Читать книгу Old Ebenezer - Opie Percival Read - Страница 8

A year passed by. Caruthers dozed with his cob pipe between the fingers of his limp hand, waiting for clients whose step was not heard upon the stairs. But the office had not been wholly without business. Once a man called to seek advice, which was given, free, as an advertisement for more work from his neighborhood, and once Lyman had defended a man charged with the theft of a sheep. The mutton was found in the fellow's closet and the hide of the animal was discovered under his bed; and with such evidence against him it was not expected that a lawyer could do much, so, when the prisoner was sentenced to the penitentiary, Caruthers congratulated his partner with the remark: "That was all right. We can't expect to win every time. But we were not so badly defeated; you got him off with one year, and he deserved two. To cut a thief's sentence in two ought to help us."

"Among the other thieves," Lyman suggested.

"Oh, yes," Caruthers spoke up cheerfully. "A lawyer's success depends largely upon his reputation among thieves."

"Or at least among the men who intend to stretch the law. Let me see; we have been in business together just one year, and our books balance with a most graceful precision. We are systematic, anyway."

"Yes," Caruthers replied, letting his pipe fall to the floor, "system is my motto. No business, properly systematized, is often better than some business in a tangle."

Warren, the editor, appeared at the door. "Are you busy?" he asked.

"Well, we are not in what you might call a rush," Lyman answered. "Are you busy?" he inquired, with a twinkle in his eye.

Before answering, Warren stepped into the room and sat down with a distressful sigh. "I am more than that," he said, dejectedly. "I am in hot water, trying to swim with one hand."

"What's the trouble?"

"Oh, a sort of summer, fall, spring and winter complaint." He took out a note book, turned over the leaves, returned it to his pocket and said: "I lack just sixty-five, this time."

"Dollars?" Lyman asked.

Warren gave him a quick, reproachful look. "Now, Judge, what airs have I ever put on to cause you to size me up that way? Have I ever shown any tax receipts? Have I ever given any swell dinners? Sixty-five cents is the amount I am short, Judge, and where I am to get it, the Lord only knows. My paper is lying over yonder in the express office, doing no good to anybody, but they won't let me take it out and stamp intelligence upon it. The town sits gaping for the news, with a bad eye on me; but what can I do with a great corporation arrayed against me? For sixty-five cents I could get the paper out, and it's full of bright things. The account of your defense of the sheep thief is about as amusing a thing as I ever read, and it will be copied all over the country; it would put a nation in a good humor irrespective of party affiliations, but sixty-five millions of people are to be cheated, and all on account of sixty-five cents, one cent to the million."

"Things are down to a low mark when you have to make your estimates on that basis. One cent to the million," said Lyman with a quiet laugh.

"Distressful," Warren replied. "The country was never in such a fix before. Why, last year about this time I raised eighty cents without any trouble at all."

"Yes," said Lyman, "you raised it of me."

"That's a fact," Warren admitted. "But do you think the country is as well off now as it was then?"

"Not financially, but it may be wiser."

"Now, look here, Judge, am I to accept this as an insinuation?"

"How so?" Lyman asked, looking up, his eyes full of mischief.

"Why, speaking of being wiser. I don't know but you meant—well, that you were too wise to help me out again. You can't deny that the notice of the partnership was all right."

"We have no complaint to enter on that ground," Caruthers drawled.

"Pardon me, Chancellor, but it wasn't your put-in," Warren replied. "Your suggestions are worth money and you ought not to throw them away. But the question is, can I get sixty-five cents out of this firm?"

"Warren," said Lyman, "I am in sympathy with your cheerful distress."

"But are you willing to shoulder the debt of sixty-five millions of people? Are you in a position to do that?"

"No," Caruthers drawled, leaning over with a strain and picking up his pipe from the floor.

"Chancellor," said the editor, "as wise as you are, your example is sometimes pernicious and your counsel implies evil."

"Oh, I am simply speaking for the firm," Caruthers replied. "As an individual Lyman can do as he pleases with his capital. Come in, sir."

Some one was tapping at the door, and Lyman, looking around, recognized the short and wheezing bulk of Uncle Buckley Lightfoot, the oracle. He almost tumbled out his chair to grasp the old fellow by the hand; and then, smoothing his conduct, he introduced him, with impressive ceremony.

"Yes, sir," said the old man, sitting down and looking about, "he got away from us a little the rise of a year ago, and I don't think Fox Grove has been the same since then; and it is a generally accepted fact that the children don't learn more than half as much. Me and Jimmie and Lige agreed on this point, and that settled it so far as the community was concerned. And Sammy, we hear that you have got to be a great lawyer. A man came through our county not long ago and boasted of knowing you, and a lawyer must amount to a good deal when folks go about boasting that they know him. And look here, my wife read a piece out of the paper about you—yes, sir, read it off just like she was a talkin'; and when she was done I 'lowed that maybe, after all, you hadn't done such an unwise thing to throw yourself headlong into the excitement of this town. And mother she said that no matter where a man went, he could still find the Lord if he looked about in the right way, and I didn't dispute her, but just kept on a sittin' there, a wallopin' my tobacco about in my mouth. Yes, sir; I am powerful tickled to see you."

