David Harum 
 

 
PLEASE RETURN PROMPTLY 10 
 R. p. YATES 
 
 131 WMERLT fUCE, SCHEHECMY, N. t. 
 
DAVID HARUM 
 
DAVID HA RUM 
 
 H Stors of Hmertcan Slife 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD NOYES WESTCOTT 
 l 
 
 NEW YORK 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1899 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1898, 
 BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
 
 All rights in this book, including the rights 
 of dramatization, recitation, translation, and 
 the publication of extracts, are strictly reserved. 
 
r S 3i 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The s as much human nature in some folks as th is 
 In others, if not more. DAVID HARUM. 
 
 ONE of the most conspicuous characteristics 
 of our contemporary native fiction is an increas 
 ing tendency to subordinate plot or story to the 
 bold and realistic portrayal of some of the types 
 of American life and manners. And the reason 
 for this is not far to seek. The extraordinary 
 mixing" of races which has been going on here 
 for more than a century has produced an enor 
 mously diversified human result; and the prod 
 ucts of this " hybridization " have been still fur 
 ther differentiated by an environment that ranges 
 from the Everglades of Florida to the glaciers of 
 Alaska. The existence of these conditions, and 
 the great literary opportunities which they con 
 tain, American writers long ago perceived; and, 
 with a generally true appreciation of artistic val 
 ues, they have created from them a gallery of 
 brilliant genre pictures which to-day stand for the 
 highest we have yet attained in the art of fiction 
 
 944778 
 
yi DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Thus it is that we have (to mention but a 
 few) studies of Louisiana and her people by Mr. 
 Cable ; of Virginia and Georgia by Thomas Nel 
 son Page and Joel Chandler Harris; of New 
 England by Miss Jewett and Miss Wilkins; of 
 the Middle West by Miss French (Octave Tha- 
 net); of the great Northwest by Hamlin Gar 
 land; of Canada and the land of the habitans by 
 Gilbert Parker; and finally, though really first in 
 point of time, the Forty-niners and their succes 
 sors by Bret Harte. This list might be indefi 
 nitely extended, for it is growing daily, but it is 
 long enough as it stands to show that every sec 
 tion of our country has, or soon will have, its 
 own painter and historian, whose works will live 
 and become a permanent part of our literature in 
 just the degree that they are artistically true. 
 Some of these writers have already produced 
 many books, while others have gained general 
 recognition and even fame by the vividness and 
 power of a single study, like Mr. Howe with The 
 Story of a Country Town. But each one, it will 
 be noticed, has chosen for his field of work that 
 part of our country wherein he passed the early 
 and formative years of his life; a natural selec 
 tion that is, perhaps, an unconscious affirmation 
 of David Harum s aphorism: " Ev ry hoss c n 
 do a thing better n spryer if he s ben broke to 
 it as a colt." 
 
 In the case of the present volume the condi- 
 
INTRODUCTION. v ii 
 
 tions are identical with those just mentioned. 
 Most of the scenes are laid in central New York, 
 where the author, Edward Noyes Westcott, was 
 born, September 24, 1847, an d where he died of 
 consumption, March 31, 1898. Nearly all his 
 life was passed in his native city of Syracuse, and 
 although banking and not authorship was the 
 occupation of his active years, yet his sensitive 
 and impressionable temperament had become so 
 saturated with the local atmosphere, and his re 
 tentive memory so charged with facts, that when 
 at length he took up the pen he was able to create 
 in David Harum a character so original, so true, 
 and so strong, yet withal so delightfully quaint 
 and humorous, that we are at once compelled to 
 admit that here is a new and permanent addition 
 to the long list of American literary portraits. 
 
 The book is a novel, and throughout it runs 
 a love story which is characterized by sympa 
 thetic treatment and a constantly increasing in 
 terest; but the title role is taken by the old coun 
 try banker, David Harum: dry, quaint, some 
 what illiterate, no doubt, but possessing an amaz 
 ing amount of knowledge not found in printed 
 books, and holding fast to the cheerful belief 
 that there is nothing wholly bad or useless in 
 this world. Or, in his own words: "A reason 
 able amount of fleas is good for a dog they 
 keep him f m broodin on bein a dog." This 
 horse-trading country banker and reputed Shy- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 lock, but real philanthropist, is an accurate por 
 trayal of a type that exists in the rural districts of 
 central New York to-day. Variations of him may 
 be seen daily, driving about in their road wagons 
 or seated in their " bank parlors," shrewd, sharp- 
 tongued, honest as the sunlight from most points 
 of view, but in a horse trade much inclined to 
 follow the rule laid down by Mr. Harum himself 
 for such transactions : " Do unto the other feller 
 the way he d like to do unto you an do it fust." 
 The genial humor and sunny atmosphere 
 which pervade these pages are in dramatic con 
 trast with the circumstances under which they 
 were written. The book was finished while the 
 author lay upon his deathbed, but, happily for the 
 reader, no trace of his sufferings appears here. 
 It was not granted that he should live to see his 
 work in its present completed form, a consum 
 mation he most earnestly desired; but it seems 
 not unreasonable to hope that the result of his 
 labors will be appreciated, and that David 
 Harum will endure. 
 
 FORBES HEERMANS. 
 SYRACUSE, N. Y., August 20, 1898. 
 
DAVID HARUM, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DAVID poured half of his second cap of tea 
 into his saucer to lower its temperature to the 
 drinking point, and helped himself to a second 
 cut of ham and a third egg. Whatever was on 
 his mind to have kept him unusually silent during 
 the evening meal, and to cause certain wrinkles 
 in his forehead suggestive of perplexity or mis 
 giving, had not impaired his appetite. David 
 was what he called " a good feeder." 
 
 Mrs. Bixbee, known to most of those who en 
 joyed the privilege of her acquaintance as " Aunt 
 Polly," though nieces and nephews of her blood 
 there were none in Homeville, Freeland County, 
 looked curiously at her brother, as, in fact, she 
 had done at intervals during the repast; and con 
 cluding at last that further forbearance was un 
 called for, relieved the pressure of her curiosity 
 thus: 
 
 " Guess ye got somethin on your mind, hain t 
 ye? You hain t hardly said aye, yes, ner no sence 
 you set down. Any thin gone skew? " 
 
 David lifted his saucer, gave the contents a 
 precautionary blow, and- emptied it with sundry 
 windy suspirations. 
 

 :I}AVID HARUM. 
 
 " No," he said, " nothin hain t gone exac ly 
 wrong, s ye might say not yet; but I done that 
 thing I was tellin ye of to-day." 
 
 " Done what thing?" she asked perplexedly. 
 
 " I telegraphed to New York," he replied, 
 " fer that young feller to come on the young 
 man Gen ral Wolsey wrote me about. I got a 
 letter from him to-day, an I made up my mind 
 the sooner the quicker/ an I telegraphed him to 
 come s soon s he could." 
 
 " I forgit what you said his name was," said 
 Aunt Polly. 
 
 " There s his letter," said David, handing it 
 across the table. " Read it out loud." 
 
 " You read it," she said, passing it back after 
 a search in her pocket; " I must a left my specs 
 in the settin -room." 
 
 The letter was as follows: 
 
 "DEAR SIR: I take the liberty of addressing 
 you at the instance of General Wolsey, who spoke 
 to me of the matter of your communication to 
 him, and was kind enough to say that he would 
 write you in my behalf. My acquaintance with 
 him has been in the nature of a social rather 
 than a business one, and I fancy that he can only 
 recommend me on general grounds. I will say, 
 therefore, that I have had some experience with 
 accounts, but not much practice in them for near 
 ly three years. Nevertheless, unless the work you 
 wish done is of an intricate nature, I think I 
 shall be able to accomplish it with such posting 
 at the outset as most strangers would require. 
 General Wolsey told me that you wanted some 
 one as soon as possible. I have nothing to pre 
 vent me from starting at once if you desire to 
 
DAVID HARUM. 3 
 
 have me. A telegram addressed to me at the 
 office of the Trust Company will reach me 
 promptly. Yours very truly, 
 
 " JOHN K. LENOX." 
 
 " Wa al," said David, looking over his glasses 
 at his sister, " what do you think on t? " 
 
 "The ain t much brag in t," she replied 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " No," said David, putting his eye-glasses 
 back in their case, " th ain t no brag ner no prom 
 ises; he don t even say he ll do his best, like most 
 fellers would. He seems to have took it fer 
 granted that I ll take it fer granted, an that s what 
 I like about it. Wa al," he added, " the thing s 
 done, an I ll be lookin fer him to-morrow morn- 
 in or evenin at latest." 
 
 Mrs. Bixbee sat for a moment with her large, 
 light blue, and rather prominent eyes fixed on her 
 brother s face, and then she said, with a slight 
 undertone of anxiety, " Was you cal latin to have 
 that young man from New York come here? " 
 
 " I hadn t no such idee," he replied, with a 
 slight smile, aware of what was passing in her 
 mind. " What put that in your head? " 
 
 " Wa al," she answered, " you know the ain t 
 scarcely anybody in the village that takes board 
 ers in the winter, an I was wondenn what he 
 would do." 
 
 " I s pose he ll go to the Eagle," said David. 
 " I dunno where else, nless it s to the Lake 
 House." 
 
 " The Eagil! " she exclaimed contemptuously. 
 " Land sakes! Comin here from New York! He 
 won t stan it there a week." 
 
 " Wa al," replied David, " mebbe he will an 
 
4 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 mebbe he won t, but I don t see what else the* 
 is for it, an I guess twon t kill him fer a spell. 
 
 The fact is " he was proceeding when Mrs. 
 
 Bixbee interrupted him. 
 
 " I guess we d better adjourn t the settin - 
 room an let Sairy clear off the tea-things," she 
 said, rising and going into the kitchen. 
 
 "What was you sayin ?" she asked, as she 
 presently found her brother in the apartment 
 designated, and seated herself with her mending- 
 basket in her lap. 
 
 " The fact is, I was sayin / he resumed, sit 
 ting with hand and forearm resting on a round 
 table, in the centre of which was a large kerosene 
 lamp, " that my notion was, fust off, to have him 
 come here, but when I come to think on t I 
 changed my mind. In the fust place, except that 
 he s well recommended, I don t know nothin 
 about him; an in the second, you n I are pretty 
 well set in our ways, an git along all right just 
 as we be. I may want the young feller to stay, 
 an then agin I may not we ll see. It s a good 
 sight easier to git a fishhook in n tis to git it 
 out. I expect he ll find it putty tough at first, 
 but if he s a feller that c n be drove out of bus nis 
 by a spell of the Eagle Tavern, he ain t the feller 
 I m lookin fer though I will allow," he added 
 with a grimace, " that it ll be a putty hard test. 
 But if I want to say to him, after tryin him a 
 spell, that I guess me an him don t seem likely to 
 hitch, we ll both take it easier if we ain t livin 
 in the same house. I guess I ll take a look at 
 the Trybune," said David, unfolding that paper. 
 
 Mrs. Bixbee went on with her needlework, 
 with an occasional side glance at her brother, 
 who was immersed in the gospel of his politics. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 5 
 
 Twice or thrice she opened her lips as if to ad 
 dress him, but apparently some restraining 
 thought interposed. Finally, the impulse to utter 
 her mind culminated. " Dave," she said, " d you 
 know what Deakin Perkins is sayin about ye?" 
 
 David opened his paper so as to hide his face, 
 and the corners of his mouth twitched as he asked 
 in return, " Wa al, what s the deakin sayin now? " 
 
 " He s sayin ," she replied, in a voice mixed 
 of indignation and apprehension, " thet you sold 
 him a balky horse, an he s goin to hev the law 
 on ye." 
 
 David s shoulders shook behind the shelter 
 ing page, and his mouth expanded in a grin. 
 
 " Wa al," he replied after a moment, lowering 
 the paper and looking gravely at his companion 
 over his glasses, " next to the deakin s religious 
 experience, them of lawin an horse-tradin air 
 his strongest p ints, an he works the hull on em 
 to once sometimes." 
 
 The evasiveness of this generality was not lost 
 on Mrs. Bixbee, and she pressed the point with, 
 "Did ye? an will he?" 
 
 " Yes, an no, an mebbe, an mebbe not," was 
 the categorical reply. 
 
 " Wa al," she answered with a snap, " mebbe 
 you call that an answer. I s pose if you don t 
 want to let on you won t, but I do believe you ve 
 ben playin some trick on the deakin, an won t 
 own up. I do wish," she added, " that if you hed 
 to git rid of a balky horse onto somebody you d 
 hev picked out somebody else." 
 
 " When you got a balker to dispose of," said 
 David gravely, " you can t alwus pick an choose. 
 Fust come, fust served." Then he went on more 
 seriously: " Now I ll tell ye. Quite a while ago 
 
6 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 in fact, not long after I come to enjoy the priv - 
 lidge of the deakin s acquaintance we hed a deal. 
 I wa n t jest on my guard, knowin him to be a 
 deakin an all that, an he lied to me so splendid 
 that I was took in, clean over my head. He done 
 me so brown I was burnt in places, an you c d 
 smell smoke round me fer some time." 
 
 " Was it a horse?" asked Mrs. Bixbee gra 
 tuitously. 
 
 " Wa al," David replied, " mebbe it had ben 
 some time, but at that partic lar time the only 
 thing to determine that fact was that it wa n t 
 nothin else." 
 
 "Wa al, I declare!" exclaimed Mrs. Bixbee, 
 wondering not more at the deacon s turpitude 
 than at the lapse in David s acuteness, of which 
 she had an immense opinion, but commenting 
 only on the former. " I m mazed at the deakin." 
 
 " Yes m," said David with a grin, " I m quite 
 a liar myself when it comes right down to the 
 boss bus nis, but the deakin c n give me both 
 bowers ev ry hand. He done it so slick that I 
 had to laugh when I come to think it over an 
 I had witnesses to the hull confab, too, that he 
 didn t know of, an I c d ve showed him up in 
 great shape if I d had a mind to." 
 
 "Why didn t ye?" said Aunt Polly, whose 
 feelings about the deacon were undergoing a re 
 vulsion. 
 
 " Wa al, to tell ye the truth, I was so com 
 pletely skunked that I hadn t a word to say. I 
 got rid o the thing fer what it was wuth fer 
 hide an taller, an stid of squealin round the 
 way you say he s doin , like a stuck pig, I kep 
 my tongue between my teeth an laid to git even 
 some time." 
 
DAVID HARUM. 7 
 
 " You ort to Ve bed the law on him," declared 
 Mrs. Bixbee, now fully converted. " The old 
 scamp! " 
 
 " Wa al," was the reply, "I gen ally prefer to 
 settle out of court, an in this partic lar case, while 
 I might a ben willin t admit that I hed ben did 
 up, I didn t feel much like swearin to it. I 
 reckoned the time d come when mebbe I d git 
 the laugh on the deakin, an it did, an we re putty 
 well settled now in full." 
 
 " You mean this last pufformance? " asked 
 Mrs. Bixbee. " I wish you d quit beatin about 
 the bush, an tell me the hull story." 
 
 " Wa al, it s like this, then, if you will hev it. 
 I was over to Whiteboro a while ago on a little 
 matter of worldly bus nis, an I seen a couple of 
 fellers halter-exercisin a hoss in the tavern yard. 
 I stood round a spell watchin em, an when he 
 come to a standstill I went an looked him over, 
 an I liked his looks fust rate. 
 
 " Per sale? I says. 
 
 " Wa al, says the chap that was leadin him, 
 I never see the hoss that wa n t if the price was 
 right. 
 
 Your n? I says. 
 
 Mine an his n, he says, noddin his head 
 at the other feller. 
 
 " What ye askin fer him? I says. 
 
 " One-fifty, he says. 
 
 " I looked him all over agin putty careful, an 
 once or twice I kind o shook my head s if I 
 didn t quite like what I seen, an when I got 
 through I sort o half turned away without sayin 
 anythin , s if I d seen enough. 
 
 The ain t a scratch ner a pimple on him/ 
 says the feller, kind o resentin my looks. He s 
 
8 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 sound an kind, an 11 stand without hitchin , an 
 a lady c n drive him s well s a man. 
 
 " I ain t got anythin agin him, I says, an 
 prob ly that s all true, ev ry word on t; but one- 
 fifty s a consid able price fer a hoss these days. 
 I hain t no pressin use fer another hoss, an , in 
 fact, I says, I ve got one or two fer sale my 
 self. 
 
 He s wuth two hunderd jest as he stands, 
 the feller says. He hain t had no trainin , an he 
 c n draw two men in a road-wagin better n fifty. 
 
 " Wa al, the more I looked at him the better 
 I liked him, but I only says, Jes so, jes so, he 
 may be wuth the money, but jest as I m fixed now 
 he ain t wuth it to me, an I hain t got that much 
 money with me if he was, I says. The other feller 
 hadn t said nothin up to that time, an he broke 
 in now. I s pose you d take him fer a gift, 
 wouldn t ye? he says, kind o sneerin . 
 
 " Wa al, yes, I says, I dunno but I would 
 if you d throw in a pound of tea an a halter/ 
 
 " He kind o laughed an says, Wa al, this 
 ain t no gift enterprise, an I guess we ain t goin 
 to trade, but I d like to know/ he says, jest as a 
 matter of curios ty, what you d say he was wuth 
 to ye? 
 
 " Wa al, I says, I come over this mornin to 
 see a feller that owed me a trifle o money. Ex- 
 ceptin of some loose change, what he paid me s 
 all I got with me, I says, takin out my wallet. 
 That wad s got a hunderd an twenty-five into 
 it, an if you d sooner have your hoss an halter 
 than the wad, I says, why, I ll bid ye good-day/ 
 
 " You re offerin one-twenty-five fer the hoss 
 an halter? he says. 
 
 " That s what I m doin , I says. 
 
DAVID HARUM. g 
 
 " You ve made a trade/ he says, puttin out 
 his hand fer the money an handin the halter over 
 to me." 
 
 " An didn t ye suspicion nuthin when he took 
 ye up like that? " asked Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
 " I did smell woolen some," said David, " but 
 I had the hoss an they had the money, an , as fur 
 s I c d see, the critter was all right. Howsomever, 
 I says to em : This here s all right, fur s it s 
 gone, but you ve talked putty strong bout this 
 hoss. I don t know who you fellers be, but I c n 
 find out, I says. Then the fust feller that done 
 the talkin bout the hoss put in an says, The 
 hain t ben one word said to you about this hoss 
 that wa n t gospel truth, not one word. An 
 when I come to think on t afterward," said David 
 with a half laugh, " it mebbe wa n t gospel truth, 
 but it was good enough jury truth. I guess this 
 ain t over n above int restin to ye, is it?" he 
 asked after a pause, looking doubtfully at his 
 sister. 
 
 " Yes, tis," she asserted. " I m lookin for- 
 rered to where the deakin comes in, but you jes 
 tell it your own way." 
 
 " I ll git there all in good time," said David, 
 " but some of the point of the story ll be lost if I 
 don t tell ye what come fust." 
 
 " I allow to stan it s long s you can," she 
 said encouragingly, " seein what work I had get- 
 tin ye started. Did ye find out anythin bout 
 them fellers? " 
 
 " I ast the barn man if he knowed who they 
 was, an he said he never seen em till the yestiddy 
 before, an didn t know em f m Adam. They 
 come along with a couple of hosses, one clrivin 
 an t other leadin the one I bought. I ast him if 
 
IO DAVID KARUM. 
 
 they knowed who I was, an he said one on em 
 ast him, an he told him. The feller said to him, 
 seein me drive up: That s a putty likely-lookin 
 hoss. Who s drivin him? An he says to the 
 feller: That s Dave Harum, f m over to Home- 
 ville. He s a great feller fer hosses, he says." 
 
 " Dave," said Mrs. Bixbee, " them chaps jest 
 laid fer ye, didn t they? " 
 
 " I reckon they did," he admitted; "an they 
 was as slick a pair as was ever drawed to," which 
 expression was lost upon his sister. David 
 rubbed the fringe of yellowish-gray hair which 
 encircled his bald pate for a moment. 
 
 " Wa al," he resumed, " after the talk with the 
 barn man, I smelt woolen stronger n ever, but I 
 didn t say nothin , an had the mare hitched an 
 started back. Old Jinny drives with one hand v 
 an I c d watch the new one all right, an as we 
 come along I begun to think I wa n t stuck after 
 all. I never see a hoss travel evener an nicer, 
 an when we come to a good level place I sent the 
 old mare along the best she knew, an the new 
 one never broke his gait, an kep right up ithout 
 par ntly half tryin ; an Jinny don t take most 
 folks dust neither. I swan! fore I got home I 
 reckoned I d jest as good as made seventy-five 
 anyway." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 " THEN the wa n t nothin the matter with 
 him, after all," commented Mrs. Bixbee in rather 
 a disappointed tone. 
 
 " The meanest thing top of the earth was the 
 matter with him," declared David, " but I didn t 
 find it out till the next afternoon, an then I found 
 it out good. I hitched him to the open buggy 
 an went round by the East road, cause that ain t 
 so much travelled. He went along all right till 
 we got a mile or so out of the village, an then 
 I slowed him down to a walk. Wa al, sir, scat 
 my - ! He hadn t walked more n a rod fore 
 he come to a dead stan still. I clucked an git- 
 app d, an finely took the gad to him a little; but 
 he only jes kind o humped up a little, an stood 
 like he d took root." 
 
 " Wa al, now! " exclaimed Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
 " Yes m," said David; " I was stuck in ev ry 
 sense of the word." 
 
 " What d ye do? " 
 
 " Wa al, I tried all the tricks I knowed an 
 I could lead him but when I was in the buggy 
 he wouldn t stir till he got good an ready; V 
 then he d start of his own accord an go on a spell, 
 
 "Did he keep it up?" Mrs. Bixbee inter 
 rupted. 
 
 ii 
 
12 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Wa al, I s d say he did. I finely got home 
 with the critter, but I thought one time I d either 
 hev to lead him or spend the night on the East 
 road. He balked five sep rate times, varyin in 
 length, an it was dark when we struck the barn." 
 
 " I should hev thought you d a wanted to kill 
 him," said Mrs. Bixbee; " an the fellers that sold 
 him to ye, too." 
 
 " The was times," David replied, with a nod 
 of his head, " when if he d a fell down dead I 
 wouldn t hev figgered on puttin a band on my 
 hat, but it don t never pay to git mad with a hoss ; 
 an as fur s the feller I bought him of, when I 
 remembered how he told me he d stand without 
 hitchin , I swan! I had to laugh. I did, fer a 
 fact. Stand without hitchin ! He, he, he! " 
 
 " I guess you wouldn t think it was so awful 
 funny if you hadn t gone an stuck that horse onto 
 Deakin Perkins an I don t see how you done 
 it." 
 
 " Mebbe that is part of the joke," David al 
 lowed, " an I ll tell ye th rest on t. Th next day 
 I hitched the new one to th dem crat wagin an 
 put in a lot of straps an rope, an started off fcr 
 the East road agin. He went fust rate till we 
 come to about the place where we had the fust 
 trouble, an , sure enough, he balked agin. I 
 leaned over an hit him a smart cut on the off 
 shoulder, but he only humped a little, an never 
 lifted a foot. I hit him another lick, with the self 
 same result. Then I got down an I strapped that 
 animal so t he couldn t move nothin but his head 
 an tail, an got back into the buggy. Wa al, bom- 
 by, it may a ben ten minutes, or it may V ben 
 more or less it s slow work settin still behind 
 a balkin hoss he was ready to go on his own 
 
DAVID HARUM. jg 
 
 account, but he couldn t budge. He kind o 
 looked around, much as to say, What on earth s 
 the matter? an then he tried another move, an 
 then another, but no go. Then I got down an 
 took the hopples off an then climbed back into 
 the buggy, an says * Cluck, to him, an off he 
 stepped as chipper as could be, an we went jog- 
 gin along all right mebbe two mile, an when I 
 slowed up, up he come agin. I gin him another 
 clip in the same place on the shoulder, an I got 
 down an tied him up agin, an the same thing 
 happened as before, on y it didn t take him quite 
 so long to make up his mind about startin , an 
 we went some further without a hitch. But I 
 had to go through the pufformance the third time 
 before he got it into his head that if he didn t go 
 when / wanted he couldn t go when he wanted, 
 an that didn t suit him ; an when he felt the whip 
 on his shoulder it meant bus nis." 
 
 "Was that the end of his balkin ?" asked 
 Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
 " I had to give him one more go-round," said 
 David, " an after that I didn t have no more trou 
 ble with him. He showed symptoms at times, 
 but a touch of the whip on the shoulder alwus 
 fetched him. I alwus carried them straps, though, 
 till the last two three times." 
 
 "Wa al, what s the deakin kickin about, 
 then?" asked Aunt Polly. "You re jes sayin 
 you broke him of balkin ." 
 
 " Wa al," said David slowly, " some hosses 
 will balk with some folks an not with others. 
 You can t most alwus gen ally tell." 
 
 " Didn t the deakin have a chance to try 
 him?" 
 
 " He had all the chance he ast fer," replied 
 
14 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 David. " Fact is, he done most of the sellin , as 
 well s the buyin , himself." 
 
