled, sothat, by the time he had clad himself in his best broadcloth, he lefthis office under a radiant sky. In spite of the wet under foot it was adelight to be abroad. The air was fresh and sparkling; the drippingtrees seemed to be studded with thousands of diamonds as the poisingrain-drops glistened in the blazing sun. The valley rang with the musicof the birds, and the health-giving scent of the pine woods was waftedupon the gentlest of zephyrs. Dave's soul was in perfect sympathy withthe beauties about him. To him there could be no spot on God's earth sofair and beautiful as this valley.
Passing the mill on his way out of the yards he was met by Joel Dawson,whose voice greeted him with a note of satisfaction in it.
"She's goin' full, boss," he said. "We set the last saws in her thismornin' an' she's steaming hard. Ther' ain't nothin' idle. Ther' ain'ta' band' or 'gang' left in her."
And Dave without praise expressed his satisfaction at the rapidity withwhich his orders had been carried out. This was his way. Dawson was anexcellent foreman, and his respect for his "boss" was largely based onthe latter's capacity to extract work out of his men. While praisemight have been pleasant to him, it would never have fallen in with hisideas of how the mills should be run. His pride was in the work, and tokeep his respect at concert pitch it was necessary that he should feelthat his "boss" was rather favoring him by entrusting to him the moreimportant part of the work.
Dave passed out of the yards certain that nothing would be neglected inhis absence. If things went wrong Dawson would receive no moreconsideration than a common lumber-jack, and Dawson had no desire toreceive his "time."
The Meeting House stood slightly apart from the rest of the village. Itwas a large, staring frame building, void of all pretentiousness andoutward devotional sign. The weather-boarding was painted; at least, ithad been. But the winter snows had long since robbed it of its originalterra-cotta coloring and left its complexion a drab neutral tint. Thebuilding stood bare, with no encompassing fence, and its chiefdistinctive features were a large doorway, a single row of windows setat regular intervals, and a pitched roof.
As Dave drew near he saw a considerable gathering of men and horsesabout the doorway and tie-post. He was greeted cordially as he came up.These men were unfeignedly glad to see him, not only because he waspopular, but in the hopes that he would show more courage than theypossessed, and lead the way within to the feminine webs being woven fortheir enmeshing.
He chatted for some moments, then, as no one seemed inclined to leavethe sunshine for the tempting baits so carefully set out inside thebuilding, he turned to Jenkins Mudley--
"Are you fellows scared of going in?" he inquired, with his large laugh.
Jenkins shook his head shamefacedly, while Harley-Smith, loud andvulgar, with a staring diamond pin gleaming in his necktie, answeredfor him.
"'Tain't that," he said. "His wife's kind o' dep'ty for him. She's inther' with his dollars."
"And you?" Dave turned on him quickly.
"Me? Oh, I ain't no use for them cirkises. Too much tea an' cake an'kiddies to it for me. Give me a few of the 'jacks' around an' I kind o'feel it homely."
"Say, they ain't got a table for 'draw' in there, have they?" inquiredChecks facetiously. "That's what Harley-Smith needs."
Dave smilingly shook his head.
"I don't think there's any gambling about this--unless it's the brantub. But that is scarcely a gamble. It's a pretty sure thing you getbested over it. Still, there might be a raffle, or an auction. Howwould that do you, Harley-Smith?"
The saloon-keeper laughed boisterously. He liked being the object ofinterest; he liked being noticed so much by Dave. It tickled his vulgarvanity. But, to his disappointment, the talk was suddenly shifted intoanother channel by Checks. The dry-goods merchant turned to Dave withvery real interest.
"Talking of 'draw,'" he said pointedly, "you know that shanty rightopposite me. It's been empty this year an' more. Who was it livedthere? Why, the Sykeses, sure. You know it, it's got a shingle roof,painted red."
"Yes, I know," replied Dave. "It belongs to me. I let Sykes live therebecause there wasn't another house available at the time. I used tokeep it as a storehouse."
"Sure, that's it," exclaimed Checks. "Well, there's some one running agame there at night. I've seen the boys going in, and it's been lit up.Some guy is running a faro bank, or something of the sort. My wifeswears it's young Jim Truscott. She's seen him going in for the lasttwo nights. She says he's always the first one in and the last toleave."
"Psha!" Jenkins Mudley exclaimed, with fine scorn. "Jim ain't nogambler. I'd bet it's some crook in from Calford. There's lots of thatkidney coming around, seeing the place is on the boom. The bees allusgets around wher' the honey's made."
"Grows," suggested Checks amiably.
Harley-Smith laughed loudly.
"Say, bully for you," he cried sarcastically. "Young Jim ain't nogambler? Gee! I've see him take a thousand of the best bills out of theboys at 'craps' right there in my bar. Gambler? Well, I'd snigger!"