Long before he had reached the end of his harangue, Warren had taken hold of his arm. "It was my paper your wife read it in," he said in tones as solemn as grace over meat. "I am the editor of the paper, and two dollars will get it every week for a year."

The old man shrugged himself out of the editor's imploring clasp, and looked at him. "Why," said he, "you don't appear to be more than old enough to have just come out of the tobacco patch, a picking off worms, along with the turkeys. But, in the excitement of the town, boys, I take it, are mighty smart. However, my son, I ain't got any particular use for a paper, except to have a piece read out of it once in awhile, but I'll tell you what I'll do. If you'll agree to print some pieces that Sammy will write for you, I'll take your paper. He was always a writin' and a tearin' it up when he boarded with me, and I was sorry to see him wastin' his labor in that way when he mout have been out in the woods shootin' squirrels; so if you'll agree——"

"I print his sketches every week, and some of them have been stolen by the big city papers," the editor cried, unable longer to restrain himself.

"Then I didn't know what I was missin'. Two dollars, you say? Well; here you are, sir, and now you just rip me off a paper every week. See if that's a two dollar bill."

"It's a five," Warren gasped.

"Glad it's that much; change it, please."

"I'll go out and get it changed."

"Don't put yourself to that much trouble. Give it to Sammy and I bet he'll change it in a jiffy, for it don't take a lawyer more than a minute to do such things."

Caruthers looked up with a squint in his eye.

"I think," said Lyman, "that we'd better let him go out and get the change; that is, unless my partner can accommodate us."

"I have nothing short of a twenty," Caruthers replied, shutting his eyes.

"Then run along, son, and fetch me the change," said the old man. "But hold on a minute," he added, as Warren made a glad lunge toward the door. "Be sure that the money changers in the temple don't cheat you, for I hear they are a bad lot, and me and Jimmie and Lige have agreed that they ought to have been lashed out long ago."

"They have never succeeded in getting any money out of me," Warren laughed; and as he was going out he said to Lyman: "I am going to flash this five in the face of the Express Company. I didn't know before that your pen was made of a feather snatched from an angel's wing."

"Yes, sir," Uncle Buckley began, looking at Lyman, and then at Caruthers, "we have missed him mightily. Mother says he was the most uncertain man to cook for she ever run across. Sometimes he'd eat a good deal, and then for days, while he was a studyin' of his law, and especially when he was a writin' and a tearin' up, he wouldn't eat hardly anything. So you see he kept things on the dodge all the time, and that of itself was enough to make him interestin' to the women folks. We've had it pretty lively out in Fox Grove. The neighbors all wanted me to split off and go along with them into the new party, but I told 'em all my ribs was made outen hickory and was Andy Jackson Democrat. But the new party swept everything and got into power; and I want to know if anybody ever saw such a mess as they made of the legislature."

The old man began to move uneasily and to glance about with an anxious expression in his eye. "Sammy," said he, "of course I know you, but I ain't expected to know everybody."

"Yes," said Lyman, smiling at him.

"Well, it just occurred to me whether I wa'n't jest a little brash to let that young feller off with that money. In the excitement of the town he might forget to come back."

"Don't worry; he'll be back. There he comes now."

Warren came in, his face beaming, and gave the old man the money due him. Uncle Buckley looked at him a moment, and then, with an air of contrite acknowledgment, shook his head as he seriously remarked:

"I done you an injury jest now, by sorter questionin' whether you wouldn't run off with that change, and I want to ask your pardon."

"Oh, that's all right," Warren laughed.

"No, it ain't all right, and I want to apologize right here in the presence of——"

"All right, you may tie it on as a ribbon if you want to, but it isn't necessary. Now you sit over here with me and tell me all about yourself and your neighborhood, for I'm going to give you a write-up that'll be a beauty to behold. You fellows go ahead with your nodding, and don't pay any attention to us. But you want to listen. Come to my sanctum, Mr. Lightfoot."

"I reckon it's safe," said the old man, following him. Caruthers turned his slow eyes upon Lyman. "Has that old fellow got any money?" he asked.

"Well, he's not a pauper."

"Suppose we could strike him for a hundred for six months?"

"No, he's a friend of mine."

"But," said Caruthers, "if we are going to raise money we'll have to borrow from friends. Our enemies won't let us have it."

"That's true, but our enemies in protecting themselves should not be permitted to drive us against our friends. That old man would let me have every cent he has. But he has labored more than forty years for his competence, and I will not rob him of a penny."

"Rob him," Caruthers spoke up with energy. "We'll pay him back."

"How?"

"Oh, you know how. With a little money we can get a start. We can rent an office on the ground floor, and then business will come."

"Yes," said Lyman, "but I don't want that old man to be mixed up in the excitement. Suppose we try the bank."

