The Twins of Suffering Creek Part 31

"Here," he went on, "this is how she says of them kids: 'You can't jest lay down reg'lations fer feedin'. Jest feed 'em natural, an' if they git a pain dose 'em with physic. Ther's some things you must kep 'em from gittin' into their stummicks. Kindlin' wood is ridiculous fer them to chew, ther' ain't no goodness in it, an' it's li'ble to run slivvers into their vitals. Sulphur matches ain't good fer 'em to suck. I ain't got nothing to say 'bout the sulphur, but the phospherus is sure injurious, an', anyway, it's easy settin' 'emselves afire.

Kids is ter'ble fond of sand, an' gravel, an' mud, inside an' out.

Outside ain't no harm, 'cep' it keps you washin' 'em, but inside's likely to give 'em colic. Don't let 'em climb on tables an' things.

Ther' never was a kid who could climb on to a table but what could fall off. Don't let 'em lick stove-black off a hot cookstove. This don't need explainin' to folk of ord'nary intelligence. Coal is for makin' a fire, an' ain't good eatin'. Boilin' water has its uses, but it ain't good play fer kids. Guns an' knives ain't needed fer kids playin' Injun. These things is jest general notions to kep in your head fer ord'nary guidance. Kids' clothes needs washin' every Monday--with soap. Mebbe you'll need to wash every day if kids is frolicsome. Bow-ties is for Sunday wear. Girl's hair needs braidin'

every night, an' don't leave chewin' t'baccer around. Kids is sure to eat it. Best give 'em physic every Sat.u.r.day night, an' bath 'em Sunday mornin'. Don't use no hand scrubber. If you can't git through the dirt by ord'nary washin', best leave it. Kids is tender-skinned anyway.

After their bath set 'em out in the sun, an' give 'em an elegant Bible talk. Ther' ain't nothin' like a Bible talk fer kids. It sets 'em wise to religion early, an' gives 'em a good impression o' the folks raisin' 'em. Ef they ast too many questions you need to answer 'em with discretion--'"

"Wot's she mean by that?" asked Toby, all interest in the ma.s.s of detail.

"Mean? Why--" Bill paused considering.

Sunny looked up from his writing.

"Why, don't say fool things fer the sake of ga.s.sin'!" he explained readily. "Everything you tell 'em needs a moral."

"Moral?" murmured Toby vaguely.

"Yes, moral."

But Sandy saw a chance of restoring his fallen prestige, and promptly seized upon it.

"Moral," he said, beaming with self-satisfaction, "is handin' a lesson all wrop up in fancy words so's to set folks cussin' like mad they can't understand it, an' hatin' themselves when they're told its meanin'. Now, if I was goin' to show you what a blamed idjut you was without jest sayin' so--"

"Shut up!" cried Bill. And without waiting for a reply he read on, "'--with discretion. If you treat kids proper they mostly raise themselves, which is jest Natur'. Don't worry yourself, 'less they fall into a swill-barrel, or do some ridiculous stunt o' that natur'--an' don't worry _them_. Ther' ain't no sense to anybody goin'

around with notions they ken flap their wings, an' cluck like a broody hen; an' scratchin' worms is positive ridiculous. Help 'em when they need help, otherwise let 'em fall around till they knock sense into theirselves. Jest let 'em be kids as long as Natur' fancies, so's when they git growed up, which they're goin' to do anyways, they'll likely make elegant men an' women. Ef you set 'em under gla.s.s cases they'll sure get fixed into things what gla.s.s cases is made to hold--that's images. I don't guess I kin tell you nothin' more 'bout kids, seein' I ain't a mother, but jest a pot-wolloper.'"

Bill folded the paper as he finished reading, and silently handed it across to the secretary. Somehow he seemed impressed with the information the paper contained. The whole meeting seemed impressed.

Even Sandy had no comment to offer, while Toby resorted to biting his forefinger and gazing stupidly at the opposite wall. It was Sunny who finally broke the silence.

