Hepsey Burke Part 26

"Sure you do; only you better not shave every day, and you'll have to get your hands dirty before you can fool anybody, and maybe your face'll give you away even then. Be you comfortable in them clothes?"

"Sure thing; I'm never so contented as I am in working clothes."

"That's all right. You're the stuff. But how about the proper old maids in the parish who ogle and dance around you; they won't cotton to your clothes a little bit. They'll think you're degradin' of yourself and disgracin' of the parish. Here you be ridin' on a stone wagon, and you don't look a bit better than me, if I do say it."

"I'm afraid they'll have to survive the shock somehow or other; a man has to dress according to his work."

"Hm! Now there's that there Mrs. Roscoe-Jones and Miss Bascom; I'll bet if they saw you in that rig they'd throw a fit."

"Oh no; it isn't as bad as that, Danny."

"They'd think you'd been disgraced for life, to become a laborin' man, you bet."

"A what?"

"A laborin' man."

"Then you think that a parson doesn't labor?"

"Well, I always thought that bein' a parson was a dead easy job, and a nice clean job too."

"Danny," Maxwell inquired after a momentary silence, "don't you suppose that a man labors with his brain as well as with his muscles?

And sometimes a parson labors with his heart, and that is the hardest kind of work a man ever does. The man who is most of a laboring man is the man who labors with every power and faculty he possesses."

"Well, now, I guess that may be right, if you look at it that way."

"Yes; you speak of a laboring man, and you mean a man who uses his muscles and lets his brain and his feelings die of starvation. To try to help some one you're fond of, who is going to the bad, is the most nerve-racking and exhausting work which any man can possibly do."

"Hm! you always was a dum queer parson, more like the rest of us, somehow. And you don't hold that you're disgracin' your profession ridin' with me, and shovelin' gravel?"

"I don't seem to be worrying much about it, do I?"

"No," he agreed--and added, "and I'm dum sure I would like a day off now and then from preachin' and callin' on old maids, if I was you.

But there's times I might be willin' for to let you take my work for yours."

"Now see here, if you'll do my work for a few days, I'll do yours."

"Well, what'd I have to do? I 'aint makin' any contract without specifications."

"Well, suppose we say you do my work Sat.u.r.day and Sunday. That means you finish up two sermons, which must be original and interesting when you are preaching to the same set of people about a hundred and fifty times a year. Then you must go and see a woman who is always complaining, and listen to her woes for three-quarters of an hour.

Then you must go and see what you can do for Tom Bradsaw, who is dying of tuberculosis. Then you must conduct a choir rehearsal--not always the highest gratification of a musical ear. Sunday, you must conduct four services and try to rouse a handful of people, who stare at you from the back pews, to some higher ideals of life and common decency, Then----"

"Oh, heavens, man! Sure, an' that's enough; I stick to the stone wagon every time."

"You'd be a fool if you didn't," replied Maxwell straightly. "Then again you get your pay promptly every Sat.u.r.day night. I never know when I am going to get mine."

"You don't? Begad, and I wouldn't work for anybody if I wasn't paid prompt. I'd sue the Bishop or the Pope, or somebody."

"Parsons don't sue: it's considered improper."

"Well, well," muttered the astonished Danny. "Be you sure you can shovel stone then?" he asked.

Maxwell unb.u.t.toned his wristband, rolled up his sleeve. "If I can't, I'll know the reason why," he remarked tersely.

"That's the stuff," laughed Danny, looking at Maxwell's muscle. "I guess I don't want to meet you out walkin' after dark without a gun.

But say, why don't you swat the Bishop one, and get your pay?"

"The Bishop isn't responsible."

"Well, I'll bet I know who is, dang him; and I'd like to swat him one for you, the miserable old bag-of-bones."

"Never you mind, Danny; I can take care of myself."

"Sure you can, and I guess you're a laborin' man all right, even if you don't belong to the Union. Why don't you get up a parson's Union and go on strike? By Jove! I would. Let your parish go to----"

"Danny, don't you think it looks like rain?"

"No, neither do you; but here we are at the stone pile. My! but how the fellers will grin when they see a tenderfoot like you, and a parson at that, shovelin' stone. But they won't think any the less of you for it, mind you," he rea.s.sured his companion.

Maxwell knew most of the men, and greeted them by name, and when he rolled up his sleeves and began work, they quickly saw that he was "no slouch," and that he did not "soldier," or shirk, as many of them did--though sometimes they were inclined to rest on their shovels and chaff him good-naturedly, and ask him if he had his Union card with him.

Shoveling stone is no picnic, as Danny and his fellows would have put it. It is not only the hard, obstructed thrust, thrust of the shovel into the heap of broken stone, and the constant lift and swing of each shovelful into the wagon; it is the slow monotony of repet.i.tion of unvarying motion that becomes most irksome to the tyro, and wears down the nervous system of the old hand till his whole being is leveled to the insensibility of a soulless machine.

But, though new to the process itself, Maxwell was not ignorant of its effects; and soon he found himself distracting his attention from the strain of the muscular tension by fitting the action to the rhythm of some old sailor's chanteys he had learned at college. The effect amused the men; and then as some of them caught the beat, and others joined in, soon the whole gang was ringing the changes on the simple airs, and found it a rousing and cheerful diversion from the monotony of labor.

If a pause came, soon one of them would call out: "Come on, Parson; strike up the hymn."

One by one the wagons were loaded, and driven to the road. After they had filled the last wagon, Danny put on his coat, and he and Maxwell mounted and drove out of the yard.

"Where are we going with this?" Maxwell inquired.

"Down on the state road, first turn to the left."

"Why, that must be near Willow Bluff, Mr. Bascom's place, isn't it?"

"Right opposite. Bascom, he come out yesterday, and said he wouldn't stand for that steam roller snortin' back and forth in front of his house. But Jim Ferris told him he had his orders from Williamson, and he wasn't goin' to be held up by n.o.body until Williamson told him to stop. Jim isn't any kind of fool."

When they arrived in front of Willow Bluff, they stopped, dismounted, and dumped the crushed stone, and then returned to the stone yard. At noon they camped out on the curb in front of Willow Bluff. After Maxwell had done full justice to the contents of his dinner pail, he stretched himself full length on the gra.s.s for a few moments, chatting with his mates in friendly fashion. Then he went over to the roller and a.s.sisted the engineer in "oiling up." Being a novice at the business, he managed to get his hands black with oil, and smeared a streak across one cheek, which, while it helped to obscure his ident.i.ty, did not add to his facial beauty. He was blissfully unconscious of this. About three o'clock Bascom returned from his office, just as Maxwell was dismounting from the wagon after bringing a load. At first Bascom did not recognize the rector, but a second glance brought the awful truth home to his subliminal self, and he stopped and stared at Maxwell, stricken dumb. Maxwell politely touched his hat, and smilingly remarked that it was a fine day. Bascom made no reply at first.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I CONSIDER IT A SHAME AND A DISGRACE TO THE PARISH TO HAVE OUR RECTOR IN FILTHY CLOTHES, DRAWING STONE WITH A LOT OF RUFFIANS"]

"Can it be possible that this is you, Mr. Maxwell?" he almost whispered, at last.

"It is, to the best of my knowledge and belief."

"What in the name of heaven are you working with these men for, if I may ask?"

"To earn sufficient money to pay my grocer's bill."