Читать книгу The Hand-Made Gentleman: A Tale of the Battles of Peace - Irving Bacheller - Страница 13

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HAT week my clerkship began with Mr. Weatherby. To my great disappointment “the Pearl of great price” had left the village of Mill Pond, having gone nobody knew where.

It was my duty to sweep the floor and clean the windows, pump the kerosene, draw the West India molasses, and, when not otherwise employed, to sell tea, candy, and tobacco. The kerosene department took most of my time.

Of course, I was in love with a girl much older than I, but the odor of petroleum, which, in spite of soap and water, maintained its hold upon me day and night, gave me the feeling of a tethered dog. Hope would not live with it, somehow. Then my face itself was so innocent of beard, beauty, or manliness. The little mirror which hung in a corner of the store flung back at me, always, a look of sheer contempt. One day, when I was alone, I took a store razor and began my first shave. As I went on, my face seemed to be enlarging and taking a highly serious view of itself. I stood by the mirror feeling it. As I did so, secret and burning thoughts began to move my tongue. Unconsciously I was talking to myself when I heard a loud guffaw. It was Bony Squares, lately returned from a far city to his home at Mill Pond. He was a printer who had travelled much, and could box and play ball and keep a crowd roaring on the store-steps every Saturday night. Moreover, he wore boiled shirts, and collars cut very low, and wonderful neckties of colored silk, and had a smart way with him.

“Ah, ha!” he exclaimed, “you've been a-shav-ing yerself!”

I smiled and blushed, and said nothing.

He dropped his walking-stick and hopped over it two or three times, and cackled, “Ha, ha! ho, ho! You're going to have a mustache, and then you're going to see a gal by the name o' Mary.”

It seemed as if ruin stared me in the face.

“Lend me two dollars,” Bony Squares demanded. “Come, be quick about, it or I'll tell on ye—hope t' die if I don't.”

It was to me a large sum, for my income was only four dollars and twenty-five cents a month. But my fear of ridicule had the persuasiveness of a thumb-screw. I had two dollars and nineteen cents that I had been saving for the fair at Heartsdale. With great solemnity I took the two-dollar bill out of my pocket and put it in the hand of my oppressor.

“I'm going for a drive to-night,” he said, as he took the money. “It's a matter of business that 'll pay me pretty well, and I may need some help. Come along, and I'll pay you back the money I've borrowed and a dollar besides.”

“Where to?” I inquired.

“Oh, down the country about fifteen miles. I'm going to get a Bungwood cow for a friend o' mine.”

“A Bungwood cow!” I exclaimed.

“An imported breed,” said he, “and the best in the world. They're frisky and a little dangerous.”

That seemed to me rather curious, but, then, I did not know much about cows. It was a greater compliment than I had ever received—the invitation of this imperial and heroic figure; but I concealed my joy with a look of calmness.

“When are you coming back?” I inquired.

The jaunty fellow crossed the floor, rattling his change and singing, “Oh, we won't go home till morning!” He turned quickly and said, with a sober face: “I'll get ye here in good season. Tell 'em you're going to stay with a friend, an' will be back in the morning.”

I lied about it, for I knew that Mr. Weatherby had no high opinion of Bony Squares, and got permission to go.

At seven o'clock that evening I set out for the corner below Mill Pond, where Bony, with a horse and a buckboard, was to wait for me. There he was, and away we went; and the horse's hoofs beat time for a lively ditty sung by my new friend. The chill night fell, and a sense of sadness and regret was in me. To what place he drove, or how long it took him to get there, I know not even now. After a long time I fell asleep. A rude shake and the light of a lantern awoke me. I got out of the buggy in a shed back of a little church.

“Now for a boat-ride,” said my companion; “then a short drive, and we'll be on our way home again.”

“Where you going?”

“After the cow, of course.”

I followed him a few rods to the shore of a great river. A man stood in a boat near by, as if waiting for us. I had never seen so much water; it sped and shimmered in the moonlight far from shore, and beyond was the mystery of the night. The loud voices of the river filled me with awe, and our boat creaked and swerved in roaring currents, and the boatman grew weary with his struggle, and breathed like a spent horse by and by. I knew it was the St. Lawrence, and wondered if he were going to swim the cow through its whirlpools and rapids.

We landed safely by-and-by, and followed the boatman through thick woods. There was a road just beyond them in the edge of the open. We turned into it, and a moment's walk brought us to another stage in the mystery. There, under a tree by the roadside, were a horse and wagon. For half a moment Bony stood whispering to the boatman. Then, turning quickly, he said, “Jump in—we've no time to lose.”

He leaped to the seat beside me, gave the horse a cut, and we sped away on a road which he seemed to know. We drove for half an hour or so, and drew up at a large building. A lighted candle was burning in a window near the front door.

Bony got out of the wagon.

“Let me take your watch,” he whispered. “I want to keep track o' the time. We haven't long to stay here.”

I handed him the gold watch and chain which had belonged to my father, and which I was permitted to wear. They were to me precious above all value. I had some misgivings, but who could resist Bony Squares?

