The Jucklins Part 22

Suddenly he wheeled about, fell upon his bed and sobbed aloud. And so I left him, and ere I reached the door I knew that his sobbing was a prayer, that his heart had found peace and rest. Upon a pardon from the governor he could have looked with cool indifference, for without that girl's love he cared not to live; but now to know that through the dark she had fled from her home, rebellious against her father's pride, wild with love--it was a mercy granted by the Governor of governors.

I went to see Conkwright and told him of the threat that Stuart had made, and the old man's eyes glistened. "We ought to have had that girl on the stand in the first place," he said. "But it was a delicate matter and, of course, we didn't know that she could bear so strongly upon the case. It's all right--better as it is, and that boy will get off as sure as you are sitting there. That threat was worse than his standing in the road, waiting. Yes, sir, it's all right, and you may take up your school again and go ahead with your work."

"I don't want to go ahead with it, Mr. Conkwright. I want to study law with you. The school was only a makeshift, any way. You are getting old and you need some one to do the drudgery of your office. I will come in and work faithfully."

"Don't know but you are right, Billy."

"I wish, sir, that you wouldn't call me Billy."

"All right, Colonel."

"And I don't care to be called Colonel. You may call me Bill, if you want to, but Billy----"

"A little too soft, eh? All right. I don't know but you are the very man I want. You are faithful and you've got a good head. Call again in a day or two. It has been a long time since I had a partner. Yes, come in again, and I think we can arrange it."

"There is something else that I want to speak about, and to me it is of more importance than----"

"Love!" the old man broke in, winking at me.

"I'll tell you, if you'll wait a moment. Then you may place your own estimate upon it."

I told him of the broken engagement, of Chyd's indifference, of the old couple's plan to leave the community, and I unfolded my sentimental resolve to buy the old house. "And now I must ask a favor," I continued.

"Old man Perdue told me that he would pay me for the time--time I have not taught, but as I am not going to fill out the term it wouldn't be right to take the money."

"Ah, and it is law you want to study?"

"Why, of course. Didn't I make that plain?"

"Oh, yes. And you don't think it would be right to take the money? Go ahead, though."

"I know it wouldn't be right. And what I want to ask of you is this: The investment will require about two hundred dollars. Won't you lend me that amount?"

He scratched his head, scratched his chin, bit off a chew of tobacco, stretched himself and said: "Well, I have been lending money all my life, and I don't see why I should stop now. Did you ever hear of anybody paying back borrowed money except in a poker game? I never did.

Do people really pay back? I don't know what the custom is over in the part of the country you came from, but the rules are very strict here, and they are not violated very often--they rarely pay back. And they never violate the rule with me."

"My dear sir, I will pay you----"

"Yes, I know. Oh, you've got the formula down pretty fine. Make a good lawyer. I've got some money in that safe, that is, if n.o.body has robbed me. Let me see if I've been robbed."

He opened the safe and took out a package of banknotes. "Don't believe I've been robbed. Rather singular, too," he went on, counting the money.

"Two hundred, you said. Better take two-fifty--you need some clothes.

Pardon me for being so keen an observer. It really escaped my notice until this moment. But what you want with the old house is more than I can understand. No, Billy--Bill, I mean--no, I understand it and it is a n.o.ble quality."

He rolled up the money, handed it to me and continued to talk. "After all, sentiment is the only thing in life, but you'd better not tell this about town--I'd never get another case. Yes, sir, and the poet is the only man who really lives. Now go on and buy your acre of sentiment, and when you have closed the bargain, lie down upon your possessions and go to sleep. Tell the old man that he is a fool for going away, but tell him also that I don't blame him for being a fool. Yes, sir, I love a fool, for it's the wise man that puts me to trouble. Give my warmest regards to that old woman. Let me tell you something: Many years ago I was a poor young fellow working about the court-house. And the clothes you've got on now are wedding garments compared with what mine were.

Well, one day I stopped at Jucklin's house to get out of the rain--he hadn't been married long--and soon after I went into the sitting-room, the wife began to whisper to the husband, and when she went out, which she did a moment later, Jucklin turned to me and said: 'Go up stairs, take off your britches and throw 'em down here, and I'll bring 'em back to you after a while.' I was actually out at the knees, sir, and I did as he told me, and when he brought my trousers back they were neatly patched. Yes, sir, give my warmest regards to that old woman, for if she isn't a Christian there never was one. Well, what are you hanging around here for? Trying to thank me? Is that it? Well, just go on, my boy, and we'll attend to that some other time."

"You know what I feel, Mr. Conkwright, and I will not attempt to thank you, but I must say that I was never more surprised in a man. I was told that you were hard and unsympathetic."

"Sorry you found me out, sir. Let a lawyer get the name of being kind and they say that he is emotional, but has no logic. Blackstone had to give up poetry. Well, good-day. I'm busy."

