He Fell In Love With His Wife, Edward Payson Roe [children's books read aloud .TXT] 📗
- Author: Edward Payson Roe
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I agreed to pay. I’ll give it to Mrs. Mumpson when she has signed this paper,
and you’ve signed as witness of her signature. Otherwise, it’s law. Now
decide quick, I’m in a hurry.”
Objections were interposed, and Holcroft, returning the money to his pocket,
started for his team, without a word. “Oh, well!” said Weeks in strong
irritation, “I haven’t time for a lawsuit at this season of the year. You
are both cranks, and I suppose it would be best for me and my folks to be rid
of you both. It’s a pity, though, you couldn’t be married and left to fight
it out.”
Holcroft took the whip from his wagon and said quietly, “If you speak another
insulting word, I’ll horsewhip you and take my chances.”
Something in the man’s look prevented Weeks from uttering another unnecessary
remark. The business was soon transacted, accompanied with Mrs. Mumpson’s
venomous words, for she had discovered that she could stigmatize Holcroft with
impunity. He went to Jane and shook her hand as he said goodby. “I am sorry
for you, and I won’t forget my promise;” then drove rapidly away.
“Cousin Lemuel,” said Mrs. Mumpson plaintively, “won’t you have Timothy take
my trunk to our room?”
“No, I won’t,” he snapped. “You’ve had your chance and have fooled it away. I
was just going to town, and you and Jane will go along with me,” and he put
the widow’s trunk into his wagon.
Mrs. Weeks came out and wiped her eyes ostentatiously with her apron as she
whispered, “I can’t help it, Cynthy. When Lemuel goes off the handle in this
way, it’s no use for me to say anything.”
Mrs. Mumpson wept hysterically as she was driven away. Jane’s sullen and
apathetic aspect had passed away in part for Holcroft’s words had kindled
something like hope.
Chapter XVII. A Momentous Decision
It must be admitted that Holcroft enjoyed his triumph over Lemuel Weeks very
much after the fashion of the aboriginal man. Indeed, he was almost sorry he
had not been given a little more provocation, knowing well that, had this been
true, his neighbor would have received a fuller return for his interested
efforts. As he saw his farmhouse in the shimmering April sunlight, as the old
churning dog came forward, wagging his tail, the farmer said, “This is the
only place which can ever be home to me. Well, well! It’s queer about
people. Some, when they go, leave you desolate; others make you happy by
their absence. I never dreamed that silly Mumpson could make me happy, but
she has. Blessed if I don’t feel happy! The first time in a year or more!”
And he began to whistle old “Coronation” in the most lively fashion as he
unharnessed his horses.
A little later, he prepared himself a good dinner and ate it in leisurely
enjoyment, sharing a morsel now and then with the old dog. “You’re a plaguey
sight better company than she was,” he mused. “That poor little stray cat of a
Jane! What will become of her? Well, well! Soon as she’s old enough to cut
loose from her mother, I’ll try to give her a chance, if it’s a possible
thing.”
After dinner, he made a rough draught of an auction bill, offering his cows
for sale, muttering as he did so, “Tom Watterly’ll help me put it in better
shape.” Then he drove a mile away to see old Mr. And Mrs. Johnson. The
former agreed for a small sum to mount guard with his dog during the farmer’s
occasional absences, and the latter readily consented to do the washing and
mending.
“What do I want of any more ‘peculiar females,’ as that daft widow called
‘em?” he chuckled on his return. “Blames if she wasn’t the most peculiar of
the lot. Think of me marrying her!” and the hillside echoed to his derisive
laugh. “As I feel today, there’s a better chance of my being struck by
lightning than marrying, and I don’t think any woman could do it in spite of
me. I’ll run the ranch alone.”
That evening he smoked his pipe cheerfully beside the kitchen fire, the dog
sleeping at his feet. “I declare,” he said smilingly, “I feel quite at home.”
In the morning, after attending to his work, he went for old Jonathan Johnson
and installed him in charge of the premises; then drove to the almshouse with
all the surplus butter and eggs on hand. Tom Watterly arrived at the door
with his fast-trotting horse at the same time, and cried, “Hello, Jim! Just
in time. I’m a sort of grass widower today—been taking my wife out to see
her sister. Come in and take pot luck with me and keep up my spirits.”
“Well, now, Tom,” said Holcroft, shaking hands, “I’m glad, not that your
wife’s away, although it does make me downhearted to contrast your lot and
mine, but I’m glad you can give me a little time, for I want to use that
practical head of yours—some advice, you know.”
“All right. Nothing to do for an hour or two but eat dinner and smoke my pipe
with you. Here, Bill! Take this team and feed ‘em.”
“Hold on,” said Holcroft, “I’m not going to sponge on you. I’ve got some
favors to ask, and I want you to take in return some butter half spoiled in
the making and this basket of eggs. They’re all right.”
