The Man from Jericho Part 11

"I hope you will understand me, Dillard, when I ask how Major Dudley's account stands?"

"Certainly, doctor. I was looking at it yesterday, and it's almost even.

Only a few dollars to his credit. I swear I don't know what'll become of 'em!"

Glenning knit his brows thoughtfully.

"They'll have to live in spite of Marston," he said. "How this will be I can't say now, but they shan't want because a low-lived rascal has the upper hand for the time. I shall want to begin a small account with your bank today."

"All right. New depositors are always welcome."

"And I must get away from this hotel, Dillard. After my experience last night I think it wise for me to change my quarters. Don't you know of a vacant room upstairs over some one of your business houses, and isn't there a private boarding-house where I might get my meals?"

"I'm pretty sure I can fix you up that way. Suppose we start now, before I go to work? You can come back and finish packing."

"Good; I'll appreciate your help."

By three o'clock that afternoon the new doctor was thoroughly established in Macon. The boarding-house where he secured accommodations was diagonally across the street from the house which he had seen Doctor Kale enter the day before--and which he learned later was the old gentleman's residence--and he had secured two rooms over a dry goods store on Main street, just opposite the courthouse, which suited his purposes admirably for offices. The back apartment, which was entered first, was a consulting room, and contained his library, while the front one was his office proper. As a finishing touch John swung his sign over the sidewalk below, then came upstairs and sat down by an open window with a book. But his mind was not in a proper condition for either reading or study. Dillard's revelation had proven a source of much concern, and he had not been able to get away from it. In vain he tried to argue with his conscience that the Dudleys were nothing to him, and that he would have his hands full making his way in his new field of labor. This course of reasoning proved futile. The sweet face and trusting eyes of Julia dispelled the illusion, and he realized that he had to take a hand in the game which Fate had prepared. The conviction being established, the next thing was to work out the solution. But no plan would come; he knew that he was bound and helpless.

It was an ideal mid-afternoon in summer, and as Glenning gazed listlessly from the window he saw an almost deserted thoroughfare. A negro lad went whistling down the opposite pavement, clattering a stick along the iron palings of the courthouse fence; the leaves of the trees in the courthouse yard hung motionless in the quiet atmosphere, and even the ever-busy English sparrows seemed taking a siesta.

Directly several men emerged from one of the lawyer's offices which made up three sides of Court Square. None of them wore coats, and one was without either coat or vest. From the remainder of his apparel he was evidently a farmer. An old man with a long, white beard, holding in his hand a staff longer than himself. He was much excited, for he hopped about in a bird-like way, wagging his whiskers and scratching his head and ever and again thumping the earth with his staff. An altercation was evidently in progress among the men, and the voice of the old fellow was always loudest. He was plainly insisting upon a point which was meeting with some resistance. Another party now joined the group, and Glenning at once recognized Doctor Kale. As he made his appearance, the old fellow with the rod danced up to him with a gesture almost threatening and began a loud-voiced harangue. Doctor Kale was obdurate. He shook his head and thumped about, and remained firm. He of the long whiskers was rapidly working himself up to the fighting point, when a man who had been standing somewhat apart came up, caught him by the arm, and pointed across the street to a point directly beneath the window where John sat.

What he said worked like magic. The old fellow beckoned Doctor Kale, grasped the arm of another member of the party, and the three at once started across the road. Another moment John heard heavy footsteps climbing the stair. Before he could reach the door it was opened hurriedly, and the men trooped in.

"There he is!" grumbled Doctor Kale, starting on a tour around the walls of the room, sniffing his wrath, and ignoring the necessity of any sort of an introduction.

"I want a doctor! I ain't sick 'n' my fam'ly ain't sick, but d.i.n.k Scribbens took with the small-pox las' night 'n' me 'n' my folks has to pa.s.s his door ever' time we come to town! That ol' hippity-hop (indicating the still marching figure of Doctor Kale) 's skeered to go, though he never caught anything in his life!"

"I'm not afraid!" promptly fired back Doctor Kale. "I've waited on small-pox, chicken-pox, rosiola, measles, and every skin disease you ever heard of, but I'm not going to give my time to these d.a.m.ned paupers! Paupers 've got no business gettin' sick!"

"Are these people--paupers?" asked John, addressing the question to the third man, who up to this time had maintained silence through necessity.

He was a large, stout individual, bearing plainly upon his face the marks of conviviality. He came forward heavily, and held out his hand.

"I'm Joe Colver, county judge," he said, dragging his words as though each was anch.o.r.ed in his chest. "Uncle Billy Hoonover come in a while ago sayin' the Scribbenses had small-pox. I don't know whether he knows what he's talkin' about or not, but they live in our county and it's our duty to investigate it and if necessary put a quarantine on 'em." He smiled laboriously as he continued. "We usually give cases like this to the young fellers. The old hosses git above it, you know. If you'll go and take charge I'll promise the county'll allow you a reasonable fee.

And you'll save Uncle Billy Hoonover a fit of some kind if you'll go pretty quick."

"Fit!" shrilled Uncle Billy, prancing up and down. "Who wouldn't have a fit with the ketchin' small-pox under his nose? Tell me that?"

"I'll go, judge," said Glenning; "where do they live?"

"Under my nose!" reiterated Uncle Billy. "A crick 'n' a narrer fiel'

'twixt them 'n' me! The win' could blow it right in my door if it set right!"

