Old Ebenezer Part 16

"I cannot, Mr. Bostic."

"May I ask why?"

"Because I stand as the young woman's protector. She despises Sawyer, and her father was determined that she should be his wife."

"Did she tell you, sir?"

"Yes, and I have promised; but this is confidential."

"Then, sir, the pet.i.tion must not be signed. The ceremony, after all, was a blessing, and I shall not again crave the banker's forgiveness.

Good night."

CHAPTER XIII.

IN A MAGAZINE.

There came a day, and it followed the picnic, with not a week between, when Lyman's midnight scratching, done at the house of old Uncle Buckley, came out into the dazzling light. A story written by him appeared in one of the leading magazines of the East. It was a simple recital, a picture of the country and its people, and so close down upon the earth did it lie that a patter of rain that fell somewhere among the words brought a sweet scent from the blackberry briars, and a smell of dust from the rain. There were intelligent reading persons, in Old Ebenezer, and with the big eye of astonishment they viewed the story, but they were afraid to form an opinion until the critic of the "State Gazette," following a bold lead struck by an eastern reviewer, declared it to be a piece of masterly work. And then the town of Old Ebenezer was glad to a.s.sert its admiration. The leading hardware man said that he had noticed from the first that there was something strange about the fellow.

"And," said he, "you can never tell what a strange sort of a fellow may pop up and do. Now, there was old Kincade's son Phil. Everybody knew he was curious; everybody could see that, but they didn't know how to place him. I told them not to place him. I told them there was no telling where he might break out. His daddy said he was a fool. I said 'wait.' Well, they waited, and what came? The boy discovered a process for tanning c.o.o.n hides without bark, and now look at him.

Worth ten thousand dollars if he's worth a cent."

A saddler gave his opinion: "I knew he had it in him. I haven't read his article, but I'll bet it's good. Why, he's said things in my shop that it would be worth anybody's while to remember. Just stepped in and said them and went out like it wasn't no trouble at all. And look what he's done for the paper here! Every time he touches her he makes her flinch like a hoss-fly lightin' on a hoss. And when everybody was making such a mouth about that fool marriage, I--well, I just kept my mouth shut and didn't say a word."

Warren was the proudest man in town. He was so elated and so busy talking about the story that he never found time to read it, except to dip into it here and there, to find something to start him off on a gallop of praise.

"Why didn't you tell me, so that I might have known what to expect?

Why did you nurse it so long?" Warren asked, as he and Lyman sat in the office.

"Oh, I hadn't anything to tell, except of a probable prospect. And nothing is more tiresome than to listen to a man's hopes."

"But you must have known that the story would be a success."

"No, I didn't."

"Well, maybe not. It was fortunate to drive center the first shot."

Lyman laughed sadly. "Warren," said he, nodding toward the magazine, which lay upon the table, "I began to scatter seeds so long ago that I hardly know when; and one has sprouted. I have been writing stories for the magazines ever since I was a boy, and they were returned with a printed 'thank you for--' and so forth. I had thought, as many young writers think, that I must be deep and learned. I didn't know that one half-hidden mood of nature, one odd trait of man, one little reminder to the reader of something that had often flitted across his mind, was of more value than the essence of a thousand books. I strove to climb a hill where so many are constantly falling and rolling to the bottom.

At last I opened my eyes and shut my memory, and then I began to progress. But not without the most diligent work. This story, (again nodding toward the magazine) was written six times at least."

"Why, you have made it look as easy as falling off a log," said Warren.

"Yes; it was work that made it look easy. There are two sorts of successful stories; one that makes the reader marvel at its art; the other one that makes the reader believe that almost anybody could have written it. The first appeals to the stylist and may soon die. The other may live to be a cla.s.sic."

"Go ahead. That sort of talk catches me. It seems now that I have thought it many times, but just didn't happen to say it. Have you got anything in hand now?"

"Yes; I might as well let it all out now. I have a book accepted by a first-cla.s.s house, and I have a long story which I may submit to a magazine to be published as a serial in the event of the success of the book."

"You are all right. I have often told you that. Why, some of the things you have written for this paper would do to go into the school readers along with the dialogue between some fellow--forget his name now--and Humphrey Dobbins; and that barber who lived in the City of Bath. Recollect? Let's see, 'Respect for the Sabbath Rewarded.' Don't you know now? 'And say,' the stranger says to him, 'I have glorious news for you. Your uncle is dead,' and so on. But it used to tickle me to think the fellow could find any glory in the news of his uncle's death, but I guess he did."

