The Boss of Little Arcady Part 6

"I had the right of it," he insisted. "The only way to do with a person like him was to git your feathers and your kittle of tar cooked up all nice and gooey and git Potts on the ground and _make a believer of him_ right there and then!" This he followed by his pointed reflection upon the administrative talents of Solon Denney--"A hand of mush in a glove of the _same_!" When listeners were not by, he would mutter it to himself in sinister gutturals.

Nor was he alone in this spirit of dissatisfaction with Solon. The too-trustful editor of the _Argus_ was frankly derided. He was a Boss at whom they laughed openly. They waited, however, with interest for the subsequent issues of this paper.

The _Banner_ that week contained the following bit of news:--

=DASTARDLY a.s.sAULT IN BROAD DAYLIGHT=

=Early last Thursday evening, as Colonel J. Rodney Potts, dean of the Sloc.u.m County bar, was enjoying a quiet stroll along our beautiful river bank near Cady's mill, he was set upon by a gang of ruffians and would have been foully dealt with but for his vigorous resistance. Being a man of splendid proportions and a giant's strength, the Colonel was making gallant headway against the cowardly miscreants when his foot slipped and he was precipitated into the chilling waters of the mill-race at a point where the city fathers have allowed it to remain uncovered. Seeing their victim plunged into a watery grave, as they thought, the thugs took to their heels. The Colonel extricated himself from his perilous plight, by dint of herculean strength, and started to pursue them, but they had disappeared from sight in the vicinity of Crowder & Fancett's lumber yard. Things have come to a pretty pa.s.s, we must say, if such a dastardly outrage as this should be allowed to go unpunished. Now that Colonel Potts has brought suit against the city we suppose the council will have that mill-race covered. We have repeatedly warned them about this. We wonder if they ever heard a well-known saying about "locking the stable door after horse is stolen," etc.=

=The card of Colonel Potts, printed elsewhere in this issue, is a sufficient refutation of the malicious gossip that has been handed back and forth lately that he had planned to leave Little Arcady. It looks now like certain busybodies in this community had over-stepped themselves and been hoisted up by their own petard. The Colonel is a fine man for County Judge, and we bespeak for him the suffrages of every voter who wants an honest judiciary.=

Westley Keyts, reading this, wanted to know what a petard was. Inquiry disclosed that he hoped it might be something that could be used upon Potts to the advantage of almost every one concerned. But in the minds of others of us an agonized suspicion now took form. Had the letters been upon Potts when he went down? Had they been saved? Were they legible? And would he use them?

It was decided that Solon Denney should try to illuminate this point before taking the candidacy of Potts seriously. In the next issue of the _Argus_, therefore, was this paragraph, meant to be provocative:--

=G.o.d's providence has been said to watch over fools and drunkards. We guess this is so; and that the pretensions of a certain individual in our midst to its watchfulness in the double capacity indicated can no longer be in doubt.=

These lines did their work. The next _Banner_ spoke of a foul conspiracy whose nefarious end it was to blacken the sterling character of a good man, of that Nestor of the Sloc.u.m County Bar, Colonel J.

Rodney Potts. As testimony that the best citizens of the town were not involved with this infamous ring, it had extorted from Colonel Potts his consent to print certain letters from these gentlemen setting forth the Colonel's surpa.s.sing virtues in no uncertain terms--letters which his innate modesty had shrunk from making public, until goaded to desperation by the h.e.l.l-hounds of a corrupt and subsidized opposition.

The letters followed in a terrific sequence--a series of laudations which the Chevalier Bayard need not have scorned to evoke.

