IX
ENTER BROTHER BELKNAP
I can slide over my first month's work quick. At least half of us havebeen boys once, and a good share of that half have run into the stiffproposition when they were boys. I carried on my back most of thetrouble in that part of the country--they were a careless people. Jimgive me my head and let me bump it into mistakes. "Find out" was hismotto. "Don't ask the boss," and I found out, perspiring freely thewhile. I had to hire men and fire 'em, wrastle with the Spanishlanguage, keep books, keep my temper, learn what a day's work meant,learn to handle a team, get the boys to pull together, and last, but notleast, try to get the best of that cussed horse, Archie.
I can't tell which was the worst. I know this, though: while mysympathies are with the hired man, yet that season of getting along withhim taught me that the boss's job isn't one long, sugar-coated dream,neither. If the hired man knew more, he'd have less wrongs, and also, ifhe knew more, he wouldn't be a hired man. What that proves, I pass.
Keeping books wore down my proud spirit, too. I do hate a puttering job.It was all there, anyhow. Jim pulled at his mustache and wrinkled hismanly brow when he first snagged on my bookkeeping. "What the devil isthis item?" he'd say. "'_Francis Lopez borrowed a dollar on his pay;says his mother's sick. That's a lie, I bet._' You mustn't let the boyshave money that way, Bill, and never mind putting your thoughts in thecash-book--save 'em for your diary."
I got the hang of it after a while, and one grand day my cash balanced.That was a moment to remember. I don't recall that it ever happenedagain. The store made most of my trouble. We handled all kinds of truck,from kerosene oil to a jews'-harp, through rough clothes and thehardware department. My helper was the lunkheadest critter God evertrusted outdoors. You'd scarcely believe one man's head could be sofoolish. At the same time the poor devil was kind and polite, and heneeded the job so bad, I couldn't fire him. But he took some of thecolor out of my hair, all right. He was a Mexican who talked English, sohe was useful that way, anyhow. But Man! What the stuff cost was markedin letters--"Washington" was our cost-mark word. If the thing cost adollar fifty, it was marked WIN, then you tacked on the profit. Well,poor Pedro used to forget all about the father of his country, if therecame a rush, and as he didn't have any natural common sense, you couldexpect him to sell a barrel of kerosene for two bits and charge eightdollars for a paper of needles. Whenever I heard wild cries ofastonishment and saw the arms a-flying, I could be sure that Pedro hadlost track of American history. He'd make a statue of William Penn getup and cuss, that feller. I tried everything--wrote out the prices, gavehim lists, put pictures of our George all over the store, swore at himtill I was purple and him weeping in his pocket-handkerchief, callingthe saints to witness how the memory of the G-r-r-eat Ouash-eeng-tongwould never depart from his mind again, and in three minutes he'd sell atwenty-five dollar Stetson hat for eighty-seven cents. It took a gooddeal of my time rushing around the country getting those sales back.
Then, when the confinement of the store told too much on my nerves andthe gangs had all been looked up, I went to the corral and took a fallout of Archibald. Or, more properly speaking, I took a fall offArchibald. That horse was a complete education in the art of riding. Inever since have struck anything, bronco, cayuse, or American horse,that didn't seem like an amateur 'longside of him. He'd pitch for a halfhour in a space no bigger than a dining-room table; then he'd run andbuck for another half hour. If you stuck so much out, he'd kick yourfeet out of the stirrups, stick his ears in the ground, and throw asomersault. No man living could think up more schemes than that mustang,and you might as well try to tire a steam-engine. At the end of thefirst hour Archie was simply nice and limber; the second hour saw himgetting into the spirit of it; by the third hour he was warmed up andworking like a charm. I'm guessing the third hour. Two was my limit.
All these things kept me from calling on my friends in town for sometime, till Jim gave me three days off to use as I pleased. I put me onthe tallest steeple hat with the biggest bells I could find; I had spursthat would do to harpoon a whale, and they had jinglers on 'em wherevera jingler would go. My neckerchief was a heavenly blue, to match myhair, and it was considerably smaller than a horse-blanket. The hairitself had grown well down to my neck, and she's never been cut fromthat day, except to trim the ends. In my sash I stuck a horse-pistol anda machete. Contact with the Spaniard had already corrupted me into beingproud of my small feet, so I spent one hour getting my boots on, and oh,Lord! the misery of those boots! I tell you what it is, if one man orwoman should do to another what that victim will do to himself, forVanity's sake, the neighbors would rise and lynch the offender. When Iworried those boots off at night, I'd fall back and enjoy the blessedrelief for five minutes without moving. It was almost worth the pain,that five minutes. I used to know a man who said he got more real valueout of the two weeks his wife went to visit her mother than he did outof a year, before he was married.