And he illustrated his remark loudly and long.
Dave had dropped out of the conversation at the mention of JimTruscott's name. He felt that he had nothing to say. And he hoped toavoid being again brought into it. But Jenkins had purposely told him.Jenkins was a rigid churchman, and he knew that Dave was also a strongsupporter of Parson Tom's. His wife had been very scandalized at theopening of a gambling house directly opposite their store, and he feltit incumbent upon him to fall in with her views. Therefore he turnedagain to Dave.
"Well, what about it, Dave?" he demanded. "What are you going to do?"
The lumberman looked him straight in the eye and smiled.
"Do? Why, what all you fellows seem to be scared to do. I'm going intothis bazaar to do my duty by the church. I'm going to hand them all myspare dollars, and if there's any change coming, I'll take it indry-goods."
But the lightness of his tone and smile had no inspiration from hismood. He was angry; he was disappointed. So this was the worth of Jim'spromises! This was the man who, in a perfect fever of passion, had saidthat the old life of gambling and debauchery was finished for him. Andyet he had probably left his (Dave's) office and gone straight to anight of heavy gaming, and, if Checks were right, running a faro bank.He knew only too well what that meant. No man who had graduated as agambler in such a region as the Yukon was likely to run a faro bankstraight.
Then a light seemed to flash through his brain, and of a sudden herealized something that fired the blood in his veins and set his pulseshammering feverishly. For the moment it set his thoughts chaotic; hecould not realize anything quite clearly. One feeling thrilled him, onewild hope. Then, with stern self-repression, he took hold of himself.This was neither time nor place for such weakness, he told himself. Heknew what it was. For the moment he had let himself get out of hand. Hehad for so long regarded Betty as belonging to Jim; he had for so longshut her from his own thoughts and only regarded her from an impersonalpoint of view, that it had never occurred to him, until that instant,that there was a possibility of her engagement to Jim ever fallingthrough.
This was what had so sudd
enly stirred him. Now, actuated by his senseof duty and honor, he thrust these things aside. His loyalty to thegirl, the strength of his great love for her, would not, even for amoment, permit him to think of himself. Five years ago he had saidgood-bye to any hopes and thoughts such as these. On that day he hadstruggled with himself and won. He was not going to destroy the effectsof that victory by any selfish thought now. His love for the girl wasthere, nothing could alter that. It would remain there, deep down inhis heart, dormant but living. But it was something more than a merehuman passion, it was something purer, loftier; something thatcrystallized the human clay of his thought into the purest diamonds ofunselfishness.
In the few moments that it took him to pass into the Meeting House andlaunch himself upon his task of furthering the cause of Tom Chepstow'schurch, his mind cleared. He could not yet see the line of action hemust take if the gossip of Mr. Addlestone Checks were true. But onething was plain, that gossip must not influence him until its truthwere established. Just as he was seized upon by at least half a dozenof the women who had wares to sell, and were bent on morally pickinghis pockets, he had arrived at his decision.
The hall was ablaze with colored stuffs. There were festoons andbanners, and rosettes and evergreen. Every bare corner was somehowconcealed. There were drapings of royal blue and staring white, andsufficient bunting to make a suit of flags for a war-ship.
All the seats and benches had been removed, and round the walls hadbeen erected the stalls and booths of the saleswomen. One end of theroom was given up to a platform, on which, in the evening, the mostselect of the local vocalists would perform. Beside this was a brantub, where one could have a dip for fifty cents and be sure of winninga prize worth at least five. Then there was a fortune-telling booth onthe opposite side, presided over by a local beauty, Miss Eva Wade,whose father was a small rancher just outside the valley. Thisinstitution was eyed askance by many of the women. They were not surethat fortune-telling could safely be regarded as strictly moral. ParsonTom was responsible for its inception, and his lean shoulders werebraced to bear the consequences.
Dave was by no means new to church bazaars. Any one living in a smallwestern village must have considerable experience of such things. Theyare a form of taxation much in favor, and serve multifarious purposes.They are at once a pleasant social function where young people cansafely meet under the matronly eye; they keep all in close touch withreligion; they give the usually idle something to think of and workfor, and the busy find them an addition to their burdens. They create asort of central bureau for the exchange of scandal, and a ready marketfor trading useless articles to people who do not desire to purchase,but having purchased feel that the moral sacrifice they have made is atleast one step in the right direction to make up for many backslidingsin the past.
