Scattergood Baines Part 55

"Inborn cussedness, I calc'late."

"Allus seemed to me like Ol' Man Newton might 'a' made rest.i.tution of that there money," said Scattergood, tentatively.

"H'm!" Marvin cleared his throat and glanced up the street. "Seein's how it's you, I dunno but what I kin tell you suthin' you hain't heard, nor n.o.body else. Young Mavin sent that there money back to his father in a letter to be give to the church--and the ol' man _burned_ it. That's what he up and done. Two hunderd good dollars went up in smoke. Said they was crimes that was beyond rest.i.tution or forgiveness, and robbin'

the House of G.o.d was one of 'em."

"Um!... Now, Marvin, I'd be mighty curious to learn if the ol' man got that information from G.o.d himself or if it come out of his own head....

No matter, I calc'late. 'Twan't credit with the church young Mavin was after when he sent back the money, and the Lord _he_ knows the money come, if the organ fund never did find it out."

"Guess I'll take a walk down to s.p.a.ckles's and look over the steer. They tell me he dressed clost to nine hunderd. Hope they contrive to cook him through and through. Never see a barbecued critter yit that was done....

Folks is beginnin' to git here. Guess they won't be a spare bedroom in town that hain't full up."

Scattergood pulled on his shoes and, leaving his store to take care of itself, walked up the road, turned across the mowing which had been metamorphosed into an athletic field, trusted his weight to the temporary bridge across the brook, and scrambled up the bank to the great oven where the steer was to be baked, and where the potato hole was ready to receive twenty bushels of potatoes and the arch was ready to receive the sugar vat in which two thousand ears of corn were to be steamed. Pliny Pickett was in charge, with Ulysses Watts, sheriff, and Coroner Bogle as a.s.sistants. They had fired up already, and were sitting blissfully by in the blistering heat, bragging about the sort of meal they were going to purvey, and speculating on whether the imported band would play enough, and how the ball games would come out, and naming over the folks who were expected to arrive from distant parts.

"This here town team hain't what it was ten year ago," said the sheriff.

"In them days the boys knowed how to play ball. There was me 'n' Will Pratt and Pliny here 'n' Avery Sutphin, that was sheriff 'fore I was...."

"What ever become of Avery?" Pliny asked.

"Went West. Heard suthin' about him a spell back, but don't call to mind what it was. Wonder if he'll be comin' back with the rest?"

"Dunno. Think there's anythin' in the rumor that Mavin Newton's comin'?"

"Hope not," said the sheriff, a.s.suming an official look and feeling of the suspender to which was affixed his badge of office. "Don't want to have no arrestin' to do durin' Old Home Week."

"Calc'late to take him in if he comes?"

"Duty," said Sheriff Watts, "is duty."

"When it hain't a pleasure," said Scattergood. "Recall what place Avery Sutphin went to?"

"Seems like it was Oswego. Some'eres out West like that."

"Wisht all the town 'u'd quit traipsin' over here," said Pliny. "Never see sich curiosity. They needn't to think they're goin' to git a look at the critter while he's a-cookin'. No, siree. n.o.body but this here committee sees him till he's took out final, ready fer eatin'."

All that day visitors arrived in town. They drove in, came by train and by stage--and walked. There was no house whose ready hospitality was not taxed to its capacity, and the ladies in charge of the restaurant in Masonic Hall became frantic and sent out hysterical messengers for more food and more help. Every house was dressed in flags and bunting. Even Deacon Pettybone, reputed to be the "nearest" inhabitant of the village, flew one small cotton flag, reputed to have cost fifteen cents, from his front stoop. The bridge was so covered with red, white, and blue as to quite lose its ident.i.ty as a bridge and to become one of the wonders of the world, to be talked about for a decade. As one looked up the street a similarity of motion, almost machinelike, was apparent. It was an endless shaking of hands as old friend met old friend joyously.

"Bet ye don't know who I be?"