Then we waited for Solon, but he was rather disappointing. Said the next _Argus_:--

=We have heretofore considered J.R. Potts to possess the anti-social instincts of a parasite without its moderate spirit of enterprise. But we were wrong. We now concede the spirit of enterprise. As for this candidacy of Potts, Horace Greeley once said, commenting, we think, on some action of Weed's, "I like cool things, of ordinary dimensions--an iceberg or a glacier; but this arctic circle of coagulation appalls credulity and paralyzes indignation. Hence my numbness!" Hence, also, our own numbness. But, though Speech lieth p.r.o.ne on a paralytic's couch, ACTION is hearty and stalketh willingly abroad. In this campaign it will speak louder than words. Yea! it will be heard high above Noah Webster's entire a.s.semblage of such of them as are decent. That is all! J.R.P., _take notice!_=

It was jaunty enough, but Potts had unquestionably gained a following.

Indeed he had ably cemented the foundations of one by his magnificent hospitality on that day of days. His whilom serfs were men not easily offended by faults of taste, and they were voters. To a man they came out strongly for Potts.

He himself behaved with a faultless discretion. Above the slurs of the _Argus_ and the bickerings of faction he bore himself as one alienated from earth by the graces of his spirit; and he copiously promised deeds which should in the years to come be as a beauteous garment to his memory. The glaive of Justice should descend where erstwhile it had corruptly been stayed. Vice should surfer its meed of retribution, and Virtue come again into its glorious own.

Our letters of eulogy, printed at the _Banner_ office, were scattered among the voters, and with them went a letter from Potts saying that if his strenuous labors as an attorney in the interests of humanity, public morals, and common decency met with the voter's approval, he would be gratified to have his good-will and a.s.sistance. "It is such gentlemen as yourself," read the letter, "const.i.tuting the best element of our society, to whom I must look for the endors.e.m.e.nt of my work. The criminal cla.s.ses of this community, whose minions have so recently sought my life by mob violence, will leave no stone unturned to prevent my sitting as Judge."

Our Democratic candidate, who had first felt but an academic interest in the campaign, began now to show elation. Old Cuthbert Mayne, the Republican candidate, who had been certain of success but for the accident of Potts, chewed his unlighted cigar viciously, and from the corner of his trap-like mouth spoke evil of Potts in a voice that was terrifying for its hoa.r.s.eness. His own letter, among the others, told of Potts as one who sprang to arms at his country's call and was now richly deserving of political preferment. This had seemed to heighten the inflammation of his utterances. Daily he consulted with Solon, warning him that the town looked to the _Argus_ to avert this calamity of Potts.

But Solon, if he had formed any plan for relief, refused to communicate it. Mayne and the rest of us were compelled to take what hope we could from his confident if secretive bearing.

Meantime the _Banner_ was not reticent about "J. Rodney Potts, that gallant old war-horse." Across the top of its front page each week stood "POTTS FOREVER--POTTS THE COMING MAN!"

"Big Joe" Kestril was the chief henchman of Potts, and his fidelity was like to have been fatal for him. He threw himself into the campaign with a single-heartedness that left him few sober moments. Upon the City Hotel corner, day after day, he b.u.t.tonholed voters and whispered to them with alcoholic fervor that Potts was a gentleman of character, "as blotchless as the driftin' snow." Joe believed in Potts pathetically.

The campaign wore its way through the summer, and Solon Denney was still silent, still secretive, still confident, but, alas! still inactive so far as we could observe. I may say that we lost faith in him as the barren weeks came and went. We came to believe that his a.s.sured bearing was but a shield for his real despair.

Having given up hope, some of us reached a point where we could view the whole affair as a jest. It became a popular diversion to enter the establishment of the ever serious Westley Keyts and whisper secretively to him that Solon Denney had found a diplomatic way to rid the town of Potts, but this never moved Westley.

"Once bit--twice shy!" would be his response as he returned to slicing steaks.

