Copper Streak Trail

  CHAPTER IX

  "Far be it from me to--to--"

  "Cavil or carp?"

  "Exactly. Thank you. Beautiful line! Quite Kipling. Far from me to cavilor carp, Tum-tee-tum-tee-didy, Or shift the shuttle from web or warp. Andall for my dark-eyed lydy! Far be it from me, as above. Nevertheless--"

  "Why, then, the exertion?"

  "Duty. Friendship. Francis Charles Boland, you're lazy."

  "Ferdie," said Francis Charles, "you are right. I am."

  "Too lazy to defend yourself against the charge of being lazy?"

  "Not at all. The calm repose; that sort of thing--what?"

  Mr. Boland's face assumed the patient expression of one misjudged.

  "Laziness!" repeated Ferdie sternly. "'Tis a vice that I abhor. Slip me asmoke."

  Francis Charles fumbled in the cypress humidor at Ferdie's elbow; heleaned over the table and gently closed Ferdie's finger and thumb upona cigarette.

  "Match," sighed Ferdie.

  Boland struck a match; he held the flame to the cigarette's end. Ferdiepuffed. Then he eyed his friend with judicial severity.

  "Abominably lazy! Every opportunity--family, education--brains, perhaps.Why don't you go to work?"

  "My few and simple wants--" Boland waved his hand airily. "Besides,who am I that I should crowd to the wall some worthy and industriousperson?--practically taking the bread from the chappie's mouth, youmight say. No, no!" said Mr. Boland with emotion; "I may have my faults,but--"

  "Why don't you go in for politics?"

  "Ferdinand, little as you may deem it, there are limits."

  "You have no ambition whatever?"

  "By that sin fell the angels--and look at them now!"

  "Why not take a whirl at law?"

  Boland sat up stiffly. "Mr. Sedgwick," he observed with exceedingbitterness, "you go too far. Take back your ring! Henceforth we meetas str-r-r-rangers!"

  "Ever think of writing? You do enough reading, Heaven knows."

  Mr. Boland relapsed to a sagging sprawl; he adjusted his finger tipsto touch with delicate nicety.

  "Modesty," he said with mincing primness, "is the brightest jewel in mycrown. Litter and literature are not identical, really, though thesuperficial observer might be misled to think so. And yet, in a highersense, perhaps, it may almost be said, with careful limitations, that,considering certain delicate _nuances_ of filtered thought, as it were,and making meticulous allowance for the personal equation--"

  "Grisly ass! Well, then, what's the matter with the army?"

  "My prudence is such," responded Mr. Boland dreamily--"in fact, myprudence is so very such, indeed--one may almost say so extremelysuch--not to mention the pertinent and trenchant question so wellformulated by the little Peterkin--"

  "Why don't you marry?"

  "Ha!" said Francis Charles.

  "Whachamean--'Ha'?"

  "I mean what the poet meant when he spoke so feelingly of the

  "------eager boysWho might have tasted girl's love and been stung."

  "Didn't say it. Who?"

  "Did, too! William Vaughn Moody. So I say 'Ha!' in the deepest andfullest meaning of the word; and I will so defend it with my life."

  "If you were good and married once, you might not be such a fool," saidSedgwick hopefully.

  "Take any form but this"--Mr. Boland inflated his chest and held himselforatorically erect--"and my firm nerves shall never tremble! I havetracked the tufted pocolunas to his lair; I have slain the eight-leggedgalliwampus; I have bearded the wallipaloova in his noisome den, andgazed into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian liar; and I'lltry everything once--except this. But I have known too many too-charminggirls too well. To love them," said Francis Charles sadly, "was abusiness education."

  He lit a cigar, clasped his hands behind his head, tilted his chairprecariously, and turned a blissful gaze to the little rift of sky beyondthe crowding maples.