But I looked great, you bet. Probably my expression was foolish, but Iwouldn't mind feeling myself _such_ a thumping hunk of a man once more,expression and all. And I rode a little mouse-colored Americanhorse, with a cream mane and tail and two white feet forward,--a pretty,playful little cuss with no sin in him, as proud of me and himself as Iwas. There was only one more thing to make that trip complete, and aboutten mile out of Panama I filled. Out of a side draw pops a blackavisedroad-agent, and informs me that he wants my money. I drew horse-pistoland machete and charged with a loud holler. That brigand shed his gunand threw his knees higher than his shoulders getting out of that. Ipaused and overtook him. He explained sadly and untruthfully thatnothing but a starving wife and twenty-three children drove him to suchcourses. I told him the evil of his ways--no short story, neither. Youbet I spread myself on that chance,--then I gave him two dollars for thefamily and rode my cheerful way. It really is beautiful to think ofanybody being so pleased with anything as I was with myself. And thestory I had now to tell Mary! We did a fast ten mile into Panama.
I found the house where Mary boarded without much trouble. It was one ofthe old-fashioned Spanish houses where the upper stories stick out,although not like some of 'em, as it had a garden around it. A bully oldhouse, with sweet-smelling vines and creepers and flowers, and statuesand a fountain in the garden. The fountain only squirted in the rainyseason, but it was good to look at. A garden with a fountain in it was athing I'd always wanted to see. Seemed to me like I could begin tobelieve in some of the stories I read, when I saw that.
Everything had a far-away look. For a full minute I couldn't get overthe notion that I'd ridden into a story-book by mistake. So I sat on myhorse and stared at it, glad I came, till a soft rush of feet on thegrass and a voice I'd often wanted to hear in the past month calling,"Why, Will! I was sure it was you!" made me certain of my welcome.
Now, I'd been too busy to think much lately, but when my eyes fell onthat beautiful girl, running to see me, glad to see me--eyes, mouth, andoutstretched hands all saying she was glad to see me--I just naturallyhopped off my horse, over the wall, and gathered her in both arms. Shekissed me, frank and hearty, and then we shook hands and said all thosethings that don't mean anything, that people say to relieve theirfeelings.
Then she laughed and fixed her hair, eying me sideways, and she says: "Idon't know that I should permit that from so large and ferocious lookinga person. But perhaps it's too late, so tell me everything--how do youget on with Mr. Holton? What are you doing? Why haven't I heard fromyou? I thought certainly you wouldn't desert me in this strange countryfor a whole month--I've missed you awfully."
"Have you, Mary!" I said; "have you really?" I couldn't get over it,that she'd missed me.
"I should say I had, you most tremendous big boy, you!" she says, givingme a little loving shake. "Do you suppose I've forgotten all our walksand talks on the _Matilda_? And all your funny speeches? Oh, Will! I'vebeen homesick, and your dear old auburn locks are home!"
"Why, there's Sax!" says I, in the innocence of
my heart. "Hasn't hebeen around?"
"I haven't seen much of Mr. Saxton," she answers, cooling so I felt theneed of a coat--"and that's quite different."
Well, I hustled away from the subject fast, sorry to know something waswrong between my friends, but too durned selfish to spoil my owngreeting. I plunged into the history of Mr. William Saunders, from thetime of leaving the _Matilda_. Mary was the most eloquent listener Iever met. She made a good story of whatever she harkened to.
Well, sir, I had a pleasant afternoon. There was that story-book oldhouse and garden, Mary and me at a little table, drinking lime-juicelemonade, me in my fine clothes out for a real holiday, smoking like areal man, telling her about the crimp I put in that road-agent.
Yes, I was having a glorious time, when the gate opened and a man camein. Somehow, from the first look I got of him I didn't like him.Something of the shadow that used to hang over home lay in that lad'sblack coat.
Mary's face changed. The life went out. Something heavy, serious, andtired came into it, yet she met the newcomer with the greatest respect.As they came toward me I stiffened inside. Mr. Belknap and Mr. Saundersshook hands. His closed upon mine firmly and coldly, like a machine. Heannounced that he was glad to meet me in a tone of voice that wouldleave a jury doubtful. We stood around, me embarrassed, and even Maryill at ease, until he said: "Shall we not sit down?" Feeling at schoolonce more, down I sat. If he'd said: "Shall we not walk off upon ourears!" I'd felt obliged to try it.
He put a compulsion on you. He made you want to please him, though youhated him.
Well, there we sat. "Mr. Belknap is doing a wonderful work among thesepoor people," explained Mary to me. There was something prim in herspeech that knocked another color off the meeting.
"You are too good," said Mr. Belknap. He was modest, too, in a way thatreproached you for daring to talk of him so careless. I wished that Mr.Belknap would get to work on his poor people and leave us alone, but hehad no such intention.