 "How s that?" 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " it come about like 
 this: After I d got the hoss where I c d handle 
 him I begun to think I d had some int restin an 
 valu ble experience, an it wa n t scurcely fair to 
 keep it all to myself. I didn t want no patent 
 on t, an I was willin to let some other feller git 
 a piece. So one mornin , week before last let s 
 see, week ago Tuesday it was, an a mighty nice 
 mornin it was, too one o them days that kind 
 o lib ral up your mind I allowed to hitch an 
 drive up past the deakin s an back, an mebbe 
 git somethin to strengthen my faith, et cetery, in 
 case I run acrost him. Wa al, s I come along 
 I seen the deakin putterin round, an I waved 
 my hand to him an went by a-kitin . I went up 
 the road a ways an killed a little time, an when 
 I come back there was the deakin, as I expected. 
 He was leanin over the fence, an as I jogged up 
 he hailed me, an I pulled up. 
 
 Mornin , Mr. Harum, he says. 
 
 " Mornin , deakin, I says. How are ye? 
 an how s Mis Perkins these days? 
 
 " I m fair/ he says; fair to middlin , but 
 Mis Perkins is ailin some as usyul, he says." 
 
 " They do say," put in Mrs. Bixbee, " thet 
 Mis Perkins don t hev much of a time herself." 
 
 " Guess she hez all the time the is," answered 
 David. " Wa al," he went on, " we passed the 
 time o day, an talked a spell about the weather 
 an all that, an finely I straightened up the lines 
 as if I was goin on, an then I says: Oh, by the 
 way, I says, I jest thought on t. I heard Dom 
 inie White was lookin fer a hoss that d suit him. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 15 
 
 I hain t heard, he says; but I see in a minute he 
 had an it really was a fact an I says: I ve 
 got a roan colt risin five, that I took on a debt 
 a spell ago, that I ll sell reasonable, that s as like 
 ly an nice ev ry way a young hoss as ever I 
 owned. I don t need him, I says, an didn t 
 want to take him, but it was that or nothin at the 
 time an glad to git it, an I ll sell him a barg in. 
 Now what I want to say to you, deakin, is this: 
 That hoss d suit the dominie to a tee in my opin 
 ion, but the dominie won t come to me. Now if 
 you was to say to him bein in his church an 
 all thet, I says, that you c d git him the right 
 kind of a hoss, he d believe you, an you an me d 
 be doin a little stroke of bus nis, an a favor to 
 the dominie into the bargain. The dominie s 
 well off, I says, * an c n afford to drive a good 
 hoss. : 
 
 " What did the deakin say? " asked Aunt Pol 
 ly as David stopped for breath. 
 
 " I didn t expect him to jump down my 
 throat," he answered; " but I seen him prick up 
 his ears, an all the time I was talkin I noticed 
 him lookin my hoss over, head an foot. Now 
 I member, he says, hearin sunthin bout Mr. 
 White s lookin fer a hoss, though when you fust 
 spoke on t it had slipped my mind. Of course, 
 he says, the ain t any real reason why Mr. White 
 shouldn t deal with you direct, an yit mebbe I 
 could do more with him n you could. But, he 
 says, I wa n t cal latin to go t the village this 
 mornin , an I sent my hired man off with my 
 drivin hoss. Mebbe I ll drop round in a day or 
 two, he says, an look at the roan. 
 
 " You mightn t ketch me, I says, an I 
 want to show him myself; an more n that/ I 
 
!6 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 says, Dug Robinson s after the dominie. I ll 
 tell ye, I says, you jest git in ith me an go 
 down an look at him, an I ll send ye back or 
 drive ye back, an if you ve got anythin special 
 on hand you needn t be gone three quarters of 
 an hour, I says." 
 
 " He come, did he?" inquired Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
 " He done so," said David sententiously. 
 " Jest as I knowed he would, after he d hem d an 
 haw d about so much, an he rode a mile an a 
 half livelier n he done in a good while, I reckon. 
 He had to pull that old broadbrim of his n down 
 to his ears, an don t you fergit it. He, he, he, he! 
 The road was jest full o hosses. Wa al, we drove 
 into the yard, an I told the hired man to unhitch 
 the bay -hoss an fetch out the roan, an while he 
 was bein unhitched the deakin stood round an 
 never took his eyes off n him, an I knowed I 
 wouldn t sell the deakin no roan hoss that day, 
 even if I wanted to. But when he come out I 
 begun to crack him up, an I talked hoss fer all 
 I was wuth. The deakin looked him over in a 
 don t-care kind of a way, an didn t parently give 
 much heed to what I was sayin . Finely I says, 
 Wa al, what do you think of him? Wa al/ 
 he says, he seems to be a likely enough critter, 
 but I don t believe he d suit Mr. White fraid 
 not, he says. What you askin fer him? he 
 says. One-fifty, I says, an he s a cheap hoss 
 at the money ; but," added the speaker with a 
 laugh, " I knowed I might s well of said a thou- 
 san . The deakin wa n t buyin no roan colts that 
 mornin ." 
 
 " What did he say? " asked Mrs. Bixbee. . 
 Wa al, he says, wa al, I guess you ought 
 to git that much fer him, but I m fraid he ain t 
 
DAVID HARUM. 17 
 
 what Mr. White wants. An then, That s quite 
 a hoss we come down with, he says. Had him 
 long? Jes long nough to git quainted with 
 him, I says. Don t you want the roan fer your 
 own use? I says. Mebbe we c d shade the price 
 a little. No, he says, I guess not. I don t 
 need another hoss jes now. An then, after a 
 minute he says : Say, mebbe the bay hoss we 
 drove d come nearer the mark fer White, if he s 
 all right. Jest as soon I d look at him? he says. 
 Wa al, I hain t no objections, but I guess he s 
 more of a hoss than the dominie d care for, but 
 I ll go an fetch him out, I says. So I brought 
 him out, an the deakin looked him all over. I 
 see it was a case of love at fust sight, as the story 
 books says. Looks all right, he says. I ll 
 tell ye, I says, what the feller I bought him of 
 told me. What s that? says the deakin. He 
 said to me, I says, "that hoss hain t got a scratch 
 ner a pimple on him. He s sound an kind, an 
 11 stand without hitchin , an a lady c d drive him 
 as well s a man." 
 
 " That s what he said to me, I says, an it s 
 every word on t true. You ve seen whether or 
 not he c n travel, I says, an , so fur s I ve seen, 
 he ain t fraid of nothinV D ye want to sell 
 him? the deakin says. Wa al, I says, I ain t 
 offerin him fer sale. You ll go a good ways, I 
 says, fore you ll strike such another; but, of 
 course, he ain t the only hoss in the world, an 
 I never had anythin in the hoss line I wouldn t 
 sell at some price. Wa al, he says, what d ye 
 ask fer him? Wa al, I says, if my own brother 
 was to ask me that question I d say to him two 
 hunderd dollars, cash down, an I wouldn t hold 
 the offer open an hour, I says." 
 
!g DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " My! " ejaculated Aunt Polly. " Did he take 
 you up? " 
 
 " That s more n I give fer a hoss n a good 
 while/ he says, shakin his head, an more n I 
 c n afford, I m fraid. * All right, I says; I c n 
 afford to keep him ; but I knew I had the deakin 
 same as the woodchuck had Skip. Hitch up the 
 roan, I says to Mike; the deakin wants to be 
 took up to his house. Is that your last word? 
 he says. That s what it is/ I says. Two hun- 
 derd, cash down. " 
 
 "Didn t ye dast to trust the deakin?" asked 
 Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
 " Polly," said David, " the s a number of holes 
 in a ten-foot ladder." Mrs. Bixbee seemed to 
 understand this rather ambiguous rejoinder. 
 
 " He must a squirmed some," she remarked. 
 David laughed. 
 
 " The deakin ain t much used to payin the 
 other feller s price," he said, " an it was like pull- 
 in teeth; but he wanted that hoss more n a cow 
 wants a calf, an after a little more squimmidgin 
 he hauled out his wallet an forked over. Mike 
 come out with the roan, an off the deakin went, 
 leadin the bay hoss." 
 
 " I don t see," said Mrs. Bixbee, looking up 
 at her brother, " thet after all the was anythin 
 you said to the deakin thet he could ketch holt 
 on." 
 
 " The wa n t nothin ," he replied. " The only 
 thing he c n complain about s what I didn t say 
 to him." 
 
 " Hain t he said anythin to ye? " Mrs. Bixbee 
 inquired. 
 
 " He, he, he, he! He hain t but once, an the 
 wa n t but little of it then." 
 
DAVID HARUM. 19 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Wa al, the day but one after the deakin sold 
 himself Mr. Stickin -Plaster I had an arrant three 
 four mile or so up past his place, an when I was 
 comin back, along bout four or half past, it 
 come on to rain like all possessed. I had my old 
 umbrel though it didn t hender me f m gettin 
 more or less wet an I sent the old mare along 
 fer all she knew. As I come along to within a 
 mile f m the deakin s house I seen somebody in 
 the road, an when I come up closter I see it was 
 the deakin himself, in trouble, an I kind o slowed 
 up to see what was goin on. There he was, set- 
 tin all humped up with his ole broad-brim hat 
 slopin down his back, a-sheddin water like a 
 roof. Then I seen him lean over an larrup the 
 hoss with the ends of the lines fer all he was wuth. 
 It appeared he hadn t no whip, an it wouldn t 
 done him no good if he d had. Wa al, sir, rain 
 or no rain, I jest pulled up to watch him. He d 
 larrup a spell, an then he d set back; an then 
 he d lean over an try it agin, harder n ever. Scat 
 
 my ! I thought I d die a-laughin . I couldn t 
 
 hardly cluck to the mare when I got ready to 
 move on. I drove alongside an pulled up. Hul 
 lo, deakin, I says, what s the matter? He 
 looked up at me, an I won t say he was the mad 
 dest man I ever see, but he was long ways the 
 maddest-200JbV man, an he shook his fist at me 
 jes like one o the unregen rit. Consarn ye, 
 Dave Harum! he says, I ll hev the law on ye 
 fer this/ What fer? I -says. I didn t make it 
 come on to rain, did I? I says. You know 
 mighty well what fer, he says. You sold me 
 this damned beast, he says, an he s balked with 
 me nine times this afternoon, an I ll fix ye for t, 
 
20 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 he says. Wa al, deakin, I says, I m fraid the 
 squire s office 11 be shut up fore you git there, 
 but I ll take any word you d like to send. You 
 know I told ye, I says, that he d stand ithout 
 hitchinV An at that he only jest kind o choked 
 an sputtered. He was so mad he couldn t say 
 nothin , an on I drove, an when I got about forty 
 rod or so I looked back, an there was the deakin 
 a-comin along the road with as much of his 
 shoulders as he could git under his hat an leadin 
 his new hoss. He, he, he, he! Oh, my stars an 
 garters! Say, Polly, it paid me fer bein born 
 into this vale o tears. It did, I declare for t ! " 
 
 Aunt Polly wiped her eyes on her apron. 
 
 " But, Dave," she said, " did the deakin really 
 say that word? " 
 
 " Wa al," he replied, " if twa n t that it was 
 the puttiest imitation on t that ever I heard." 
 
 " David," she continued, " don t you think it 
 putty mean to badger the deakin so t he swore, 
 an then laugh bout it? An I s pose you ve told 
 the story all over." 
 
 " Mis Bixbee," said David emphatically, " if 
 I d paid good money to see a funny show I d be 
 a blamed fool if I didn t laugh, wouldn t I? That 
 specticle of the deakin cost me consid able, but it 
 was more n wuth it. But," he added, " I guess, 
 the way the thing stands now, I ain t so much 
 out on the hull." 
 
 Mrs. Bixbee looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 "Of course, you know Dick Larrabee?" he 
 asked. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " Wa al, three four days after the shower, an 
 the story d got aroun some as you say, the 
 deakin is consid able of a talker I got holt of 
 
DAVID HARUM. 21 
 
 Dick I ve done him some favors an he natur ly 
 expects more an I says to him : Dick, I says, 
 I hear t Deakin Perkins has got a hoss that 
 don t jest suit him hain t got knee-action 
 enough at times/ I says, * an mebbe he ll sell 
 him reasonable. I ve heerd somethin about it/ 
 says Dick, laughin . One of them kind o hosses 
 t you don t like to git ketched out in the rain 
 with/ he says. * Jes so/ I says. * Now/ I says, 
 1 I ve got a notion t I d like to own that hoss at 
 a price, an that mebbe / c d git him home even 
 if it did rain. Here s a hunderd an ten/ I says, 
 an I want you to see how fur it ll go to buyin 
 him. If you git me the hoss you needn t bring 
 none on t back. Want to try? I says. All 
 right/ he says, an took the money. But/ he 
 says, won t the deakin suspicion that it comes 
 from you? l Wa al/ I says, my portrit ain t 
 on none o the bills, an I reckon you won t tell 
 him so, out an out/ an off he went. Yistidy he 
 come in, an I says, Wa al, done anythin ? The 
 hoss is in your barn/ he says. Good fer you! 
 I says. Did you make anythin ? I m satis 
 fied/ he says. I made a ten-dollar note. An 
 that s the net results on t," concluded David, 
 " that I ve got the hoss, an he s cost me jest 
 thirty-five dollars." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 MASTER JACKY CARLING was a very nice boy, 
 but not at that time in his career the safest per 
 son to whom to intrust a missive in case its sure 
 and speedy delivery were a matter of importance. 
 But he protested with so much earnestness and 
 good will that it should be put into the very first 
 post-box he came to on his way to school, and 
 that nothing could induce him to forget it, that 
 Mary Blake, his aunt, confidante and not unfre- 
 quently counsel and advocate, gave it him to 
 post, and dismissed the matter from her mind. 
 Unfortunately the weather, which had been very 
 frosty, had changed in the night to a summer- 
 like mildness. As Jacky opened the door, three 
 or four of his school-fellows were passing. He 
 felt the softness of the spring morning, and to 
 their injunction to " Hurry up and come along! " 
 replied with an entreaty to " Wait a minute till 
 he left his overcoat " (all boys hate an overcoat), 
 and plunged back into the house. 
 
 If John Lenox (John Knox Lenox) had re 
 ceived Miss Blake s note of condolence and sym 
 pathy, written in reply to his own, wherein, be 
 sides speaking of his bereavement, he had made 
 allusion to some changes in his prospects and 
 some necessary alterations in his ways for a time, 
 he might perhaps have read between the lines 
 
 22 
 
DAVID HARUM. 23 
 
 something more than merely a kind expression of 
 her sorrow for the trouble which had come upon 
 him, and the reminder that he had friends who, 
 if they could not do more to lessen his grief, 
 would give him their truest sympathy. And if 
 some days later he had received a second note, 
 saying that she and her people were about to go 
 away for some months, and asking him to come 
 and see them before their departure, it is pos 
 sible that very many things set forth in this nar 
 rative would not have happened. 
 
 Life had always been made easy for John 
 Lenox, and his was not the temperament to inter 
 pose obstacles to the process. A course at 
 Andover had been followed by two years at Prince 
 ton; but at the end of the second year it had oc 
 curred to him that practical life ought to begin 
 for him, and he had thought it rather fine of him 
 self to undertake a clerkship in the office of Rush 
 & Co., where in the ensuing year and a half or so, 
 though he took his work in moderation, he got a 
 fair knowledge of accounts and the ways and 
 methods of " the Street." But that period of it 
 was enough. He found himself not only regret 
 ting the abandonment of his college career, but 
 feeling that the thing for which he had given 
 it up had been rather a waste of time. He came 
 to the conclusion that, though he had entered 
 college later than most, even now a further ac 
 quaintance with text-books and professors was 
 more to be desired than with ledgers and brokers. 
 His father (somewhat to his wonderment, and 
 possibly a little to his chagrin) seemed rather to 
 welcome the suggestion that he spend a couple 
 of years in Europe, taking some lectures at 
 
24 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Heidelberg or elsewhere, and traveling; and in 
 the course of that time he acquired a pretty fair 
 working acquaintance with German, brought his 
 knowledge of French up to about the same point, 
 and came back at the end of two years with a 
 fine and discriminating taste in beer, and a scar 
 over his left eyebrow which could be seen if at 
 tention were called to it 
 
 He started upon his return without any defi 
 nite intentions or for any special reason, except 
 that he had gone away for two years and that 
 the two years were up. He had carried on a ^des 
 ultory correspondence with his father, who had 
 replied occasionally, rather briefly, but on the 
 whole affectionately. He had noticed that dur 
 ing the latter part of his stay abroad the replies 
 had been more than usually irregular, but had 
 attributed no special significance to the fact. 
 It was not until afterward that it occurred to him 
 that in all their correspondence his father had 
 never alluded in any way to his return. 
 
 On the passenger list of the Altruria John 
 came upon the names of Mr. and Mrs. Julius 
 Carling and Miss Blake. 
 
 " Blake, Blake," he said to himself. " Carling 
 I seem to remember to have known that name 
 at some time. It must be little Mary Blake whom 
 I knew as a small girl years ago, and, yes, Carl 
 ing was the name of the man her sister married. 
 Well, well, I wonder what she is like. Of course, 
 I shouldn t know her from Eve now, or she me 
 from Adam. All I can remember seems to be a 
 pair of very slim and active legs, a lot of flying 
 hair, a pair of brownish-gray or grayish-brown 
 eyes, and that I thought her a very nice girl, as 
 girls went. But it doesn t in the least follow that 
 
DAVID HARUM. 2$ 
 
 I might think so now, and shipboard is pretty 
 close quarters for seven or eight days." 
 
 Dinner is by all odds the chief event of the 
 day on board ship to those who are able to dine, 
 and they will leave all other attractions, even the 
 surpassingly interesting things which go on in 
 the smoking room, at once on the sound of the 
 gong of promise. On this first night of the voy 
 age the ship was still in smooth water at dinner 
 time, and many a place was occupied that would 
 know its occupant for the first, and very possibly 
 for the last, time. The passenger list was fairly 
 large, but not full. John had assigned to him 
 a seat at a side table. He was hungry, having 
 had no luncheon but a couple of biscuits and a 
 glass of " bitter," and was taking his first mouth 
 ful of Perrier-Jouet, after the soup, and scanning 
 the dinner card, when the people at his table 
 came in. The man of the trio was obviously an 
 invalid of the nervous variety, and the most de 
 cided type. The small, dark woman who took 
 the corner seat at his left was undoubtedly, from 
 the solicitous way in which she adjusted a small 
 shawl about his shoulders to his querulous un 
 easiness his wife. There was a good deal of 
 white in the dark hair, brushed smoothly back 
 from her face. A tall girl, with a mass of 
 brown hair under a felt traveling hat, followed 
 her, and took the corner seat at the man s right. 
 
 These were all the details of the party s ap 
 pearance that John discovered in the brief glance 
 he allowed himself at the moment. But though 
 their faces, so far as he had seen them, were 
 unfamiliar to him, their identity was made 
 plain to him by the first words which caught 
 his ear. There were two soups on the menu, 
 3 
 
26 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 and the man s mind instantly poised itself be 
 tween them. 
 
 "Which soup shall I take?" he asked, 
 turning with a frown of uncertainty to his 
 wife. 
 
 " I should say the consomme, Julius," was the 
 reply. 
 
 " I thought I should like the broth better," he 
 objected. 
 
 " I don t think it will disagree with you," she 
 said. 
 
 " Perhaps I had better have the consomme," 
 he argued, looking with appeal to his wife and 
 then to the girl at his right. " Which would you 
 take, Mary?" 
 
 " I? " said the young woman; " I should take 
 both in my present state of appetite. Steward, 
 bring both soups. What wine shall I order for 
 you, Julius? I want some champagne, and I pre 
 scribe it for you. After your mental struggle 
 over the soup question you need a quick stimu 
 lant." 
 
 " Don t you think a red wine would be better 
 for me?" he asked; " or perhaps some sauterne? 
 I m afraid that I sha n t go to sleep if I drink 
 champagne. In fact, I don t think I had better 
 take any wine at all. Perhaps some ginger ale or 
 Apollinaris water." 
 
 " No," she said decisively, " whatever you de 
 cide upon, you know that you ll think what I 
 have would be better for you, and I shall want 
 more than one glass, and Alice wants some, 
 too. Oh, yes, you do, and I shall order a quart 
 of champagne. Steward " giving her order 
 " please be as quick as you can." 
 
DAVID HARUM. 2 ; 
 
 John had by this fully identified his neigh 
 bors, and the talk which ensued between them, 
 consisting mostly of controversies between the 
 invalid and his family over the items of the 
 bill of fare, every course being discussed as 
 to its probable effect upon his stomach or his 
 nerves the question being usually settled with 
 a whimsical high-handedness by the young 
 woman gave him a pretty good notion of 
 their relations and the state of affairs in gen 
 eral. Notwithstanding Miss Blake s benevolent 
 despotism, the invalid was still wrangling 
 feebly over some last dish when John rose and 
 went to the smoking-room for his coffee and 
 cigarette. 
 
 When he stumbled forth in search of his bath 
 next morning the steamer was well out at sea, and 
 rolling and pitching in a way calculated to disturb 
 the gastric functions of the hardiest. But, after 
 a shower of sea water and a rub down, he found 
 himself with a feeling for bacon and eggs that 
 made him proud of himself, and he went in to 
 breakfast to find, rather to his surprise, that Miss 
 Blake was before him, looking as fresh well, as 
 fresh as a handsome girl of nineteen or twenty 
 and in perfect health could look. She acknowl 
 edged his perfunctory bow as he took his seat 
 with a stiff little bend of the head ; but later on, 
 when the steward was absent on some order, he 
 elicited a " Thank you ! " by handing her some 
 thing which he saw she wanted ; and, one thing 
 leading to another, as things have a way of doing 
 where young and attractive people are concerned, 
 they were presently engaged in an interchange of 
 small talk. But before John was moved to the 
 
28 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 point of disclosing himself on the warrant of a 
 former acquaintance she had finished her break 
 fast. 
 
 The weather continued very stormy for two 
 days, and during that time Miss Blake did not 
 appear at table. At any rate, if she breakfasted 
 there it was either before or after his appearance, 
 and he learned afterward that she had taken 
 luncheon and dinner in her sister s room. 
 
 The morning of the third day broke bright 
 and clear. There was a long swell upon the sea, 
 but the motion of the boat was even and en 
 durable to all but the most susceptible. As the 
 morning advanced the deck began to fill with 
 promenaders, and to be lined with chairs, hold 
 ing wrapped-up figures, showing faces of all 
 shades of green and gray. 
 
 John, walking for exercise, and at a wholly 
 unnecessary pace, turning at a sharp angle around 
 the deck house, fairly ran into the girl about 
 whom he had been wondering for the last two 
 days. She received his somewhat incoherent 
 apologies, regrets, and self-accusations in such a 
 spirit of forgiveness that before long they were 
 supplementing their first conversation with some 
 thing more personal and satisfactory; and when 
 he came to the point of saying that half by acci 
 dent he had found out her name, and begged to 
 be allowed to tell her his own, she looked at him 
 with a smile of frank amusement and said: "It 
 is quite unnecessary, Mr. Lenox. I knew you in 
 stantly when I saw you at table the first night; 
 but," she added mischievously, " I am afraid your 
 memory for people you have known is not so 
 good as mine." 
 
 " Well," said John, " you will admit, I think, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 2 9 
 
 that the change from a little girl in short frocks 
 to a tall young woman in a tailor-made gown 
 is more disguising than that which happens to 
 a boy of fifteen or so. I saw your name in the 
 passenger list with Mr. and Mrs. Carling, and 
 wondered if it could be the Mary Blake whom 
 I really did remember, and the first night at din 
 ner, when I heard your sister call Mr. Carling 
 Julius/ and heard him call you Mary/ I was 
 sure of you. But I hardly got a fair look at your 
 face, and, indeed, I confess that if I had had no 
 clew at all I might not have recognized you." 
 
 " I think you would have been quite excus 
 able/ she replied, " and whether you would or 
 would not have known me is one of those things 
 that no fellow can find out/ and isn t of supreme 
 importance anyway. We each know who the 
 other is now, at all events." 
 
 " Yes," said John, " I am happy to think that 
 we have come to a conclusion on that point. But 
 how does it happen that I have heard nothing of 
 you all these years, or you of me, as I suppose? " 
 
 " For the reason, I fancy," she replied, " that 
 during that period of short frocks with me my 
 sister married Mr. Carling and took me with her 
 to Chicago, where Mr. Carling was in business. 
 We have been back in New York only for the 
 last two or three years." 
 
 " It might have been on the cards that I 
 should come across you in Europe," said John. 
 ; The beaten track is not very broad. How long 
 have you been over?" 
 
 " Only about six months," she replied. " We 
 have been at one or another of the German spas 
 most of the time, as we went abroad for Mr. 
 Carting s health, and we are on our way home 
 
30 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 on about such an impulse as that which started 
 us away he thinks now that he will be better 
 there." " 
 
 " I am afraid you have not derived much 
 pleasure from your European experiences," said 
 John. 
 
 " Pleasure ! " she exclaimed. " If ever you 
 saw a young woman who was glad and thankful 
 to turn her face toward home, 7 am that person. 
 I think that one of the heaviest crosses humanity 
 has to bear is having constantly to decide be 
 tween two or more absolutely trivial conclusions 
 in one s own affairs; but when one is called upon 
 to multiply one s useless perplexities by, say, ten, 
 life is really a burden. 
 
 " I suppose," she added after a pause, " you 
 couldn t help hearing our discussions at dinner 
 the other night, and I have wondered a little what 
 you must have thought." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I did hear it. Is it the regu 
 lar thing, if I may ask? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied, with a tone of sadness; 
 " it has grown to be." 
 
 " It must be very trying at times," John re 
 marked. 
 