  Mr. Boland was neither tall nor short; neither broad nor slender; neitherold nor young. He wore a thick mop of brown hair, tinged with chestnut inthe sun. His forehead was broad and high and white and shapely. His eyeswere deep-set and wide apart, very innocent, very large, and very brown,fringed with long lashes that any girl might envy. There the finechiseling ceased. Ensued a nose bold and broad, freckled and inclined topuggishness; a wide and generous mouth, quirky as to the corners of it;high cheek bones; and a square, freckled jaw--all these ill-assortedfeatures poised on a strong and muscular neck.

  Sedgwick, himself small and dark and wiry, regarded Mr. Boland with ascorning and deprecatory--but with private approval.

  "You're getting on, you know. You're thirty--past. I warn you."

  "Ha!" said Francis Charles again.

  Sedgwick raised his voice appealingly.

  "Hi, Thompson! Here a minute! Shouldn't Francis Charles marry?"

  "Ab-so-lute-ly!" boomed a voice within.

  The two young men, it should be said, sat on the broad porch of MitchellHouse. The booming voice came from the library.

  "Mustn't Francis Charles go to work?"

  In the library a chair overturned with a crash. A startled silence; thenthe sound of swift feet. Thompson came through the open French window; ashort man, with a long shrewd face and a frosted poll. Feigned anxietysat on his brow; he planted his feet firmly and wide apart, and twinkleddown at his young guests.

  "Pardon me, Mr. Sedgwick--I fear I did not catch your words correctly.You were saying--?"

  Francis Charles brought his chair to level and spoke with great feeling:

  "As our host, to whom our bright young lives have been entrusted for atime--standing to us, as you do, almost as a locoed parent--I put it toyou--"

  "Shut up!" roared Ferdie. "Thompson, you see this--this object? You hearit? Mustn't it go to work?"

  "Ab-so-lutissimusly!"

  "I protest against this outrage," said Francis Charles. "Thompson, you'rebeastly sober. I appeal to your better self. I am a philosopher. Sittingunder your hospitable rooftree, I render you a greater service by mycalm and dispassionate insight than I could possibly do by any ill-judgedactivity. Undisturbed and undistracted by greed, envy, ambition, ordesire, I see things in their true proportion. A dreamy spectator of theworld's turmoil, I do not enter into the hectic hurly-burly of life; Imerely withhold my approval from cant, shams, prejudice, formulae,hypocrisy, and lies. Such is the priceless service of the philosopher."

  "Philosopher, my foot!" jeered Ferdie. "You're a brow! A solemn andsanctimonious brow is bad enough, but a sprightly and godless brow ispositive-itutely the limit!"

  "That's absurd, you know," objected Francis Charles. "No man is reallyirreligious. Whether we make broad the phylactery or merely our minds, weare all alike at heart. The first waking thought is invariably, What ofthe day? It is a prayer--unconscious, unspoken, and sincere. We are allsun worshipers; and when we meet we invoke the sky--a good day to you; agood night to you. It is a highly significant fact that all conversationbegins with the weather. The weather is the most important fact in anyone day, and, therefore, the most important fact in the sum of our days.We recognize this truth in our greetings; we propitiate the dim andnameless gods of storm and sky; we reverence their might, their pathsabove our knowing. Nor is this all. A fine day; a bad day--with thecareless phrases we assent to such tremendous and inevitableimplications: the helplessness of humanity, the brotherhood of man,equality, democracy. For what king or kaiser, against the implacablewind--"

  Ferdie rose and pawed at his ears with both hands.

  "For the love of the merciful angels! Can the drivel and cut the drool!"

  "Those are very good words, Sedgwick," said Mr. Thompson approvingly."The word I had on my tongue was--balderdash. But your thought washappier. Balderdash is a vague and shapeless term. It conjures up nodefinite vision. But drivel and drool--very excellent words."

  Mr. Thompson took a cigar and seated himself, expectant and happy.

  "Boland, what did you come here for, anyhow?
" demanded Ferdieexplosively. "Do you play tennis? Do you squire the girls? Do you takea hand at bridge? Do you fish? Row? Swim? Motor? Golf? Booze? Not you!Might as well have stayed in New York. Two weeks now you have perched oha porch--perched and sat, and nothing more. Dawdle and dream and foozleover your musty old books. Yah! Highbrow!"

