Every Man for Himself Part 28

"Isn't I jus' _tol'_ ye so?" he answered, beaming.

Long Bill Tweak followed the night into the shades of forgotten time....

Came Wednesday upon "By-an'-by" Brown in a way to make the heart jump.

Midnight of Sat.u.r.day was now fairly over the horizon of his adventurous sea. Wednesday! Came Thursday-prompt to the minute. Days of bewildered inaction! And now the cottage was ship-shape to the darkest corners of its closets. Ship-shape as a wise and knowing maid of seven, used to housewifely occupations, could make it: which was as ship-shape as ship-shape could be, though you may not believe it. There was no more for the maid to do but sit with folded hands and confidently expectant gaze to await the advent of her happiness. Thursday morning: and "By-an'-by" Brown had not mastered his bearings. Three days more: Thursday, Friday, Sat.u.r.day. It occurred, then, to "By-an'-by" Brown-at precisely ten o'clock of Friday morning-that his hope lay in Jim Turley of Candlestick Cove, an obliging man. They jus' _had_ t' be a father, didn't they? But they _wasn't_ no father no more. Well, then, ecod!

_make_ one. Had t' be a father, _some_how, didn't they? And-well-there was Jim Turley o' Candlestick Cove. He'd answer. Why not Jim Turley o'

Candlestick Cove, an obligin' man, known t' be such from Mother Burke t'

the Cape Norman Light? He'd 'blige a shipmate in a mess like this, ecod!

You see if he didn't!

Brown made ready for Candlestick Cove.

"But," the maid objected, "what is I t' do if father comes afore night?"

"Ah!" drawled "By-an'-by," blankly.

"Eh?" she repeated.

"Why, o' course," he answered, with a large and immediate access of interest, drawing the arm-chair near the stove, "you jus' set un there t' warm his feet."

"An' if he doesn't know me?" she protested.

"Oh, sure," "By-an'-by" affirmed, "the ol' man'll know _you_, never fear. You jus' give un a cup o' tea an' say I'll be back afore dark."

"Well," the maid agreed, dubiously.

"I'll be off," said Brown, in a flush of embarra.s.sment, "when I fetches the wood t' keep your father cosey. He'll be thirsty an' cold when he comes. Ye'll take good care of un, won't ye?"

"Ye bet ye!"

"Mind ye get them there ol' feet warm. An' jus' you fair pour the tea into un. He's used t' his share o' tea, ye bet! _I_ knows un."

And so "By-an'-by" Brown, travelling over the hills, came hopefully to Jim Turley of Candlestick Cove, an obliging man, whilst the maid kept watch at the window of the Blunder Cove cottage. And Jim Turley was a most obligin' man. 'Blige? Why, sure! _I'll_ 'blige ye! There was no service difficult or obnoxious to the selfish sons of men that Jim Turley would not perform for other folk-if only he might 'blige. Ye jus'

go ast Jim Turley; _he'll_ 'blige ye. And Jim Turley would with delight: for Jim had a pa.s.sion for 'bligin'-a.s.siduously seeking opportunities, even to the point of intrusion. Beaming Jim Turley o' Candlestick Cove: poor, shiftless, optimistic, serene, well-beloved Jim Turley, forever cheerfully sprawling in the meshes of his own difficulties! Lean Jim Turley-forgetful of his interests in a fairly divine satisfaction with compa.s.sing the joy and welfare of his fellows! I shall never forget him: his round, flaring smile, rippling under his bushy whiskers, a perpetual delight, come any fortune; his mild, unself-conscious, sympathetic blue eyes, looking out upon the world in amazement, perhaps, but yet in kind and eager inquiry concerning the affairs of other folk; his blithe "Yo-ho!" at labor, and "Easy does it!" Jim Turley o' Candlestick Cove-an' obligin' man!

"In trouble?" he asked of "By-an'-by" Brown, instantly concerned.

"Not 'xactly trouble," answered "By-an'-by."

"Sort o' bothered?"

"Well, no," drawled "By-an'-by" Brown; "but I got t' have a father by Satu'day night."

"For yerself?" Jim mildly inquired.

"For the maid," said "By-an'-by" Brown; "an' I was 'lowin'," he added, frankly, "that you might 'blige her."

"Well, now," Jim Turley exclaimed, "I'd like t' wonderful well! But, ye see," he objected, faintly, "bein' a ol' bachelor I isn't s'posed t'-"

"Anyhow," "By-an'-by" Brown broke in, "I jus' got t' have a father by Satu'day night."

"An' I'm a religious man, an'-"

"No objection t' religion," Brown protested. "I'm strong on religion m'self. Jus' as soon have a religious father as not. Sooner. Now," he pleaded, "they isn't n.o.body else in the world t' 'blige me."