“Go to thunder, Holcroft! What do you take me for? When you’ve filled your
pipe after dinner will you pull an egg out of your pocket and say, ‘That’s for
a smoke?’ No, no, I don’t sell any advice to old friends like you. I’ll buy
your butter and eggs at what they’re worth and have done with ‘em. Business
is one thing, and sitting down and talking over an old crony’s troubles is
another. I’m not a saint, Jim, as you know—a man in politics can’t be—but I
remember when we were boys together, and somehow thinking of those old days
always fetches me. Come in, for dinner is awaiting, I guess.”
“Well, Tom, saint or no saint, I’d like to vote for you for gov’nor.”
“This aint an electioneering trick, as you know. I can play them off as well
as the next feller when there’s need, kiss the babies and all that.”
Dinner was placed on the table immediately, and in a few moments the friends
were left alone. Then Holcroft related in a half comic, half serious manner
his tribulations with the help. Tom sat back in his chair and roared at the
account of the pitched battle between the two widows and the final smoking out
of Mrs. Mumpson, but he reproached his friend for not having horsewhipped
Lemuel Weeks. “Don’t you remember, Jim, he was a sneaking, tricky chap when we
were at school together? I licked him once, and it always does me good to
think of it.”
“I own it takes considerable to rile me to the point of striking a man,
especially on his own land. His wife was looking out the window, too. If
we’d been out in the road or anywhere else—but what’s the use? I’m glad now
it turned out as it has for I’ve too much on my mind for lawsuits, and the
less one has to do with such cattle as Weeks the better. Well, you see I’m
alone again, and I’m going to go it alone. I’m going to sell my cows and give
up the dairy, and the thing I wanted help in most is the putting this auction
bill in shape; also advice as to whether I had better try to sell here in town
or up at the farm.”
Tom shook his head dubiously and scarcely glanced at the paper. “Your scheme
don’t look practical to me,” he said. “I don’t believe you can run that farm
alone without losing money. You’ll just keep on going behind till the first
thing you know you’ll clap a mortgage on it. Then you’ll soon be done for.
What’s more, you’ll break down if you try to do both outdoor and indoor work.
Busy times will soon come, and you won’t get your meals regularly; you’ll be
living on coffee and anything that comes handiest; your house will grow untidy
and not fit to live in. If you should be taken sick, there’d be no one to do
for you. Lumbermen, hunters, and such fellows can rough it alone awhile, but
I never heard of a farm being run by man-power alone. Now as to selling out
your stock, look at it. Grazing is what your farm’s good for mostly. It’s a
pity you’re so bent on staying there. Even if you didn’t get very much for
the place, from sale or rent, you’d have something that was sure. A strong,
capable man like you could find something to turn your hand to. Then you
could board in some respectable family, and not have to live like Robinson
Crusoe. I’ve thought it over since we talked last, and if I was you I’d sell
or rent.”
“It’s too late in the season to do either,” said Holcroft dejectedly. “What’s
more, I don’t want to, at least not this year. I’ve settled that, Tom. I’m
going to have one more summer on the old place, anyway, if I have to live on
bread and milk.”
“You can’t make bread.”
“I’ll have it brought from town on the stage.”
“Well, it’s a pity some good, decent woman—There, how should I come to forget
all about HER till this minute? I don’t know whether it would work. Perhaps
it would. There’s a woman here out of the common run. She has quite a story,
which I’ll tell you in confidence. Then you can say whether you’d like to
employ her or not. If you WILL stay on the farm, my advice is that you have a
woman to do the housework, and me and Angy must try to find you one, if the
one I have in mind won’t answer. The trouble is, Holcroft, to get the right
kind of a woman to live there alone with you, unless you married her. Nice
women don’t like to be talked about, and I don’t blame ‘em. The one that’s
here, though, is so friendless and alone in the world that she might be glad
enough to get a home almost anywheres.”
“Well, well! Tell me about her,” said Holcroft gloomily. “But I’m about
discouraged in the line of women help.”
Watterly told Alida’s story with a certain rude pathos which touched the
farmer’s naturally kind heart, and he quite forgot his own need in indignation
at the poor woman’s wrongs. “It’s a **** shame!” he said excitedly, pacing the
room. “I say, Tom, all the law in the land wouldn’t keep me from giving that
fellow a whipping or worse.”
“Well, she won’t prosecute; she won’t face the public; she just wants to go to
some quiet place and work for her bread. She don’t seem to have any friends,
or else she’s too ashamed to let them know.”
“Why, of course I’d give such a woman a refuge till she could do better. What
man wouldn’t?”
“A good many wouldn’t. What’s more, if she went with you her story might get
out, and you’d both be talked about.”
“I don’t care that for gossip,” with a snap of his fingers. “You know I’d
treat her with respect.”
“What I know, and what other people would say, are two very different things.
Neither you nor anyone else can go too strongly against public opinion.
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