The Starbucks Part 17

READING THE NEWS.

The next morning Old Jasper took up the story-paper and for a long time sat at the table, bending over it, reading laboriously. Not far away his wife sat, knitting and slowly rocking. Sometimes the old man's face would light up and then it would darken.

"Shot fo' an' s...o...b..d three," he read. "Hold on, he's about to git another one. Got him! Oh, you bet he's got him foul. Wait a minit."

Then, gripping the table with one hand and with the other one grasping the paper, he continued to read: "'Then the Captain findin' himself again surrounded by the'"--he halted and began to spell out the word--"'by the--b-a-n-d-i-t-s--threw down his empty pistol, drew his dirk and--' Who tore this off?" he got up excitedly and demanded. "Here, fetch me what the Captain done. Never in all my life was I left in sich a lurch. Why, thar's no tellin' how many mo' he killed. Didn't think that feller Gabe was sich a good jedge of a paper, but blamed if he didn't fetch me one with news a oozin' out at every pore. And now somebody has come along an' grabbed the works outen it. Margaret, don't you see whut a fix I'm in? Can't you help me?"

Without looking up from her knitting, she replied: "Why, Jasper, that ain't news. It's only a story-paper."

He staggered back as if she had thrown over him a pail of cold water.

His hair looked limp, and dew-beads of emotion stood out upon his brow.

He took a step forward and limped as if he had lost a part of his strength.

"What, Margaret, ain't news when a man shoots fo' an' stobs three? Now you air a woman of fine sense. I've allus said that, and for mercy sake don't come a tellin' me that you don't know what news is. Scold me whenever you feel like it, but don't come a tellin' me that."

She didn't look up. "But Jasper, it ain't true."

"Ain't true? Here it is, right here. Look." He shuffled over to her and spreading out the paper put his finger at the place whence the vital spark had fled. "Look, spelled out jest like in a almanic. See fur yo'se'f."

Then came her voice, cold and cutting to his hopes: "Oh, I know it's thar well enough. What I mean is it's all made up--it's a tale."

"A tale? What's that? What do you mean by a tale? Do you mean that it didn't happen?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Of course it didn't happen."

He gazed at her, wondering whether or not to accept her wisdom. Then upon the floor he flung the paper and trampled upon it. "If that's the case, I don't want nuthin' mo' to do with it. Come a foolin' with a man's affections thatter way. Ought to have been out yander at work half a hour ago. Been a settin' here a thinkin' I was a gittin' facts. Man ought to be whupped fur printin' a lie jest like fur tellin' one."

Margaret showed signs of sympathy. "Jasper, I wouldn't let it bother me so."

He started. "Wouldn't let it bother you when you been a stuffin' yo'se'f with a lie? Wouldn't let it bother you when a man gains yo' confidence an' then deceives you?"

"Oh," she said, rocking herself and plying her needles, "it don't amount to nuthin'. I wouldn't pay no attention to it."

"Look here, Margaret. Now--now, don't make light of my trouble."

Into her lap she let her knitting fall and earnestly she looked at him.

"I never make light of a real trouble, Jasper, but it seems that you do.

A real trouble is a comin' down the road, but you don't appear to mind it. Have you seed Lije Peters sense he was here the other day?"

"No, I ain't been lookin' fur him."

"But he mout look for you."

"He won't have to look under the bed," the old man replied, slowly walking up and down the room.

"Jasper, do you think he'll git that app'intment as deputy marshal?"

He halted and stood with his hands behind him. "I don't know, but if he do, it means sh.o.r.e enough trouble." He took his hands from behind him and looked at them. "Red on yo' hands don't make a good glove. The mo'

I talk to Jim, the preacher, the wus I hate red. Blood may be thicker than water all right enough, but it ain't as smilin' when the sun hits it. I don't want to fight, but--"

"Oh, yes you do," she broke in. "You'd ruther fight than eat."

A smile illumined his bronze countenance. "Wall, I ain't always hungry."

The smile pa.s.sed and with countenance grave and with voice deep he said: "Every whar you see a home, you may know that somebody has fit fur it.

Every privilege in this here life has cost blood. If a man wants to be treated as a lamb, he must prove himself a tiger. He must conquer befo'

he's allowed to set down an' love. I don't want to kill that feller, but--"

Laz Spencer appeared at the door. "Come in, Laz."

He came in and took off his slouch hat, standing there as if he had something on his mind. Suddenly he exclaimed as if discharging a great diplomatic mission: "Mornin', mornin'."

Margaret bade him good morning, and then asked concerning the health of the "folks."

He sat down and twisted his hat round and round. "The folks air jest tolerable, ma'm. How's all with you?"

"Tolerable," Margaret answered.

"Yo' brother Bill a gittin' better?" Jasper inquired.

Round and round Laz twisted his hat. "Pearter than he war yistidy, but not as peart as he war the day befo'."

"Yo' mother still a eatin' of spoon vidults, Laz?"

"No, doc' he 'lows she kin eat knife an' fork stuff now."

"Any news over yo' way?"

"Nuthin' wuth dividin'. Doc' he sewed Patterson up an' 'lows he may git well."

"Why, what's the matter with Patterson?"

"Sam Perdue cut him with a knife."

"Fur pity's sake," Margaret exclaimed.

"I ain't hearn about it," said Jasper.

"Yes, they had a right sharp time," Laz drawled. "Andy, he died."

"What Andy?"

"Andy Horn."

"Did you ever?" Margaret declared.

"What ailed him?" Jasper asked, showing increased interest.

"Got cotched in a saw mill. Ma'm," he added, looking at Margaret without turning his head, "I reckon you hearn about old Aunt Sis Garrett?"