 " It is, indeed," she said, " atfc would often 
 be unendurable to me if it were not for my sense 
 of humor, as it would be to my sister if it were 
 not for her love, for Julius is really a very lovable 
 man, and I, too, am very fond of him. But I 
 must laugh sometimes, though my better nature 
 should rather, I suppose, impel me to sighs." 
 
 1 A little laughter is much more worth/ " 
 he quoted. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THEY were leaning upon the rail at the stern 
 of the ship, which was going with what little 
 wind there was, and a following sea, with which, 
 as it plunged down the long slopes of the waves, 
 the vessel seemed to be running a victorious race. 
 The water was a deep sapphire, and in the wake 
 the sunlight turned the broken wave-crests to a 
 vivid emerald. The air was of a caressing soft 
 ness, and altogether it was a day and scene of 
 indescribable beauty and inspiration. For a 
 while there was silence between them, which 
 John broke at last. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, " that one would best 
 show his appreciation of all this by refraining 
 from the comment which must needs be com 
 paratively commonplace, but really this is so 
 superb that I must express some of my emotion 
 even at the risk of lowering your opinion of my 
 good taste, provided, of course, that you have 
 one." 
 
 " Well," she said, laughing, " it may relieve 
 your mind, if you care, to know that had you 
 kept silent an instant longer I should have taken 
 the risk of lowering your opinion of my good 
 taste, provided, of course, that you have one, by 
 remarking that this was perfectly magnificent." 
 
 " I should think that this would be the sort 
 
 31 
 
32 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 of day to get Mr. Carling on deck. This air and 
 sun would brace him up," said John. 
 
 She turned to him with a laugh, and said: 
 " That is the general opinion, or was two hours 
 ago; but I m afraid it s out of the question now, 
 unless we can manage it after luncheon." 
 
 " What do you mean? " he asked with a puz 
 zled smile at the mixture of annoyance and 
 amusement visible in her face. " Same old 
 story?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " same old story. When 
 I went to my breakfast I called at my sister s 
 room and said, " Come, boys and girls, come out 
 to play, the sun doth shine as bright as day," and 
 when I ve had my breakfast I m coming to lug 
 you both on deck. It s a perfectly glorious morn 
 ing, and it will do you both no end of good after 
 being shut up so long. All right, my sister 
 answered, Julius has quite made up his mind 
 to go up as soon as he is dressed. You call for 
 us in half an hour, and we will be ready. " 
 
 " And wouldn t he come? " John asked; " and 
 why not ? " 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed with a laugh and a 
 shrug of her shoulders, " shoes." 
 
 " Shoes! " said John. " What do you mean? " 
 
 " Just what I say," was the rejoinder. " When 
 I went back to the room I found my brother-in- 
 law sitting on the edge of the lounge, or whatever 
 you call it, all dressed but his coat, rubbing his 
 chin between his ringer and thumb, and gazing 
 with despairing perplexity at his feet. It seems 
 that my sister had got past all the other dilem 
 mas, but in a moment of inadvertence had left 
 the shoe question to him, with the result that he 
 had put on one russet shoe and one black one, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 33 
 
 and had laced them up before discovering the 
 discrepancy." 
 
 " 1 don t see anything very difficult in that 
 situation," remarked John. 
 
 "Don t you?" she said scornfully. " No, I 
 suppose not, but it was quite enough for Julius, 
 and more than enough for my sister and me. His 
 first notion was to take off both shoes and begin 
 all over again, and perhaps if he had been allowed 
 to carry it out he would have been all right; but 
 Alice was silly enough to suggest the obvious 
 thing to him to take off one, and put on the 
 mate to the other and then the trouble began. 
 First he was in favor of the black shoes as being 
 thicker in the sole, and then he reflected that they 
 hadn t been blackened since coming on board. 
 It seemed to him that the russets were more ap 
 propriate anyway, but the blacks were easier to 
 lace. Had I noticed whether the men on board 
 were wearing russet or black as a rule, and did 
 Alice remember whether it was one of the russets 
 or one of the blacks that he was saying the other 
 day pinched his toe? He didn t quite like the 
 looks of a russet shoe with dark trousers, and 
 called us to witness that those he had on were 
 dark; but he thought he remembered that it was 
 the black shoe which pinched him. He supposed 
 he could change his trousers and so on, and so 
 on, al fine, de capo, ad lib., sticking out first one 
 foot and then the other, lifting them alternately to 
 his knee for scrutiny, appealing now to Alice and 
 now to me, and getting more hopelessly be 
 wildered all the time. It went on that way for, 
 it seemed to me, at least half an hour, and at last 
 I said, Oh, come now, Julius, take off the brown 
 shoe it s too thin, and doesn t go with your 
 
34 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 dark trousers, and pinches your toe, and none of 
 the men are wearing them and just put on the 
 other black one, and come along. We re all suf 
 focating for some fresh air, and if you don t get 
 started pretty soon we sha n t get on deck to-day. 
 Get on deck ! he said, looking up at me with a 
 puzzled expression, and holding fast to the brown 
 shoe on his knee with both hands, as if he were 
 afraid I would take it away from him by main 
 strength get on deck! Why why I believe 
 I d better not go out this morning, don t you? 
 
 " And then?" said John after a pause. 
 
 " Oh," she replied, u I looked at Alice, and 
 she shook her head as much to say, It s no use 
 for the present, and I fled the place." 
 
 "M m!" muttered John. "He must have 
 been a nice traveling companion. Has it been 
 like that all the time?" 
 
 " Most of it," she said, " but not quite all, and 
 this morning was rather an exaggeration of the 
 regular thing. But getting started on a journey 
 was usually pretty awful. Once we quite missed 
 our train because he couldn t make up his mind 
 whether to put on a light overcoat or a heavy 
 one. I finally settled the question for him, but 
 we were just too late." 
 
 " You must be a very amiable person," re 
 marked John. 
 
 " Indeed, I am not," she declared, " but Julius 
 is, and it s almost impossible to be really put out 
 with him, particularly in his condition. I have 
 come to believe that he can not help it, and he 
 submits to my bullying with such sweetness that 
 even my impatience gives way." 
 
 " Have you three people been alone together 
 all the time? " John asked. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 35 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " except for four or five 
 weeks. We visited some American friends in 
 Berlin, the Nollises, for a fortnight, and after our 
 visit to them they traveled with us for three 
 weeks through South Germany and Switzerland. 
 We parted with them at Metz only about three 
 weeks since." 
 
 " How did Mr. Carling seem while you were 
 all together?" asked John, looking keenly at her. 
 
 " Oh," she replied, " he was more like him 
 self than I have seen him for a long time since 
 he began to break down, in fact." 
 
 He turned his eyes from her face as she looked 
 up at him, and as he did not speak she said sug 
 gestively, " You are thinking something you 
 don t quite like to say, but I believe I know 
 pretty nearly what it is." 
 
 " Yes ? " said John, with a query. 
 
 " You think he has had too much feminine 
 companionship, or had it too exclusively. Is 
 that it? You need not be afraid to say so." 
 
 " Well," said John, " if you put it too ex 
 clusively, I will admit that there was something 
 of the sort in my mind, and," he added, " if you 
 will let me say so, it must at times have been 
 rather hard for him to be interested or amused 
 that it must have that is to say 
 
 " Oh, say it ! " she exclaimed. " It must have 
 been very dull for him. Is that it ? " 
 
 " Father, " said John with a grimace, " I 
 can not tell a lie ! 
 
 " Oh," she said, laughing, " your hatchet isn t 
 very sharp. I forgive you. But really," she 
 added, " I know it has been so. You will laugh 
 when I tell you the one particular resource we 
 fell back upon." 
 
36 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Bid me to laugh, and I will laugh," said 
 John. 
 
 " Euchre! " she said, looking at him defiantly. 
 " Two-handed euchre! We have played, as near 
 ly as I can estimate, fifteen hundred games, 
 in which he has held both bowers and the ace 
 of trumps or something equally victorious I 
 should say fourteen hundred times. " Oh! " she 
 cried, with an expression of loathing, " may I 
 never, never, never see a card again as long as I 
 live ! " John laughed without restraint, and after 
 a petulant little moue she joined him. 
 
 " May I light up my pipe? " he said. " I will 
 get to leeward." 
 
 " I shall not mind in the least," she assented. 
 
 " By the way," he asked, " does Mr. Carling 
 smoke?" 
 
 " He used to," she replied, " and while we 
 were with the Nollises he smoked every day, but 
 after we left them he fell back into the notion 
 that it was bad for him." 
 
 John filled and lighted his pipe in silence, and 
 after a satisfactory puff or two said: "Will Mr. 
 Carling go in to dinner to-night?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " I think tie will if it is no 
 rougher than at present." 
 
 " It will probably be smoother," said John. 
 " You must introduce me to him " 
 
 " Oh," she interrupted, " of course, but it will 
 hardly be necessary, as Alice and I have spoken 
 so often to him of you 
 
 " I was going to say," John resumed, " that 
 he may possibly let me take him off your hands 
 a little, and after dinner will be the best time. I 
 think if I can get him into the smoking room, 
 that a cigar and and something hot with a bit 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 37 
 
 of lemon peel and so forth later on may induce 
 him to visit with me for a while, and pass the 
 evening, or part of it." 
 
 " You want to be an angel! " she exclaimed. 
 " Oh, I we shall be so obliged ! I know it s 
 just what he wants some man to take him in 
 hand." 
 
 " I m in no hurry to be an angel," said John, 
 laughing, and, with a bow, " It s better some 
 times to be near the rose than to be the rose, and 
 you are proposing to overpay me quite. I shall 
 enjoy doing what I proposed, if it be possible." 
 
 Their talk then drifted off into various chan 
 nels as topics suggested themselves until the 
 ship s bell sounded the luncheon hour. Miss 
 Blake went to join her sister and brother-in-law, 
 but John had some bread and cheese and beer 
 in the smoking room. It appeared that the ladies 
 had better success than in the morning, for he 
 saw them later on in their steamer chairs with 
 Mr. Carling, who was huddled in many wraps, 
 with the flaps of his cap down over his ears. All 
 the chairs were full John s included (as often 
 happens to easy-tempered men on shipboard) 
 and he had only a brief colloquy with the party. 
 He noticed, however, that Mr. Carling had on 
 the russet shoes, and he wondered if they pinched 
 him. In fact, though he couldn t have said ex 
 actly why, he rather hoped that they did. He 
 had just that sympathy for the nerves of two-and- 
 fifty which is to be expected from those of five- 
 and-twenty that is, very little. 
 
 When he went in to dinner the Carlings and 
 Miss Blake had been at table some minutes. 
 There had been the usual controversy about what 
 Mr. Carling would drink with his dinner, and he 
 
38 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 had decided upon Apollinaris water. But Miss 
 Blake, with an idea of her own, had given an 
 order for champagne, and was exhibiting some 
 consternation, real or assumed, at the fact of 
 having a whole bottle brought in with the cork 
 extracted a customary trick at sea. 
 
 " I hope you will help me out," she said to 
 John as he bowed and seated himself. " Some 
 one has blundered/ and here is a whole bottle of 
 champagne which must be drunk to save it. Are 
 you prepared to help turn my, or somebody s, 
 blunder into hospitality?" 
 
 " I am prepared to make any sacrifice," said 
 John, laughing, " in the sacred cause." 
 
 " No less than I expected of you," she said. 
 " Noblesse oblige! Please fill your glass." 
 
 Thanks," said John. " Permit me," and he 
 filled her own as well. 
 
 As the meal proceeded there was some des 
 ultory talk about the weather, the ship s run, 
 and so on; but Mrs. Carling was almost silent, 
 and her husband said but little more. Even 
 Miss Blake seemed to have something on her 
 mind, and contributed but little to the conversa 
 tion. Presently Mr. Carling said, " Mary, do you 
 think a mouthful of wine would hurt me?" 
 
 " Certainly not," was the reply. * It will do 
 you good," reaching over for his glass and pour 
 ing the wine. 
 
 " That s enough, that s enough ! " he protested 
 as the foam came up to the rim of the glass. She 
 proceeded to fill it up to the brim and put it be 
 side him, and later, as she had opportunity, kept it 
 replenished. 
 
 As the dinner concluded, John said to Mr. 
 Carling: u Won t you go up to the smoking room 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 39 
 
 with me for coffee? I like a bit of tobacco with 
 mine, and I have some really good cigars and 
 some cigarettes if you prefer them that I can 
 vouch for." 
 
 As usual, when the unexpected was presented 
 to his mind, Mr. Carling passed the perplexity 
 on to his women-folk. At this time, however, 
 his dinner and the two glasses of wine which Miss 
 Blake had contrived that he should swallow had 
 braced him up, and John s suggestion was so 
 warmly seconded by the ladies that, after some 
 feeble protests and misgivings, he yielded, and 
 John carried him off. 
 
 " I hope it won t upset Julius," said Mrs. 
 Carling doubtfully. 
 
 " It won t do anything of the sort," her sister 
 replied. " He will get through the evening with 
 out worrying himself and you into fits, and, if 
 Mr. Lenox succeeds, you won t see anything of 
 him till ten o clock or after, and not then, I 
 hope. Mind, you re to be sound asleep when he 
 comes in, and let him get to bed without any talk 
 at all." 
 
 " Why do you say if Mr. Lenox succeeds ? " 
 asked Mrs. Carling. 
 
 " It was his suggestion," Miss Blake an 
 swered. " We had been talking about Julius, and 
 he finally told me he thought he would be the 
 better of an occasional interval of masculine soci 
 ety, and I quite agreed with him. You know how 
 much he enjoyed being with George Nollis, and 
 how much like himself he appeared." 
 
 That is true," said Mrs. Carling. 
 
 " And you know that just as soon as he was 
 alone again with us two women he began back 
 ing and filling as badly as ever. I believe Mr. 
 
40 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Lenox is right, and that Julius is just petticoated 
 to death between us." 
 
 " Did Mr. Lenox say that? " asked Mrs. Car- 
 ling incredulously. 
 
 " No," said her sister, laughing, " he didn t 
 make use of precisely that figure, but that was 
 what he thought plainly enough." 
 
 "What do you think of Mr. Lenox?" said 
 Mrs. Carling irrelevantly. " Do you like him? 
 I thought that he looked at you very admiringly 
 once or twice to-night," she added, with her eyes 
 on her sister s face. 
 
 " Well," said Mary, with a petulant toss of the 
 head, " except that I ve had about an hour s talk 
 with him, and that I knew him when we were 
 children at least when I was a child he is a 
 perfect stranger to me, and I do wish," she added 
 in a tone of annoyance, " that you would give 
 up that fad of yours, that every man who comes 
 along is going to to be a nuisance." 
 
 " He seems very pleasant," said Mrs. Carling, 
 meekly ignoring her sister s reproach. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied indifferently, " he s 
 pleasant enough. Let us go up and have a walk on 
 deck. I want you to be sound asleep when Julius 
 comes in." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 JOHN found his humane experiment pleasanter 
 than he expected. Mr. Carling, as was to be an 
 ticipated, demurred a little at the coffee, and still 
 more at the cigarette; but having his appetite for 
 tobacco aroused, and finding that no alarming 
 symptoms ensued, he followed it with a cigar and 
 later on was induced to go the length of " Scotch 
 and soda," under the pleasant effect of which 
 and John s sympathetic efforts he was for the 
 time transformed, the younger man being sur 
 prised to find him a man of interesting experi 
 ence, considerable reading, and, what was most 
 surprising, a jolly sense of humor and a fund 
 of anecdotes which he related extremely well. 
 The evening was a decided success, perhaps the 
 best evidence of it coming at the last, when, at 
 John s suggestion that they supplement their 
 modest potations with a " night-cap," Mr. Car- 
 ling cheerfully assented upon the condition that 
 they should " have it with him "; and as he went 
 along the deck after saying " Good night," John 
 was positive that he heard a whistled tune. 
 
 The next day was equally fine, but during 
 the night the ship had run into the swell of a 
 storm, and in the morning there was more mo 
 tion than the weaker ones could relish. The sea 
 grew quieter as the day advanced. John was 
 4 4i 
 
42 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 early, and finished his breakfast before Miss Blake 
 came in. He found her on deck about ten 
 o clock. She gave him her hand as they said 
 good morning, and he turned and walked by her 
 side. 
 
 " How is your brother-in-law this morning? " 
 he inquired. 
 
 " Oh," she said, laughing, " he s in a mixture 
 of feeling very well and feeling that he ought not 
 to feel so, but, as they are coming up pretty soon, 
 it would appear that the misgivings are not over 
 whelming. He came in last night, and retired 
 without saying a word. My sister pretended to 
 be asleep. She says he went to sleep at once, and 
 that she was awake at intervals and knows that he 
 slept like a top. He won t make any very sweep 
 ing admissions, however, but has gone so far as 
 to concede that he had a very pleasant evening 
 which is going a long way for him and to say 
 that you are a very agreeable young man. There ! 
 I didn t intend to tell you that, but you have 
 been so good that perhaps so much as a second 
 hand compliment is no more than your due." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said John. " Mr. 
 Carling is evidently a very discriminating person. 
 Really it wasn t good of me at all. I was quite 
 the gainer, for he entertained me more than I 
 did him. We had a very pleasant evening, and I 
 hope we shall have more of them, I do, indeed. 
 I got an entirely different impression of him," 
 he added. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I can imagine that you did. 
 He can be very agreeable, and he is really a man 
 of a great deal of character when he is himself. 
 He has been goodness itself to me, and has man 
 aged my affairs for years. Even to-day his judg- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 43 
 
 ment in business matters is wonderfully sound. 
 If it had not been for him," she continued, " I 
 don t know but I should have been a pauper. 
 My father left a large estate, but he died very 
 suddenly, and his affairs were very much spread 
 out and involved, and had to be carried along. 
 Julius put himself into the breach, and not only 
 saved our fortunes, but has considerably in 
 creased them. Of course, Alice is his wife, but 
 I feel very grateful to him on my own account. 
 I did not altogether appreciate it at the time, but 
 now I shudder to think that I might have had 
 either to fend for myself or be dependent." 
 
 " I don t think that dependence would have 
 suited your book," was John s comment as he 
 took in the lines of her clear-cut face. 
 
 " No," she replied, " and I thank heaven that 
 I have not had to endure it. I am not," she added, 
 " so impressed with what money procures for 
 people as what it saves them from." 
 
 " Yes," said John, " I think your distinction 
 is just. To possess it is to be free from some of 
 the most disagreeable apprehensions certainly, 
 but I confess, whether to my credit or my shame 
 I don t know, that I have never thought much 
 about it. I certainly am not rich positively, and I 
 haven t the faintest notion whether I may or not 
 be prospectively. I have always had as much as 
 I really needed, and perhaps more, but I know 
 absolutely nothing about the future." 
 
 They were leaning over the rail on the port side. 
 
 " I should think," she said after a moment, 
 looking at him thoughtfully, " that it was, if you 
 will not consider me presuming, a matter about 
 which you might have some justifiable curiosity." 
 
 " Oh, not at all," he assured her, stepping 
 
44 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 to leeward and producing a cigar. " I have had 
 some such stirrings of late. And please don t 
 think me an incorrigible idler. I spent nearly two 
 years in a down-town office and earned well, 
 say half my salary. In fact, my business instincts 
 were so strong that I left college after my second 
 year for that purpose, but seeing no special 
 chance of advancement in the race for wealth, 
 and as my father seemed rather to welcome the 
 idea, I broke off and went over to Germany. I 
 haven t been quite idle, though I should be puz 
 zled, I admit, to find a market for what I have 
 to offer to the world. Would you be interested 
 in a schedule of my accomplishments?" 
 
 " Oh/ she said, " I should be charmed, but 
 as I am every moment expecting the advent of 
 my family, and as I am relied upon to locate them 
 and tuck them up, I m afraid I shall not have 
 time to hear it." 
 
 " No," he said, laughing, " it s quite too long." 
 
 She was silent for some moments, gazing 
 down into the water, apparently debating some 
 thing in her mind, and quite unconscious of 
 John s scrutiny. Finally she turned to him with 
 a little laugh. " You might begin on your list, 
 and if I am called away you can finish it at an 
 other time." 
 
 " I hope you didn t think I was speaking in 
 earnest," he said. 
 
 " No," she replied, " I did not think you real 
 ly intended to unpack your wares, but, speaking 
 seriously and at the risk, I fear, that you may 
 think me rather cheeky/ if I may be allowed 
 that expression I know a good many men in 
 America, and I think that without an exception 
 they are professional men or business men, or, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 45 
 
 being neither and I know but few such have 
 a competence or more; and I was wondering just 
 now after what you told me what a man like you 
 would or could do if he were thrown upon his 
 own resources. I m afraid that is rather frank 
 for the acquaintance of a day, isn t it? " she asked 
 with a slight flush, " but it really is not so per 
 sonal as it may sound to you." 
 
 " My dear Miss Blake," he replied, " our ac 
 quaintance goes back at least ten years. Please 
 let that fact count for something in your mind. 
 The truth is, I have done some wondering along 
 that same line myself without coming to any sat 
 isfactory conclusion. I devoutly hope I may 
 not be so thrown absolutely, for the truth is I 
 haven t a marketable commodity. A little Latin, 
 and less Greek/ German and French enough to 
 read and understand and talk on the surface of 
 things and what mathematics, history, et cetera, 
 I have not forgotten. I know the piano well 
 enough to read and play an accompaniment after 
 a fashion, and I have had some good teaching 
 for the voice, and some experience in singing, at 
 home and abroad. In fact, I come nearer to a 
 market there, I think, than in any other direction 
 perhaps. I have given some time to fencing in 
 various schools, and before I left home Billy 
 Williams would sometimes speak encouragingly 
 of my progress with the gloves. There! That 
 is my list, and not a dollar in it from beginning 
 to end, I m afraid." 
 
 "Who is Billy Williams?" she asked. 
 
 " Billy," said John, " is the very mild-man 
 nered and gentlemanlike bouncer at the Alt- 
 man House, an ex-prize-fighter, and about the 
 most accomplished member of his profession of 
 
46 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 his day and weight, who is employed to keep 
 order and, if necessary, to thrust out the riotous 
 who would disturb the contemplations of the 
 lovers of art that frequent the bar of that hotel." 
 It was to be seen that Miss Blake was not par 
 ticularly impressed by this description of Billy 
 and his functions, upon which she made no com 
 ment. 
 
 " You have not included in your list," she re 
 marked, " what you acquired in the down-town 
 office you told me of." 
 
 " No, upon my word I had forgotten that, 
 and it s about the only thing of use in the whole 
 category," he answered. " If I were put to it, 
 and could find a place, I think I might earn fifty 
 dollars a month as a clerk or messenger, or some 
 thing. Hullo! here are your people." 
 
 He went forward with his companion and 
 greeted Mrs. Carling and her husband, who re 
 turned his " Good morning " with a feeble smile, 
 and submitted to his ministrations in the matter 
 of chair and rugs with an air of unresisting in- 
 validism, which was almost too obvious, he 
 thought. But after luncheon John managed to 
 induce him to walk for a while, to smoke a cigar 
 ette, and finally to brave the perils of a sherry and 
 bitters before dinner. The ladies had the after 
 noon to themselves. John had no chance of a 
 further visit with Mary during the day, a loss 
 only partially made good to him by a very ap 
 proving smile and a remark which she made to 
 him at dinner, that he must be a lineal descendant 
 of the Samaritan. Mr. Carling submitted him 
 self to him for the evening. Indeed, it came about 
 that for the rest of the voyage he had rather more 
 of the company of that gentleman, who fairly 
 
DAVID HARUM. 47 
 
 attached himself to him, than, under all the cir 
 cumstances, he cared for; but the gratitude of 
 the ladies was so cordial that he felt paid for some 
 sacrifices of his inclinations. And there was an 
 hour or so every morning for the fine weather 
 lasted through which he spent with Mary Blake, 
 with increasing interest and pleasure, and he 
 found himself inwardly rejoicing over a mishap 
 to the engine which, though of no very great 
 magnitude, would retard the passage by a couple 
 of days. 
 
 There can hardly be any conditions more fa 
 vorable to the forming of acquaintanceships, 
 friendships, and even more tender relations than 
 are afforded by the life on board ship. There is 
 opportunity, propinquity, and the community of 
 interest which breaks down the barriers of ordi 
 nary reserve. These relations, to be sure, are not 
 always of the most lasting character, and not in 
 frequently are practically ended before the parties 
 thereto are put of the custom-house officer s 
 hands and fade into nameless oblivion, unless one 
 happens to run across the passenger list among 
 one s souvenirs. But there are exceptions. If 
 at this time the question had been asked our 
 friend, even by himself, whether, to put it plainly, 
 he were in love with Mary Blake, he would, no 
 doubt, have strenuously denied it; but it is cer 
 tain that if any one had said or intimated that 
 any feature or characteristic of hers was faulty 
 or susceptible of any change for the better, he 
 would have secretly disliked that person, and 
 entertained the meanest opinion of that person s 
 mental and moral attributes. He would have 
 wished the voyage prolonged indefinitely, or, at 
 any rate, as long as the provisions held out. . 
 
48 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 It has been remarked by some one that all 
 mundane things come to an end sooner or later, 
 and, so far as my experience goes, it bears out 
 that statement. The engines were successfully 
 repaired, and the ship eventually came to anchor 
 outside the harbor about eleven o clock on the 
 night of the last day. Mary and John were 
 standing together at the forward rail. There 
 had been but little talk between them, and only 
 of a desultory and impersonal character. As the 
 anchor chain rattled in the hawse-hole, John said, 
 " Well, that ends it." 
 