"Guess I'll jest writ' out the chief points fer Zip's guidance?" he asked.

Bill nodded.

"That's it, sure," he agreed. "Jest the chief points. Then you'll hand it to Zip to-morrer mornin', an', ef he needs it, you can explain wot he ain't wise to. I'd like to say right here that this hash-slinger has got savvee. Great big savvee, an' a heap of it. I ain't a h.e.l.l of a lot on the kid racket, they mostly make me sick to death. In a manner o' speakin', I don't care a cuss for Zip nor his kids. Ef they drown theirselves in a swill-bar'l it's his funeral, an' their luck, an' it don't cut no ice with me. But, cuss me, ef I ken stand to see a low-down skunk like this yer James come it over a feller-citizen o'

Suffering Creek, an' it's our duty to see Zip gits thro'. I'm sore on James. Sore as h.e.l.l. I ain't no Bible-thumpin', mush-hearted, push-me-amongst-the-angels feller anyways. An' you boys has got to git right on to that, quick." He glared round at his friends defiantly, as though daring them to do otherwise. But as n.o.body gave a sign of doubt on the subject, he had no alternative but to continue. "I'm jest sore on James an'--" He hesitated for the fraction of a second, but went on almost immediately. "--ther' may come a time when the play gits busy.

Get me? Wal," as Sandy and Sunny nodded a.s.sent, and Toby sat all eyes for the speaker, "this yere Trust is a goin' concern, an', I take it, we mean business. So, though we ain't runnin' a noospaper, maybe we'll need a fightin' editor after all. If we need a fightin' editor we'll sure need a fightin' staff. That's jest logic. I'll ast you right here, is you boys that fightin' staff? If so, guess I'm fightin'

editor. How?"

His eyes were on Sunny Oak. And that individual's unwashed face broadened into a cheerful grin.

"Fightin' don't come under the headin' of work--proper," he said.

"Guess I'm in."

Bill turned on Sandy.

"You ain't got the modest beauty o' the vi'let," he said, with saturnine levity. "How you feelin'?"

"Sure good," exclaimed the widower. "But I'd feel better lettin' air into the carkis of James."

"Good," muttered Bill. "An' you, Toby?" he went on, turning on the "remittance" man. "You're a heap fat, an' need somethin' to get it down. How you fancy things?"

"I'd as lief sc.r.a.p 'side these scalliwags as ag'in 'em," he replied, indicating his companions with an amiable grin.

Bill nodded.

"This yere Trust is a proper an' well-found enterprise," he said gravely. "As fer Minky, I guess we can count him in most anything that ain't dishonest. So--wal, this is jest precautions. Ther's nuthin'

doin' yet. But you see," he added, with a shadowy grin, "life's mostly chock-full of fancy things we don't figger on, an' anyway I can't set around easy when folks gets gay. I'll be back to hum day after to-morrer, or the next day, an', meanwhiles, you'll see things are right with Zip. An' don't kep far away from Minky's store when strangers is around. Minky's a good friend o' mine, an' a good friend to most o' you, so--well, guns is good med'cine ef folks git gay, an'

are yearnin' to handle dust what ain't theirs."

"Them strangers?" suggested Sandy. "Is--?"

Bill shrugged.

"Strangers is strangers, an' gold-dust is gold-dust," he said shrewdly. "An' when the two git together ther's gener'ly a disease sets in that guns is the best med'cine for. That's 'bout all."

CHAPTER XVI

ZIP'S GRAt.i.tUDE

What a complicated machinery human nature is! It seems absurd that a strongly defined character should be just as full of surprises as the weakest; that the fantastic, the unexpected, even the illogical, are as surely found in the one as in the other. It would be so nice, so simple and easy, to sit down and foreshadow a certain course of action for a certain individual under a given stress; and to be sure that, in human psychology, two and two make precisely four, no more and no less.