I ate breakfast at the tavern, nodding over the table; and I was so sleepy that I could scarcely sit my horse as I rode toward home. The day was hot and drowsy was the air, in the road and on the hill-side, where a boy, weary and heavy with the leg-pains of adolescence, was dragging himself after a plow. Once I dozed off to sleep and awoke under a tree, the wise old horse knowing that he could take advantage of my sleepiness to bat his eyes in the shade, and when I spoke to him he started off at a trot as if surprised to find that he had turned aside from his duty. I was nearly home and was riding along half asleep when the frightful squealing of a pig drew my attention down a lane that opened into the road. The animal was caught under a rail fence and his companions were running up to him, one after another, and were raking him with their sharp teeth. I got down and fought off the excited beasts, knocked one of them down for his cruelty, and lifted the fence to liberate the prisoner; and when he was free his companions, the ones that had been ripping his hide, ran up to congratulate him upon his good fortune; and in the whole performance I saw a heartless phase of human life, musing as I rearranged the rails that had been lifted away, and when I straightened up there stood Etheredge looking at me.

"These are my hogs," he said.

"I didn't know that," I replied, "but I might have known that they were members of your family."

"Yes, you might have known a great many things that you have never been wise enough to find out. But I don't want to lash words with you, Mr.

Hawes. I simply stopped to tell you that a man who would go out of his way to lift a heavy fence to help a hog is not a bad fellow; and I want to apologize for anything that I have said to anger you. I have nothing against you and I don't blame you for sticking to a friend. One of these days you'll find that I'm not half as bad a fellow as you have had cause to think me. Let us call off our engagement. Is it a go?"

"Doctor, I have no desire to kill you, and I think that your death would be the result of our keeping that engagement."

"Pretty confident sort of a man, I take it. And after all, bravery is nothing but a sort of over-confidence. But I don't believe that you would kill me; I believe that it would be the other way, and it is not out of fear that I propose a setting aside of our indefinite agreement to meet each other. But be that as it may, we will call it off unless you insist, and if you do, why, as a gentleman I shall be compelled to meet you. I am brave enough to confess that I can't help but admire you morally and physically. In a small way, I was once a demonstrator of anatomy, and from an outside estimate I must p.r.o.nounce you as fine a specimen of manhood as I ever saw. And if you'll come over to the house we'll take a long drink on the strength of it."

"The spirit of your hospitality is not lost upon me, Doctor, but the truth is, I never drink. But with a cheerful willingness I accept your other proposition--to set aside our engagement. It was no more your fault than mine."

"Yes, it was, Mr. Hawes--I wantonly nagged at you. But we will let it drop. Under present conditions we can't be very good friends, but there will come a time when you must acknowledge that malice may know what it is to be honest, if not generous."

"Don't go now, Doctor; you have interested me. Tell me what you mean."

"I wish you good-day, Mr. Hawes," was his reply, as he strode off down the lane. And he left me holding him in a strange sort of regard; he had flattered me and had hinted at a future generosity. Could it be that he intended to modify his evidence when again he should appear against Alf? A demonstrator of anatomy--and he could soothe a nerve as well as expose a muscle. I felt kindly toward him as I rode along, though blaming myself for my weakness. But I have never known a very large man who had not some vital weakness--of vanity, egotism, over-generosity, foolish tenderness--something in ill-keeping with a well-poised morality. With old Sir John we have more flesh, and, therefore, more of frailty.

As I came within sight of the house I saw three men slowly walking about in the yard, and, upon reaching the gate, I recognized them as Parker, Jucklin and Perdue. I turned the horse into a lot and joined them.

"Well," said Jucklin, "it's all over and I have sold out to Parker."

"Not the house, too!" I cried in alarm.

The old man smiled and winked at Parker. "Well, not quite," he said.

"Guinea told me what you wanted, and sir, you can have it, though I tell you right now that it ain't worth much."

"Will you take two hundred dollars?"

"Not from you, Bill. You may have the house and the path and the spring and the strip of moss, for if you haven't earned that and more----"

"Hold on, Mr. Jucklin. I want the property made over to me in regular form when I have paid you for it. I will accept of no concession; want to pay as much as Mr. Parker would have paid, and I have borrowed money enough to close the deal. You are going away and you will need every cent you can possibly raise; and I demand that you take the two hundred dollars that I have collected for you. It will be of no use to say that you will not, for I am determined, and, although you have been very kind, you will find me a hard man to fight. And remember that there is a debt to be paid."

He held out his hand and looked over toward the General's house as I gripped his rough palm.

"I have buried 'em over by the edge of the woods," he said; "buried 'em with their gaffs on. I couldn't help it--they had to fight to a finish.

Yes, it shall be as you say. I will pay what I owe and still have money enough to get away off somewhere. We'll draw up the papers in town and have it over with at once."

"Mr. Hawes, I've got a hundred dollars that's yours," said old man Perdue. "I have brought the money, and here it is."

"I can't take it, Mr. Perdue. I haven't earned it, and shall not earn it. I am not going to teach your school."

"The deuce you say! Why, my grandson thinks there ain't n.o.body in the world like you--says you can whip any livin' man. You must teach that school."

"No, I am going to study law with Judge Conkwright."