 "What ends what?" she asked. 
 t " The voyage, and the holiday, and the epi 
 sode, and lots of things," he replied. " We have 
 come to anchor." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " the voyage is over, that "is 
 true; but, for my part, if the last six months can 
 be called a holiday, its end is welcome, and I 
 should think you might be glad that your holi 
 day is over, too. But I don t quite understand 
 what you mean by the episode and lots of 
 things. " 
 
 There was an undertone in her utterance 
 which her companion did not quite comprehend, 
 though it was obvious to him. 
 
 " The episode of of our friendship, if I may 
 call it so," he replied. 
 
 " I call it so," she said decisively. " You 
 have certainly been a friend to all of us. This 
 episode is over to be sure, but is there any more 
 than that?" 
 
 " Somebody says that friendship is largely a 
 matter of streets, 5 " said John gloomily. " To 
 morrow you will go your way and I shall go 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 49 
 
 " Yes," she replied, rather sharply, " that is 
 true enough; but if that cynical quotation of 
 yours has anything in it, it s equally true, isn t 
 it, that friendship is a matter of cabs, and street 
 cars, and the elevated road? Of course, we can 
 hardly be expected to look you up, but Sixty- 
 ninth Street isn t exactly in California, and the 
 whole question lies with yourself. I don t know 
 if you care to be told so, but Julius and my sister 
 like you very much, and will welcome you heart 
 ily always." 
 
 "Thanks, very much!" said John, staring 
 straight out in front of him, and forming a de 
 termination that Sixty-ninth Street should see 
 but precious little of him. She gave a side glance 
 at him as he did not speak further. There was 
 light enough to see the expression of his mouth, 
 and she read his thought almost in words. She 
 believed that she had detected a suggestion of 
 sentimentality on his part which she resolved to 
 keep strictly in abeyance ; but before she realized 
 it she had taken an attitude of coolness and a tone 
 which was almost sarcastic ; and then she per 
 ceived that, so far as results were apparent, she 
 had carried matters somewhat further than she 
 intended. Her heart smote her a little, too, to 
 think that he was hurt. She really liked him 
 very much, and contritely recalled how kind and 
 thoughtful and unselfish he had been, and how 
 helpful, and she knew that it had been almost 
 wholly for her. Yes, she was willing and glad 
 to think so. But while she wished that she had 
 taken a different line at the outset, she hated des 
 perately to make any concession, and the seconds 
 of their silence grew into minutes. She stole 
 another glance at his face. It was plain that 
 
50 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 negotiations for harmony would have to begin 
 with her. Finally she said in a quiet voice: 
 
 Thanks, very much/ is an entirely polite 
 expression, but it isn t very responsive." 
 
 " I thought it met your cordiality quite half 
 way," was the rejoinder. " Of course, I am glad 
 to be assured of Mr. and Mrs. Carling s regard, 
 and that they would be glad to see me, but I think 
 I might have been justified in hoping that you 
 would go a little further, don t you think?" 
 
 He looked at her as he asked the question, 
 but she did not turn her head. Presently she 
 said in a low voice, and slowly, as if weighing 
 her words: 
 
 " Will it be enough if I say that I shall be 
 very sorry if you do not come? " He put his left 
 hand upon her right, which was resting on the 
 rail, and for two seconds she let it stay. 
 
 "Yes," he said, " thanks very much!" 
 
 " I must go now," she said, turning toward 
 him, and for a moment she looked searchingly 
 in his face. " Good night," she said, giving him 
 her hand, and John looked after her as she walked 
 down the deck, and he knew how it was with him. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JOHN saw Miss Blake the next morning in the 
 saloon among the passengers in line for the cus 
 toms official. It was an easy conjecture that 
 Mr. Carling s nerves were not up to committing 
 himself to a " declaration " of any sort, and that 
 Miss Blake was undertaking the duty for the 
 party. He did not see her again until he had had 
 his luggage passed and turned it over to an ex 
 pressman. As he was on his way to leave the 
 wharf he came across the group, and stopped to 
 greet them and ask if he could be of service, and 
 was told that their houseman had everything in 
 charge, and that they were just going to their 
 carriage, which was waiting. " And," said Miss 
 Blake, " if you are going up town, we can offer 
 you a seat." 
 
 " Sha n t I discommode you? " he asked. " If 
 you are sure I shall not, I shall be glad to be 
 taken as far as Madison Avenue and Thirty-third 
 Street, for I suppose that will be your route." 
 
 " Quite sure," she replied, seconded by the 
 Carlings, and so it happened that John went di 
 rectly home instead of going first to his father s 
 office. The weather was a chilly drizzle, and he 
 was glad to be spared the discomfort of going 
 about in it with hand-bag, overcoat, and umbrel 
 la; and he felt a certain justification in conclud- 
 
 51 
 
52 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 ing that, after two years, a few hours more or less 
 under the circumstances would make but little 
 difference. And then, too, the prospect of half 
 or three-quarters of an hour in Miss Blake s com 
 pany, the Carlings notwithstanding, was a 
 temptation to be welcomed. But if he had hoped 
 or expected, as perhaps would have been not un 
 natural, to discover in that young woman s air 
 any hint or trace of the feeling she had exhibited, 
 or, perhaps it should be said, to a degree per 
 mitted to show itself, disappointment was his por 
 tion. Her manner was as much in contrast with 
 that of the last days of their voyage together as was 
 the handsome street gown and hat in which she 
 was now attired to the dress and headgear of her 
 steamer costume ; and it almost seemed to him as 
 if the contrasts bore some relation to each other. 
 After the question of the carriage windows 
 whether they should be up or down, either or 
 bpth, and how much had been settled, and, as 
 usual in such dilemmas, by Miss Blake, the drive 
 up town was comparatively a silent one. John s 
 mind was occupied with sundry reflections and 
 speculations, of many of which his companion 
 was the subject, and to some extent in noting the 
 changes in the streets and buildings which an 
 absence of two years made noticeable to him. 
 
 Mary looked steadily out of window, lost in 
 her own thoughts save for an occasional brief 
 response to some casual comment or remark of 
 John s. Mr. Carling had muffled himself past all 
 talking, and his wife preserved the silence which 
 was characteristic of her when unurged. 
 
 John was set down at Thirty-third Street, and, 
 as he made his adieus, Mrs. Carling said, " Do 
 come and see us as soon as you can, Mr. Lenox " ; 
 
DAVID HARUM. 53 
 
 but Miss Blake simply said " Good-by " as she 
 gave him her hand for an instant, and he went on 
 to his father s house. 
 
 He let himself in with the latch-key which he 
 had carried through all his absence, but was at 
 once encountered by Jeffrey, who, with his wife, 
 had for years constituted the domestic staff of the 
 Lenox household. 
 
 "Well, Jeff," said John, as he shook hands 
 heartily with the old servant, " how are you? and 
 how is Ann? You don t look a day older, and 
 the climate seems to agree with you, eh?" 
 
 " You re welcome home, Mr. John," replied 
 Jeffrey, " and thank you, sir. Me and Ann is very 
 well, sir. It s a pleasure to see you again and 
 home. It is, indeed." 
 
 " Thank you, Jeff," said John. " It s rather 
 nice to be back. Is my room ready? " 
 
 11 Yes, sir," said Jeffrey, " I think it s all right, 
 though we thought that maybe it d be later in 
 the day when you got here, sir. We thought 
 maybe you d go to Mr. Lenox s office first." 
 
 " I did intend to," said John, mounting the 
 stairs, followed by Jeffrey with his bag, " but 
 I had a chance to drive up with some friends, 
 and the day is so beastly that I took advantage 
 of it. How is my father? " he asked after entering 
 the chamber, which struck him as being so 
 strangely familiar and so familiarly strange. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Jeffrey, " he s much about 
 the same most ways, and then again he s different, 
 too. Seeing him every day, perhaps I wouldn t 
 notice so much; but if I was to say that he s 
 kind of quieter, perhaps that d be what I mean, 
 sir." 
 
 " Well," said John, smiling, " my father was 
 
54 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 about the quietest person I ever knew, and if he s 
 grown more so what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well, sir," replied the man, " I notice at 
 table, sir, for one thing. We ve been alone here 
 off and on a good bit, sir, an he used always to 
 have a pleasant word or two to say to me, an 
 may be to ask me questions an that, sir ; but for 
 a long time lately he hardly seems to notice me. 
 Of course, there ain t any need of his saying any 
 thing, because I know all he wants, seeing I ve 
 waited on him so long, but it s different in a way, 
 sir." 
 
 " Does he go out in the evening to his club ? " 
 asked John. 
 
 " Very rarely, sir," said Jeffrey. " He mostly 
 goes to his room after dinner, an often I hear 
 him walking up an down, up an down, an , sir," 
 he added, " you know he often used to have some 
 of his friends to dine with him, an that ain t 
 happened in, I should guess, for a year." 
 
 " Have things gone wrong with him in any 
 way ? " said John, a sudden anxiety overcoming 
 some reluctance to question a servant on such a 
 subject. 
 
 " You mean about business, and such like? " 
 replied Jeffrey. " No, sir, not so far as I know. 
 You know, Mr. John, sir, that I pay all the house 
 accounts, an there hasn t never been no no 
 shortness, as I might say, but we re living a bit 
 simpler than we used to in the matter of wine 
 an such like an , as I told you, we don t have 
 comp ny no more." 
 
 " Is that all ? " asked John, with some relief. 
 
 " Well, sir," was the reply, " perhaps it s be 
 cause Mr. Lenox is getting older an don t care 
 so much about such things, but I have noticed 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 55 
 
 that he hasn t had anything new from the tailor 
 in a long time, an really, sir, though perhaps I 
 oughtn t to say it, his things is getting a bit 
 shabby, sir, an he used to be always so partic - 
 lar." 
 
 John got up and walked over to the window 
 which looked out at the rear of the house. The 
 words of the old servant disquieted him, notwith 
 standing that there was nothing so far that could 
 not be accounted for without alarm. Jeffrey wait 
 ed for a moment and then asked: 
 
 " Is -there anything I can do for you, Mr. 
 John? Will you be having luncheon here, sir?" 
 
 " No, thank you, Jeff," said John; "nothing 
 more now, and I will lunch here. I ll come down 
 and see Ann presently." 
 
 ; Thank you, sir," said Jeffrey, and withdrew. 
 
 The view from the back windows of most city 
 houses is not calculated to arouse enthusiasm at 
 the best of times, and the day was singularly 
 dispiriting: a sky of lead and a drizzling rain, 
 which emphasized the squalor of the back yards 
 in view. It was all very depressing. Jeffrey s 
 talk, though inconclusive, had stirred in John s 
 mind an uneasiness which was near to apprehen 
 sion. He turned and walked about the familiar 
 room, recognizing the well-known furniture, his 
 mother s picture over the mantel, the book 
 shelves filled with his boyhood s accumulations, 
 the well-remembered pattern of the carpet, and 
 the wall-paper nothing was changed. It was 
 all as he had left it two years ago, and for the 
 time it seemed as if he had merely dreamed the 
 life and experiences of those years. Indeed, it 
 was with difficulty that he recalled any of them 
 for the moment. And then suddenly there came 
 
56 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 into his mind the thought that he was at the be 
 ginning of a new epoch that on this day his 
 boyhood ended, for up to then he had been but 
 a boy. The thought was very vivid. It had 
 come, the time when he must take upon himself 
 the responsibilities of his own life, and make it 
 for himself; the time which he had looked for 
 ward to as to come some day, but not hitherto 
 at any particular moment, and so not to be very 
 seriously considered. 
 
 It has been said that life had always been 
 made easy for him, and that he had accepted the 
 situation without protest. To easy-going na 
 tures the thought of any radical change in the 
 current of affairs is usually unwelcome, but he was 
 too young to find it really repugnant; and then, 
 too, as he walked about the room with his hands 
 in his pockets, it was further revealed to him that 
 he had recently found a motive and impulse such 
 as he had never had before. He recalled the talk 
 that he had had with the companion of his voy 
 age. He thought of her as one who could be 
 tender to misfortune and charitable to incapacity, 
 but who would have nothing but scorn for shift- 
 lessness and malingering; and he realized that 
 he had never cared for anything so much as for 
 the good opinion of that young woman. No, 
 there should be for him no more sauntering in 
 the vales and groves, no more of loitering or 
 dallying. He would take his place in the work 
 ing world, and perhaps some day 
 
 The thought came to him with the impact of a 
 blow : What could he do ? What work was there 
 for him? How could he pull his weight in the 
 boat? All his life he had depended upon some 
 one dse,with easy-going thoughtlessness. Hard- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 57 
 
 ly had it ever really occurred to him that he might 
 have to make a career for himself. Of business 
 he had thought as something which he should 
 undertake some time, but it was always a busi 
 ness ready made to his hand, with plenty of capi 
 tal not of his own acquiring something for oc 
 cupation, not of necessity. It came home to him 
 that his father was his only resource, and that 
 of his father s affairs he knew next to nothing. 
 
 In addition to his affection for him, he had 
 always had an unquestioning confidence in his 
 father. It was his earliest recollection, and he 
 still retained it to an almost childish extent. 
 There had always been plenty. His own allow 
 ance, from time to time increased, though never 
 extravagant, had always been ample ; and on the 
 one occasion when he had grievously exceeded it 
 the excess had been paid with no more protest 
 than a gentle " I think you ought not to have 
 done this." The two had lived together when 
 John was at home without ostentation or any 
 appearance of style, but with every essential of 
 luxury. The house and its furnishings were old- 
 fashioned, but everything was of the best, and 
 when three or four of the elder man s friends 
 would come to dine, as happened occasionally, 
 the contents of the cellar made them look at one 
 another over their glasses. Mr. Lenox was very 
 reticent in all matters relating to himself, and in 
 his talks with his son, which were mostly at the 
 table, rarely spoke of business matters in gen 
 eral, and almost never of his own. He had read 
 well, and was fond of talking of his reading when 
 he felt in the vein of talking, which was not al 
 ways ; but John had invariably found him ready 
 with comment and sympathy upon the topics in 
 5 
 
58 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 which he himself had interest, and there was a 
 strong if undemonstrative affection between the 
 father and son. 
 
 It was not strange, perhaps, all things con 
 sidered, that John had come even to nearly six- 
 and-twenty with no more settled intentions; that 
 his boyhood should have been so long. He was 
 not at all of a reckless disposition, and, notwith 
 standing the desultory way in which he had spent 
 time, he had strong mental and moral fiber, and 
 was capable of feeling deeply and enduringly. 
 He had been desultory, but never before had he 
 had much reason or warning against it. But now, 
 he reflected, a time had come. Work he must, 
 if only for work s sake, and work he would; and 
 there was a touch of self-reproach in the thought 
 of his father s increasing years and of his lonely 
 life. He might have been a help and a compan 
 ion during those two years of his not very fruit 
 ful European sojourn, and he would lose no time 
 in finding out what there was for him to do, and 
 in setting about it. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE day seemed very long. He ate his 
 luncheon, having first paid a visit to Ann, who 
 gave him an effusive welcome. Jeffrey waited, 
 and during the meal they had some further talk, 
 and among other things John said to him, " Does 
 my father dress for dinner nowadays? " 
 
 " No, sir," was the reply, " I don t know when 
 I ve seen your father in his evenin clothes, sir. 
 Not for a long time, and then maybe two or three 
 times the past year when he was going out to 
 dinner, but not here, sir. Maybe it ll be different 
 now you re back again, sir." 
 
 After luncheon John s luggage arrived, and 
 he superintended the unpacking, but that em 
 ployment was comparatively brief. The day 
 dragged with him. Truly his home-coming was 
 rather a dreary affair. How different had been 
 yesterday, and the day before, and all those days 
 before when he had so enjoyed the ship life, and 
 most of all the daily hour or more of the com 
 panionship which had grown to be of such sur 
 passing interest to him, and now seemed so ut 
 terly a thing of the past. 
 
 Of course, he should see her again. (He put 
 aside a wonder if it would be within the proprie 
 ties on that evening or, at latest, the next.) But, 
 in any case, " the episode," as he had said to her, 
 
 59 
 
60 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 was done, and it had been very pleasant oh, yes, 
 very dear to him. He wondered if she was rind 
 ing the day as interminable as it seemed to him, 
 and if the interval before they saw each other 
 again would seem as long as his impatience would 
 make it for him. Finally, the restless dullness 
 became intolerable. He sallied forth into the 
 weather and went to his club, having been on 
 non-resident footing during his absence, and, 
 rinding some men whom he knew, spent there the 
 rest of the afternoon. 
 
 His father was at home and in his room when 
 John got back. 
 
 " Well, father," he said, " the prodigal has re 
 turned." 
 
 " He is very welcome," was the reply, as the 
 elder man took both his son s hands and looked 
 at him affectionately. " You seem very well." 
 
 " Yes," said John; " and how are you, sir? " 
 
 " About as usual, I think," said Mr. Lenox. 
 
 They looked at each other for a moment in 
 silence. John thought that his father seemed 
 thinner than formerly, and he had instantly ob 
 served that a white beard covered the always 
 hitherto smooth-shaven chin, but he made no 
 comment. 
 
 " The old place appears very familiar," he re 
 marked. " Nothing is changed or even moved, 
 as I can see, and Ann and Jeff are just the same 
 old sixpences as ever." 
 
 " Yes," said his father, " two years make less 
 difference with old people and their old habits 
 than with young ones. You will have changed 
 more than we have, I fancy." 
 
 " Do we dress for dinner?" asked John, after 
 some little more unimportant talk. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 6l 
 
 " Yes," said his father, " in honor of the oc 
 casion, if you like. I haven t done it lately," he 
 added, a little wearily. 
 
 " I haven t had such a glass of wine since I 
 left home," John remarked as they sat together 
 after dinner. 
 
 " No," said his father, looking thoughtfully at 
 his glass, " it s the old Mouton/ and pretty near 
 ly the last of it; it s very old and wants drinking," 
 he observed as he held his glass up to get the 
 color. " It has gone off a bit even in two years." 
 
 " All right," said John cheerfully, " we ll drink 
 it to save it, if needs be." The elder man smiled 
 and filled both glasses. 
 
 There had been more or less talk during the 
 meal, but nothing of special moment. John sat 
 back in his chair, absently twirling the stem of 
 his glass between thumb and fingers. Presently 
 he said, looking straight before him at the table: 
 " I have been thinking a good deal of late more 
 than ever before, positively, in fact that what 
 ever my prospects may be " (he did not see the 
 momentary contraction of his father s brow) " I 
 ought to begin some sort of a career in earnest. 
 I m afraid," he continued, " that I have been 
 rather unmindful, and that I might have been of 
 some use to you as well as myself if I had stayed 
 at home instead of spending the last two years in 
 Europe." 
 
 " I trust," said his father, " that they have not 
 been entirely without profit." 
 
 " No," said John, " perhaps not wholly, but 
 their cash value would not be large, I m afraid." 
 
 " All value is not to be measured in dollars 
 and cents," remarked Mr. Lenox. " If I could 
 
62 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 have acquired as much German and French as I 
 presume you have, to say nothing of other things, 
 I should look back upon the time as well spent 
 at almost any cost. At your age a year or two 
 more or less you don t realize it now, but you 
 will if you come to my age doesn t count for 
 so very much, and you are not too old," he 
 smiled, " to begin at a beginning." 
 
 " I want to begin," said John. 
 
 " Yes," said his father, " I want to have you, 
 and I have had the matter a good deal in my 
 mind. Have you any idea as to what you wish to 
 do?" 
 
 " I thought," said John, " that the most ob 
 vious thing would be to go into your office." 
 Mr. Lenox reached over for the cigar-lamp. His 
 cigar had gone out, and his hand shook as he 
 applied the flame to it. He did not reply for a 
 moment. 
 
 " I understand," he said at last. " It would 
 seem the obvious thing to do, as you say, but," 
 he clicked his teeth together doubtfully, " I don t 
 see how it can be managed at present, and I don t 
 think it is what I should desire for you in any 
 case. The fact is," he went on, " my business has 
 always been a sort of specialty, and, though it is 
 still worth doing perhaps, it is not what it used 
 to be. Conditions and methods have changed 
 and," he added, " I am too old to change with 
 them." 
 
 " I am not," said John. 
 
 " In fact," resumed his father, ignoring John s 
 assertion, " as things are going now, I couldn t 
 make a place for you in my office unless I dis 
 placed Melig and made you my manager, and for 
 many reasons I couldn t do that. I am too de- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 63 
 
 pendent on Melig. Of course, if you came with 
 me it would be as a partner, but 
 
 " No," said John, " I should be a poor 
 substitute for old Melig for a good while, I 
 fancy." 
 
 " My idea would be," said Mr. Lenox, " that 
 you should undertake a profession say the law. 
 It is a fact that the great majority of men fail in 
 business, and then most of them, for lack of train 
 ing or special aptitude, fall into the ranks of clerks 
 and subordinates. On the other hand, a man 
 who has a profession law, medicine, what not 
 even if he does not attain high rank, has some 
 thing on which he can generally get along, at 
 least after a fashion, and he has the standing. 
 That is my view of the matter, and though I con 
 fess I often wonder at it in individual cases, it is 
 my advice to you." 
 
 " It would take three or four years to put me 
 where I could earn anything to speak of," said 
 John, " even providing that I could get any busi 
 ness at the end of the time." 
 
 " Yes," said his father, " but the time of itself 
 isn t of so much consequence. You would be liv 
 ing at home, and would have your allowance 
 perhaps," he suggested, " somewhat diminished, 
 seeing that you would be here 
 
 " I can get on with half of it," said John con 
 fidently. 
 
 "We will settle that matter afterward," said 
 Mr. Lenox. 
 
 They sat in silence for some minutes, John 
 staring thoughtfully at the table, unconscious of 
 the occasional scrutiny of his father s glance. At 
 last he said, " Well, sir, I will do anything that 
 you advise." 
 
64 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Have you anything to urge against it? " 
 asked Mr. Lenox. 
 
 " Not exactly on my own account," replied 
 John, " though I admit that the three years or 
 more seems a long time to me, but I have been 
 drawing on you exclusively all my life, except 
 for the little money I earned in Rush & Com- 
 .pany s office, and ! 
 
 (< You have done so, my dear boy," said his 
 father gently, " with my acquiescence. I may 
 have been wrong, but that is a fact. If in my 
 judgment the arrangement may be continued for 
 a while longer, and in the mean time you are mak 
 ing progress toward a definite end, I think you 
 need have no misgivings. It gratifies me to have 
 you feel as you do, though it is no more than I 
 should have expected of you, for you have never 
 caused me any serious anxiety or disappointment, 
 my son." 
 
 Often in the after time did John thank God 
 for that assurance. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," he said, putting down his 
 hand, palm upward, on the table, and his eyes 
 filled as the elder man laid his hand in his, and 
 they gave each other a lingering pressure. 
 
 Mr. Lenox divided the last of the wine in the 
 bottle between the two glasses, and they drank 
 it in silence, as if in pledge. 
 
 " I will go in to see Carey & Carey in the 
 morning, and if they are agreeable you can see 
 them afterward," said Mr. Lenox. " They are 
 not one of the great firms, but they have a large 
 and good practice, and they are friends of mine. 
 Shall I do so? " he asked, looking at his son. 
 
 " If you will be so kind," John replied, return 
 ing his look. And so the matter was concluded. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THIS history will not concern itself to any 
 extent with our friend s career as a law clerk, 
 though, as he promised himself, he took it seri 
 ously and laboriously while it lasted, notwith 
 standing that, after two years of being his own 
 master, and the rather desultory and altogether 
 congenial life he had led, he found it at first even 
 more irksome than he had fancied. The novice 
 penetrates but slowly the mysteries of the law, 
 and, unless he be of unusual aptitude and imag 
 ination, the interesting and remunerative part 
 seems for a long time very far off. But John 
 stuck manfully to the reading, and was diligent 
 in all that was put upon him to do; and after 
 a while the days spent in the office and in the 
 work appointed to him began to pass more 
 quickly. 
 
 He restrained his impulse to call at Sixty- 
 ninth Street until what seemed to him a fitting 
 interval had elapsed; one which was longer than 
 it would otherwise have been, from an instinct of 
 shyness not habitual to him, and a distrustful ap 
 prehension that perhaps his advent was not of so 
 much moment to the people there as to himself. 
 But their greeting was so cordial on every hand 
 that Mrs. Carl ing s remark that they had been 
 almost afraid he had forgotten them embarrassed 
 
 65 
 
66 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 while it pleased him, and his explanations were 
 somewhat lame. Miss Blake, as usual, came to 
 the rescue, though John s disconcert was not 
 lessened by the suspicion that she saw through 
 his inventions. He had conceived a great opin 
 ion of that young person s penetration. 
 
 His talk for a while was mostly with Mr. Car- 
 ling, who was in a pleasant mood, being, like 
 most nervous people, at his best in the evening. 
 Mary made an occasional contributory remark, 
 and Mrs. Carling, as was her wont, was silent ex 
 cept when appealed to. Finally, Mr. Carling rose 
 and, putting out his hand, said: " I think I will 
 excuse myself, if you will permit me. I have had 
 to be down town to-day, and am rather tired." 
 Mrs. Carling followed him, saying to John as she 
 bade him good night: " Do come, Mr. Lenox, 
 whenever you feel like it. We are very quiet 
 people, and are almost always at home." 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Carling," responded John, 
 with much sincerity. " I shall be most glad to. 
 I am so quiet myself as to be practically noise 
 less." 
 