He fastened the chain upon his waistcoat, mounted the steps, rapped, and was soon admitted. Presently a big man came out of an open shed, which was part of the building, and put half a barrel and two demijohns into the wagon-box behind me. In a moment Bony came to the door and whistled.

“Come an' have a bite,” he said to me.

I was chilled to the bone, and my teeth were chattering as I climbed the steps.

Crackers and cheese and a box of sardines, newly opened, lay on the counter of a store, crowded with merchandise and rank with many odors.

Bony stood eating. Now and then he took a sip of liquor from a small glass. He and the storekeeper spoke in low tones.

“Another drop 'll warm ye,” said the storekeeper, as he poured more for him.

“It's as good as a hot stove,” said Bony, tipping his glass.

Soon we returned to the river and recrossed it with what Bony called “the cow.”

Silently, hurriedly, we put our horse in the shafts and made off on a smooth road. The moon had set, and we could not see our way. Bony let the horse have his head and hurried him along. Suddenly, in the near darkness, some one shouted: “Halt! Halt!”

Bony's whip fell savagely on the back of the horse, and the latter took the first leap in a wild run. For half a minute we were in a bad mess, and knew not how we were coming out of it. Pistols roared on both sides of us, and bullets whizzed above our heads. For possibly three minutes we flew down the dark road, our front wheels leaving ground with every jump. Then suddenly it seemed as if the stars were falling on us. We had struck something. The horse went down, and we plunged headlong into the darkness. I rose unhurt, and ran around the wagon just as Bony got up with a groan. We could hear our pursuers coming.

“Follow me,” my companion whispered. “We must take to the woods or go to jail. You're in it as deep as I am.”

I hesitated in a sort of panic. My head was hot and more incapable than ever. One allpowerful thought moved me: Bony had my watch and chain, and was making off with them.

“Come, you———fool—they'll shoot us down!”

Bony whispered, and I followed him.

We were in the midst of a strip of woods, and went bumping the tree-columns on our way-through it. We had come into an open field when we heard our pursuers shouting, back where the horse fell. We ran like frightened sheep, and slowed our pace beyond the top of a hill and began to walk. We tramped for an hour in silence. The sky was clearing, and we could discern the rocks and stones and fences.

“I am not going any farther,” I said, stopping suddenly.

“Well, go back, then,” said Bony Squares. “You've gone and got me into a nice scrape,” I declared.

“Better git sore on me—ye saphead!” said Bony, with contempt. “As if I expected to do anything but give ye a dollar an' a good time.”

“I didn't have anything to do with your smuggling,” I said. “If I'd known you were in that kind of business I wouldn't have been with you.”

“Go on, ye cry-baby! Wasn't ye in the wagon?”

“Yes—but—”

“Well, that's enough—the goods was in the wagon, an' so was you an' so was me. All they have to do is to ketch ye with the goods. If ye didn't know what I was up to, what did ye run for?”

Between tears and perspiration I felt as if I were melting and running down at the top like a tallow-candle. But I held myself up manfully, and not a whimper came out of me. I had become a fugitive in spite of myself.

“Guess they wouldn't do much to us if we did go home,” I said, tentatively.

“No—ye Mary chaser! They wouldn't do much more than take us up before we got a mile on the way. Then me an' you to jail, an' yer mother'd have to pay a thousand dollars to git us out. My folks ain't got any money.”

A moment of silence followed.

“If ye go an' let out on me,” he went on, “I'll swear, by all that's black an' blue, that you were in the game for a part of the profits.”

“Give me my watch and chain!” I demanded.

“Not unless you'll promise to stay by me till we're safe,” he said.

I promised, and so the watch and chain were returned to me then and there.

I saw through the low cunning of Bony. He had drawn me into his enterprise for the sake of getting my mother's help in case of trouble.

It was growing light, and we soon came out on a smooth road, and walked along it for half a mile or so. Just before the sun rose we came to a man milking in a field by the highway.

“Ho, ho! peaches an' cream!” said Bony, as he vaulted the fence. I followed him.

“We're lost, broke, an' starving,” said he to the stranger. “Mind giving us a little fresh-laid milk?”

“No, but you'll have to take it out o' the pail,” the milker answered.

“Just give me hold o' the tin,” said Bony, with glad eyes. He blew back the froth and drank like a famished horse. He stopped for breath and whispered: “Peaches and cream? Yes, kind lady,” and drank more. Again he rested, smiling, as he added: “Ham and eggs? Yes, if you please, with a cup o' coffee,” and continued his feast. Soon he passed the pail to me, and I took a good drink. Then we went on across the field, climbed a fence, and proceeded on our way. We left the road by walking in the bed of a brook, so that no one could follow our footsteps.

“It's a big world,” said Bony. “If we keep out o' the way awhile it 'll blow over and we can settle for a song, and everything 'll be all hunk. We'll pike off West, where we can go to work for big wages, and I'll show ye something o' the world.”

The thought presented a great temptation, for I longed to see Niagara Falls, of which the Pearl had told me.