"Miss Smith," says he, "is one of those who credit others with theexcellencies they believe in from possession."
Mary colored, and a little frown I could not understand lay on herforehead for the second. It was curious, that man's way. When he madehis speech it was like he put a rope upon the girl. I didn't see muchmeaning to it, except a compliment, but I felt something behind it, andsuddenly I understood her frown. It was the way you look when somethingyou feel you ought to do, that you've worked yourself into believing youwant to do, although at the bottom of your heart you'd chuck it quick,comes up for action.
I'd have broken into the talk if I could, but Brother Belknap had metongue-tied, so I just sat, wishful to go, in spite of Mary, and unableto start. It seemed like presuming a good deal to leave, or do anythingelse Mr. Belknap hadn't mentioned.
We talked like advice to the young in the third reader. Mr. Belknapannounced his topics and smiled his superior knowledge. I'd have hit himin the eye for two cents, and at the same time if he told me to run awaylike a good little boy, darned if I don't believe I'd done it--me, thatchased the road-agent up the valley not three hours before!
Mary moved her glass in little circles and looked off into distance.Something of the change from our first being together, to this, wasworking in her. "It is hard," she said, trying to pass it off lightly,"to bear the weight of virtues that don't belong to me!"
Mr. Belknap leaned forward. He was a heavy-built, easy-moving man; youhad to grant him a kind of elegance that went queer enough with thepreacher-air he wore of his own will. He put his head out and looked ather. I watched him close, and I saw a crafty, hard light in his eyes asif the tiger in him had come for a look out of doors. He purred soft,like a tiger. "Nowhere is humility more becoming than in a beautifulwoman."
At that minute his hold on me snapped. Believing him honest, he had mekiboshed--seeing that expression, which, I suppose, he didn't thinkworth while hiding from a gawky kid--I was my own man again, hating himand ready for war with him, in a blaze. Too young to understand muchabout love-affairs and the like of that, I still knew those eyes, thathad shifted in a second from pompous piety to cunning, meant no good toMary.
"I don't know about humility," says I, "but I'll go bail for Mary'shonesty." I laid my hand on hers as I spoke. Funny that I did that andspoke as I did. It came to me at once, without thinking--like I'd been adog and bristled at him for a sure-enough tiger.
Mary wasn't the kind to go back on a friend in any company. She put herother hand on mine and said: "That's the nicest thing you could say,Will."
Mr. Belknap didn't like it. He swung around as if he found me worth moreattention than at first, and when our eyes met he saw I was on to him,bigger than a wolf. All he changed was a quick tightening of the lips.We looked at each other steady. He ought to have showed uneasiness,consarn him, but he didn't. Instead he smiled, like I was amusing. Iloved him horrible for that--me and my steeple hat and sash to beamusing!
"You have a most impulsive nature, Mr. Saunders," says he.
I wanted to tell him he was entirely correct, and that I'd like to chasetwo rascals the same day. I had sense enough not to, but said:
"I'm not ashamed to own it--particularly where Mary's concerned."
"Ah!" he says, raising his eyebrows, "you are old friends?"
"Not so very _old_," says Mary. "That seems cold--we're very warm, youngfriends."
"It is pleasant for the young to have friends," says he.
"That's hardly as surprising a remark as your face led me to expect,"says I. "It's pleasant for _anybody_ to have friends."
It was his turn not to be overjoyed. I hid my real meaning under alively manner for Mary's benefit, and while perhaps she didn't like mybeing quite so frivolous to the overpowering Mr. Belknap, she saw noharm in the speech. He did, though.
"Am I to count you among my friends?" says he.
"Any friend of Mary's is a friend of mine," I answered. He took. "Thenthat is assured," he says, with his smoothest smile.
We all waited.
"Ah, Youth!" says Mr. Belknap, with a look at Mary, and an explaining,indulgent smile at me. "How heartening it is to see its readiness, itsresource in the untried years! Rejoice in your youth and strength, myyoung friend!--as for me--" he stopped and looked so grave he nearfooled me again. "I am worn down so I barely believe in hope. My poor,commonplace ambitions, my dull idea of duty puts me out of the pale offriendship entirely--I have nothing pleasant to offer my friend."
"Oh, no! Mr. Belknap!" says Mary. "How can you speak like that? Withyour great work--how can you call it dull? I'm sure it is a highprivilege to be listed with your friends!"
I felt a chill go over me--the whole business was tricky, stagy; of apiece with the highfalutin talk. Belknap was no old man, not a day overforty, and powerful as a bull, by the look of him, yet the tone of hisvoice, the air he threw around it, made him the sole and lonely survivorof a great misfortune, without a helping hand at time of need.