 The hall of the Carlings house was their fa 
 vorite sitting place in the evening. It ran nearly 
 the whole depth of the house, and had a wide 
 fireplace at the end. The further right hand por 
 tion was recessed by the stairway, which rose 
 from about the middle of its length. 
 
 Miss Blake sat in a low chair, and John took 
 its fellow at the other angle of the fireplace, which 
 contained the smoldering remnant of a wood 
 fire. She had a bit of embroidery stretched over a 
 circular frame like a drum-head. Needlework 
 was not a passion with her, but it was under 
 stood in the Carling household that in course of 
 
DAVID HARUM. 6/ 
 
 time a set of table doilies of elaborate devices in 
 colored silks would be forthcoming. It has been 
 deplored by some philosopher that custom does 
 not sanction such little occupations for masculine 
 hands. It would be interesting to speculate how 
 many embarrassing or disastrous consequences 
 might have been averted if at a critical point in 
 a negotiation or controversy a needle had had 
 to be threaded or a dropped stitch taken up before 
 a reply was made, to say nothing of an excuse 
 for averting features at times without confession 
 of confusion. 
 
 The great and wise Charles Reade tells how 
 his hero, who had an island, a treasure ship, and 
 a few other trifles of the sort to dispose of, in 
 sisted upon Captain Fullalove s throwing away 
 the stick he was whittling, as giving the captain 
 an unfair advantage. The value of the embroid 
 ered doily as an article of table napery may be 
 open to question, but its value, in an unfinished 
 state, as an adjunct to discreet conversation, is 
 beyond all dispute. 
 
 "Ought I to say good night?" asked John 
 with a smile, as he seated himself on the disap 
 pearance of Mr. and Mrs. Carling. 
 
 " I don t see any reason," she replied. " It 
 isn t late. Julius is in one of his periods of retir 
 ing early just now. By and by he will be sure 
 to take up the idea again that his best sleep is 
 after midnight. At present he is on the theory 
 that it is before twelve o clock." 
 
 " How has he been since your return? " John 
 asked. 
 
 " Better in some ways, I think," she replied. 
 " He seems to enjoy the home life in contrast 
 with the traveling about and living in hotels; and 
 
68 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 then, in a moderate way, he is obliged to give 
 some attention to business matters, and to come 
 in contact with men and affairs generally." 
 
 " And you? " said John. " You find it pleas 
 ant to be back?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I do. As my sister said, 
 we are quiet people. She goes out so little that 
 it is almost not at all, and when I go it has nearly 
 always to be with some one else. And then, you 
 know that while Alice and I are originally New 
 Yorkers, we have only been back here for two or 
 three years. Most of the people, really, to whose 
 houses we go are those who knew my father. 
 But," she added, " it is a comfort not to be carry 
 ing about a traveling bag in one hand and a 
 weight of responsibility in the other." 
 
 " I should think," said John, laughing, " that 
 your maid might have taken the bag, even if she 
 couldn t carry your responsibilities." 
 
 " No," she said, joining in his laugh, " that 
 particular bag was too precious, and Eliza was 
 one of my most serious responsibilities. She had 
 to be looked after like the luggage, and I used to 
 wish at times that she could be labeled and go 
 in the van. How has it been with you since your 
 return? and," as she separated a needleful of silk 
 from what seemed an inextricable tangle, " if I 
 may ask, what have you been doing? I was re 
 calling," she added, putting the silk into the 
 needle, " some things you said to me on the Al- 
 truria. Do you remember?" 
 
 " Perfectly," said John. " I think I remember 
 every word said on both sides, and I have thought 
 very often of some things you said to me. In 
 fact, they had more influence upon my mind than 
 you imagined." 
 
DAVID HARUM. 69 
 
 She turned her work so that the light would 
 fall a little more directly upon it. 
 
 " Really? " she asked. " In what way? " 
 
 " You put in a drop or two that crystallized 
 the whole solution," he answered. She looked 
 up at him inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I always knew that I should 
 have to stop drifting some time, but there never 
 seemed to be any particular time. Some things 
 you said to me set the time. I am under full 
 steam a-head at present. Behold in me," he 
 exclaimed, touching his breast, " the future chief 
 of the Supreme Court of the United States, of 
 whom you shall say some time in the next 
 brief interval of forty years or so, I knew him 
 as a young man, and one for whom no one 
 would have predicted such eminence! and per 
 haps you will add, It was largely owing to 
 me. " 
 
 She looked at him with an expression in which 
 amusement and curiosity were blended. 
 
 " I congratulate you," she said, laughing, 
 " upon the career in which it appears I had the 
 honor to start you. Am I being told that you 
 have taken up the law?" 
 
 " Not quite the whole of it as yet," he said; 
 " but when I am not doing errands for the of 
 fice I am to some extent taken up with it," and 
 then he told her of his talk with his father and 
 what had followed. She overcame a refractory 
 kink in her silk before speaking. 
 
 " It takes a long time, doesn t it, and do you 
 like it?" she asked. 
 
 " Well," said John, laughing a little, " a weak 
 er word than fascinating would describe the 
 pursuit, but I hope with diligence to reach some 
 
7O DAVID HARUM. 
 
 of the interesting features in the course of ten 
 or twelve years." 
 
 " It is delightful," she remarked, scrutinizing 
 the pattern of her work, " to encounter such en 
 thusiasm." 
 
 " Isn t it?" said John, not in the least wound 
 ed by her sarcasm. 
 
 " Very much so," she replied, " but I have 
 always understood that it is a mistake to be too 
 sanguine." 
 
 " Perhaps I d better make it fifteen years, 
 then," he said, laughing. " I should have a 
 choice of professions by that time at any rate. 
 You know the proverb that At forty every man 
 is either a fool or a physician. " She looked at 
 him with a smile. " Yes," he said, " I realize the 
 alternative." She laughed a little, but did not 
 reply. 
 
 " Seriously," he continued, " I know that in 
 everything worth accomplishing there is a lot of 
 drudgery to be gone through with at the first, 
 and perhaps it seems the more irksome to me 
 because I have been so long idly my own master. 
 However," he added, " I shall get down to it, or 
 up to it, after a while, I dare say. That is my in 
 tention, at any rate." 
 
 " I don t think I have ever wished that I 
 were a man," she said after a moment, " but 
 I often find myself envying a man s opportuni 
 ties." 
 
 " Do not women have opportunities, too? " he 
 said. " Certainly they have greatly to do with 
 the determination of affairs." 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied, " it is the usual an 
 swer that woman s part is to influence somebody. 
 As for her own life, it is largely made for her. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 71 
 
 She has, for the most part, to take what comes 
 to her by the will of others." 
 
 " And yet," said John, " I fancy that there 
 has seldom been a great career in which some 
 woman s help or influence was not a factor." 
 
 " Even granting that," she replied, " the career 
 was the man s, after all, and the fame and visible 
 reward. A man will sometimes say, I owe all 
 my success to my wife, or my mother, or sister, 
 but he never really believes it, nor, in fact, does 
 any one else. It is his success, after all, and the 
 influence of the woman is but a circumstance, 
 real and powerful though it may be. I am not 
 sure," she added, " that woman s influence, so 
 called, isn t rather an overrated thing. Women 
 like to feel that they have it, and men, in mat 
 ters which they hold lightly, flatter them by yield 
 ing, but I am doubtful if a man ever arrives at or 
 abandons a settled course or conviction through 
 the influence of a woman, however exerted." 
 
 " I think you are wrong," said John, " and I 
 feel sure of so much as this: that a man might 
 often be or do for a woman s sake that which he 
 would not for its sake or his own." 
 
 " That is quite another thing," she said. 
 " There is in it no question of influence; it is one 
 of impulse and motive." 
 
 " I have told you to-night," said John, " that 
 what you said to me had influenced me greatly." 
 
 " Pardon me," she replied, " you employed a 
 figure which exactly defined your condition. You 
 said I supplied the drop which caused the solu 
 tion to crystallize that is, to elaborate your il 
 lustration, that it was already at the point of 
 saturation with your own convictions and inten 
 tions." 
 
72 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " I said also," he urged, " that you had set the 
 time for me. Is the idea unpleasant to you?" 
 he asked after a moment, while he watched her 
 face. She did not at once reply, but presently 
 she turned to him with slightly heightened color 
 and said, ignoring his question: 
 
 " Would you rather think that you had done 
 what you thought right because you so thought, 
 or because some one else wished to have you? 
 Or, I should say, would you rather think that the 
 right suggestion was another s than your own?" 
 
 He laughed a little, and said evasively: " You 
 ought to be a lawyer, Miss Blake. I should hate 
 to have you cross-examine me unless I were very 
 sure of my evidence." 
 
 She gave a little shrug of her shoulders in 
 reply as she turned and resumed her embroidery. 
 They talked for a while longer, but of other 
 things, the discussion of woman s influence hav 
 ing been dropped by mutual consent. 
 
 After John s departure she suspended opera 
 tions on the doily, and sat for a while gazing re 
 flectively into the fire. She was a person as frank 
 with herself as with others, and with as little van 
 ity as was compatible with being human, which 
 is to say that, though she was not without it, it 
 was of the sort which could be gratified but not 
 flattered in fact, the sort which flattery wounds 
 rather than pleases. But despite her apparent 
 skepticism she had not been displeased by John s 
 assertion that she had influenced him in his 
 course. She had expressed herself truly, believ 
 ing that he would have done as he had without 
 her intervention; but she thought that he was 
 sincere, and it was pleasant to her to have him 
 think as he did. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 73 
 
 Considering the surroundings and conditions 
 under which she had lived, she had had her share 
 of the acquaintance and attentions of agreeable 
 men, but none of them had ever got with her be 
 yond the stage of mere friendliness. There had 
 never been one whose coming she had particu 
 larly looked forward to, or whose going she had 
 deplored. She had thought of marriage as some 
 thing she might come to, but she had promised 
 herself that it should be on such conditions as 
 were, she was aware, quite improbable of ever be 
 ing fulfilled. She would not care for a man be 
 cause he was clever and distinguished, but she felt 
 that he must be those things, and have, besides, 
 those qualities of character and person which 
 should attract her. She had known a good many 
 men who were clever and to some extent distin 
 guished, but none who had attracted her person 
 ally. John Lenox did not strike her as being 
 particularly clever, and he certainly was not dis 
 tinguished, nor, she thought, ever very likely to 
 be ; but she had felt a pleasure in being with him 
 which she had never experienced in the society 
 of any other man, and underneath some boyish 
 ways she divined a strength and steadfastness 
 which could be relied upon at need. And she ad 
 mitted to herself that during the ten days since 
 her return, though she had unsparingly snubbed 
 her sister s wonderings why he did not call, she 
 had speculated a good deal upon the subject her 
 self, with a sort of resentful feeling against both 
 herself and him that she should care 
 
 Her face flushed as she recalled the momen 
 tary pressure of his hand upon hers on that last 
 night on deck. She rang for the servant, and 
 went up to her room. 
 6 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IT is not the purpose of this narrative to dwell 
 minutely upon the events of the next few months. 
 Truth to say, they were devoid of incidents of 
 sufficient moment in themselves to warrant 
 chronicle. What they led up to was memorable 
 enough. 
 
 As time went on John found himself on terms 
 of growing intimacy with the Carling household, 
 and eventually it came about that if there passed 
 a day when their door did not open to him it was 
 dies non. 
 
 Mr. Carling was ostensibly more responsible 
 than the ladies for the frequency of our friend s 
 visits, and grew to look forward to them. In 
 fact, he seemed to regard them as paid primarily 
 to himself, and ignored an occasional suggestion 
 on his wife s part that it might not be wholly 
 the pleasure of a chat and a game at cards with 
 him that brought the young man so often to the 
 house. And when once she ventured to concern 
 him with some stirrings of her mind on the sub 
 ject, he rather testily (for him) pooh-poohed her 
 misgivings, remarking that Mary was her own 
 mistress, and, so far as he had ever seen, remark 
 ably well qualified to regulate her own affairs. 
 Had she ever seen anything to lead her to sup 
 pose that there was any particular sentiment ex 
 isting between Lenox and her sister? 
 74 
 
DAVID HARUM. 75 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Carling, " perhaps not ex 
 actly, but you know how those things go, and 
 he always stays after we come up when she is at 
 home." To which her husband vouchsafed no 
 reply, but began a protracted wavering as to the 
 advisability of leaving the steam on or turning 
 it off for the night, which was a cold one a di 
 lemma which, involving his personal welfare or 
 comfort at the moment, permitted no considera 
 tion of other matters to share his mind. 
 
 Mrs. Carling had not spoken to her sister 
 upon the subject. She thought that that young 
 woman, if she were not, as Mr. Carling said, " re 
 markably well qualified to regulate her own af 
 fairs," at least held the opinion that she was, very 
 strongly. 
 
 The two were devotedly fond of each other, 
 but Mrs. Carling was the elder by twenty years, 
 and in her love was an element of maternal so 
 licitude to which her sister, while giving love for 
 love in fullest measure, did not fully respond. 
 The elder would have liked to share every 
 thought, but she was neither so strong nor so 
 clever as the girl to whom she had been almost 
 as a mother, and who, though perfectly truthful 
 and frank when she was minded to express her 
 self, gave, as a rule, little satisfaction to attempts 
 to explore her mind, and on some subjects was 
 capable of meeting such attempts with impa 
 tience, not to say resentment a fact of which 
 her sister was quite aware. But as time went on, 
 and the frequency of John s visits and attentions 
 grew into a settled habit, Mrs. Carling s uneasi 
 ness, with which perhaps was mingled a bit of 
 curiosity, got the better of her reserve, and she 
 
76 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 determined to get what satisfaction could be ob 
 tained for it. 
 
 They were sitting in Mrs. Carling s room, 
 which was over the drawing-room in the front 
 of the house. A fire of cannel blazed in the 
 grate. 
 
 A furious storm was whirling outside. Mrs. 
 Carling was occupied with some sort of needle 
 work, and her sister, with a writing pad on her 
 lap, was composing a letter to a friend with whom 
 she carried on a desultory and rather one-sided 
 correspondence. Presently she yawned slightly, 
 and, putting down her pad, went over to the 
 window and looked out. 
 
 "What a day!" she exclaimed. "It seems 
 to get worse and worse. Positively you can t see 
 across the street. It s like a western blizzard." 
 
 " It is, really," said Mrs. Carling; and then, 
 moved by the current of thought which had been 
 passing in her mind of late, " I fancy we shall 
 spend the evening by ourselves to-night." 
 
 " That would not be so unusual as to be ex 
 traordinary, would it?" said Mary. 
 
 "Wouldn t it?" suggested Mrs. Carling in 
 a tone that was meant to be slightly quizzical. 
 
 " We are by ourselves most evenings, are we 
 not?" responded her sister, without turning 
 around. "Why do you particularize to-night?" 
 
 " I was thinking," answered Mrs. Carling, 
 bending a little closer over her work, " that even 
 Mr. Lenox would hardly venture out in such a 
 storm unless it were absolutely necessary." 
 
 " Oh, yes, to be sure, Mr. Lenox; very likely 
 not/ was Miss Blake s comment, in a tone of 
 indifferent recollection. 
 
 " He comes here very often, almost every 
 
DAVID HARUM. 77 
 
 night, in fact," remarked Mrs. Carling, looking 
 up sideways at her sister s back. 
 
 " Now that you mention it," said Mary dryly, 
 " I have noticed something of the sort myself." 
 
 " Do you think he ought to? " asked her sis 
 ter, after a moment of silence. 
 
 " Why not?" said the girl, turning to her 
 questioner for the first time. " And why should 
 I think he should or should not? Doesn t he 
 come to see Julius, and on Julius s invitation? 
 I have never asked him but once," she said, 
 flushing a little as she recalled the occasion and 
 the wording of the invitation. 
 
 " Do you think," returned Mrs. Carling, " that 
 his visits are wholly on Julius s account, and 
 that he would come so often if there were no 
 other inducement? You know," she continued, 
 pressing her point timidly but persistently, " he 
 always stays after we go upstairs if you are at 
 home, and I have noticed that when you are out 
 he always goes before our time for retiring." 
 
 " I should say," was the rejoinder, " that that 
 was very much the proper thing. Whether or 
 not he comes here too often is not for me to 
 say I have no opinion on the subject. But, to 
 do him justice, he is about the last man to wait 
 for a tacit dismissal, or to cause you and Julius 
 to depart from what he knows to be your regu 
 lar habit out of politeness to him. He is a per 
 son of too much delicacy and good breeding to 
 
 stay when if that is to say She turned 
 
 again to the window without completing her sen 
 tence, and, though Mrs. Carling thought she 
 could complete it for her, she wisely forbore. 
 After a moment of silence, Mary said in a voice 
 devoid of any traces of confusion : 
 
78 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " You asked me if I thought Mr. Lenox 
 would come so often if there were no object in 
 his coming except to see Julius. I can only say 
 that if Julius were out of the question I think 
 he would come here but seldom; but," she added, 
 as she left the window and resumed her seat, " I 
 do not quite see the object of this discussion, and, 
 indeed, I am not quite sure what we are dis 
 cussing. Do you object," she asked, looking 
 curiously at her sister and smiling slightly, " to 
 Mr. Lenox s coming here as he does, and if so, 
 why?" This was apparently more direct than 
 Mrs. Carling was quite prepared for. " And if 
 you do," Mary proceeded, " what is to be done 
 about it? Am I to make him understand that it 
 is not considered the proper thing? or will you? 
 or shall we leave it to Julius? " 
 
 Mrs. Carling looked up into her sister s face, 
 in which was a smile of amused penetration, and 
 looked down again in visible embarrassment. 
 
 The young woman laughed as she shook her 
 finger at her. 
 
 "Oh, you transparent goose!" she cried. 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "What did who say?" was the evasive re 
 sponse. 
 
 " Julius," said Mary, putting her finger under 
 her sister s chin and raising her face. " Tell me 
 now. You ve been talking with him, and I in 
 sist upon knowing the truth, the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth. So there! " 
 
 " Well," she admitted hesitatingly, " I said to 
 him something like what I have to you, that it 
 seemed to me that Mr. Lenox came very often, 
 and that I did not believe it was all on his ac 
 count, and that he " (won t somebody please in- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 79 
 
 vent another pronoun?) " always stayed when you 
 
 were at home " 
 
 and," broke in her sister, " that you were 
 afraid my young affections were being engaged, 
 and that, after all, we didn t know much if any 
 thing about the young man, or, perhaps, that he 
 was forming a hopeless attachment, and so on." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Carling, " I didn t say that 
 exactly. I 
 
 "Didn t you, really?" said Mary teasingly. 
 " One ought to be explicit in such cases, don t 
 you think? Well, what did Julius say? Was he 
 very much concerned?" Mrs. Carling s face 
 colored faintly under her sister s raillery, and she 
 gave a little embarrassed laugh. 
 
 " Come, now," said the girl relentlessly, 
 "what did he say?" 
 
 " Well," answered Mrs. Carling, " I must ad 
 mit that he said Pooh! for one thing, and that 
 you were your own mistress, and, so far as he 
 had seen, you were very well qualified to manage 
 your own affairs." 
 
 Her sister clapped her hands. " Such dis 
 crimination have I not seen," she exclaimed, " no, 
 not in Israel! What else did he say?" she de 
 manded, with a dramatic gesture. " Let us know 
 the worst." 
 
 Mrs. Carling laughed a little. " I don t re 
 member," she admitted, " that he said anything 
 more on the subject. He got into some perplex 
 ity about whether the steam should be off or on, 
 and after that question was settled we went to 
 bed." Mary laughed outright. 
 
 " So Julius doesn t think I need watching," 
 she said. 
 
 " Mary," protested her sister in a hurt tone, 
 
8o DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " you don t think I ever did or could watch you? 
 I don t want to pry into your secrets, dear," and 
 she looked up with tears in her eyes. The girl 
 dropped on her knees beside her sister and put 
 her arms about her neck. 
 
 " You precious old lamb! " she cried, "I know 
 you don t. You couldn t pry into anybody s se 
 crets if you tried. You couldn t even try. But 
 I haven t any, dear, and I ll tell you every one 
 of them, and, rather than see a tear in your dear 
 eyes, I would tell John Lenox that I never wanted 
 to see him again; and I don t know what you 
 have been thinking, but I haven t thought so at 
 all " (which last assertion made even Mrs. Car- 
 ling laugh), " and I know that I have been teas 
 ing and horrid, and if you won t put me in the 
 closet I will be good and answer every question 
 like a nice little girl." Whereupon she gave her 
 sister a kiss and resumed her seat with an air of 
 abject penitence which lasted for a minute. Then 
 she laughed again, though there was a watery 
 gleam in her own eyes. Mrs. Carling gave her 
 a look of great love and admiration. 
 
 " I ought not to have brought up the sub 
 ject," she said, " knowing as I do how you feel 
 about such discussions, but I love you so much 
 that sometimes I can t help " 
 
 " Alice," exclaimed the girl, " please have the 
 kindness to call me a selfish p i g. It will re 
 lieve my feelings." 
 
 " But I do not think you are," said Mrs. Car- 
 ling literally. 
 
 " But I am at times," declared Mary, " and 
 you deserve not only to have, but to be shown, all 
 the love and confidence that I can give you. It s 
 only this, that sometimes your solicitude makes 
 
DAVID HARUM. 8 1 
 
 you imagine things that do not exist, and you 
 think I am withholding my confidence; and then, 
 again, I am enough like other people that I don t 
 always know exactly what I do think. Now, 
 about this matter " 
 
 " Don t say a word about it, dear," her sister 
 interrupted, " unless you would rather than not." 
 
 " I wish to," said Mary. " Of course I am 
 not oblivious of the fact that Mr. Lenox comes 
 here very often, nor that he seems to like to stay 
 and talk with me, because, don t you know, if 
 he didn t he could go when you do, and I don t 
 mind admitting that, as a general thing, I like 
 to have him stay; but, as I said to you, if it 
 weren t for Julius he would not come here very 
 often." 
 
 " Don t you think," said Mrs. Carling, now on 
 an assured footing, " that if it were not for you 
 he would not come so often? " 
 
 Perhaps Mary overestimated the attraction 
 which her brother-in-law had for Mr. Lenox, 
 and she smiled slightly as she thought that it was 
 quite possible. " I suppose," she went on, with 
 a little shrug of the shoulders, " that the proceed 
 ing is not strictly conventional, and that the ab 
 solutely correct thing would be for him to say 
 good night when you and Julius do, and that 
 there are those who would regard my permitting 
 a young man in no way related to me to see me 
 very often in the evening without the protection 
 of a duenna as a very unbecoming thing." 
 
 " I never have had such a thought about it," 
 declared Mrs. Carling. 
 
 " I never for a moment supposed you had, 
 dear," said Mary, " nor have I. We are rather 
 unconventional people, making very few claims 
 
82 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 upon society, and upon whom society makes 
 very few." 
 
 " I am rather sorry for that on your account," 
 said her sister. 
 
 " You needn t be," was the rejoinder. " I 
 have no yearnings in that direction which are not 
 satisfied with what I have." She sat for a minute 
 or two with her hands clasped upon her knee, 
 gazing reflectively into the fire, which, in the 
 growing darkness of the winter afternoon, af 
 forded almost the only light in the room. Pres 
 ently she became conscious that her sister was 
 regarding her with an air of expectation, and re 
 sumed: " Leaving the question of the conven 
 tions out of the discussion as settled," she said, 
 " there is nothing, Alice, that you need have any 
 concern about, either on Mr. Lenox s account or 
 mine." 
 
 " You like him, don t you? " asked Mrs. Car- 
 ling. 
 
 Yes," said Mary frankly, " I like him very 
 much. We have enough in common to be rather 
 sympathetic, and we differ enough not to be dull, 
 and so we get on very well. I never had a broth 
 er," she continued, after a momentary pause, 
 " but I feel toward him as I fancy I should feel 
 toward a brother of about my own age, though 
 he is five or six years older than I am." 
 
 " You don t think, then," said Mrs. Carling 
 timidly, " that you are getting to care for him 
 at all?" 
 
 " In the sense that you use the word," was the 
 reply, " not the least in the world. If there were 
 to come a time when I really believed I should 
 never see him again, I should be sorry; but if 
 at any time it were a question of six months or 
 
DAVID HARUM. 83 
 
 a year, I do not think my equanimity would be 
 particularly disturbed." 
 
 " And how about him? " suggested Mrs. Car- 
 ling. There was no reply. 
 
 " Don t you think he may care for you, or be 
 getting to? " 
 
 Mary frowned slightly, half closing her eyes 
 and stirring a little uneasily in her chair. 
 
 " He hasn t said anything to me on the sub 
 ject," she replied evasively. 
 
 Would that be necessary?" asked her 
 sister. 
 
 " Perhaps not," was the reply, " if the fact 
 were very obvious." 
 
 " Isn t it?" persisted Mrs. Carling, with un^ 
 usual tenacity. 
 
 " Well," said the girl, " to be quite frank with 
 you, I have thought once or twice that he enter 
 tained some such idea that is no, I don t mean 
 to put it just that way. I mean that once or 
 twice something has occurred to give me that 
 idea. That isn t very coherent, is it? But even 
 if it be so," she went on after a moment, with a 
 wave of her hands, " what of it? What does it 
 signify? And if it does signify, what can I do 
 about it?" 
 
