Scattergood Baines Part 59

"_He_ would," said Scattergood. "I hain't worritin' about his dealin'

with you; it's your dealin' with him I'm questionin' into."

"I'd--. He wouldn't be sorry."

"Um!... Nate Weaver, back country a spell, is lookin' fer a wife. Hain't young. Got lots of money, and the right woman could weasel it out of him. Lots of it.... He'd like you fine. Homer won't have much, and if his pa keeps on feelin' like he does, he won't have none.... If you're lookin' fer a restin' place, you might consider Nate. I could fix it."

Her eyes flashed. "I haven't come to that yet," she said, sharply, and then began to cry quietly.

"Um!..." Scattergood gripped his pudgy hands together so that each might restrain the other from patting her head comfortingly. "Um!... What's your name?"

"My name?"

"Yes.... 'Tain't Wife-ette Hinchbrooke. They hain't no sich name.

'Tain't human.... What's your real one?"

"Eva Hopkins."

"How'd you come to change?"

"A girl's got a right to call herself anything she wants to," she said, defensively.

"Except Mrs. Homer Locker," said Scattergood, dryly. "Now jest come off'n your high boss, and we'll talk. When we git through, we'll _do_.... Either you'll take the mornin' train out of Coldriver, or you'll stay and well see. Depends on what I hear."

"I could lie," she said.

"Folks don't gen'ally lie to _me_," said Scattergood, gently. "They found out it didn't pay--and I hain't much give to believin' nothin' but the truth. We deal in it a lot up this here way."

"I hate your people and their dealings."

"Don't wonder at it. I seen what they done to you to-night.... But you don't know 'em like I do. They's times when they act cold and ha'sh and nigh to cruel, but that hain't when they're real. Them times they're jest makin' b'lieve, 'cause they hain't got no idee what they ought to do.... I've knowed 'em these thirty year--right down _knowed_ 'em. Lemme tell you they hain't a finer folks on earth, bar n.o.body. They don't show much outside, but the insides is right. You kin find more kindness and charity and long-sufferin' and tenderness and goodness right here amongst the cantankerous-seemin' of Coldriver 'n you kin find anywheres else on earth.... They're narrer, Eva, and they got sot notions, but they got a power to do kindness, once you git 'em started at it, that hain't to be beat.... I kind of calculate G.o.d hain't so disapp'inted with the folks of Coldriver as a stranger might git the idee he is....

Now we'll go ahead."

When Scattergood had done asking questions and receiving answers, he sat silent for a matter of moments. Automatically his hands strayed to the lacing of his shoes, for his pudgy toes itched for freedom to wiggle. He dealt with a problem whose complex elements were human emotions and prejudices, and at such times he found his brain to act more clearly and efficiently with shoes removed. He detected himself, however, in the act of untying the laces, and sat upright with ludicrous suddenness.

"Um!..." he said, in some confusion. "Mandy says I hain't never to do it when wimmin is around. Dunno why.... Now they's some p'ints I got to impress on you."

"Yes, Mr. Baines," said Yvette, who had reached a condition of respect and confidence in Scattergood--as most people did upon meeting him face to face.

"Fust, Homer hain't no sanitorium for weary wimmin. When you kin come and say, meanin' it from your heart, 'I love Homer,' then we'll see."

She nodded acquiescence.

"Second, it won't never and noways be possible fer you and Homer to live here onless the folks takes to you. You got to win yourself a welcome in Coldriver."

"That means," she said, dully, "that I'd better go."

"Huh!... Hain't you got no backbone? You do like you're told. You stay where you be. 'Tain't possible fer you to go back to Locker's store, and that puts you out of a job, don't it?"

"Yes."

"Hard up?"

"I can live a few days--but--"

"Hain't no buts. You kin live as long as I say so. You stay hitched to this here hitchin' post, and I'll 'tend to the money. Jest don't do nothin' but be where you be--and be makin' up your mind if Homer's the boy you kin love and cherish, or if he's nothin' but a sort of shady restin' place.... G'-by."

He got up abruptly and went out. On the bridge he encountered three dark figures, which, upon inspection, resolved themselves into Old Man Bogle, Deacon Pettybone, and Elder Hooper.

"Scattergood," said the elder, "somethin's happened."

"Somethin' 'most allus does."

"This here's special and horrifyin'."

"Havin' to do with what?"

"That coffee gal, that baggage, that hussy!"

"Um!... Sich as?"

"Recall that show Bogle was took to in Boston?"

"Where the wimmin wore tights--that's been on his mind ever since?

Calc'late I do. Kind of a high spot in Bogle's life. Come nigh bein' the makin' of him."

"He claims he recognizes this here gal as one of them dancin' wimmin that stood in a row with less on to them than any woman ever ought to have with the lights turned on."

"No!" exclaimed Scattergood.

"Yep!" said all three of them in chorus.

"Stood right in front, as I recall it, a-makin' eyes and kickin' up her heels that immodest you wouldn't b'lieve. Looked right at me, too. I seen her."

"Got your money's wuth, then, didn't ye? Wa-al?"

"Suthin's got to be done."

"Sich as?"

"Riddin' the town of her."

"Go ahead and rid it, then.... G'-by."

"But we want you sh'u'd help us."

"G'-by," said Scattergood again, as he moved off ponderously into the darkness.

The elder moved nearer Bogle and endeavored to peer into his face. "Be you sure she's the same one?" he asked, in a confidential whisper.