But such is not the case. In human psychology two and two can just as easily make ten, or fifteen, or any other number; and prophecy in the matter is about as great a waste of time as worrying over the possibilities of the weather. The const.i.tution of the nervous system cannot be estimated until put to the test. And when the first test has revealed to us the long-awaited secret, it is just as likely to be flatly contradicted by the second. The whole thing is the very mischief.

Those who knew him would have been quite certain that in Scipio's case there could only be one result from the addition of the two and two of his psychology. In a man of his peculiar mental caliber it might well seem that there could be no variation to the sum. And the resulting prophecy would necessarily be an evil, or at least a pessimistic one.

He was so helpless, so lacking in all the practicalities of human life. He seemed to have one little focus that was quite incapable of expansion, of adaptability. That focus was almost entirely filled by his Jessie's image, with just a small place in it reserved for his twins. Take the woman out of it, and, to all intents and purposes, he looked out upon a dead white blank.

Every thought in his inadequate brain was centered round his wife. She was the mainspring of his every emotion. His love for her was his whole being. It was something so great and strong that it enveloped all his senses. She was his, and he was incapable of imagining life without her. She was his, and only death could alter so obvious a fact. She was his vanguard in life's battle, a support that sh.o.r.ed up his confidence and courage to face, with a calm determination, whatever that battle had to offer him.

But with Jessie's going all prophecy would have remained unfulfilled.

Scipio did not go under in the manner to have been expected of him.

After the first shock, outwardly at least, there appeared to be no change in him. His apparently colorless personality drifted on in precisely the same amiable, inconsequent manner. What his moments of solitude were, only he knew. The agony of grief through which he pa.s.sed, the long sleepless nights, the heartbreaking sense of loss, these things lay hidden under his meaningless exterior, which, however, defied the revelation of his secret.

After the pa.s.sing of the first madness which had sent him headlong in pursuit of his wife, a sort of mental evolution set in. That unadaptable focus of his promptly became adaptable. And where it had been incapable of expansion, it slowly began to expand. It grew, and, whereas before his Jessie had occupied full place, his twins now became the central feature.

The original position was largely reversed, but it was chiefly the growth of the images of his children, and not the diminishing of the figure of his wife. And with this new aspect came calmness. Nothing could change his great love for his erring Jessie, nothing could wipe out his sense of loss; his grief was always with him. But whereas, judged by the outward seeming of his character, he should have been crushed under Fate's cruel blow, an inverse process seemed to have set in. He was lifted, exalted to the almost sublime heights where his beacon-fire of duty shone.

Yes, but the whole thing was so absurdly twisted. The care of his children occupied his entire time now, so that his work, in seeking that which was required to support them, had to be entirely neglected.

He had fifty dollars between him and starvation for his children. Nor could he see his way to earning more. The struggles of his unpractical mind were painful. It was a problem quite beyond him. He struggled n.o.bly with it, but he saw no light ahead, and, with that curious singleness of purpose that was his, he eventually abandoned the riddle, and devoted his whole thought to the children. Any other man would probably have decided to hire himself out to work on the claims of other men, and so hope to earn sufficient to hire help in the care of the twins, but not so Scipio. He believed that their future well-being lay in his claim. If that could not be worked, then there was no other way.

He had just finished clearing up his hut, and the twins were busy with their games outside in the sun, aided by their four-legged yellow companion, whose voice was always to be heard above their excited squabblings and laughter. So Sunny Oak found things when he slouched up to the hut with the result of the Trust's overnight meeting in his pocket.

The loafer came in with a grin of good-nature on his perspiring and dirty face. He was feeling very self-righteous. It was pleasant to think he was doing a good work. So much so that the effort of doing it did not draw the usual protest from him.

He glanced about him with a tolerant eye, feeling that henceforth, under the guidance of the Trust he represented, Scipio's condition would certainly be improved. But somehow his mental patronage received a quiet set-back. The hut looked so different. There was a wholesome cleanliness about it that was quite staggering. Sunny remembered it as it was when he had last seen it under his regime, and the contrast was quite startling. Scipio might be incapable of organization, but he certainly could scour and scrub.