 11 You have thought about it, then?" said her 
 sister. 
 
 " As much as I have told you," she answered. 
 " I am not a very sentimental person, I think, 
 and not very much on the lookout for such 
 things, but I know there is such a thing as a 
 man s taking a fancy to a young woman under 
 circumstances which bring them often together, 
 and I have been led to believe that it isn t neces 
 sarily fatal to the man even if nothing comes of 
 
84 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 it. But be that as it may," she said with a shrug 
 of her shoulders, " what can I do about it? I 
 can t say to Mr. Lenox, I think you ought not 
 to come here so much/ unless I give a reason for 
 it, and I think we have come to the conclusion 
 that there is no reason except the danger to put 
 it in so many words of his falling in love with 
 me. I couldn t quite say that to him, could I?" 
 
 " No, I suppose not," acquiesced Mrs. Car- 
 ling faintly. 
 
 " No, I should say not" remarked the girl. 
 " If he were to say anything to me in the way 
 of declaration is the word, isn t it? it would be 
 another matter. But there is no danger of that." 
 
 " Why not, if he is fond of you?" asked her 
 sister. 
 
 " Because," said Mary, with an emphatic nod, 
 " I won t let him," which assertion was rather 
 weakened by her adding, " and he wouldn t, if 
 I would." i 
 
 " I don t understand," said her sister. 
 
 " Well," said Mary, " I don t pretend to know 
 all that goes on in his mind; but allowing, or 
 rather conjecturing, that he does care for me in 
 the way you mean, I haven t the least fear of 
 his telling me so, and one of the reasons is this, 
 that he is wholly dependent upon his father, with 
 no other prospect for years to come." 
 
 " I had the idea somehow," said Mrs. Car- 
 ling, " that, his father was very well-to-do. The 
 young man gives one the impression of a per 
 son who has always had everything that he 
 wanted." 
 
 " I think that is so," said Mary, " but he told 
 me one day, coming over on the steamer, that 
 he knew nothing whatever of his own prospects 
 
DAVID HARUM. 85 
 
 or his father s affairs. I don t remember at 
 least, it doesn t matter how he came to say 
 as much, but he did, and afterward gave me a 
 whimsical catalogue of his acquirements and ac 
 complishments, remarking, I remember, that 
 there was not a dollar in the whole list ; and 
 lately, though you must not fancy that he dis 
 cusses his own affairs with me, he has now and 
 then said something to make me guess that he 
 was somewhat troubled about them." 
 
 " Is he doing anything?" asked Mrs. Carling. 
 
 " He told me the first evening he called here," 
 said Mary, " that he was studying law, at his fa 
 ther s suggestion; but I don t remember the 
 name of the firm in whose office he is." 
 
 " Why doesn t he ask his father about his 
 prospects?" said Mrs. Carling. 
 
 Mary laughed. " You seem to be so much 
 more interested in the matter than I am," she 
 said, " why don t you ask him yourself? " To 
 which unjustifiable rejoinder her sister made no 
 reply. 
 
 " I don t see why he shouldn t," she re 
 marked. 
 
 " I think I understand," said Mary. " I fancy 
 from what he has told me that his father is a 
 singularly reticent man, but one in whom his 
 son has always had the most implicit confidence. 
 I imagine, too, that until recently, at any rate, he 
 has taken it for granted that his father was 
 wealthy. He has not confided any misgivings 
 to me, but if he has any he is just the sort of 
 person not to ask, and certainly not to press a 
 question with his father." 
 
 " It would seem like carrying delicacy almost 
 too far," remarked Mrs. Carling. 
 
86 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Perhaps it would," said her sister, " but I 
 think I can understand and sympathize with it." 
 Mrs. Carling broke the silence which fol 
 lowed for a moment or two as if she were think 
 ing aloud. " You have plenty of money," she 
 said, and colored at her inadvertence. Her sister 
 looked at her for an instant with a humorous 
 smile, and then, as she rose and touched the bell 
 button, said, " That s another reason." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 I THINK it should hardly be imputed to John 
 as a fault or a shortcoming that he did not for a 
 long time realize his father s failing powers. 
 True, as has been stated, he had noted some 
 changes in appearance on his return, but they 
 were not great enough to be startling, and, 
 though he thought at times that his father s 
 manner was more subdued than he had ever 
 known it to be, nothing really occurred to arouse 
 his suspicion or anxiety. After a few days the 
 two men appeared to drop into their accustomed 
 relation and routine, meeting in the morning and 
 at dinner; but as John picked up the threads of 
 his acquaintance he usually went out after din 
 ner, and even when he did not his father went 
 early to his own apartment. 
 
 From John s childhood he had been much of 
 the time away from home, and there had never, 
 partly from that circumstance and partly from 
 the older man s natural and habitual reserve, 
 been very much intimacy between them. The 
 father did not give his own confidence, and, 
 while always kind and sympathetic when ap 
 pealed to, did not ask his son s; and, loving his 
 father well and loyally, and trusting him implic 
 itly, it did not occur to John to feel that there 
 was anything wanting in the relation. It was as 
 
 87 
 
88 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 it had always been. He was accustomed to ac 
 cept what his father did or said without question, 
 and, as is very often the case, had always re 
 garded him as an old man. He had never felt 
 that they could be in the same equation. In 
 truth, save for their mutual affection, they had 
 little in common; and if, as may have been the 
 case, his father had any cravings for a closer and 
 more intimate relation, he made no sign, ac 
 quiescing in his son s actions as the son did in 
 his, without question or suggestion. They did 
 not know each other, and such cases are not 
 rare, more is the pity. 
 
 But as time went on even John s unwatchful 
 eye could not fail to notice that all was not well 
 with his father. Haggard lines were multiply 
 ing in the quiet face, and the silence at the dinner 
 table was often unbroken except by John s tin- 
 fruitful efforts to keep some sort of a conversa 
 tion in motion. More and more frequently it 
 occurred that his father would retire to his own 
 room immediately after dinner was over, and 
 the food on his plate would be almost untouched, 
 while he took more wine than had ever been his 
 habit. John, retiring late, would often hear him 
 stirring uneasily in his room, and it would be 
 plain in the morning that he had spent a wake 
 ful, if not a sleepless, night. Once or twice on 
 such a morning John had suggested to his fa 
 ther that he should not go down to the office, 
 and the suggestion had been met with so irri 
 table a negative as to excite his wonder. 
 
 It was a day in the latter part of March. The 
 winter had been unusually severe, and lingered 
 into spring with a heart-sickening tenacity, oc- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 9 
 
 casional hints of clemency and promise being 
 followed by recurrences which were as irritating 
 as a personal affront. 
 
 John had held to his work in the ofHce, if 
 not with positive enthusiasm, at least with indus 
 try, and thought that he had made some prog 
 ress. On the day in question the managing 
 clerk commented briefly but favorably on some 
 thing of his which was satisfactory, and, such 
 experiences being rare, he was conscious of a 
 feeling of mild elation. He was also cherishing 
 the anticipation of a call at Sixty-ninth Street, 
 where, for reasons unnecessary to recount, he 
 had not been for a week. At dinner that night 
 his father seemed more inclined than for a long 
 time to keep up a conversation which, though 
 of no special import, was cheerful in comparison 
 with the silence which had grown to be almost 
 the rule, and the two men sat for a while over 
 the coffee and cigars. Presently, however, the 
 elder rose from the table, saying pleasantly, " I 
 suppose you are going out to-night." 
 
 " Not if you d like me to stay in," was the 
 reply. " I have no definite engagement." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Mr. Lenox, " not at all, not 
 at all," and as he passed his son on the way out 
 of the room he put out his hand and taking 
 John s, said, " Good night." 
 
 As John stood for a moment rather taken 
 aback, he heard his father mount the stairs to 
 his room. He was puzzled by the unexpected 
 and unusual occurrence, but finally concluded 
 that his father, realizing how taciturn they had 
 become of late, wished to resume their former 
 status, and this view was confirmed to his mind 
 by the fact that they had been more companion- 
 7 
 
90 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 able than usual that evening, albeit nothing of 
 any special significance had been said. 
 
 As has been stated, a longer interval than 
 usual had elapsed since John s last visit to Sixty- 
 ninth Street, a fact which had been commented 
 on by Mr. Carling, but not mentioned between 
 the ladies. When he found himself at that hos 
 pitable house on that evening, he was greeted 
 by Miss Blake alone. 
 
 " Julius did not come down to-night, and my 
 sister is with him," she said, " so you will have 
 to put up with my society unless you d like me 
 to send up for Alice. Julius is strictly en re- 
 traite, I should say." 
 
 " Don t disturb her, I beg," protested John, 
 laughing, and wondering a bit at the touch of 
 coquetry in her speech, something unprecedented 
 in his experience of her, " if you are willing to 
 put up with my society. I hope Mr. Carling is 
 not ill?" 
 
 They seated themselves as she replied : " No, 
 nothing serious, I should say. A bit of a cold, 
 I fancy; and for a fortnight he has been more 
 nervous than usual. The changes in the weather 
 have been so great and so abrupt that they have 
 worn upon his nerves. He is getting very un 
 easy again. Now, after spending the winter, and 
 when spring is almost at hand, I believe that if 
 he could make up his mind where to go he would 
 be for setting off to-morrow." 
 
 " Really?" said John, in a tone of dismay. 
 
 " Quite so," she replied with a nod. 
 
 " But," he objected, " it seems too late or 
 too early. Spring may drop in upon us any day. 
 Isn t this something very recent?" 
 
 " It has been developing for a week or ten 
 
DAVID HARUM. gi 
 
 days," she answered, " and symptoms have indi 
 cated a crisis for some time. In fact," she added, 
 with a little vexed laugh, " we have talked of 
 nothing for a week but the advantages and dis 
 advantages of Florida, California, North Caro 
 lina, South Carolina, and Virginia at large; be 
 sides St. Augustine, Monterey, Santa Barbara, 
 Aiken, Asheville, Hot Springs, Old Point Com 
 fort, Bermuda, and I don t know how many 
 other places, not forgetting Atlantic City and 
 Lakewood, and only not Barbadoes and the 
 Sandwich Islands because nobody happened to 
 think of them. Julius," remarked Miss Blake, 
 " would have given a forenoon to the discussion 
 of those two places as readily as to any of the 
 others." 
 
 " Can t you talk him along into warm 
 weather? " suggested John, with rather a mirth 
 less laugh. " Don t you think that if the weather 
 were to change for good, as it s likely to do al 
 most any time now, he might put off going till 
 the usual summer flitting?" 
 
 "The change in. his mind will have to come 
 pretty soon if I am to retain my mental facul 
 ties," she declared. " He might possibly, but 
 I am afraid not," she said, shaking her head. 
 " He has the idea fixed in his mind, and consid 
 erations of the weather here, while they got him 
 started, are not now so much the question. He 
 has the moving fever, and I am afraid it will have 
 to run its course. I think," she said, after a mo 
 ment, " that if I were to formulate a special 
 anathema, it would be, May traveling seize 
 you!" 
 
 " Or restlessness," suggested John. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " that s more accurate, per- 
 
Q2 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 haps, but it doesn t sound quite so smart. Julius 
 is in that state of mind when the only place that 
 seems desirable is somewhere else/ 
 
 " Of course you will have to go," said John 
 mournfully. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied, with an air of com 
 pulsory resignation. " I shall not only have to 
 go, of course, but I shall probably have to de 
 cide where in order to save my mind. But it will 
 certainly be somewhere, so I might as well be 
 packing my trunks." 
 
 " And you will be away indefinitely, I sup 
 pose? " 
 
 " Yes, I imagine so." 
 
 "Dear me!" John ejaculated in a dismal 
 tone. 
 
 They were sitting as described on a former 
 occasion, and the young woman was engaged 
 upon the second (perhaps the third, or even the 
 fourth) of the set of doilies to which she had com 
 mitted herself. She took some stitches with a 
 composed air, without responding to her com 
 panion s exclamation. 
 
 " I m awfully sorry," he said presently, lean 
 ing forward with his elbows on his knees, his 
 hands hanging in an attitude of unmistakable 
 dejection, and staring fixedly into the fire. 
 
 " I am very sorry myself," she said, bending 
 her head a little closer over her work. " I think 
 I like being in New York in the spring better 
 than at any other time; and I don t at all fancy 
 the idea of living in my trunks again for an in 
 definite period." 
 
 " I shall miss you horribly," he said, turning 
 his face toward her. 
 
 Her eyes opened with a lift of the brows, but 
 
DAVID HARUM. 93 
 
 whether the surprise so indicated was quite genu 
 ine is a matter for conjecture. 
 
 " Yes," he declared desperately, " I shall, in 
 deed." 
 
 " I should fancy you must have plenty of 
 other friends," she said, flushing a little, " and I 
 have wondered sometimes whether Julius s de 
 mands upon you were not more confident than 
 warrantable, and whether you wouldn t often 
 rather have gone elsewhere than to come here 
 to play cards with him." She actually said this 
 as if she meant it. 
 
 " Do you suppose he exclaimed, and 
 checked himself. " No," he said, " I have come 
 because well, I ve been only too glad to come, 
 and I suppose it has got to be a habit," he added, 
 rather lamely. " You see, I ve never known any 
 people in the way I have known you. It has 
 seemed to me more like home life than anything 
 I ve ever known. There has never been any one 
 but my father and I, and you can have no idea 
 what it has been to me to be allowed to come here 
 as I have, and oh, you must know He 
 
 hesitated, and instantly she advanced her point. 
 
 Her face was rather white, and the hand 
 which lay upon the work in her lap trembled 
 a little, while she clasped the arm of the chair 
 with the other; but she broke in upon his hesi 
 tation with an even voice: 
 
 " It has been very pleasant for us all, I m 
 sure," she said, " and, frankly, I m sorry that it 
 must be interrupted for a while, but that is about 
 all there is of it, isn t it? We shall probably be 
 back not later than October, I should say, and 
 then you can renew your contests with Julius 
 and your controversies with me." 
 
94 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Her tone and what she said recalled to him 
 their last night on board the ship, but there was 
 no relenting on this occasion. He realized that 
 for a moment he had been on the verge of tell 
 ing the girl that he loved her, and he realized, 
 too, that she had divined his impulse and pre 
 vented the disclosure; but he registered a vow 
 that he would know before he saw her again 
 whether he might consistently tell her his love, 
 and win or lose upon the touch. 
 
 Miss Blake made several inaccurate efforts 
 to introduce her needle at the exact point de 
 sired, and when that endeavor was accomplished 
 broke the silence by saying, " Speaking of Oc 
 tober/ have you read the novel? I think it is 
 charming." 
 
 " Yes," said John, with his vow in his mind, 
 but not sorry for the diversion, " and I enjoyed 
 it very much. I thought it was immensely 
 clever, but I confess that I didn t quite sym 
 pathize with the love affairs of a hero who was 
 past forty, and I must also confess that I thought 
 the girl was, well to put it in plain English a 
 fool." 
 
 Mary laughed, with a little quaver in her 
 voice. " Do you know," she said, " that some 
 times it seems to me that I am older than you 
 are? " 
 
 " I know you re awfully wise," said John with 
 a laugh, and from that their talk drifted off into 
 the safer channels of their usual intercourse until 
 he rose to say good night. 
 
 " Of course, we shall see you again before we 
 go," she said as she gave him her hand. 
 
 " Oh," he declared, " I intend regularly to 
 haunt the place." 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 WHEN John came down the next morning 
 his father, who was, as a rule, the most punc 
 tual of men, had not appeared. He opened the 
 paper and sat down to wait. Ten minutes passed, 
 fifteen, twenty. He rang the bell. " Have you 
 heard my father this morning? " he said to Jef 
 frey, remembering for the first time that he him 
 self had not. 
 
 " No, sir," said the man. " He most gen 
 erally coughs a little in the morning, but I don t 
 think I heard him this morning, sir." 
 
 " Go up and see why he doesn t come down," 
 said John, and a moment later he followed the 
 servant upstairs, to find him standing at the 
 chamber door with a frightened face. 
 
 " He must be very sound asleep, sir," said 
 Jeffrey. " He hasn t answered to my knockin 
 or callin , sir." John tried the door. He found 
 the chain bolt on, and it opened but a few inches. 
 "Father!" he called, and then again, louder. 
 He turned almost unconsciously to Jeffrey, and 
 found his own apprehensions reflected in the 
 man s face. " We must break in the door," he 
 said. " Now, together! " and the bolt gave way. 
 
 His father lay as if asleep. " Go for the doc 
 tor at once! Bring him back with you. Run!" 
 he cried to the servant. Custom and instinct 
 
 95 
 
96 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 said, " Send for the doctor," but he knew in his 
 heart that no ministrations would ever reach the 
 still figure on the bed, upon which, for the mo 
 ment, he could not look. It was but a few min 
 utes (how long such minutes are!) before the 
 doctor came Doctor Willis, who had brought 
 John into the world, and had been a lifelong 
 friend of both father and son. He went swiftly 
 to the bed without speaking, and made a brief 
 examination, while John watched him with fas 
 cinated eyes; and as the doctor finished, the son 
 dropped on his knees by the bed, and buried his 
 face in it. The doctor crossed the room to Jef 
 frey, who was standing in the door with an awe- 
 stricken face, and in a low voice gave him some 
 directions. Then, as the man departed, he first 
 glanced at the kneeling figure and next looked 
 searchingly about the room. Presently he went 
 over to the grate in which were the ashes of an 
 extinct fire, and, taking the poker, pressed down 
 among them and covered over a three or four 
 ounce vial. He had found what he was looking 
 for. 
 
 There is no need to speak of the happenings 
 of the next few days, nor is it necessary to touch 
 at any length upon the history of some of the 
 weeks and months which ensued upon this crisis 
 in John Lenox s life, a time when it seemed to 
 him that everything he had ever cared for had 
 been taken. And yet, with that unreason which 
 may perhaps be more easily understood than ac 
 counted for, the one thing upon which his mind 
 most often dwelt was that he had had no answer 
 to his note to Mary Blake. We know what hap 
 pened to her missive. It turned up long after- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 97 
 
 ward in the pocket of Master Jacky Carling s 
 overcoat; so long afterward that John, as far as 
 Mary was concerned, had disappeared altogether. 
 The discovery of Jacky s dereliction explained to 
 her, in part at least, why she had never seen him 
 or heard from him after that last evening at 
 Sixty-ninth Street. The Carlings went away 
 some ten days later, and she did, in fact, send 
 another note to his house address, asking him 
 to see them before their departure; but John 
 had considered himself fortunate in getting the 
 house off his hands to a tenant who would as 
 sume the lease if given possession at once, and 
 had gone into the modest apartment which he 
 occupied during the rest of his life in the city, 
 and so the second communication failed to reach 
 him. Perhaps it was as well. Some weeks later 
 he walked up to the Carlings house one Sunday 
 afternoon, and saw that it was closed, as he had 
 expected. By an impulse which was not part of 
 his original intention which was, indeed, pretty 
 nearly aimless he was moved to ring the door 
 bell; but the maid, a stranger to him, who 
 opened the door could tell him nothing of the 
 family s whereabouts, and Mr. Betts (the house 
 man in charge) was " hout." So John retraced 
 his steps with a feeling of disappointment wholly 
 disproportionate to his hopes or expectations so 
 far as he had denned them to himself, and never 
 went back again. 
 
 He has never had much to say of the months 
 that followed. 
 
 It came to be the last of October. An errand 
 from the office had sent him to General Wolsey, 
 of the Mutual Trust Company, of whom men- 
 
9 8 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 tion has been made by David Harum. The gen 
 eral was an old friend of the elder Lenox, and 
 knew John well and kindly. When the latter 
 had discharged his errand and was about to go, 
 the general said: "Wait a minute. Are you in 
 a hurry? If not, I want to have a little talk 
 with you." 
 
 " Not specially," said John. 
 
 " Sit down," said the general, pointing to a 
 chair. " What are your plans? I see you are 
 still in the Careys office, but from what you told 
 me last summer I conclude that you are there 
 because you have not found anything more sat 
 isfactory." 
 
 "That is the case, sir," John replied. "I 
 can t be idle, but I don t see how I can keep on 
 as I am going now, and I have been trying for 
 months to find something by which I can earn 
 a living. I am afraid," he added, " that it will 
 be a longer time than I can afford to wait before 
 I shall be able to do that out of the law." 
 
 " If you don t mind my asking," said the 
 general, "what are your resources? I don t 
 think you told me more than to give me to un 
 derstand that your father s affairs were at a pretty 
 low ebb. Of course, I do not wish to pry into 
 your affairs 
 
 Not at all," John interposed; "I am glad 
 to tell you, and thank you for your interest. I 
 have about two thousand dollars, and there is 
 some silver and odds and ends of things stored. 
 I don t know what their value might be not 
 very much, I fancy and there were a lot of 
 mining stocks and that sort of thing which have 
 no value so far as I can find out no available 
 value, at any rate. There is also a tract of half- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 99 
 
 wild land somewhere in Pennsylvania. There is 
 coal on it, I believe, and some timber; but Melig, 
 my father s manager, told me that all the large 
 timber had been cut. So far as available value 
 is concerned, the property is about as much of 
 an asset as the mining stock, with the disad 
 vantage that I have to pay taxes on it." 
 
 <k H m," said the general, tapping the desk 
 with his eyeglasses. " H m well, I should think 
 if you lived very economically you would have 
 about enough to carry you through till you can 
 be admitted, provided you feel that the law is 
 your vocation," he added, looking up. 
 
 " It was my father s idea," said John, " and 
 if I were so situated that I could go on with it, 
 I would. But 1 am so doubtful with regard to 
 my aptitude that I don t feel as if I ought to use 
 up what little capital I have, and some years of 
 time, on a doubtful experiment, and so I have 
 been looking for something else to do." 
 
 " Well," said the general, " if you were very 
 much interested that is, if you were anxious to 
 proceed with your studies I should advise you 
 to go on, and at a pinch I should be willing to 
 help you out; but, feeling as you do, I hardly 
 know what to advise. I was thinking of you," 
 he went on, " before you came in, and was in 
 tending to send for you to come in to see me." 
 He took a letter from his desk. 
 
 " I got this yesterday," he said. " It is from 
 an old acquaintance of mine by the name of 
 Harum, who lives in Homeville, Freeland Coun 
 ty. He is a sort of a banker there, and has 
 written me to recommend some one to take the 
 place of his manager or cashier whom he is send 
 ing away. It s rather a queer move, I think, but 
 
IOO DAVID HARUM. 
 
 then," said the general with a smile, " Harum is 
 a queer customer in some ways of his own. There 
 is his letter. Read it for yourself." 
 
 The letter stated that Mr. Harum had had 
 some trouble with his cashier and wished to re 
 place him, and that he would prefer some one 
 from out of the village who wouldn t know every 
 man, woman, and child in the whole region, and 
 " blab everything right and left." " I should 
 want," wrote Mr. Harum, " to have the young 
 man know something about bookkeeping and so 
 on, but I should not insist upon his having been 
 through a trainer s hands. In fact, I would 
 rather break him in myself, and if he s willing 
 and sound and no vice, I can get him into shape. 
 I will pay a thousand to start on, and if he draws 
 and travels all right, may be better in the long 
 run," etc. John handed back the letter with a 
 slight smile, which was reflected in the face of 
 the general. " What do you think of it?" asked 
 the latter. 
 
 " I should think it might be very charac 
 teristic," remarked John. 
 
 " Yes," said the general, " it is, to an extent. 
 You see he writes pretty fair English, and he can, 
 on occasion, talk as he writes, but usually, either 
 from habit or choice, he uses the most unmiti 
 gated dialect. But what I meant to ask you was, 
 what do you think of the proposal?" 
 
 " You mean as an opportunity for me? " 
 asked John. 
 
 " Yes," said General Wolsey, " I thought of 
 you at once." 
 
 :< Thank you very much," said John. " What 
 would be your idea?" 
 
 " Well," was the reply, " I am inclined to 
 
DAVID HARUM. IOI 
 
 think I should write to him if I were you, and 
 I will write to him about you if you so decide. 
 You have had some office experience, you told 
 me enough, I should say, for a foundation, and 
 I don t believe that Harum s books and accounts 
 are very complicated." 
 
 John did not speak, and the general went 
 on: " Of course, it will be a great change from 
 almost everything you have been used to, and I 
 dare say that you may find the life, at first at 
 least, pretty dull and irksome. The stipend is 
 not very large, but it is large for the country, 
 where your expenses will be light. In fact, I m 
 rather surprised at his offering so much. At any 
 rate, it is a living for the present, and may lead 
 to something better. The place is a growing 
 one, and, more than that, Harum is well off, and 
 keeps more irons in the fire than one, and if you 
 get on with him you may do well." 
 
 " I don t think I should mind the change so 
 much," said John, rather sadly. " My present 
 life is so different in almost every way from what 
 it used to be, and I think I feel it in New York 
 more even than I might in a country village; but 
 the venture seems a little like burning my 
 bridges." 
 
 " Well," replied the general, " if the experi 
 ment should turn out a failure for any reason, 
 you won t be very much more at a loss than at 
 present, it seems to me, and, of course, I will do 
 anything I can should you wish me to be still 
 on the lookout for you here." 
 
 " You are exceedingly kind, sir," said John 
 earnestly, and then was silent for a moment or 
 two. " I will make the venture," he said at 
 length, " and thank you very much." 
 
102 , .DAVID HARUM. 
 
 * You are under no special obligations to the 
 Careys, are you?" asked the general. 
 