  "Little do you wot; but I do more--ah, far more!--than perching on thisporch."

  "What do you do? Mope and mowl? If so, mowl for us. I never saw anybodymowl. Or does one hear people when they mowl?"

  "Naturally it wouldn't occur to you--but I think. About things.Mesopotamia. The spring-time of the world. Ur of the Chaldees.Melchisedec. Arabia Felix. The Simple Life; and Why Men Leave Home."

  "No go, Boland, old socks!" said Thompson. "Our young friend is right,you know. You are not practical. You are booky. You are a dreamer. Getinto the game. Get busy! Get into business. Get a wad. Get! Found anestate. Be somebody!"

  "As for me, I go for a stroll. You give little Frankie a pain in hisfeelings! For a crooked tuppence I'd get somebody to wire me to cometo New York at once.--Uttering these intrepid words the brave youth rosegracefully and, without a glance at his detractors, saunterednonchalantly to the gate.--Unless, of course, you meant it for my good?"He bent his brows inquiringly.

  "We meant it--" said Ferdie, and paused.

  "--for your good," said Thompson.

  "Oh, well, if you meant it for my good!" said Boland graciously. "Allthe same, if I ever decide to 'be somebody,' I'm going to be FrancisCharles Boland, and not a dismal imitation of a copy of some celebratedposeur--I'll tell you those! Speaking as a man of liberal--orlax--morality, you surprise me. You are godly and cleanly men; yet, whenyou saw in me a gem of purest ray serene, did you appeal to my betternature? Nary! In a wild and topsy-turvy world, did you implore me todevote my splendid and unwasted energies in the service of Good, with acapital G? Nix! You appealed to ambition, egotism, and greed.... Fie! Afie upon each of you!"

  "Don't do that! Have mercy! We appeal to your better nature. We repent."

  "All the same, I am going for my stroll, rejoined the youth, striving torepress his righteous indignation out of consideration for his humiliatedcompanions, who now--alas, too late!--saw their conduct in its truelight. For, he continued, with a flashing look from his intelligent eyes,I desire no pedestal; I am not avaricious. Be mine the short and simpleflannels of the poor."

  * * * * *

  An hour later Francis Charles paused in his strolling, cap in hand, andturned back with Mary Selden.

  "How fortunate!" he said.

  "Isn't it?" said Miss Selden. "Odd, too, considering that I take thisroad home every evening after school is out. And when we reflect that youchanced this way last Thursday at half-past four--and again on Friday--itamounts to a coincidence."

  "Direction of the subconscious mind," explained Francis Charles,unabashed. "Profound meditation--thirst for knowledge. What more naturalthan that my heedless foot should stray, instinctively as it were, towardthe--the--"

  "--old oaken schoolhouse that stood in a swamp. It is a shame, of theburning variety, that a State as wealthy as New York doesn't and won'tprovide country schools with playgrounds big enough for anything buttiddledy-winks!" declared Miss Selden. Her fine firm lip curled. Then sheturned her clear gray eyes upon Mr. Boland. "Excuse me for interruptingyou, please."

  "Don't mention it! People always have to interrupt me when theywant to say anything. And now may I put a question or two?About--geography--history--that sort of thing?"

  The eyes further considered Mr. Boland.

  "You are not very complimentary to Mr. Thompson's house party, I think,"said Mary in a cool, little, matter-of-fact voice.

  Altogether a cool-headed and practical young lady, this midgetschoolma'am, with her uncompromising directness of speech and her cleareyes--a merry, mirthful, frank, dainty, altogether delightful smallperson.

  Francis Charles stole an appreciative glance at the trim and jauntyfigure beside him and answered evasively:

  "It was like this, you know: Was reading Mark Twain's 'Life on theMississippi.' On the first page he observes of that river that it drawsits water supply from twenty-eight States, all the way from Delaware toIdaho. I don't just see it. Delaware, you know--that's pretty steep!"

  "If it were not for his reputation I should suspect Mr. Clemens oflevity," said Mary. "Could it have been a slip?"