"No," Jim Turley agreed, in distress; "no-I 'low not."

"An' I jus' _got_," declared Brown, "t' have a father by Satu'day night."

"Course you is!" cried Jim Turley, instantly siding with the woebegone.

"Jus' got t'!"

"Well?"

"Oh, well, pshaw!" said Jim Turley, "_I'll_ 'blige ye!"

The which he did, but with misgiving: arriving at Blunder Cove after dark of Sat.u.r.day, un.o.bserved by the maid, whose white little nose was stuck to the frosty window-pane, whose eyes searched the gloom gathered over the Tickle rocks, whose ears were engaged with the tick-tock of the impa.s.sive clock. No; he was not observed, however keen the lookout: for he came sneaking in by Tumble Gully, 'cordin' t' sailin' orders, to join "By-an'-by" Brown in the lee of the meeting-house under Anxiety Hill, where the conspiracy was to be perfected, in the light of recent developments, and whence the sally was to be made. He was in a shiver of nervousness; so, too, "By-an'-by" Brown. It was the moment of inaction when conspirators must forever be the prey of doubt and dread. They were determined, grim; they were most grave-but they were still afraid. And Jim Turley's conscience would not leave him be. A religious man, Jim Turley! On the way from Candlestick Cove he had whipped the perverse thing into subjection, like a sinner; but here, in the lee of the meeting-house by Anxiety Hill, with a winter's night fallen like a cold cloud from perdition, conscience was risen again to prod him.

An obligin' man, Jim Turley: but still a religious man-knowing his master.

"I got qualms," said he.

"Stummick?" Brown demanded, in alarm.

"This here thing," Jim Turley protested, "isn't a religious thing to do."

"Maybe not," replied "By-an'-by" Brown, doggedly; "but I promised the maid a father by Satu'day night, an' I got t' have un."

"'Twould ease my mind a lot," Jim Turley pleaded, "t' ask the parson.

Come, now!"

"By-an'-by," said "By-an'-by" Brown.

"No," Jim Turley insisted; "now."

The parson laughed; then laughed again, with his head thrown back and his mouth fallen open very wide. Presently, though, he turned grave, and eyed "By-an'-by" Brown in a questioning, anxious way, as though seeking to discover in how far the big man's happiness might be chanced: whereupon he laughed once more, quite rea.s.sured. He was a pompous bit of a parson, this, used to commanding the conduct of Blunder Cove; to controlling its affairs; to shaping the destinies of its folk with a free, bold hand: being in this both wise and most generously concerned, so that the folk profited more than they knew. And now, with "By-an'-by"

Brown and the maid on his hands, to say nothing of poor Jim Turley, he did not hesitate; there was nothing for it, thinks he, but to get "By-an'-by" Brown out of the mess, whatever came of it, and to arrange a future from which all by-an'-bying must be eliminated. A new start, thinks he; and the by-an'-by habit would work no further injury. So he sat "By-an'-by" Brown and Jim Turley by the kitchen stove, without a word of explanation, and, still condescending no hint of his purpose, but bidding them both sit tight to their chairs, went out upon his business, which, as may easily be surmised, was with the maid.

"Bein' a religious man," said Jim Turley, solemnly, "he'll mend it."

When the parson came back there was nothing within her comprehension, which was quite sufficient to her need. "By-an'-by" Brown was sent home, with a kindly G.o.d-bless-ye! and an injunction of the most severe description to have done with by-an'-bying. He stumbled into his own kitchen in a shamefaced way, prepared, like a mischievous lad, to be scolded until his big ears burned and his scalp tingled; and he was a long, long time about hanging up his cap and coat and taking off his shoes, never once glancing toward the maid, who sat silent beyond the kitchen stove. And then, when by no further subterfuge could he prolong his immunity, he turned boldly in her direction, patiently and humbly to accept the inevitable correction, a promise to do better already fashioned upon his tongue. And there she sat, beyond the glowing stove, grinning in a way to show her white little teeth. Tears? Maybe: but only traces-where-left, indeed, for the maid to learn, or, at least, by her eyes shone all the brighter. And "By-an'-by" Brown, reproaching himself bitterly, sat down, with never a word, and began to trace strange pictures on the floor with the big toe of his gray-socked foot, while the kettle and the clock and the fire sang the old chorus of comfort and cheer.

The big man's big toe got all at once furiously interested in its artistic occupation.

"Ah-ha!" says "By-an'-by's" baby, "_I_ found you out!"

"Uh-huh!" she repeated, threateningly, "I found _you_ out."