Dave doubtless had long since considered all this. But he saw andappreciated the purpose underlying it. He knew Tom Chepstow to be agood man, and though he had little inspiration as a churchman, hespared no pains in his spiritual labors, and the larger portion of hisvery limited stipend went in unobtrusive charity. No sick bed ever wentuncheered by his presence, and no poor ever went without warm clothingand wholesome food in the terrible Canadian winter so long as he hadanything to give. Therefore Dave had come well provided with money,which he began at once to spend with hopeless prodigality.
The rest of the men followed in the lumberman's wake, and soon thebustle and noise waxed furious. They all bought indiscriminately. Davestarted on Mrs. Checks' "gentlemen's outfitters" stall. His heartrejoiced when he sighted a pile of handkerchiefs which the lady hadspecially made for him, and which she now thrust at him with anexorbitant price marked upon them. He bought them all. He bought anumber of shirts he could not possibly have worn. He boughtunderclothing that wouldn't have been a circumstance on his cumbersomefigure. He passed on to Louisa Mudley's millinery stall and boughtseveral hats, which he promptly shed upon the various women in hisvicinity. He did his duty royally, and bought dozens of things which hepromptly gave away. And his attentions in this matter were quiteimpartial. He did it with the air of some great good-natured schoolboythat set everybody delighted with him, with themselves, witheverything; and the bazaar, as a result, went with a royal, prosperousswing. Here, as in his work, his personality carried with it the magicof success.
At last he reached Betty's stall. She was presiding over a hideouscollection of cheap bric-a-brac. With her usual unselfishness anddesire to promote harmony amongst the workers, and so help the successof the bazaar, she had sacrificed herself on the altar of duty bytaking charge of the most unpopular stall. Nobody wanted the goods shehad to sell; consequently Dave found her deserted. She smiled up at hima little pathetically as he came over to her.
"Are you coming as a friend or as a customer? Most of the visits I havereceived have been purely friendly." She laughed, but Dave could seethat the natural spirit of rivalry was stirred, and she was a littleunhappy at the rush of business going on everywhere but at her stall.
"I come as both," he said, with that air of frank kindliness sopeculiarly his own.
The girl's eyes brightened.
"Then let's get to work on the customer part of your visit first," shesaid at once; "the other can wait. Now here I have a nice plate. Youcan hang it in your office on the wall. You see it's already wired. Itmight pass for old Worcester if you don't let in too much light. Butthere, you never have your windows washed, do you? Then I have," shehurried on, turning to other articles, "this. This is a shell--at leastI suppose it is," she added naively. "And this is a Toby jug; and thisis a pipe-rack; this is for matches; this is for a whisk brush; andthese two vases, they're real fine. Look at them. Did you ever see suchcolors? No, and I don't suppose anybody else ever did." She laughed,and Dave joined in her laugh.
But her laugh suddenly died out. The man heard a woman, only a few feetaway, mention Jim Truscott's name, and he knew that Betty had heard ittoo. He knew that her smiling chatter, which had seemed so gay, soirresponsible, had all been pretense, a pretense which had suddenlybeen swept aside at the mere mention of Jim's name. At that moment hefelt he could have taken the man up in his two strong hands andstrangled him. However, he allowed his feelings no display, but at oncetook up the challenge of the saleswoman.
"Say, Betty, there's just one thing in the world I'm crazy about: it'sbits of pots and things such as you've got on your stall. It seems likefate you should be running this stall. Now just get right to it, andfetch out some tickets--a heap of 'em--and write 'sold' on 'em, anddump 'em on all you like. How much for the lot?"
"What do you mean, Dave?" the girl cried, her eyes wide and questioning.
"How much? I don't want anybody else buying those things," Dave saidseriously. "I want 'em all."
Betty's eyes softened almost to tears.
"I can't let you do it, Dave," she said gently. "Not all. Some."
But the man was not to be turned from his purpose.
"I want 'em all," he said doggedly. "Here. Here's two hundred dollars.That'll cover it." He laid four bills of fifty dollars each on thestall. "There," he added, "you can sell 'em over again if any of theboys want to buy."
Betty was not sure which she wanted to do, cry or laugh. However, shefinally decided on the latter course. Dave's simple contradiction wasquite too much for her.
"You're the most refreshing old simpleton I ever knew," she said. "ButI'll take your money--for the church," she added, as though endeavoringto quiet her conscience.
Dave sighed in relief.
"Well, that's that. Now we come to the friendly side of my visit," hesaid. "I've got a heap to say to you. Jim Truscott's been to me."
He made his statement simply, and waited. But no comment wasforthcoming. Betty was stooping over a box, collecting cards to placeon the articles on her stall. Presently she looked up, and her look wasan invitation for him to go on.
The man's task was not easy. It would have been easy enough had he notspoken with Checks outside, but now it wa
s all different. He hadpromised his help, but in giving it he had no clear conscience.
