Up The Hill And Over Part 3

"Don't get to worrying, stranger. It'll take more 'an a sunstroke to polish off Alviry."

"Was she unconscious?"

"Not so as you could notice."

"But if it were a sunstroke--look here, I'll go with you myself. I am a doctor."

"Kind of thought you might be," he responded genially. "Thinking of taking on old Doc. Simmonds's practice?"

"I don't know. But if your wife--"

The rustic shook his head. "No. You wouldn't do for Alviry. She said to get Doc. Parker, and a sunstroke ain't going to change her none. But if she likes your looks she'll probably try you next time. Tumble fond of experiments is Alviry--hi! giddap!" He slapped his horse more forcibly with the loose reins and settled into, mournful silence.

"Going to put up at the Imperial?" he asked after a long and peaceful pause.

"I want to put up somewhere where I can get a good meal and get it quickly."

The mournful Jehu shook his head gloomily.

"You won't get that at the Imperial."

"Where had I better go?"

"There ain't any other place to go--not to speak of."

The doctor let fall a fiery exclamation.

"What say?"

"I said that it must be a queer town."

"I'm a little hard of hearing, now and agin. But I gather you're not a church-going man. It's a great church-going place, is Coombe. Old Doc.

Simmonds was a Methody. We were kind of hoping the next one might be a change. There's two churches of Presbyterians and they're tumble folk for hanging together."

The doctor laughed. "Thanks for the tip. I'll remember. Coombe is considered a healthy place, isn't it?"

"Danged healthy."

The commiseration in the other's tone lent to the simple question such an obvious meaning that the doctor hardly knew whether to be amused or annoyed.

"Heavens, man! I'm not an undertaker. I asked because I'm rather rocky myself. That is, partly, why I'm here."

The mournful one nodded. "Good a reason as any," he a.s.sented sadly.

"By the way--er--there used to be a Dr. Coombe here, didn't there?

Didn't he live somewhere hereabouts?"

The sad one turned his meditative eyes from their focus upon the horse's back and rested them upon the open and guileleas face by his side. Then from deep down in his brawny throat came a sudden sound. It was unmistakably a chuckle. Without the slightest trace of an accompanying smile, the sound was startling.

"What's the matter?" asked the doctor irritably.

"Nothing. Only when anybody's seen Esther, they always start asking about old Doc. Coombe. It gives them a kind of opening. Yes, that's the old Coombe place--over there. The one with the fir trees and the big elm by the gate."

"A pleasant house," said Callandar in a detached voice.

"So-so. The old Doc. uster putter around considerable. But they say his widow isn't doing much to keep it up. Tumble flighty woman, so they say.

Young, you know, just about young enough to be the old Doc.'s daughter--"

"But--"

"Oh! Esther ain't her child. Esther's ma died when she was a baby. There is a child, though, Jane they call her, a pindling little thing. But p'r'aps you've met Jane too?"

"I did not say--"

"No, but I thought likely if you'd met one, you'd have met the other.

Jane's nearly always hanging around Esther 'cept in school hours. Awful fond of Esther she is. Folks say that Esther's more of a mother to Jane than her own ma. But I dunno. Alviry says it's a shame the way Esther's put upon; all the cares of the house when she had ought to be playing with her dolls. Stepmother with 'bout as much sense as a fly. Old Aunt Amy, nice sort of soul but--" he touched his head significantly and heaved the heaviest sigh yet.

"Do you mean to say that there is an aunt who isn't quite sane?" asked Callandar, surprised.

"_I_ don't say so. Some folks does. Alviry says she's a whole lot wiser than some of the rest of us."

From the tone of this remark it was evident that Alviry's observation had been intended personally. Callandar choked back a laugh.

"What say?" asked the other suspiciously.

"I said, rather hard luck for a young girl."

The mournful one nodded and relapsed into melancholy. The doctor turned his attention to the house which a flicker of the whip had pointed out. It was long and low, with wide verandas and a somewhat neglected-looking lawn. At one side an avenue of lilacs curved, and on the other stood a stiff line of fir trees. The front of the house was well shaded by maples and near the gate stood a giant elm-tree, around the trunk of which ran a circular seat. It all looked cool, green and inviting. As the old horse walked sedately past, a woman's figure came out of one of the long windows and flung itself lightly, yet, even at that distance, with a certain suggestion of impatience, into one of the veranda chairs.

"That'll be Mrs. Coombe now," volunteered his informant. "Tumble saucy way she has of flinging herself around--jes' like a young girl! Mebby you can see what sort of dress she's got on. Alviry'll be int'rested to know."

"It's too far off," said Callandar, amused. "All I can see is that the lady is wearing something white."

"Went out of weeds right on the dot, she did! It's not much over a year since the old Doc. died. Esther's still wearing some of her black, but jes' to wear them out, not as symbols. Mrs. Coombe's got a whole new outfit, Alviry says. Turrible extravagant! Folks says it takes Esther all her time paying for them with her school money. But I dunno.

What say?"

"I didn't say anything. But, since you ask, do you think all this is any of my business?"

"Well, since you ask, it ain't. 'Tisn't my business either; but it kind of pa.s.ses the time. Giddap!"

Perhaps the old horse knew he was getting near the end of his journey for, contrary to expectation, he did "giddap" with a jerk which nearly unseated the doctor and caused a flicker of mild surprise to flit across the sad one's face.

"Turrible fast horse, this," he confided, "all you got to do is to get him going."

"Don't let me take you out of your way. If you'll tell me the direction--"

"Sit still, stranger. I'm going right past the Imperial. Hardly any place in Coombe you can go without going past the Imperial. It's what you call a kind of newclus."