 " No, I think not," said John with a laugh. 
 " I fancy that their business will go on without 
 me, after a fashion," and he took his leave. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AND so it came about that certain letters 
 were written as mentioned in a previous chap 
 ter, and in the evening of a dripping day early 
 in November John Lenox found himself, after a 
 nine hours* journey, the only traveler who 
 alighted upon the platform of the Homeville sta 
 tion, which was near the end of a small lake and 
 about a mile from the village. As he stood with 
 his bag and umbrella, at a loss what to do, he 
 was accosted by a short and stubby individual 
 with very black eyes and hair and a round face, 
 which would have been smooth except that it 
 had not been shaved for a day or two. " Coin t 
 the village?" he said. 
 
 " Yes," said John, " that is my intention, but 
 I don t see any way of getting there." 
 
 " Carry ye over fer ten cents," said the man. 
 " Carryall s right- back the deepo. Got ny bag- 
 gidge?" 
 
 " Two trunks," said John. 
 
 " That ll make it thirty cents," said the na 
 tive. " Where s your checks? All right; you c n 
 jest step round an git in. Mine s the only rig 
 that drew over to-night." 
 
 It was a long clumsy affair, with windows 
 at each end and a door in the rear, but open at 
 the sides except for enamel cloth curtains, which 
 
 103 
 
IO4 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 were buttoned to the supports that carried a 
 railed roof extending as far forward as the dash 
 board. The driver s seat was on a level with 
 those inside. John took a seat by one of the 
 front windows, which was open" but protected 
 by the roof. 
 
 His luggage having been put on board, they 
 began the journey at a walk, the first part of the 
 road being rough and swampy in places, and 
 undergoing at intervals the sort of repairs which 
 often prevails in rural regions namely, the de 
 posit of a quantity of broken stone, which is left 
 to be worn smooth by passing vehicles, and is 
 for the most part carefully avoided by such when 
 ever the roadway is broad enough to drive round 
 the improvement. But the worst of the way 
 having been accomplished, the driver took op 
 portunity, speaking sideways over his shoulder, 
 to allay the curiosity which burned within him, 
 " Guess I never seen you before." John was tired 
 and hungry, and generally low in his mind. 
 
 " Very likely not," was his answer. Mr. 
 Robinson instantly arrived at the determination 
 that the stranger was " stuck up," but was in no 
 degree cast down thereby. 
 
 " I heard Chet Timson tellin that the was 
 a feller comin fm N York to work in Dave 
 Harum s bank. Guess you re h;m, ain t ye?" 
 
 No answer this time: theory confirmed. 
 
 " My name s Robinson," imparted that indi 
 vidual. " I run the prince ple liv ry to Home- 
 ville." 
 
 "Ah!" responded the passenger. 
 
 "What d you say your name was?" asked 
 Mr. Robinson, after he had steered his team 
 around one of the monuments to public spirit. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 105 
 
 " It s Lenox," said John, thinking he might 
 concede something to such deserving persever 
 ance, " but I don t remember mentioning it." 
 
 " Now I think on t, I guess you didn t," ad 
 mitted Mr. Robinson. " Don t think I ever 
 knowed anybody of the name," he remarked. 
 " Used to know some folks name o Lynch, but 
 they couldn t a ben no relations o your n, I 
 guess." This conjecture elicited no reply. 
 
 u Git up, goll darn ye!" he exclaimed, as 
 one of the horses stumbled, and he gave it a 
 jerk and a cut of the whip. " Bought that hoss 
 of Dave Harum," he confided to his passenger. 
 " Fact, I bought both on em of him, an dum 
 well stuck I was, too," he added. 
 
 " You know Mr. Harum, then," said John, 
 with a glimmer of interest. " Does he deal in 
 horses? " 
 
 " Wa al, I guess I make eout to know him," 
 asserted the " prince ple liv ryman," " an he ll git 
 up n the middle o the night any time to git the 
 best of a hoss trade. Be you goin to work fer 
 him?" he asked, encouraged to press the ques 
 tion. "Coin to take Timson s place?" 
 
 " Really," said John, in a tone which ad 
 vanced Mr. Robinson s opinion to a rooted 
 conviction, " I have never heard of Mr. Tim- 
 son." 
 
 " He s the feller that Dave s lettin go," ex 
 plained Mr. Robinson. " He s ben in the bank 
 a matter o five or six year, but Dave got down 
 on him fer some little thing or other, an he s got 
 his walkin papers. He says to me, says he, If 
 any feller thinks he c n come up here f m N York 
 or anywheres else, he says, an do Dave Ha- 
 rum s work to suit him, he ll find he s bit off a 
 
I0 6 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 dum sight more n he c n chaw. He d better 
 keep his gripsack packed the hull time/ Chet 
 says." 
 
 " I thought I d sock it to the cuss a little," 
 remarked Mr. Robinson in recounting the con 
 versation subsequently; and, in truth, it was not 
 elevating to the spirits of our friend, who found 
 himself speculating whether or no Timson might 
 not be right. 
 
 "Where you goin to put up?" asked Mr. 
 Robinson after an interval, having failed to draw 
 out any response to his last effort. 
 
 " Is there more than one hotel? " inquired the 
 passenger. 
 
 " The s the Eagle, an the Lake House, an 
 Smith s Hotel," replied Jehu. 
 
 " Which would you recommend?" asked John. 
 
 " Wa al," said Robinson, " I don t gen ally 
 praise up one more n another. You see, I have 
 more or less dealin with all on em." 
 
 " That s very diplomatic of you, I m sure," 
 remarked John, not at all diplomatically. * I 
 think I will try the Eagle." 
 
 Mr. Robinson, in his account of the conver 
 sation, said in confidence not wishing to be 
 openly invidious that " he was dum d if he 
 wa n t almost sorry he hadn t recommended the 
 Lake House." 
 
 It may be inferred from the foregoing that 
 the first impression which our friend made on his 
 arrival was not wholly in his favor, and Mr. Rob 
 inson s conviction that he was " stuck up," and 
 a person bound to get himself " gen ally dis 
 liked," was elevated to an article of faith by his 
 retiring to the rear of the vehicle, and quite out of 
 ordinary range. But they were nearly at their 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 10; 
 
 journey s end, and presently the carryall drew 
 up at the Eagle Hotel. 
 
 It was a frame building of three stories, with 
 a covered veranda running the length of the 
 front, from which two doors gave entrance 
 one to the main hall, the other to the office 
 and bar combined. This was rather a large 
 room, and was also to be entered from the main 
 hall. 
 
 John s luggage was deposited, Mr. Robinson 
 was settled with, and took his departure without 
 the amenities which might have prevailed under 
 different conditions, and the new arrival made his 
 way into the office. 
 
 At the end of the counter, which faced the 
 street, was a glazed case containing three or 
 four partly rilled boxes of forlorn-looking cigars. 
 At the other end stood the proprietor, manager, 
 clerk, and what-not of the hostelry, embodied in 
 the single person of Mr. Amos Elright, engaged 
 in conversation with two loungers who sat 
 about the room in chairs tipped back against 
 the wall. 
 
 A sketch of Mr. Elright would have depicted 
 a dull " complected " person of a tousled bald 
 ness, whose dispirited expression of countenance 
 was enhanced by a chin whisker. His shirt and 
 collar gave unmistakable evidence that pyjamas 
 or other night-gear were regarded as superflu 
 ities, and his most conspicuous garment as he 
 appeared behind the counter was a cardigan 
 jacket of a frowsiness beyond compare. A greasy 
 neck scarf was embellished with a gem whose 
 truthfulness was without pretence. The atmos 
 phere of the room was accounted for by a re- 
 
IO8 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 mark which was made by one of the loungers 
 as John came in. " Say, Ame," the fellow 
 drawled, " I guess the was more skunk cab- 
 bidge n pie plant n usual n that last lot o cigars 
 o your n, wa n t the ?" to which insinuation 
 " Ame " was spared the necessity of a rejoinder 
 by our friend s advent. 
 
 " Wa al, guess we c n give ye a room. Oh, 
 yes, you c n register if you want to. Where is 
 the dum thing? I seen it last week somewhere. 
 Oh, yes," producing a thin book ruled for ac 
 count s from under the counter, " we don t alwus 
 use it," he remarked which was obvious, see 
 ing that the last entry was a month old. 
 
 John concluded that it was a useless formal 
 ity. " I should like something to eat," he said, 
 " and desire to go to my room while it is being 
 prepared; and can you send my luggage up 
 now?" 
 
 " Wa al," said Mr. Elright, looking at the 
 clock, which showed the hour of half-past nine, 
 and rubbing his chin perplexedly, " supper s 
 ben cleared off some time ago." 
 
 " I don t want very much," said John; "just 
 a bit of steak, and some stewed potatoes, and a 
 couple of boiled eggs, and some coffee." He 
 might have heard the sound of a slap in the di 
 rection of one of the sitters. 
 
 " I m fraid I can t commodate ye fur s the 
 steak an things goes," confessed the landlord. 
 " We don t do much cookin after dinner, an I 
 reckon the fire s out anyway. P r aps," he added 
 doubtfully, " I c d hunt ye up a piece o pie n 
 some doughnuts, or somethin like that." 
 
 He took a key, to which was attached a huge 
 brass tag with serrated edges, from a hook on a 
 
DAVID HARUM. IOQ 
 
 board behind the bar on which were suspended 
 a number of the like lighted a small kerosene 
 lamp, carrying a single wick, and, shuffling out 
 from behind the counter, said, " Say, Bill, can t 
 you an Dick carry the gentleman s trunks up to 
 thirteen? " and, as they assented, he gave the 
 lamp and key to one of them and left the room. 
 The two men took a trunk at either end and 
 mounted the stairs, John following, and when 
 the second one came up he put his fingers into 
 his waistcoat pocket suggestively. 
 
 " No," said the one addressed as Dick, " that s 
 all right. We done it to oblige Ame." 
 
 " I m very much obliged to you, though," 
 said John. 
 
 " Oh, that s all right," remarked Dick as they 
 turned away. 
 
 John surveyed the apartment. There were 
 two small-paned windows overlooking the street, 
 curtained with bright "Turkey-red" cotton; 
 near to one of them a small wood stove and a 
 wood box, containing some odds and ends of 
 sticks and bits of bark; a small chest of drawers, 
 serving as a washstand; a malicious little look 
 ing-glass; a basin and ewer, holding about two 
 quarts; an earthenware mug and soap-dish, the 
 latter containing a thin bit of red translucent 
 soap scented with sassafras; an ordinary wooden 
 chair and a rocking-chair with rockers of di 
 vergent aims; a yellow wooden bedstead fur 
 nished with a mattress of " excelsior " (calcu 
 lated to induce early rising), a dingy white 
 spread, a gray blanket of coarse wool, a pair of 
 cotton sheets which had too obviously done duty 
 since passing through the hands of the laun 
 dress, and a pair of flabby little pillows in the 
 
1 10 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 same state, in respect to their cases, as the sheets. 
 On the floor was a much used and faded in 
 grain carpet, in one place worn through by the 
 edge of a loose board. A narrow strip of un- 
 painted pine nailed to the wall carried six or 
 seven wooden pegs to serve as wardrobe. Two 
 diminutive towels with red borders hung on the 
 rail of the washstand, and a battered tin slop jar, 
 minus a cover, completed the inventory. 
 
 "Heavens, what a hole!" exclaimed John, 
 and as he performed his ablutions (not with the 
 sassafras soap) he promised himself a speedy 
 flitting. There came a knock at the door, and 
 his host appeared to announce that his " tea " 
 was ready, and to conduct him to the dining- 
 room a good-sized apartment, but narrow, with 
 a long table running near the center lengthwise, 
 covered with a cloth which bore the marks of 
 many a fray. Another table of like dimensions, 
 but bare, was shoved up against the wall. Mr. 
 Elright s ravagement of the larder had resulted 
 in a triangle of cadaverous apple pie, three 
 doughnuts, some chunks of soft white cheese, 
 and a plate of what are known as oyster crackers. 
 
 " I couldn t git ye no tea," he said. " The 
 hired girls both gone out, an my wife s gone to 
 bed, an the wa n t no fire anyway." 
 
 " I suppose I could have some beer," sug 
 gested John, looking dubiously at the ban 
 quet. 
 
 " We don t keep no ale," said the proprietor 
 of the Eagle, " an I guess we re out o lawger. 
 I ben intendin to git some more," he added. 
 
 "A glass of milk?" proposed the guest, but 
 without confidence. 
 
 " Milkman didn t come to-night," said Mr. 
 
DAVID HARUM. Ill 
 
 Elright, shuffling off in his carpet slippers, 
 worn out in spirit by the importunities of the 
 stranger. There was water on the table, for it 
 had been left there from supper time. John man 
 aged to consume a doughnut and some crack 
 ers and cheese, and then went to his room, car 
 rying the water pitcher with him, and, after a 
 cigarette or two and a small potation from his 
 flask, to bed. Before retiring, however, he 
 stripped the bed with the intention of turning 
 the sheets, but upon inspection thought better 
 of it, and concluded to leave them as they were. 
 So passed his first night in Homeville, and, as he 
 fondly promised himself, his last at the Eagle 
 Hotel. 
 
 When Bill and Dick returned to the office 
 after " obligin Ame," they stepped with one ac 
 cord to the counter and looked at the register. 
 " Why, darn it," exclaimed Bill, " he didn t sign 
 his name, after all." 
 
 " No," said Dick, " but I c n give a putty 
 near guess who he is, all the same." 
 
 " Some drummer? " suggested Bill. 
 
 " Naw," said Richard scornfully. " What d 
 a drummer be doin here this time o year? 
 That s the feller that s ousted Chet Timson, an 
 I ll bet ye the drinks on t. Name s Linx or 
 Lenx, or somethin like that. Dave told me." 
 
 "So that s the feller, is it?" said Bill. "I 
 guess he won t stay round here long. I guess 
 you ll find he s a little too toney fer these parts, 
 an in pertic ler fer Dave Harum. Dave ll make 
 him feel bout as comf table as a rooster in a 
 pond. Lord," he exclaimed, slapping his leg 
 with a guffaw, " d you notice Ame s face when 
 he said he didn t want much fer supper, only 
 
H2 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 beefsteak, an eggs, an tea, an coffee, an a few 
 little things like that? I thought I d split." 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, laughing, " I guess the 
 ain t nothin the matter with Ame s heart, or he d 
 a fell down dead. Hullo, Ame!" he said when 
 the gentleman in question came back after min 
 istering to his guest, " got the Prince o Wales 
 fixed up all right? Did ye cut that pickled el - 
 phant that come last week? " 
 
 "Huh!" grunted Amos, whose sensibilities 
 had been wounded by the events of the even 
 ing, " I didn t cut no el phant ner no cow, ner 
 rob no hen roost neither, but I- guess he won t 
 starve fore mornin ," and with that he proceeded 
 to fill up the stove and shut the dampers. 
 
 " That means git, I reckon," remarked Bill 
 as he watched the operation. 
 
 "Wa al," said Mr. Elright, "if you fellers 
 think you ve spent enough time droolin round 
 here swapping lies, I think / // go to bed," which 
 inhospitable and injurious remark was by no 
 means taken in bad part, for Dick said, with a 
 laugh : 
 
 " Well, Ame, if you ll let me run my face for 
 em, Bill n I ll take a little somethin for the good 
 o the house before we shed the partin tear." 
 This proposition was not declined by Mr. El- 
 right, but he felt bound on business principles 
 not to yield with too great a show of readiness. 
 
 " Wa al, I don t mind for this once," he said, 
 going behind the bar and setting out a bottle 
 and glasses, " but I ve gen ally noticed that it s 
 a damn sight easier to git somethin into you fel 
 lers n t is to git anythin out of ye." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE next morning at nine o clock John pre 
 sented himself at Mr. Harum s banking office, 
 which occupied the first floor of a brick build 
 ing some twenty or twenty-five feet in width. 
 Besides the entrance to the bank, there was a 
 door at the south corner opening upon a stair 
 way leading to a suite of two rooms on the sec 
 ond floor. 
 
 The banking office consisted of two rooms 
 one in front, containing the desks and counters, 
 and what may be designated as the " parlor " 
 (as used to be the case in the provincial towns) 
 in the rear, in which were Mr. Harum s private 
 desk, a safe of medium size, the necessary assort 
 ment of chairs, and a lounge. There was also 
 a large Franklin stove. 
 
 The parlor was separated from the front 
 room by a partition, in which were two doors, 
 one leading into the inclosed space behind the 
 desks and counters, and the other into the pas 
 sageway formed by the north wall and a length 
 of high desk, topped by a railing. The teller s 
 or cashier s counter faced the street opposite the 
 entrance door. At the left of this counter 
 (viewed from the front) was a high-standing 
 desk, with a rail. At the right was a glass-in 
 closed space of counter of the same height as that 
 
 "3 
 
H4 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 portion which was open, across which latter the 
 business of paying and receiving was conducted. 
 
 As John entered he saw standing behind 
 this open counter, framed, as it were, between 
 the desk on the one hand, and the glass in- 
 closure on the other, a person whom he con 
 jectured to be the " Chet " (short for Chester) 
 Timson of whom he had heard. This person 
 nodded in response to our friend s " Good morn 
 ing," and anticipated his inquiry by saying: 
 
 "You lookin for Dave?" 
 
 " I am looking for Mr. Harum," said John. 
 "Is he in the office?" 
 
 " He hain t come in yet," was the reply. " Up 
 to the barn, I reckon, but he s liable to come in 
 any minute, an you c n step into the back room 
 an wait fer him," indicating the direction with 
 a wave of his hand. 
 
 Business had not begun to be engrossing, 
 though the bank was open, and John had hardly 
 seated himself when Timson came into the back 
 room and, taking a chair where he could see 
 the counter in the front office, proceeded to in 
 vestigate the stranger, of whose identity he had 
 not the smallest doubt. But it was not Mr. Tim- 
 son s way to take things for granted in silence, 
 and it must be admitted that his curiosity in this 
 particular case was not without warrant. After 
 a scrutiny of John s face and person, which was 
 not brief enough to be unnoticeable, he said, 
 with a directness which left nothing in that line 
 to be desired, " I reckon you re the new man 
 Dave s ben gettin up from the city." 
 
 " I came up yesterday," admitted John. 
 
 " My name s Timson," said Chet. 
 
 " Happy to meet you," said John, rising and 
 
DAVID HARUM. 115 
 
 putting out his hand. " My name is Lenox," 
 and they shook hands that is, John grasped the 
 ends of four limp fingers. After they had sub 
 sided into their seats, Chet s opaquely bluish 
 eyes made another tour of inspection, in curiosity 
 and wonder. 
 
 " You alwus lived in the city? " he said at last. 
 
 " It has always been my home," was the 
 reply. 
 
 * What put it in your head to come up here? " 
 with another stare. 
 
 " It was at Mr. Harum s suggestion," replied 
 John, not with perfect candor; but he was not 
 minded to be drawn out too far. 
 
 "D ye know Dave?" 
 
 " I have never met him." Mr. Timson looked 
 more puzzled than ever. 
 
 " Ever ben in the bankin bus nis?" 
 
 " I have had some experience of such ac 
 counts in a general way." 
 
 "Ever keep books?" 
 
 " Only as I have told you," said John, smil 
 ing at the little man. 
 
 " Got any idee what you ll have to do up 
 here?" asked Chet. 
 
 " Only in a general way." 
 
 "Wa al," said Mr. Timson, "I c n tell ye; 
 an , what s more, I c n tell ye, young man, t you 
 hain t no idee of what you re undertaking an ef 
 you don t wish you was back in New York fore 
 you git through I ain t no guesser." 
 
 " That is possible," said John readily, recall 
 ing his night and his breakfast that morning. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the other. " Yes, sir; if you 
 do what I ve had to do, you ll do the hull darned 
 thing, an nobody to help you but Pele Hopkins, 
 
Il6 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 who don t count fer a row o crooked pins. As 
 fer s Dave s concerned," asserted the speaker 
 with a wave of his hands, " he don t know no 
 more about bankin n a cat. He couldn t count 
 a thousan dollars in an hour, an , as for addin 
 up a row o figures, he couldn t git it twice alike, 
 I don t believe, if he was to be hung for t." 
 
 " He must understand the meaning of his 
 own books and accounts, I should think," re 
 marked John. 
 
 " Oh," said Chet scornfully, " anybody c d 
 do that. That s easy nough; but as fur s the 
 real bus nis is concerned, he don t have nothin 
 to do with it. It s all ben left to me: chargin an 
 creditin , postin , individule ledger, gen ral ledg 
 er, bill-book, discount register, tickler, for n 
 register, checkin off the N York accounts, draw- 
 in off statemunts f m the ledgers an bill-book, 
 writin letters why, the ain t an hour n the day 
 in bus nis hours some days that the s an hour t 
 I ain t busy bout somethin . No, sir," continued 
 Chet, " Dave don t give himself no trouble about 
 the bus nis. All he does is to look after lendin 
 the money, an seein that it gits paid when the 
 time comes, an keep track of how much money 
 the is here an in N York, an what notes is corn- 
 in due an a few things like that, that don t put 
 pen to paper, ner take an hour of his time. Why, 
 a man ll come in an want to git a note done, an 
 it ll be All right, or, Can t spare the money 
 to-day/ all in a minute. He don t give it no 
 thought at all, an he ain t round here half the 
 time. Now," said Chet, " when I work fer a 
 man I like to have him round so t I c n say to 
 him: Shall I do it so? or shall I do it so? shall 
 I? or sha n t I? an then when I make a mis-- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 117 
 
 take s anybody s liable to he s as much to 
 blame s I be." 
 
 " I suppose, then," said John, " that you must 
 have to keep Mr. Harum s private accounts also, 
 seeing that he knows so little of details. I have 
 been told that he is interested in a good many 
 matters besides this business." 
 
 " Wa al," replied Timson, somewhat discon 
 certed, " I suppose he must keep em himself in 
 some kind of a fashion, an I don t know a thing 
 about any outside matters of his n, though I sus 
 picion he has got quite a few. He s got some 
 books in that safe " (pointing with his ringer) 
 " an he s got a safe in the vault, but if you ll 
 believe me " and the speaker looked as if he 
 hardly expected it " I hain t never so much as 
 seen the inside of either one on em. No, sir," 
 he declared, " I hain t no more idee of what s in 
 them safes n you have. He s close, Dave Harum 
 is," said Chet with a convincing motion of the 
 head; "on the hull, the clostest man I ever see. 
 I believe," he averred, " that if he was to lay out 
 to keep it shut that lightnin might strike him 
 square in the mouth an it wouldn t go in an 
 eighth of an inch. An yet," he added, " he c n 
 talk by the rod when he takes a notion." 
 
 " Must be a difficult person to get on with," 
 commented John dryly. 
 
 " I couldn t stan it no longer," declared Mr. 
 Timson with the air of one who had endured to 
 the end of virtue, " an I says to him the other 
 day, * Wa al, I says, * if I can t suit ye, mebbe 
 you d better suit yourself/ " 
 
 "Ah!" said John politely, seeing that some 
 response was expected of him; "and what did 
 he say to that? " 
 
H8 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " He ast me," replied Chet, " if I meant by 
 that to throw up the situation. Wa al/ I says 
 I m sick enough to throw up most anything I 
 says, along with bein found fault with fer 
 nothinV " 
 
 "And then?" queried John, who had re 
 ceived the impression that the motion to adjourn 
 had come from the other side of the house. 
 
 " Wa al," replied Chet, not quite so confi 
 dently, " he said somethin about my requirin a 
 larger spear of action, an that he thought I d do 
 better on a mile track some o his hoss talk. 
 That s another thing," said Timson, changing 
 the subject. " He s all fer hosses. He d sooner 
 make a ten-dollar note on a hoss trade than a 
 hunderd right here n this office. Many s the 
 time right in bus nis hours, when I ve wanted to 
 ask him how he wanted somethin done, he d be 
 busy talkin hoss, an wouldn t pay no attention 
 to me more n s if I wa n t there." 
 
 " I am glad to feel," said John, " that you can 
 not possibly have any unpleasant feeling toward 
 me, seeing that you resigned as you did." 
 
 " Cert nly not, cert nly not," declared Tim- 
 son, a little uneasily. " If it hadn t a ben you, it 
 would a had to ben somebody else, an now I 
 
 seen you an had a talk with you Wa al, I 
 
 guess I better git back into the other room. 
 Dave s liable to come in any minute. But," he said 
 in parting, " I will give ye piece of advice: You 
 keep enough laid by to pay your gettin back to 
 N York. You may want it in a hurry," and with 
 this parting shot the rejected one took his leave. 
 
 The bank parlor was lighted by a window 
 and a glazed door in the rear wall, and another 
 
DAVID HARUM. 1 19 
 
 window on the south side. Mr. Harum s desk 
 was by the rear, or west, window, which gave 
 view of his house, standing some hundred feet 
 back from the street. The south, or side, win 
 dow afforded a view of his front yard and that 
 of an adjoining dwelling, beyond which rose 
 the wall of a mercantile block. Business was en 
 croaching upon David s domain. Our friend 
 stood looking out of the south window. To the 
 left a bit of Main Street was visible, and the 
 naked branches of the elms and maples with 
 which it was bordered were waving defiantly at 
 their rivals over the way, incited thereto by a 
 northwest wind. 
 