I felt mad and disgusted with Mary for being taken in. I had yet tolearn that even the best of women are easy worked through the medium ofmaking 'em feel they are the support of a big man. They'll take his wordfor his size, and swallow almost anything for the fun of supporting him.Saxton made the great mistake of admitting his foolishnesses to befoolish, and swearing at 'em; he should have sadly regretted them asaccidents. A woman has to learn a heap before she can appreciate athoroughly honest man. There is a poetry in being honest, but like somekinds of music, it takes a highly educated person to enjoy it. Sing tothe girls in a sweet and melancholy voice about a flower from your angelmother's grave, and most of 'em will forget you never contributed a centto the angel mother's support--and it ain't that they like honesty theless, but romance the more, as the feller said about Julius Caesar. Butwhen a woman like Mary does get her bearings she has 'em for keeps.
Now Sax was a durned sight more romantic really than this black-coatedplay-actor, but he would insist on stripping things to the bones, andthe sight of the ske
leton--good, honest, flyaway man frame that itwas--scart Mary.
It came across me bitter that she looked at Brother Belknap the way shedid. I got up.
"I must go," I says.
"Why, Will! won't you stay to supper? I thought you surely would."
"No," I says, "I've got another friend here it's time to remember--I'lltake supper with Arthur Saxton."
Mary looked very confused and bothered. Belknap shot his eyes from herto me and back again, learning all he could from our faces. And in atwinkle I knew that he was the cause, through lies or some kind ofdevilry, of the coolness between Mary and Arthur Saxton.
The blood went to the top of my head.
"Good-by, Mr. Belknap," I says, "we'll meet again."
"I most certainly hope so," says he, bowing and smiling most polite.
"You keep that hope green, and not let it get away from you like therest of 'em, and it sure will happen," says I. I turned and looked hardat Mary. "Have you any message for Arthur?" I asked her.
She bit her lips, and glanced at Belknap. "No," says she, short, "I haveno message for Mr. Saxton."
"Too bad," says I. "He was a good friend of yours." With that I turnedand stalked off. She followed me, and caught me gently by the sleeve.
"You're not angry at me, Will? I'm all alone here, you know."
I had it hot on my tongue to tell her I was angry plenty, but it crossedmy mind how that would play into Belknap's hand, whatever scheme he wasworking, for Mary wouldn't stand too much from anybody; so, with anunaccountable rush of sense to the brain, I said:
"Not angry, Mary, but jarred, to see you go back on a friend."
"Will, you don't understand! It is not I who have gone back--who havebeen unfriendly to Mr. Saxton, it is he who has put it out of my powerto be his friend--I can't even tell you--you must believe me."
"Did _he_ tell _you_ this?" I asked her.
"No," she said.
"Well, until he does, I'd as soon believe Arthur as Mr. Belknap."
"Mr. Belknap! How did you know--why, what do you mean, Will?"
"I mean that I don't like Belknap a little bit," said I most unwisely."And I do like you and Saxton."
"You don't know Mr. Belknap, and you are very unreasonable," she said,getting warm.
"Unreasonable enough to be afire all over at the thought of any onecheating you, Mary--will you excuse that?"
I held out my hand, but she gave me a hug. "I'm not going to pretend tobe angry at you, for I can't," she said. "'You do not love me--no? Sokiss me good-by, and go!' One minute, Will, may I speak to you as if youreally were my brother?"
"I should say you could."
"Well, then, will you promise me that in this place you will do nothing,nor go anywhere with Arth--with any one that would make me ashamed totreat you as I do? Will you keep yourself the same sweet, true-heartedboy I have known, for your mother's sake, and for my sake?"
Her eyes had filled with tears. I'd have promised to sit quietly on aton of dynamite until it went off--and kept my word at that.
"I promise, Mary," says I.
"Will, boy, I love you," she said, "and I love you because there'snothing silly in that honest red head of yours to misunderstand me. Iwant to be your dear sister--and to think that you might, too--" Shebroke off, and the tears overflowed.
Looking at her, a hard suspicion of Saxton jolted me. I didn't know agreat deal of the crooked side, but, of course, I had a glimmer, and itstruck me that if he had been cutting up bad, when he pretended to carefor this girl, he needed killing.
"Tell me, Mary," I asked her, "has Arthur--"
"Hush, Will--I can tell you nothing. You must see with your own eyes.And here's a kiss for your promise--which will be kept! And to-morrow atthree you're to be here again."
And off I goes up the road sitting very straight, and I tell you, if ithadn't been for the mean suspicion of Saxton, what with themouse-colored horse waving his cream mane and tail, my new steeple hat,the sash with a gun and machete in it, the spurs jingling, the memory ofhaving chased a fierce road-agent to a finish, and the kiss of the mostbeautiful woman in the world on my lips, I'd been a medium well-feelingsort of boy. I guess my anxiety about Saxton didn't quite succeed indrowning the other, neither. You can't expect too much of scanteighteen.