  "No slip. It's repeated. At the end of the second chapter he says this--Ithink I have it nearly word for word: 'At the meeting of the waters fromDelaware and from Itasca, and from the mountain ranges close upon thePacific--' Now what did he mean by making this very extraordinarystatement twice? Is there a catch about it? Canals, or something?"

  "I think, perhaps," said Mary, "he meant to poke fun at our habit ofreading without attention and of accepting statement as proof."

  "That's it, likely. But maybe there's a joker about canals. Wasn't therea Baltimore and Ohio Canal? But again, if so, how did water from Delawareget to Baltimore? Anyhow, that's how it all began--studying about canals.For, how about this dry canal along here? It runs forty miles that I knowof--I've seen that much of it, driving Thompson's car. It must have costa nice bunch of money. Who built it? When did who build it? What did itcost? Where did it begin? Where did it start to? Was it ever finished?Was it ever used? What was the name of it? Nobody seems to know."

  "I can't answer one of those questions, Mr. Boland."

  "And you a schoolmistress! Come now! I'll give you one more chance. Whatare the principal exports of Abingdon?"

  "That's easy. Let me see: potatoes, milk, eggs, butter, cheese. And hay,lumber, lath and bark--chickens and--and apples, apple cider--rye,buckwheat, buckwheat flour, maple sirup; pork and veal and beef; and--andthat's all, I guess."

  "Wrong! I'll mark you fifty per cent. You've omitted the most importantitem. Abingdon--and every country town, I suppose--ships off her youngpeople--to New York; to the factories; a few to the West. That is whyAbingdon is the saddest place I've ever seen. Every farmhouse holds atragedy. The young folk--

  "They are all gone away; The house is shut and still. There is nothing more to say."

  Mary Selden stopped; she looked up at her companion thoughtfully.Seashell colors ebbed from her face and left it almost pale.

  "Thank you for reminding me," she said. "There is another bit ofinformation I think you should have. You'll probably think me bold,forward, and the rest of it; I can't help that; you need the knowledge."

  Francis Charles groaned.

  "For my good, of course. Funny how anything that's good for us is alwaysdisagreeable. Well, let's have it!"

  "It may not be of the slightest consequence to you," began Mary, slightlyconfused. "And perhaps you know all about it--any old gossip could tellyou. It's a wonder if they haven't; you've been here two weeks."

  Boland made a wry face.

  "I see! Exports?"

  Mary nodded, and her brave eyes drooped a little.

  "Abingdon's finest export--in my opinion, at least--went to Arizona.And--and he's in trouble, Mr. Boland; else I might not have told youthis. But it seemed so horrid of me--when he's in such dreadful trouble.So, now you know."

  "Arizona?" said Boland. "Why, there's where--Excuse me; I didn't mean topry."

  "Yes, Stanley Mitchell. Only that you stick in your shell, like a turtle,you'd have heard before now that we were engaged. Are engaged. And youmustn't say a word. No one knows about the trouble--not even his uncle.I've trusted you, Mr. Boland."

  "See here, Miss Selden--I'm really not a bad sort. If I can be of anyuse--here am I. And I lived in the Southwest four years, too--WestTexas and New Mexico. Best time I ever had! So I wouldn't be absolutelyhelpless out there. And I'm my own man--foot-loose. So, if you can useme--for this thing seems to be serious--"

  "Serious!" said Mary. "Serious! I can't tell you now. I shouldn't havetold you even this much. Go now, Mr. Boland. And if we--if I see where Ican use
you--that was your word--I'll use you. But you are to keep awayfrom me unless I send for you. Suppose Stan heard now what some gossip orother might very well write to him--that 'Mary Selden walked home everynight with a fascinating Francis Charles Boland'?"

  "Tell him about me, yourself--touching lightly on my fascinations,"advised Boland. "And tell him why you tell him. Plain speaking is alwaysthe best way."

  "It is," said Mary. "I'll do that very thing this night. I think I likeyou, Mr. Boland. Thank you--and good-bye!"

  "Good-bye!" said Boland, touching her hand.

  He looked after her as she went.

  "Plucky little devil!" he said. "Level and straight and square. Somegirl!"