"I'd 'a' know'd you in Chiny. You're Mort Whittaker's wife--her that was Ida Janes. Hair hain't so red as what it was."

"You've took on flesh some, but otherwise--'Member the time you took me to the dance at Tupper Falls--"

"An' we got mired crossin'--"

"An' Sam Kettleman come in a plug hat."

This conversation, or its counterpart, was repeated wherever resident and visitor met. Old days lived again. Ancient men became middle-aged, and middle-aged women became girls. The past was brought to life and lived again. Sometimes it was brought to life a bit tediously, as when old Jethro Hammond, postmaster of Coldriver twenty years ago, made a speech seventy minutes long, which consisted in naming and locating every house that existed in his day, and describing with minute detail who lived in it and what part they played in the affairs of the community. But the audience forgave him, because it knew what a good time he was having.... Houses were invaded by perfect strangers who insisted in pointing out the rooms in which they were born and in which they had been married, and in telling the present proprietors how fortunate they were to live in dwellings thus blessed.

The band arrived and met with universal satisfaction, though Lafe Atwell complained that he hadn't ever see a snare drummer with whiskers. But their coats were red, with gorgeous frogs, and their trousers were sky blue, with gold stripes, and the drum major could whirl his baton in a manner every boy in town would be imitating with the handle of the ancestral broom for months to come.... Through it all Scattergood Baines sat on the piazza and beamed upon the world, and rejoiced in the goodness thereof.

Only one resident took no part in the holiday making, and that was Old Man Newton, who had closed his house, drawn the blinds, and refused to make himself visible while the celebration lasted. He took a savage pleasure in thus making himself conspicuous, knowing well how his conduct would be discussed, and viewing himself as a righteous man suffering for the sins of another.

In the darkness of the evening street Mattie Strong accosted Scattergood that evening, clinging to his arm tremulously.

"Mr. Baines," she whispered, affrightedly, "he's come!"

"Who's come?"

"Mavin Newton--he's here, in town."

Scattergood frowned. "See him?"

"Hain't seen him, but he's here. I kin feel him. I knowed it the minute he come."

"Calc'late I've seen everybody here, and _I_ hain't seen him."

"He's here, jest the same. I'm a-lookin' fer him. Whatever name he come under, or however he looks, I'll know him. I couldn't make no mistake about Mavin."

"Mattie, I hope 'tain't so.... I hope you're mistook."

"I--I don't know whether I hope so or not. I--Oh, Mr. Baines, I'd rather be with him, a-comfortin' him and standin' by him, no matter what he done--"

Scattergood patted her arm. "I calc'late," he said, softly, "that G.o.d hain't never invented no inst.i.tution that beats the love of a good woman.... I'll look around, Mattie.... I'll look around."

It was the next morning, at the ball game, when Mattie spoke to Scattergood again.

"I've seen him," she whispered, and there was a note of happiness in her voice and a look of renewed youth in her eyes. "He's here, like I said."

"Where?"

Mattie lowered her voice farther still. "Look at the band," she said.

"n.o.body resembles him there," said Scattergood, after a minute.

"Wait till they stop playin'--and then see if they hain't somebody there that takes holt of the fingers of his right hand, one after the other, and kind of twists 'em.... Look sharp. Mavin he allus done that when he was nervous--allus. I'd know him by it, anywheres."

Scattergood watched. Presently the "piece" ended and the musicians laid down their instruments and eased back in their chairs.

"Look," said Mattie.

The bearded snare drummer was performing a queer antic. It was as if his fingers were screwed into his hand and had become loosened while he drummed. No, he was tightening them so they wouldn't fall off. One finger after another he screwed up, and then went over them again to make certain they were secure.

"I--knowed he'd come," Mattie said, happily.

"Um!... This here's kind of untoward. You keep your mouth shet, Mattie Strong. Don't you go near that feller till I tell you. We don't want a rumpus to spoil this here week."

"But he's here.... He's here."