Otherwise Phyllis Part 16

"That land of yours is all right," said Amzi amiably, "but it's got to be brought up. That farm's been cursed with overdrafts, and overdrafts in any business are bad."

"That's a new way of putting it," Fred replied, "but I'm sure it's sound doctrine. You can't take out what you don't put in."

"That," said Amzi, feeling in his pocket for his matchbox, "is a safe general principle."

He pa.s.sed his cigar-case to Perry and Fred, commended his own cigars humorously, and looked Fred over again as the young man refused, explaining that he had grown used to a pipe and was afraid of the shock to his system of a good cigar.

"We were going to take a walk over the place; Mr. Montgomery wants to see his orchard. Come along, won't you?" said Perry.

Fred waited for a confirmation of the tenant's invitation.

"Yes; come along, Fred," said Amzi.

His manner toward Holton was that of an old acquaintance; he called him Fred quite as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do so. Phil and Perry moved off together and Amzi walked along beside Fred across a field of wheat stubble toward the orchard that stretched away on a slope that corresponded to the rise of Listening Hill in the highway. He talked of fruit-growing in which he appeared to be deeply interested, and declared that there was no reason why fruit should be only an insect-blighted by-product of such farms as his; that intelligent farmers were more and more taking it up. He confessed his firm belief in scientific farming in all its branches. Most men in small towns keep some touch with the soil. In a place like Montgomery the soil is the immediate source of urban prosperity, and in offices and stores men discuss crop conditions and prospects as a matter of course. Amzi owned a number of farms in different parts of the county, but this one that had been long in the family was his particular pride. He paused now and then to point out features of his possessions for Fred's admiration.

"Land," he observed reflectively, "is like a man or a horse; you got to treat 'em right or they won't work. Thunder! You think you'll stick it out over there, do you?"

"I've got to; and I want to! I want to make it go!"

Amzi glared at him a moment with puffed cheeks. Fred had spoken with warmth, and being unfamiliar with the banker's habit of trying to blow up occasionally, for no reason whatever, he was a little appalled by Amzi's manner of receiving his declaration.

"If you mean it like that," said the banker, "you will make it go. It's the wanting to do a thing real hard that brings it round. Is that gospel?"

He blurted his question with a ferociousness that again startled Fred; but he was beginning to suspect that this was the banker's usual way of conversing, and his awe of him diminished. Amzi was an amusing person, with a tang of his own; and he clearly meant to be kind. It was necessary to answer the banker's last explosion and Fred replied soberly:

"I hope it is; I hope the wanting to do it will help in the doing."

Amzi made no response to this. He seemed to ignore it, and spoke of Perry admiringly, as the kind of man he liked, quoting statistics of the wheat yield of the field they were traversing, and then stopped abruptly.

"Thunder! How did they come to give you the farm?"

"I took it: I chose to take it. It was by an agreement between my brother and sister and me. I'm not sure but that I got the best of the part.i.tion. The stocks and bonds father left didn't mean anything to me.

I don't know anything about such things."

"They let you have the farm as your share; you were afraid of the other stuff?"

"Yes; it didn't look very good and I was perfectly satisfied. I thought the arrangement fair enough to me: Charlie knew about the other things and I didn't. Most of them were very doubtful."

"They told you they were doubtful; you didn't know anything about them.

Was that the way of it?"

"Yes; that was about the way of it, Mr. Montgomery."

Amzi glared and drew out his handkerchief to mop his face.

"I saw an automobile come out of your place awhile ago and climb the hill toward town. Charlie been to see you?"

"Yes. He had some friends with him from the city. Charlie knows no end of people."

"There are people like that," said Amzi, kicking a clod, and in doing so nearly losing his equilibrium; "there are people with a talent for knowing folks." This was not an important observation, nor was it at all relevant. Mr. Montgomery had merely gone as far as he cared to in the discussion of the distribution of Samuel Holton's estate and this was his way of changing the subject.

Amzi walked ahead with Perry when they met at the edge of the orchard and Phil loitered behind with Fred. A hawk swung from the cloudless blue; sparrows, disturbed by these visitors, flew down the orchard aisles in panic. The air was as dry as the stubble of the shorn fields.

From the elevation crowned by the orchard it was possible to survey the neighborhood and Phil and Fred paused in silence for several minutes, with their faces turned toward the creek.

Seeing Phil thus was very different from seeing her across a fence in the moonlight, or meeting her at her kitchen door. Her new dark-blue gown with hat to match struck him as being very stylish, as indeed, they were, having come from the best shop in Indianapolis. Phil in gloves was a different Phil, a remote being quite out of hailing distance. He was torn between admiration for her dressed-upness and rebellion against a splendor that set her apart like a G.o.ddess for timorous adoration.

Standing beside and a little behind her, his soul was shaken by the quick shadowings of her lashes. He was so deep in thought during this silent contemplation that he started and blushed when she turned round suddenly.

"We're terribly solemn, I think," she remarked, regarding him carelessly.

This was unfair. She had no right to look at him in that fashion, taking his breath away and saying something to which he could think of no reply whatever. Amzi and Perry had wandered away out of sight. She had spoken of solemnity; it was a solemn thing to be alone with a girl like Phil, on a day like this, under a fleckless sky, and with the scarlet maples and the golden beeches gladdening the distances. Without looking at him, Phil extended her monologue:--

"I like cheerfulness myself."

"I'm not so opposed to it as you may imagine," he replied, smiling. "I'm not much of a talker. I've been alone a whole lot, in lonesome places where there wasn't anybody to talk to. I suppose talking is a habit.

When there are people around who talk about things it's natural to get into the way of talking. Isn't that so?"

"I suspect it is," Phil answered. "While my critics haven't exactly said that I talk too much, they agree that I talk at the wrong time. Let's all be seated."

She dropped down on the gra.s.s, and smoothed her skirt. It was the best everyday dress she had ever owned and she meant to be careful of it. Her patent leather oxford ties were the nicest she had ever had, and she was not without her pride in their brightness. Fred seated himself near her.

His clothes were his Sunday best, and none too good at that; he was painfully conscious of the contrast of their raiment.

"Your brother Charlie talks a good deal. I saw him the other day," said Phil.

"Yes; Charlie talks mighty well. He can talk to anybody. Where did you meet him?"

"In town, at father's office."

"Oh; he was there, was he?"

It was plain that Fred was surprised that there should be any intercourse between the Kirkwoods and his brother.

"He called to see father; but he didn't see him," explained Phil, as though reading his thoughts and willing to satisfy his curiosity.

"Charlie's getting up a new trolley line. He wanted me to go in with him."

"Gave you a chance to escape from your farm? I should think you would be tempted."

"I didn't feel the temptation particularly," answered Fred; "but it was kind of him to come and see me."

"Well, there is that," Phil replied indifferently. "You seemed to get on first-rate with Uncle Amy. Was that the first time you ever talked to him?"

"Yes. But I remember that once when I was a little chap he met me in the street over by the college--I remember the exact spot--and gave me a penny. I seem to remember that he used to do that with children quite unexpectedly. I imagine that he does a lot of nice things for people."

"Uncle Amy," said Phil deliberately, "is the second grandest man now present on earth. Daddy is the first."

"I don't know your father, except as I see him in the street."

"I suppose not," said Phil.