"You try it. McElwin does not care for me particularly. Suppose you go over and see him. Offer him a mortgage on our library."

"I'll do it. Wait until Uncle Buckley has been pumped; I want to bid him good-bye."

"Go through there, and see him on your way out. The bank will be closed pretty soon."

"All right. But don't hang a hope on the result."

Lyman shook hands with Uncle Buckley, and then went across the street to the First National Bank, the financial pride of Old Ebenezer. The low brick building stood as a dollar mark, to be stared at by farmers who had heard of the great piles of gold heaped therein, and James McElwin, as with quick and important step he passed along the street, was gazed upon with an intentness almost religious. Numerous persons claimed kinship with him, and the establishment of third or fourth degree of cousinhood had lifted more than one family out of obscurity. The bank must have had a surplus of twenty thousand dollars, a glaring sum in the eyes of the grinding tradesmen about the public square. An illustrated journal in the East had printed McElwin's picture, together with a brief history of his life. The biographer called him a self-made man, and gave him great credit for having scrambled for dimes in his youth, that he might have dollars in middle life. That he had once gone hungry rather than pay more than the worth of a meal at an old negro's "snack house," was set forth as a "sub-headed" virtue. He had married above him, the daughter of a neighboring "merchant," whose name was stamped on every shoe he sold. The old man died a bankrupt, but the daughter, the wife of the rising capitalist, remained proud and cool with dignity. The union was illustrated with one picture, a girl, to become a belle, a handsome creature, with a mysterious money grace, with a real beauty of hair, mouth and eyes. The envious said that circumstances served to make an imperious simpleton of her.

It was this man, with these connections, that Lyman crossed the street to see. But to the lawyer it was not so adventurous as grimly humorous. His Yankee shrewdness had pronounced the man a pretentious fraud.

The banker was in his private office, busy with his papers. Lyman heard him say to the negro who took in his name: "Mr. Lyman! I don't know why he should want to see me. But tell him to come in."

As Lyman entered the banker looked up and said: "Well, sir."

Lyman sat down and crossed his legs. The banker looked at his feet, then at his head.

"Mr. McElwin," said Lyman, "we have not met before, though I, of course, have seen you often, but——"

"Well, sir, go on."

"Yes, that's what I am doing. I say that we have not met, but I board at the house of a relative of yours, and I therefore feel that I know you."

"Board with a relative of mine?" the banker gasped.

"Yes, with Jasper Staggs, and I want to tell you that he is about as kind hearted an old fellow as I ever met, quaint and accommodating. He is a cousin of yours, I believe."

"Well—er, yes. But state your business, if you please. I am very busy."

"I presume so, sir, but I am afraid that my business may not strike you in a very favorable way. I want to borrow one hundred dollars."

"Upon what collateral, sir?"

"Mainly upon the collateral of honor."

The banker looked at him. Lyman continued: "I feel that such a statement in a bank sounds like the echo of an idle laugh, but I mention honor first, because I value it most. I also have, or represent, a law library."

"Is it worth a hundred dollars?"

"Well, I can't say that it is, but I should think that the library, reinforced by my honor, is worth that much."

The banker began to stroke his brown beard. "So you have come here to joke, sir——"

"Oh, not at all," Lyman broke in, "this is a serious matter."

"It might be if I were to let you have the money."

"That isn't so bad," Lyman laughed. "But seriously, I am in much need of a hundred dollars, and if you'll let me have it for six months I will pay it back with interest."

"I can't do it, sir."

"You mean that you won't do it."

"You heard me, sir."

"I realize the bad form in which I present my case, Mr. McElwin, and I know that if you had made a practice of doing business in this way you would not have been nearly so successful, but I will pledge you my word that if you will let me have the money——"

"Good day, sir, good day."

Lyman walked out, not feeling so humorous as when he went in. He looked up and down the dingy, drowsy street. At first he might have been half amused at his failure, tickled with the idea of describing it to Caruthers and the newspaper man, but a sense of humiliation came to him. He knew that in the warfare of business his operation was but a guerrilla's dash, and he was ashamed of himself; and yet he reflected that his great enemy might have been gentler to him. He walked slowly down the street, without an objective point; he passed the group of village jokers, sitting in front of the drug store, with their chairs tipped back against the wall; he passed the planing mill, with its rasping noise, and in his whimsical fancy it sounded like the Town Council snoring. He loitered near a garden where plum trees were in bloom; he looked over at a solemn child digging in the dirt; he caught sight of a pale man with the mark of death upon him, lying near a window, slowly fanning himself. He spoke to the child and the wretched little one looked up and said: "I am digging a grave for my pa." Lyman leaned heavily upon the fence; his heart was touched, and taking out a small piece of money he tossed it to the boy. The grave digger took it up, looked at it a moment in sad astonishment, put it aside and returned to his work.

The office was deserted when Lyman returned. Caruthers had not hung a hope on the result of the attempted negotiations.