CHAPTER VI

A MATTER OF PERSONAL PROPERTY

In deference to the wishes of J.R.C. Tuckerman, I had formed a habit of breakfasting in summer on the little back porch that overlooks the river. Less radical departures from orthodox custom, it is true, have caused adverse comment in our watchful little town; but the spot was secluded from casual censors. And it was pleasant to sit there on a summer morning over an omelette and bacon, coffee such as no other Little Arcadian ever drank, and beaten biscuit beyond the skill of any in our vale save the stout, short-statured, elderly black man who served me with the grace of an Amba.s.sador. Moreover, I was glad to please him, and please him it did to set the little table back against the wall of vines, to place my chair in the shaded corner, and to fetch the incomparable results of his cookery from the kitchen, couched and covered in snowy napkins against the morning breeze.

John Randolph Clement Tuckerman he was; Mr. Tuckerman to many simple souls of our town, and "Clem" to me, after our intimacy became such as to warrant this form of address. A little, tightly kinked, grizzled mustache gave a tone to his face. His hair, well retreated up his forehead, was of the same close-woven salt-and-pepper mixture. His eyes were wells of ink when the light fell into them,--sad, kind eyes, that gave his face a look of patient service long and toilsomely, but lovingly bestowed. It is a look telling of kindness that has endured and triumphed--a look of submission in which suffering has once burned, but has consumed itself. I have never seen it except in the eyes of certain old Negroes. The only colorable imitation is to be found in the eyes of my setter pup when he crouches at my feet and beseeches kindness after a punishment.

In bearing, as I have intimated, Clem was impressive. He was low-toned, easy of manner, with a flawless aplomb. As he served me those mornings in late summer, wearing a dress-coat of broadcloth, a choice relic of his splendid past, it was not difficult to see that he had been the a.s.sociate of gentlemen.

As I ate of his cooking on a fair Sunday, I marvelled gratefully at the slender thread of chance that had drawn him to be my stay. Alone in that little house, with no one to make it a home for me, Clem was the barrier between me and the fare of the City Hotel. Apparently without suggestion from me he had taken me for his own to tend and watch over. And the marvel was a.s.suredly not diminished by the circ.u.mstance that I was beholden to Potts for this black comfort.

Events were in train which were to intensify a thousand fold my amazement at the seeming inconsequence of really vital facts in this big life-plot of which we are the puppets--events so incredible that to dwell upon their relation to the minor accident of a mere Potts were to incur confusion and downright madness.

Apparently, fate had never made a wilder, more purposeless cast than when it brought Clem to Little Arcady with Potts.

True, the circ.u.mstance enabled Potts for a time to refer to his "body-servant," and to regale the chair-tilted loungers along the City Hotel front with a tale of picking the fellow up on a Southern battle-field, and of winning his dog-like devotion by subsequent valor upon other fields. "It was pathetic, and comical, too, gentlemen, to hear that n.i.g.g.e.r beg me on his bended knees to take better care of myself and not insist upon getting to the front of every charge. 'Stay back and let some of the others do a little fighting,' he would say, with tears rolling down his black cheeks. And I admit I was rash, but--"

Clem, not long after their arrival, confided to such of us as seemed worthy the less romantic tale that he had found the Colonel drunk on the streets of Cincinnati. He had gone there to seek a fortune for his "folks" and had found the Colonel instead; found him under circ.u.mstances which were typical of the Colonel's periods of relaxation.

"Yes, seh, anybody coulda had that man when Ah found him," averred Clem; "anybody could 'a' had him fo' th' askin'. A p'liceman offaseh neahly git him--yes, seh. But Ah seen him befo' that, an' Ah speaks his notice by sayin', 'This yeh ain' no good place to sleep, on this yeh hahd stone sidewalk. Yo' freeze yo'se'f, Mahstah,' an' of cose Ah appreciated th'

infuhmities of a genaman, but Ah induced him to put on his coat an' his hat an' his boots, an' he sais, 'Ah am Cunnel Potts, an' Ah mus' have mah eight houahs sleep.' Ah sais to him, 'If yo' is a Cunnel, yo' is a genaman, an' Ah shall escoht yo' to yo' hotel.' Raght then a p'liceman offaseh come up, an' he sais, 'Yeh, yeh! what all this yeh row about?'

