Old Ebenezer Part 21

"He will suspect you and me, too."

"But he couldn't prove anything."

"Well, now, you may do as you please, but I'll have no hand in it. I refuse to countenance it."

"You simply don't know anything about it."

"Of course not. I'm too much taken up with other affairs."

Sawyer arose to go. "I shall see you again, I suppose. I mean before anything is done," said McElwin. "At the house," he added.

Sawyer looked down: "I don't feel free to come there," he said. "She has told me not to."

McElwin coughed dryly: "Nonsensical proprieties," he remarked, sc.r.a.ping his feet upon the floor. "But I am to see you again?"

"I think not--until afterwards. Whatever is done, you know, must be done at once."

Sawyer went out. The clock struck and McElwin glanced up at it. Then he settled down into a deep muse. Sawyer's plan was desperate--it was outlawry. It ought not to be carried out, and yet the provocation was great. But supposing it should be known that he had given countenance to the undertaking. Suppose the newspapers should print his name in connection with it; the public, to say nothing of the law, would frown upon him. It must not be done. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a piece of paper, and writing upon it the words: "Give up that scheme at once," sealed it up and gave it to a negro, with instructions to find Mr. Sawyer and hand it to him at once. About half an hour later the negro returned with a note written on a piece of paper bag, and unsealed. The note ran: "Don't you worry, but it shall be done tonight. Don't try to find me.

I have been fooling long enough, and now I am getting down to business." He tore the paper into bits, and then strode slowly up and down the room. Presently he took down his hat, rubbed it abstractedly with the sleeve of his coat, and went out, remarking that he might not be back that day. He felt like a criminal as he stepped upon the sidewalk. But he was stiff, and merely nodded to the tradesmen who bowed to him cringingly. He was looking for Sawyer, but was afraid to inquire after him. He went to the wagon yard where Sawyer stabled his mules, and looked about, but did not find him. The owner of the place, hard in the presence of the farmers, but obsequiously soft under the banker's eye, invited him into the office, a dismal place, the walls hung with halters, bridles, chains and twisting sticks, used to grip the jaw of a refractory horse and wrench rebellion out of him. The rough appearance of the stable men within and the pungent smell of the place, turned McElwin at the threshold.

"No, I don't think I have time," he said.

"Is there anything I can do for you? If there is, name it, and I will stir up this place from top to bottom."

[Ill.u.s.tration: in the parlour]

McElwin thought that it was stirred up quite enough, with its rough men, its mangy dogs and rat-like smell. "Nothing at all," he answered.

"I am looking for a farmer, a man named Brown."

"Old Jack? He's around here somewhere. It will tickle him pretty nigh to death to know you'd look for him. I'll tell him when he comes in."

"Oh, no. He's not the man. This man's quite young, and his name is Lucian Brown, I think."

"Then I don't know anything about him, I'm sorry to say."

"Are you feeding many mules at present?"

"Well, not many at present, but I expect to have more in a day or two.

Mr. Sawyer has gone down in the country to gather up a lot. He drove out just a few moments ago. I tell you, there's a hustler, Mr.

McElwin. He don't wait, he makes things happen."

"Which way did he go?" McElwin asked.

"I don't know, exactly, but I think he took the Spring Hill road. He must be going after something particularly fine, for I heard him tell old Josh that he wanted a bottle of the oldest liquor in town, no matter what it costs. But he didn't take it with him, come to recollect. He 'lowed he'd want it this evening when he come back."

McElwin walked straightway to his home. His appearance at that odd hour caused surprise, and his wife, having seen him through the window, came to the door with something of a flurry.

"Is there anything wrong?" she asked, as he stepped into the hall.

"Nothing at all," he answered, hanging up his hat. "Why?"

"Because you are home so early."

"Oh, that's it. I was tired and I thought I'd come home to rest."

She took his arm and they pa.s.sed into the rear parlor. "Where is Eva?"

he asked, sitting down.

"I don't know. I think she's out for a walk. Are you tired?" she asked, standing behind him, with her hands resting on the back of the chair.

"Not now," he said, reaching back and taking her hands. He pressed them against his cheeks. "You always rest me."

"Do I?" She leaned affectionately over him. "I was afraid that I did not. You have had so much to worry you of late."

"Yes," he sighed. "But when we are alone I can forget it all. Play something for me, please."

She looked at him in surprise: "When did you ask me to play, before?"

"I don't know," he answered frankly. "You most always play without my asking. Sing an old song, something we used to sing long ago."

She went to the piano and touched to life the strains of "Kitty Clyde." And when her voice arose, he felt a lump in his throat, and he sat with his eyes shut, with a picture in his heart--an old house, a honey-suckle, a beautiful girl in white, with a rose in her hair.

CHAPTER XVII.

AT THE CREEK.

Shortly after Sawyer took his leave, Lyman went out for a meditative stroll in the wooded land. About a mile and a half distant was a creek, with great bluffs on one side, and with a romantic tumble of land on the other. Of late he had gone often to this stream, not to listen to the melody of water pouring over the rocks, not to hear the birds that held a joy-riot in the trees, but to lie in the gra.s.s on a slope, beneath an elm, and gaze across at a limestone tower called "Lover's Leap." And on these journeys he always went through the shaded lane-like street that led past the banker's house. It was the most pretentious house in the town, of brick, trimmed with stone. In the yard, which was large, the great man had indulged his taste for art, stucco statuary--a deer, a lion, a dog, two Greek wrestlers, a mother with a child in her arms, and a ghastly semblance of Andrew Jackson.

Lyman reached the sh.o.r.e of the creek and walked slowly among the large, smooth rocks, that looked like the hip bones of the worn and tired old earth, coming through. As he approached the tree and the gra.s.sy slope whereon he was wont to lie and muse, he saw the fluttering of something white, and then from behind the tree a woman stepped. His heart beat faster, for he recognized her, and when he came up, with softened tread, to the tree, he was panting as if he had run a race. The woman did not see him until he spoke, her eyes having been cast down when she pa.s.sed from behind the tree, and she started and blushed at beholding him.

"I hope I don't intrude," he said, taking off his hat.

"Oh, no, since you have as much right here as I have."

"I don't know but that I have a pretty good right," he said. "That is, if occupancy means anything. I come here often."

"Do you?" she cried in surprise. "Why, I have never seen you here before, and this has been my favorite spot for years."

"Well, as we are both at home," he said, laughing, "we might as well sit down."

They laughed and seated themselves on the spreading roots of the tree, though not very near each other. She took off her hat and he looked with admiration at her brown hair, tied with a ribbon. She flushed under his gaze and said he must pardon her appearance, as she had not expected to meet anyone.

"A violet might say as much," he replied.