"Yes, I remember. He was the barber that wouldn't shave on Sunday. And as a reward his uncle died and left him a lot of money. And you'd hit it off pretty well now by marking out virtue in 'Virtue Is Its Own Reward,' and subst.i.tuting 'money.'"

"But I don't think we've got very much cause to complain," said Warren. "We gathered in five subscribers yesterday, and three today, besides an electric belt ad, to run for six months. Oh, we're all right, and the first thing you know, we'll have some new clothes. We don't want any hand-me-downs. About two weeks ago I went into the tailor's shop across the square, and picked out a piece of cloth. But when I pa.s.sed there yesterday I noticed that some scoundrel had bought it. Why, h.e.l.loa; come in."

Uncle Buckley Lightfoot stood in the door. His approach had been so soft that they did not hear him. His tread was always noiseless when he walked in strange places. He appeared to be afraid of breaking something.

"Come in!" Lyman shouted, springing to meet him.

"Howdy do; howdy do." He seized Lyman and then shook hands with Warren. "I jest thought I'd look in and see how Sammy was gettin'

along. And I promised mother that if he was busy I'd jest peep in and then slip away. Sammy, you look as peart as a red bird."

"Sit down, Uncle Buckley," said Lyman. "Let me take off your leggings."

"Jest let them alone where they are, Sammy," the old man replied. "I haven't got long to stay, for I don't want to keep you from your work.

Jest put those saddle-bags over there on the table. No, wait a minute.

I've got something in 'em for you. Look here," he added, taking out a package; "mother sent you some pickles."

"Oh, I'm a thousand times obliged to her," said Lyman, putting the package and the saddle-bags on the table. "Tell her so, please."

"I'll do that. Lawd bless you, Sammy; I do reckon she knows what a man needs. And she says to me, 'Pap, you shan't go one step toward that fetch-taked town unless you agree to take Sammy some pickles made outen the finest cuc.u.mbers that ever growd.' And I jest said, 'You do up your pickles and don't you be askeered of me.' And she begins then to fix 'em up, a-talkin' all the time fitten to kill herself. 'The idea of a man bein' shet up there in that musty place, without any pickles,' she says; 'it's enough to kill him, the Lord knows.' And I wanted to sorter relieve her distress, and I 'lowed that mebby there was pickles in town; and she turned about, lookin' like she wanted to fling somethin' at me. 'Pap,' she says, and I begin to dodge back, 'for as smart a man as you are, I do think you can say the foolishest things of anybody I ever seen. Pickles fitten to eat in a town where if a person ain't dressed up he can't get into the churches on the Lord's day; and where, if they do get in, the minister won't even so much as cast his eye on 'em while he's a preachin' of his sermon!

Pickles indeed,' she says, and I kep' on a dodgin'. How are you gettin' along, Sammy?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: a discussion]

"First rate."

"But what's this joke they've got on you about bein' married?"

"That's what it is, Uncle Buckley, a joke."

"I told Jimmy and Lige that it was only a prank. I knowed you weren't goin' to throw yourself away on no one here, when the woods are full of 'em out our way that would like to have you. Don't dodge, Sammy.

Stand right up to your fodder, for you know it's a fact. It made mother powerful mad. She took it that you wanted the gal, and the old man thought you wa'n't good enough. And she boiled. 'Why, he can start a church tune better than any person we ever had in the neighborhood,' she 'lowed. 'Not good enough, indeed!' And I dodged on off, sorter laughin' as I ducked behind the hen-house. And that reminds me, Sammy, that a varmint come the other night and toated off the likeliest rooster I had on the place. Mother woke me at night, and asked if that wa'n't a chicken squallin.' I told her that I had the plan of a new barn in my head, and that I couldn't let the squallin'

of no sich thing as a chicken drive it out, and I went to sleep. But you ought to have seen the look she gave me the next mornin' when we found feathers scattered all over the yard. By the way, Sammy, where is the other man; the great lawyer that was your partner? Is he out at present?"

"Yes, Uncle Buckley, he's out at present, and for good. We have dissolved partners.h.i.+p."

"No!" said the old man, dropping his jaw. "Why, I thought you and him was together for keeps. And you don't really mean to tell me that you ain't, Sammy?"

"He has an office on the other side of the square, and I'm not in the law business," Lyman replied. "Warren and I are running this paper."

"When did you quit each other?" the old man asked, leaning forward and picking at his blanket leggings.

"Why, the day you were in here. You remember I left you here with him.

When I came back he had decided to set aside the partners.h.i.+p."

The old man looked up at the ceiling. "I reckon it's all right, but I don't exactly get the hang of it," he said, getting up and taking his hat off the table.