an' Ah sais, 'Nothin' 'tall, Mahstah p'liceman offaseh, Ah's jes' takin'

Mahstah Cunnel Potts to his hotel, seh, with yo' kindness,' an' he sais, 'Git him out a yeh an' go 'long with yo' then,' so Ah led th' Cunnel off, seh. An' eveh hotel he seen, he sais, 'Yes, tha' she is--tha's mah hotel,' but the Mahstahs in th' hotels they all talk ve'y shawtly eveh time. They sais, 'No--_no_--g'wan, tek him out a' yeh--he ain' b'long in this place, that man ain'.' So we walk an' walk an' ultimately he sais, 'If Ah'm go'n' a' git mah eight houahs sleep this naght, Ah mus' begin sometime,--why not now?' So th' Cunnel lay raght down on th' thu'faih an' Ah set mahse'f down beside him twell he wake up in th' mawnin', not knowin' what hahm maght come to him. An' he neveh _did_ have no hotel in that town, seh,--_no_, seh. He been talkin' reglah foolishness all that theah time. An' he sais: 'Yo' stay by me, boy. Ah's go'n' a' go West to mek mah fo'chun.' Well, seh, Ah was lookin' fo' a place to mek some fo'chun mahse'f fo mah folks, an' that theah Cincinnati didn't seem jes'

th' raght place to set about it, so Ah sais, 'Thank yo' ve'y much, Mahstah Cunnel,' an' Ah stays by him fo' a consid'ble length of time."

But, little by little, after their coming to our town the Colonel had alienated his companion by a lack of those qualities which Clem had been accustomed to observe in those to whom he gave himself. Potts was at length speaking of him as an ungrateful black hound, and wondering if the nation might not have been injudicious in liberating the slave.

Clem, for his part, cut the Colonel dead on Main Street one day and never afterwards betrayed to him any consciousness of his existence. It was said that their final disagreement hinged upon a matter of thirty odd dollars earned by Clem in a Cincinnati restaurant and confided later to the Colonel's too thorough keeping.

Be as it may, Clem had formed other and more profitable connections.

From a doer of odd jobs of wood-sawing, house-cleaning, and stove-polishing he had risen to the dignity of a market gardener. A small house and a large garden a block away from my place were now rented by him. Also he caught fish, snared rabbits, gathered the wild fruits in their seasons, and was janitor of the Methodist church; all this in addition to looking after my own home. It was not surprising that he had money in the bank. He worked unceasingly. The earliest risers in Little Arcady found him already busied, and those abroad latest at night would see or hear him about the little unpainted house in the big garden.

I suspect he had come out into the strange world of the North with large, loose notions that the fortune he needed might be speedily ama.s.sed. Such tales had been told him in his Southland, where he had not learned to question or doubt. If so, his disappointment was not to be seen in his bearing. That look of patient endurance may have eaten a little deeper the lines about his inky eyes, but I am sure his purpose had never wavered, nor his faith that he would win at last.

As I ate my breakfast that morning he told me of his good year. The early produce of his garden had sold well. Soon there would be half an acre of potatoes to dig, and now there was a fine crop of melons just coming ripe. These he would begin to sell on the morrow.

At this point, breakfast being done, the cloth brushed, and a light brought for my pipe, Clem came from the kitchen with a new pine board, upon which he had painted a sign with shoe polish.

"Yes, seh, Mahstah Majah,--Ah beg yo' t' see if hit's raght!" and he held it up to me. It read:--

Mellins on Sale Mush & Water Ask Mr. Tuckerman at his House.

I gave the thing a critical survey under his grave regard, then applauded the workmanship and hoped him a prosperous season with the melons.

Then I beguiled him to talk of his land and his "folks," delighting in his low, soft speech, wherein the vowels languished and the r's fainted from sheer inertia.