He propped himself against the side-post of her stall, and his weightset the structure shaking perilously.
"I've often wondered, Betty," he said, in a rumbling, confidentialtone, "if there ever was a man, or for that matter a woman, who reallyunderstood human nature. We all think we know a lot about it. We sizeup a man, and we reckon he's good, bad, or indifferent, and if ourestimate happens to prove, we pat ourselves, and hold our heads a shadehigher, and feel sorry for those who can't read a man as easy as wecan."
Betty nodded while she stuck some "Sold" cards about her stall.
"A locomotive's a great proposition, so long as it's on a set track.It's an all-fired nuisance without. Guess a locomotive can doeverything it shouldn't when it gets loose of its track. My word, I'dhate to be around with a loco up to its fool-tricks, running loose in acity. Seems to me that's how it is with human nature."
Betty's brown eyes were thoughtfully contemplating the man's uglyfeatures.
"I suppose you mean we all need a track to run on?"
"Why, yes," Dave went on, brightening. "Some of us start out in lifewith a ready-made track, with 'points' we can jump if we've a notion.Some of us have a track without 'points,' so there's no excuse forgetting off it. Some of us have to lay down our own track, and keepright on it, building it as we go. That's the hardest. We're bound tohave some falls. You see there's so much ballasting needed, theground's so mighty bumpy. I seem to know a deal about that sort oftrack. I've had to build mine, and I've fallen plenty. Sometimes it'sbeen hard picking myself up, and I've been bruised and sore often.Still, I've got up, and I don't seem no worse for falling."
Betty's eyes were smiling softly.
"But _you_ picked yourself up, Dave, didn't you?" she asked gently.
"Well--not always. You see, I've got a mother. She's helped a wholeheap. You see, she's mostly all my world, and I used to hate to hurther by letting her see me down. She kind of thinks I'm the greatestproposition ever, and it tickles my vanity. I want her to go onthinking it, as it keeps me hard at work building that track. And now,through her, I've been building so long that it comes easier, andthinking of her makes me hang on so tight I don't get falling aroundnow. There's other fellows haven't got a mother, or--you see, I'vealways had her with me. That's where it comes in. Now, if she'd beenaway from me five years, when I was very young; you see----"
Dave broke off clumsily. He was floundering in rough water. He knewwhat he wanted to say, but words were not too easy to him.
"Poor Jim!" murmured Betty softly.
Dave's eyes were on her in a moment. Her manner was somehow differentfrom what he had expected. There was sympathy and womanly tenderness inher voice; but he had expected---- Then his thoughts went back to thetime when they had spoken of Jim on the bridge. And, without knowingwhy, his pulses quickened, and a warmth of feeling swept over him.
"Poor Jim!" he said, after a long pause, during which his pulses hadsteadied and he had become master of his feelings again. "He's fallen alot, and I'm not sure it's all his fault. He always ran straight whenhe was here. He was very young to go away to a place like the Yukon.Maybe--maybe you could pick him up; maybe you could hold him to thattrack, same as mother did for me?"
Betty was close beside him. She had moved out of her stall and was nowlooking up into his earnest face.
"Does he want me to?" she asked wistfully. "Do _you_ think I can helphim?"
The man's hands clenched tightly. For a moment he struggled.
"You can," he said at last. "He wants you; he wants your help. He lovesyou so, he's nearly crazy."
The girl gazed up at him with eyes whose question the man tried butfailed to read. It was some seconds before her lips opened to speakagain.
But her words never came. At that moment Addlestone Checks hurried upto them. He drew Dave sharply on one side. His manner was mysteriousand important, and his face wore a look of outraged piety.
"Something's got to be done," he said in a stage whisper. "It's themost outrageous thing I've seen in years. Right here--right here in thehouse where the parson preaches the Word! It sure is enough to set itshakin' to its foundation. Drunk! That's what he is--roarin', flamin',fightin' drunk! You must do something. It's up to you."
"What do you mean? Who is drunk?" cried Dave, annoyed at the man'sPharisaical air.
Before he could get a reply there was a commotion at the far end of thebazaar. Voices were raised furiously, and everybody had flocked in thatdirection. Once Dave thought he heard Chepstow's voice raised inprotest. Betty ran to his side directly the tumult began.
"Oh, Dave, what's the matter down there? I thought I heard Jim's voice?"
"So you did, Miss Betty," cried Checks, with sanctimonious spleen. "Soyou did--the drunken----"
"Shut up, or I'll break your neck!" cried Dave, threatening himfuriously.
The dry-goods dealer staggered back just as Betty's hand was gently,but firmly, laid on Dave's upraised arm.
"Don't bother, Dave," she said piteously. "I've seen him. Oh,Jim--Jim!" And she covered her face with her hands.