Scattergood Baines Part 41

"Nary."

"What's become of that What's-his-name baby you was a-tellin' about? The one that lost his ma and was bein' cared for by neighbors?"

"Nothin' hain't become of him. Calc'late he'll be took to a inst.i.tution."

"Um! Likely-lookin' two-year-old, was he? Take note of any blemishes?"

"I hear tell by them that knows as how he was sound in wind and limb."

"Who's keepin' him, Pliny?"

"Mis' Patterson's sort of shuffled him in with her seven. Says she don't notice no difference to speak of. Claims 'tain't possible f'r eight childern to be no noisier 'n what seven be."

"Um!... G'-by, Pliny. Ever deal in facts over there to the post office?

Ever have occasion to mention facts?"

"Er--not _reg'lar_ facts, Scattergood. You needn't to worry about my talkin' too free."

"Seems like a feller that talks as much as you do would _have_ to mention a fact once in a while. G'-by, Pliny."

It was two or three days later that Postmaster Pratt alluded again to Martha and Jed Lewis.

"They're gittin' wuss and wuss," he said, with some gratification.

"Last night they was a rumpus you could 'a' heard forty mile. Ended up by him threatenin' to leave her, and by her tellin' him that if he didn't she'd lock him out of the house. Looks to me like that family fracas was about ripe to bust."

"Signs all p'int that way, Will. Too bad, hain't it? There's a reason f'r it, I calculate. Ever look f'r the reason, Will? Ever think about it at all?"

"Hain't had no time. Post office keeps me thinkin' night and day."

"Well, I _have_. Figgered a heap."

"Any results, Scattergood?"

"Some--_some_."

"What be they?"

Scattergood's eyes twinkled in the darkness. "I got it all figgered out," he said, "that them young folks needs a dose of soothin' syrup."

"I want to know," said the postmaster, breathlessly and with bewilderment. "Soothin' syrup! I swan to man!... Hain't been out in the heat, have you, Scattergood?"

Scattergood made no reply to this question. He merely waggled his head and said: "G'-by, Will. G'-by."

Next morning Scattergood walked past the Lewis place. He pa.s.sed it three times before he made up his mind whether to go in or not, but finally he turned through the gate and walked around to the kitchen door. Inside he saw Martha ridding up the kitchen, not with a morning song on her lips, but wearing a sullen expression which sat ill on her fine New England face.

"Mornin', Marthy," he called.

She looked up and smiled suddenly. The change in her face was astonis.h.i.+ng.

"Mornin', Mr. Baines. Set right down on the porch. ... Let me fetch you a hot cup of coffee. 'Twon't take but a minute to make."

"Can't stop," said Scattergood. "I was lookin' for Jed."

"Jed's gone," she replied, shortly, the sullen expression returning to her face. "'He won't be back 'fore noon."

"Uh-huh!... Wa-al, I calc'late I kin keep on drawin' my breath till then--if you kin. I call to mind the time when you was all-fired oneasy if Jed got away from you for six hours in a stretch."

"Them times is gone," she said, shortly.

"Shucks!" said Scattergood.

"They be," she said, fiercely. "Hain't no use tryin' to hide it. Jed and me is about through. Nothin' but fussin' and backbitin' and maneuvering'. He don't care f'r me no more like he used to, and--"

"You don't set sich a heap of store by him," Scattergood interrupted.

Martha hesitated. "I do," she said, slowly. "But I can't put up with it no more."

"Jed's fault--mostly," said Scattergood, as one speaks who utters an accepted fact.

"No more 'n mine," she said, with a sudden flash. "I dunno what's got into us, Mr. Baines, but we no sooner git into the same room than it commences. 'Tain't no-body's fault--it jest _is_."

"Um!... Kinder like to have things the way they used to be?"

"Oh, Mr. Baines!" Her eyes filled. "Them first two-three years! Jed was the best man a woman ever had."

"Hain't drinkin', is he?"

"Never touches a drop."

"Jest his nasty temper," said Scattergood, casually.

"No sich thing.... It's jest happened so. We can't git on, and I'm through tryin'. One of us is gain' to git out of this house. I've made up my mind." She started untying her ap.r.o.n. "I'm a-goin' right now.

It'll be off'n my mind then, and I kin sort of git a fresh start. I'm goin' right now and pack."

"Kind of hasty, hain't you?... Now, Marthy, as a special favor to me I wish you'd stay, maybe two days more. I got a special reason. If you was to go this mornin' it 'u'd upset my plans. After Sattidy you kin do as you like, and maybe it's best you should part. But I do wisht you could see your way to stayin' till Sattidy."

"I don't see why, Mr. Baines, but if it'll be any good to _you_, I'll do it. But not a minute after Sattidy--now mind that!"

"Much 'bleeged, Marthy. G'-by, Marthy. G'-by."

On Friday Scattergood was invisible in Coldriver village, for he had started away before dawn, driving his sway-backed horse over the mountain roads to the southward. He notified n.o.body of his going, unless it was Mandy, his wife, and even to her he did not make apparent his errand.

Before noon he was in Bailey and stopping before the small white house in which Mrs. Patterson managed by ingenuity to fit in a husband, a mother-in-law, an aged father, seven children of her own, the Conroy orphan, and a constantly changing number of cats. n.o.body could have done it but Mrs. Patterson. The house resembled one of those puzzle boxes containing a number of curiously sawn pieces of wood, which, once removed, can be returned and fitted into place again only by some one who knows the secret.

Scattergood entered the house, remained upward of an hour, and then reappeared, followed by Mrs. Patterson, seven children, an old man, and an old woman--and in his arms was a baby whose lungs gave promise of a healthy manhood.

"Do this much, does he?" Scattergood asked, uneasily.