Doctor Kale had at last brought himself up, and he now cast a withering look of scorn upon the excited layman. He was plainly too full for words, for in a moment he clapped his hat on his head and bustled out with it riding his ears.

"Old Kale's a caution," commented the judge, laughing lazily, "but he's got plenty o' doctor sense. He's got the cream o' the practice about here. The best people want 'im, and they'll wait for 'im if they ain't pretty bad off. I knew you was on a cold trail, Uncle Billy, when you struck Kale."

"He'd better quit if he can't 'ten' to the sick. I don't b'lieve in 'scrimination, nohow. He might 'a' knowed the county'd 'a' paid 'im for his work. There never was a county without paupers in it, 'n' they're always gittin' somethin' worse'n anybody else!"

Judge Colver waved his hand and turned to go.

"Uncle Billy'll show you where they live, doctor. I wish you'd bring me your report as soon as you get back. We haven't had small-pox in the county for thirty years," he added, as his big figure moved ponderously out the door.

Mr. Hoonover had carried his point, but that fact in no wise stilled his tongue. He must talk. An argument was always better suited to his temperament, which was naturally belligerent, but when controversy was impossible he rambled on anyhow. While Glenning was making his brief preparations Uncle Billy's tongue was going.

"I hope you'll run ol' Kale till he takes in his sign!" he piped. "A doctor oughter be for ever'body, but ol' Kale's for the quality stric'ly. I do b'lieve he'd be glad if I was took with the small-pox, so't he could git a dig at me."

"Oh, then he is your family physician, too?"

"Yes, yes; I'm a fool like the balance of 'em. But it don't pay to git stuck on any one doctor, for they'll either neglect you or bulldooze you when you do. If you c'n cure the Scribbenses, durned if I don't switch off 'n' have you for a spell!"

Glenning smiled as he picked up his medicine case and reached for his hat.

"We don't cure small-pox as easily as we do some things," he said. "I understand these people live some distance from town?"

"Yes, on the Hillville pike--that is, you go that pike for a couple o'

mile, 'n' then strike out a side road pa.s.sin' my place."

"Am I to go with you?"

"Yes, my buggy's ready--" Uncle Billy stopped at the foot of the stair they had been descending, and squinted suspiciously up at John, one step above him. "But how'r' you goin' to git back? I can't tech you nor be a-nigh you after yo've handled the small-pox!"

"I'll have my horse and buggy here in a day or two--from Jericho," mused Glenning. "I tell you. I'll get a vehicle from the nearest stable. Where is it--your nearest livery stable?"

They came out on the pavement, side by side.

"Yonder." Uncle Billy pointed with his pilgrim's staff. "Half way down the square where them men are settin' tilted back talkin' hard times--that's what they're doin' if I can't hear 'em. I know ever'

blessed one of 'em from here. See the place? Got a big red hoss painted over the door. Ask for Steve Duncan or Lige Lane--they run it, 'n' are good men. Say I sent you. Yonder's my nag, hitched to that lamp post."

The pilgrim's staff came swinging vigorously around to do its duty as an index, and caught Mr. Devil Marston's hat midway, knocking it into the dust of the gutter, where it rolled over a few times as knocked-off hats invariably do. The victim of this harmless accident would not, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, have taken it lightly. Mr. Hoonover made a motion to recover the property he had unintentionally mistreated, but Marston, cat-like, had the hat in his hands, brushing it with his sleeve, before Uncle Billy's wits could fully take in the situation.

"Mind what you're about, you d.a.m.ned old buzzard!" he gritted, his small eyes glinting wickedly. "If you've got to carry a fishing pole around with you why don't you stay in the cornfield, where you belong?"

Uncle Billy's booted feet began to go up and down. His straggling whiskers trembled from anger and he combed them with restless fingers as he fired back--

"I didn't go to do it, 'n' I's goin' to pick it up for you, you--you--you son of a n.i.g.g.e.r!"

A big brown fist came like a lightning bolt at the old fellow's convulsed face, but swifter yet was Glenning's stroke which threw up the threatening arm, and this was followed by another which sent the burly form reeling, though it did not fall. Then as John dragged Uncle Billy into the little pa.s.sageway at the foot of the stair some men came running towards the scene. They arrived in time to lay restraining hands upon Marston, who had his revolver out and was advancing to renew the trouble. By main force they held him for a time, until he had become calmer, and it was big Joe Colver who took his pistol from him and told him he would be arrested if he did not go on his way peaceably, and at once. This he reluctantly consented to do, and the judge walked with him to the bank, which he entered.

While this was going on, John had literally held Uncle Billy captive.

The touchy old man's ire was aflame at its highest pitch, and he wanted to fight. When the coast was clear John reminded him of the urgent need which called them to the country, and escorted him to his buggy. Then, a.s.suring him that he would return immediately, and begging him to remain in his buggy, Glenning hastily sought the livery stable. While he was waiting for his horse to be gotten ready he saw, diagonally across the street, a brick building with the words Macon National Bank, in large letters over the door.

CHAPTER VIII

By the time the start was made Mr. Hoonover had cooled down somewhat. He went in front, of course, in his capacity as guide, but all along the two and a half miles drive he was constantly jerking about in his seat to look back and shout some question or remark to the man in his wake.