 We invariably form a mental picture of every 
 unknown person of whom we think at all. It 
 may be so faint that we are unconscious of it at 
 the time, or so vivid that it is always recalled 
 until dissipated by seeing the person himself, or 
 his likeness. But that we do so make a pic 
 ture is proved by the fact that upon being con 
 fronted by the real features of the person in ques 
 tion we always experience a certain amount of 
 surprise, even when we have not been conscious 
 of a different conception of him. 
 
 Be that as it may, however, there was no ques 
 tion in John Lenox s mind as to the identity of 
 the person who at last came briskly into the back 
 office and interrupted his meditations. Rather 
 under the middle height, he was broad-shoul 
 dered and deep-chested, with a clean-shaven, red 
 face, with not a mole but a slight protuber 
 ance the size of half a large pea on the line from 
 the nostril to the corner of the mouth; bald over 
 the crown and to a line a couple of inches above 
 the ear, below that thick and somewhat bushy 
 
120 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 hair of yellowish red, showing a mingling of 
 gray; small but very blue eyes; a thick nose, of 
 no classifiable shape, and a large mouth with the 
 lips so pressed together as to produce a slightly 
 downward and yet rather humorous curve at the 
 corners. He was dressed in a sack coat of dark 
 " pepper-and-salt," with waistcoat and trousers to 
 match. A somewhat old-fashioned standing col 
 lar, flaring away from the throat, was encircled 
 by a red cravat, tied in a bow under his chin. 
 A diamond stud of perhaps two carats showed 
 in the triangle of spotless shirt front, and on his 
 head was a cloth cap with ear lappets. He ac 
 costed our friend with, " I reckon you must be 
 Mr. Lenox. How are you? I m glad to see 
 you," tugging off a thick buckskin glove, and 
 putting out a plump but muscular hand. 
 
 John thanked him as they shook hands, and 
 " hoped he was well." 
 
 " Wa al," said Mr. Harum, " I m improvin 
 slowly. I ve got so st I c n set up long enough 
 to have my bed made. Come last night, I 
 s pose? Anybody to the deepo to bring ye over? 
 This time o year once n a while the don t no 
 body go over for passengers." 
 
 John said that he had had no trouble. A 
 man by the name of Robinson had brought him 
 and his luggage. 
 
 " E-up! " said David with a nod, backing up 
 to the fire which was burning in the grate of the 
 Franklin stove, " Dug Robinson. D he do 
 the p lite thing in the matter of questions an gen- 
 ral conversation?" he asked with a grin. John 
 laughed in reply to this question. 
 
 " Where d you put up? " asked David. John 
 said that he passed the night at the Eagle Hotel. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 121 
 
 Mr. Harum had seen Dick Larrabee that morn 
 ing and heard what he had to say of our friend s 
 reception, but he liked to get his information 
 from original sources. 
 
 " Make ye putty comf table? " he asked, turn 
 ing to eject a mouthful into the fire. 
 
 " I got along pretty well under the circum 
 stances," said John. 
 
 Mr. Harum did not press the inquiry. " How d 
 you leave the gen ral?" he inquired. 
 
 " He seemed to be well," replied John, " and 
 he wished to be kindly remembered to you." 
 
 " Fine man, the gen ral," declared David, well 
 pleased. " Fine man all round. Word s as good 
 as his bond. Yes, sir, when the gen ral gives his 
 warrant, I don t care whether I see the critter or 
 not. Know him much?" 
 
 " He and my father were old friends, and I 
 have known him a good many years," replied 
 John, adding, " he has been very kind and friend 
 ly to me." 
 
 " Set down, set down," said Mr. Harum, 
 pointing to a chair. Seating himself, he took off 
 his cap and dropped it with his gloves on the 
 floor. " How long you ben here in the office?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Perhaps half an hour," was the reply. 
 
 " I meant to have ben here when you come," 
 said the banker, " but I got hendered about a 
 matter of a hoss I m looking at. I guess I ll 
 shut that door," making a move toward the one 
 into the front office. 
 
 " Allow me," said John, getting up and clos 
 ing it. 
 
 " May s well shut the other one while you re 
 about it. Thank you," as John resumed his seat. 
 9 
 
122 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " I hain t got nothin very private, but I m fraid 
 of distractin Timson s mind. Did he int duce 
 himself?" 
 
 " Yes," said John, " we introduced ourselves 
 and had a few minutes conversation." 
 
 " Gin ye his hull hist ry an a few relations 
 throwed in ? " 
 
 " There was hardly time for that," said John, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Rubbed a little furn ture polish into my 
 char cter an repitation?" insinuated Mr. Harum. 
 
 " Most of our talk was on the subject of his 
 duties and responsibilities," was John s reply. 
 (" Don t cal late to let on any more n he cal lates 
 to," thought David to himself.) 
 
 " Allowed he run the hull shebang, didn t 
 he?" 
 
 " He seemed to have a pretty large idea of 
 what was required, of one in his place," admitted 
 the witness. 
 
 " Kind o friendly, was he? " asked David. 
 
 " Well," said John, " after we had talked for 
 a while I said to him that I was glad to think 
 that he could have no unpleasant feeling toward 
 me, seeing that he had given up the place of his 
 own preference, and he assured me that he had 
 none." 
 
 David turned and looked at John for an in 
 stant, with a twinkle in his eye. The younger 
 man returned the look and smiled slightly. 
 David laughed outright. 
 
 " I guess you ve seen folks before," he re 
 marked. 
 
 " I have never met any one exactly like Mr. 
 Timson, I think," said our friend with a slight 
 laugh. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 123 
 
 " Fortunitly them kind is rare," observed Mr. 
 Harum dryly, rising and going to his desk, from 
 a drawer of which he produced a couple of cigars, 
 one of which he proffered to John, who, for the 
 first time in his life, during the next half hour 
 regretted that he was a smoker. David sat for 
 two or three minutes purring diligently, and then 
 took the weed out of his mouth and looked con 
 templatively at it. 
 
 " How do you like that cigar? " he inquired. 
 
 " It burns very nicely," said the victim. Mr. 
 Harum emitted a cough which was like a chuckle, 
 or a chuckle which was like a cough, and re 
 lapsed into silence again. Presently he turned 
 his head, looked curiously at the young man for 
 a moment, and then turned his glance again to 
 the fire. 
 
 " I ve ben wonderin some," he said, " pertic- 
 lerly since I see you, how t was t you wanted 
 to come up here to Homeville. Gen l Wolsey 
 gin his warrant, an so I reckon you hadn t ben 
 gettin into no scrape nor nothin ," and again he 
 looked sharply at the young man at his side. 
 
 " Did the general say nothing of my af 
 fairs?" the latter asked. 
 
 " No," replied David, " all t he said was in 
 a gen ral way that he d knowed you an your 
 folks a good while, an he thought you d be jest 
 the feller I was lookin fer. Mebbe he reckoned 
 that if you wanted your story told, you d ruther 
 tell it yourself." 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WHATEVER might have been John s repug 
 nance to making a confidant of the man whom 
 he had known but for half an hour, he acknowl 
 edged to himself that the other s curiosity was 
 not only natural but proper. He could not but 
 know that in appearance and manner he was in 
 marked contrast with those whom the man had 
 so far seen. He divined the fact that his coming 
 from a great city to settle down in a village town 
 would furnish matter for surprise and conjec 
 ture, and felt that it would be to his advantage 
 with the man who was to be his employer that he 
 should be perfectly and obviously frank upon all 
 matters of his own which might be properly 
 mentioned. He had an instinctive feeling that 
 Harum combined acuteness and suspiciousness 
 to a very large degree, and he had also a 
 feeling that the old man s confidence, once 
 gained, would not be easily shaken. So he told 
 his hearer so much of his history as he thought 
 pertinent, and David listened without interrup 
 tion or comment, save an occasional " E-um m." 
 
 " And here I am," John remarked in con 
 clusion. 
 
 " Here you be, fer a fact," said David. 
 " Wa al, the s worse places n Homeville after 
 you git used to it," he added in qualification. 
 124 
 
DAVID HARUM. I2 5 
 
 " I ben back here a matter o thirteen or four 
 teen year now, an am gettin to feel my way round 
 putty well; but not havin ben in these parts fer 
 putty nigh thirty year, I found it ruther lonesome 
 to start with, an I guess if it hadn t V ben fer 
 Polly I wouldn t a stood it. But up to the 
 time I come back she hadn t never ben ten mile 
 away f m here in her hull life, an I couldn t 
 budge her. But then," he remarked, " while 
 Homeville aint a metrop lis, it s some a diff rent 
 place f m what it used to be in some ways. 
 Polly s my sister," he added by way of expla 
 nation. 
 
 " Well," said John, with rather a rueful laugh, 
 " if it has taken you all that time to get used to 
 it the outlook for me is not very encouraging, 
 I m afraid." 
 
 " Wa al," remarked Mr. Harum, " I m apt to 
 speak in par bles sometimes. I guess you ll git 
 along after a spell, though it mayn t set fust 
 rate on your stomech till you git used to the 
 diet. " Say," he said after a moment, " if you d 
 had a couple o thousan more, do you think 
 you d V stuck to the law bus nis?" 
 
 " I m sure I don t know," replied John, " but 
 I am inclined to think not. General Wolsey 
 told me that if I were very anxious to go on 
 with it he would help me, but after what I told 
 him he advised me to write to you." 
 
 "He did, did he?" 
 
 " Yes," said John, " and after what I had gone 
 through I was not altogether sorry to come 
 away." 
 
 " Wa ai," said Mr. Harum thoughtfully, " if 
 I was to lose what little I ve got, an had to 
 give up livin in the way I was used to, an 
 
126 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 couldn t even keep a hoss, I c n allow t I might 
 be willin fer a change of scene to make a fresh 
 start in. Yes, sir, I guess I would. Wa al," 
 looking at his watch, " I ve got to go now, an 
 I ll see ye later, mebbe. You feel like takin holt 
 to-day?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said John with alacrity. 
 
 " All right," said Mr. Harum. " You tell Tim- 
 son what you want, an make him show you ev- 
 erythin . He understands, an I ve paid him for t. 
 He s agreed to stay any time in reason t you 
 want him, but I guess," he added with a laugh, 
 : t you c n pump him dry n a day or two. It 
 haint rained wisdom an knowlidge in his part o 
 the country fer a consid able spell." 
 
 David stood for a moment drawing on his 
 gloves, and then, looking at John with his char 
 acteristic chuckle, continued: 
 
 " Allowed he d ben drawin the hull load, did 
 he? Wa al, sir, the truth on t is t he never come 
 to a hill yet, f t wa n t more n a foot high, but 
 what I had to git out an push; nor never struck 
 a turn in the road but what I had to take him by 
 the head an lead him into it." With which Mr. 
 Harum put on his overcoat and cap and de 
 parted. 
 
 Mr. Timson was leaning over the counter in 
 animated controversy with a man on the outside 
 who had evidently asserted or quoted (the quo 
 tation is the usual weapon: it has a double barb 
 and can be wielded with comparative safety) 
 something of a wounding effect. 
 
 " No, sir," exclaimed Chet, with a sounding 
 slap on the counter, "no, sir! The ain t one 
 word o truth in t. I said myself, I won t stan 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 127 
 
 it, I says, not f m you ner nobody else/ I says, 
 
 an what s more/ says I " The expression 
 
 in the face of Mr. Timson s tormentor caused 
 that gentleman to break off and look around. 
 The man on the outside grinned, stared at John 
 a moment, and went out, and Timson turned 
 and said, as John came forward, "Hello! The 
 old man picked ye to pieces all he wanted 
 to?" 
 
 " We are through for the day, I fancy," said 
 our friend, smiling, " and if you are ready to be 
 gin my lessons I am ready to take them. Mr. 
 Harum told me that you would be good enough 
 to show me what was necessary." 
 
 " All right," said Mr. Timson readily enough, 
 and so John began his first day s work in David s 
 office. He was surprised and encouraged to 
 find how much his experience in Rush & Com 
 pany s office stood him in hand, and managed to 
 acquire in a comparatively short time a pretty 
 fair comprehension of the system which prevailed 
 in " Harum s bank," notwithstanding the inces 
 sant divagations of his instructor. 
 
 It was decided between Timson and our friend 
 that on the following day the latter should under 
 take the office work under supervision, and the 
 next morning John was engaged upon the pre 
 liminaries of the day s business when his em 
 ployer came in and seated himself at his desk in 
 the back room. After a few minutes, in which 
 he was busy with his letters, he appeared in the 
 doorway of the front room. He did not speak, 
 for John saw him, and, responding to a back 
 ward toss of the head, followed him into the " par 
 lor," and at an intimation of the same silent 
 character shut the doors. Mr. Harum sat 
 
I2 8 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 down at his desk, and John stood awaiting his 
 pleasure. 
 
 "How d ye make out yestidy?" he asked. 
 "Git any thin out of old tongue-tied?" pointing 
 with his thumb toward the front room. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said John, smiling, as he recalled 
 the unceasing flow of words which had enveloped 
 Timson s explanations. 
 
 " How much longer do you think you ll have 
 to have him round? " asked Mr. Harum. 
 
 " Well," said John, " of course your custom 
 ers are strangers to me, but so far as the rou 
 tine of the office is concerned I think I can man 
 age after to-day. But I shall have to appeal to 
 you rather often for a while until I get thorough 
 ly acquainted with my work." 
 
 " Good fer you," said David. " You ve took 
 holt a good sight quicker n I thought ye would, 
 an I ll spend more or less time round here fer a 
 while, or be where you c n reach me. It s like 
 this," he continued. " Chet s a helpless kind of 
 critter, fer all his braggin an talk, an I ben 
 feelin kind o wambly about turnin him loose 
 though the Lord knows," he said with feeling, 
 " t I ve had bother enough with him to kill a 
 tree. But anyway I wrote to some folks I know 
 up to Syrchester to git something fer him to 
 do, an I got a letter to send him along, an 
 mebbe they d give him a show. See?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said John, " and if you are willing 
 to take the chances of my mistakes I will under 
 take to get on without him." 
 
 " All right," said the banker, " we ll call it a 
 heat and, say, don t let on what I ve told you. 
 I want to see how long it ll take to git all over 
 the village that he didn t ask no odds o nobody. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 129 
 
 Hadn t ben out o a job three days fore the was 
 a lot o chances, an all t he had to do was to 
 take his pick out o the lot on em." 
 
 " Really?" said John. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David. " Some folks is 
 gaited that way. Amusin , ain t it? Hullo, Dick! 
 Wa al?" 
 
 " Willis ll give two hunderd fer the sorr l 
 colt," said the incomer, whom John recognized 
 as one of the loungers in the Eagle bar the night 
 of his arrival. 
 
 "E-um m!" said David. " Was he speakin 
 of any pertic ler colt, or sorril colts in gen ral? I 
 hain t got the only one the is, I s pose." 
 
 Dick merely laughed. " Because," continued 
 the owner of the " sorril colt," " if Steve Willis 
 wants to lay in sorril colts at two hunderd a 
 piece, I ain t goin to gainsay him, but you tell 
 him that two-forty-nine ninety-nine won t buy 
 the one in my barn." Dick laughed again. 
 
 John made a move in the direction of the 
 front room. 
 
 " Hold on a minute," said David. " Shake 
 hands with Mr. Larrabee." 
 
 " Seen ye before," said Dick, as they shook 
 hands. " I was in the barroom when you come 
 in the other night," and then he laughed as at the 
 recollection of something very amusing. 
 
 John flushed a little and said, a bit stiffly, " I 
 remember you were kind enough to help about 
 my luggage." 
 
 " Excuse me," said Dick, conscious of the 
 other s manner. " I wa n t laughin at you, that 
 is, not in pertic ler. I couldn t see your face 
 when Ame offered ye pie an doughnuts instid of 
 beefsteak an fixins. I c d only guess at that; 
 
130 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 but Ame s face was enough fer me," and Dick 
 went off into another cachinnation. 
 
 David s face indicated some annoyance. 
 " Oh, shet up," he exclaimed. " You d keep 
 that yawp o your n goin , I believe, if it was the 
 judgment day." 
 
 " Wa al," said Dick with a grin, " I expect 
 the might be some fun to be got out o that, if 
 a feller wa n t worryin too much about his own 
 
 skin; an as fur s I m concerned " Dick s 
 
 further views on the subject of that momentous 
 occasion were left unexplained. A significant 
 look in David s face caused the speaker to 
 break off and turn toward the door, through 
 which came two men, the foremost a hulking, 
 shambling fellow, with an expression of repel 
 lent sullenness. He came forward to within 
 about ten feet of David s desk, while his compan 
 ion halted near the door. David eyed him in 
 silence. _J 
 
 " I got this here notice this mornin ," said the 
 man, " sayin t my note d be due to-morrer, an 
 d have to be paid." 
 
 " Wa al," said David, with his arm over the 
 back of his chair and his left hand resting on his 
 desk, "that s so, ain t it?" 
 
 " Mebbe so," was the fellow s reply, " fur s 
 the comin due s concerned, but the payin part 
 s another matter." 
 
 "Was you cal latin to have it renewed?" 
 asked David, leaning a little forward. 
 
 " No," said the man coolly, " I don t know s 
 I want to renew it fer any pertic ler time, an I 
 guess it c n run along fer a while jest as t is." 
 John looked at Dick Larrabee. He was watch 
 ing David s face with an expression of the ut- 
 
DAVID HARUM. j^j 
 
 most enjoyment. David twisted his chair a little 
 more to the right and out from the desk. 
 
 "You think it c n run along, do ye?" he 
 asked suavely. " I m glad to have your views 
 on the subject. Wa al, I guess it kin, too, until 
 to-nwrro" at four o clock, an after that you c n 
 settle with lawyer Johnson or the sheriff." The 
 man uttered a disdainful laugh. 
 
 " I guess it ll puzzle ye some to c lect it," 
 he said. Mr. Harum s bushy red eyebrows met 
 above his nose. 
 
 " Look here, Bill Montaig," he said, " I know 
 more bout this matter n you think for. I know 
 t you ben makin your brags that you d fix me 
 in this deal. You allowed that you d set up usury 
 in the fust place, an if that didn t work I d find 
 you was execution proof anyways. That s so, 
 ain t it?" 
 
 " That s about the size on t," said Montaig, 
 putting his feet a little farther apart. David had 
 risen from his chair. 
 
 " You didn t talk that way," proceeded the 
 latter, " when you come whinin round here to 
 git that money in the fust place, an as I reckon 
 some o the facts in the case has slipped out o 
 your mind since that time, I guess I d better jog 
 your mem ry a little." 
 
 It was plain from the expression of Mr. Mon- 
 taig s countenance that his confidence in the 
 strength of his position was not quite so assured 
 as at first, but he maintained his attitude as well 
 as in him lay. 
 
 " In the fust place," David began his assault, 
 " 7 didn t lend ye the money. I borr ed it for 
 ye on my indorsement, an charged ye fer doin 
 it, as I told ye at the time; an another thing 
 
132 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 that you appear to forgit is that you signed a 
 paper statin that you was wuth, in good and 
 available pusson ls, free an clear, over five hun- 
 derd dollars, an that the statement was made to 
 me with the view of havin me indorse your note 
 fer one-fifty. Rec lect that?" David smiled 
 grimly at the look of disconcert which, in spite 
 of himself, appeared in Bill s face. 
 
 " I don t remember signin no paper," he said 
 doggedly. 
 
 " Jest as like as not," remarked Mr. Harum. 
 " What you was thinkin of about that time was 
 gittin that money" 
 
 " I d like to see that paper," said Bill, with a 
 pretence of incredulity. 
 
 " You ll see it when the time comes," asserted 
 David, with an emphatic nod. He squared him 
 self, planting his feet apart, and, thrusting his 
 hands deep in his coat pockets, faced the discom 
 fited yokel. 
 
 " Do you think, Bill Montaig," he said, with 
 measureless contempt, " that I didn t know who 
 I was dealin with? that I didn t know what a 
 low-lived, roost- robbin skunk you was? an 
 didn t know how to protect myself agin such 
 an muls as you be? Wa al, I did, an don t you 
 stop thinkin bout it an ," he added, shaking 
 his finger at the object of his scorn, " you ll pay 
 that note or I ll put ye where the dogs won t bite 
 ye," and with that he turned on his heel and re 
 sumed his seat. Bill stood for a minute with a 
 scowl of rage and defeat in his lowering face. 
 
 " Got any further bus nis with me?" inquired 
 Mr. Harum. " Anythin more t I c n oblige ye 
 about? " There was no answer. 
 
 " I asked you," said David, raising his voice 
 
DAVID HARUM. 133 
 
 and rising to his feet, " if you had any further 
 bus nis with me." 
 
 " I dunno s I have," was the sullen response. 
 
 "All right," said David. " That bein the 
 case, an as I ve got somethin to do beside wast- 
 in my time on such wuthless pups as you be, 
 I ll thank you to git out. There s the door," he 
 added, pointing to it. 
 
 " Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho ! " came from the throat 
 of Dick Larrabee. This was too much for the 
 exasperated Bill, and he erred (to put it mildly) 
 in raising his arm and advancing a step toward 
 his creditor. He was not swift enough to take 
 the second, however, for David, with amazing 
 quickness, sprang upon him, and twisting him 
 around, rushed him out of the door, down the 
 passage, and out of the front door, which was 
 obligingly held open by an outgoing client, who 
 took in the situation and gave precedence to Mr. 
 Montaig. His companion, who so far had taken 
 no part, made a motion to interfere, but John, 
 who stood nearest to him, caught him by the 
 collar and jerked him back, with the suggestion 
 that it would be better to let the two have it out 
 by themselves. David came back rather breath 
 less and very red in the face, but evidently in 
 exceeding good humor. 
 
 " Scat my ! " he exclaimed. " Hain t had 
 
 such a good tussle I dunno when." 
 
 " Bill s considered ruther an awk ard custom 
 er," remarked Dick. " I guess he hain t had no 
 such handlin fer quite a while." 
 
 " Sho! " exclaimed Mr. Harum. " The ain t 
 nothin to him but wind an meanness. Who was 
 that feller with him?" 
 
 " Name s Smith, I believe," replied Dick. 
 
134 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Guess Bill brought him along fer a witness, an* 
 I reckon he seen all he wanted to. I ll bet his 
 neck s achin some," added Mr. Larrabee with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " How s that? " asked David. 
 
 " Well, he made a move to tackle you as you 
 was escortin Bill out, an Mr. Lenox there 
 caught him in the collar an gin him a jerk 
 that d a landed him on his back," said Dick, 
 " if," turning to John, " you hadn t helt holt of 
 him. You putty nigh broke his neck. He went 
 off ho, ho, ho, ho, ho! wrigglin it to make 
 sure." 
 
 " I used more force than was necessary, I m 
 afraid," said Billy Williams s pupil, " but there 
 wasn t much time to calculate." 
 
 " Much obliged," said David with a nod. 
 
 " Not at all," protested John, laughing. " I 
 have enjoyed a great deal this morning." 
 
 " It has ben ruther pleasant," remarked David 
 with a chuckle, " but you mustn t cal late on 
 havin such fun ev ry mornin ." 
 
 John went into the business office, leaving the 
 banker and Dick. 
 
 " Say," said the latter when they were alone, 
 " that young man o your n s quite a feller. He 
 took care o that big Smith chap with one hand; 
 an say, you c n git round on your pins bout s 
 lively s they make em, I guess. I swan!" he 
 exclaimed, slapping his thigh and shaking with 
 laughter, " the hull thing head-an -shouldered 
 any show I seen lately." And then for a while 
 they fell to talking of the " sorril colt " and other 
 things. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WHEN John went back to the office after the 
 noonday intermission it was manifest that some 
 thing had happened to Mr. Timson, and that the 
 something was of a nature extremely gratifying 
 to that worthy gentleman. He was beaming 
 with satisfaction and rustling with importance. 
 Several times during the afternoon he appeared to 
 be on the point of confiding his news, but in the 
 face of the interruptions which occurred, or 
 which he feared might check the flow of his 
 communication, he managed to restrain himself 
 till after the closing of the office. But scarcely 
 were the shutters up (at the willing hands of 
 Peleg Hopkins) when he turned to John and, 
 looking at him sharply, said, " Has Dave said 
 anythin bout my leavin ?" 
 
 " He told me he expected you would stay as 
 long as might be necessary to get me well 
 started," said John cautiously, mindful of Mr. 
 Harum s injunction. 
 
 "Jest like him," declared diet. "Jest like 
 him for all the world; but the fact o the matter 
 is t I m goin to-morro . I s pose he thought," 
 reflected Mr. Timson, " thet he d ruther you d 
 find it out yourself than to have to break it to 
 ye, cause then, don t ye see, after I was gone 
 he c d lay the hull thing at my door." 
 
 135 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Really," said John, " I should have said that 
 he ought to have told me." 
 
 " Wa al," said Chet encouragingly, " mebbe 
 you ll git along somehow, though I m fraid you ll 
 have more or less trouble; but I told Dave that 
 as fur s I c d see, mebbe you d do s well s most 
 anybody he c d git that didn t know any o the 
 customers, an hadn t never done any o this kind 
 o work before." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said John. " And 
 so you are off to-morrow, are you? " 
 
 " Got to be," declared Mr. Timson. " I d a 
 liked to stay with you a spell longer, but the s 
 a big concern f m out of town that as soon as 
 they heard I was at libe ty wrote for me to come 
 right along up, an I s pose I hadn t ought to 
 keep em waitin ." 
 
 " No, I should think not," said John, " and 
 I congratulate you upon having located yourself 
 so quickly." 
 
 " Oh! " said Mr. Timson, with ineffable com 
 placency, " I hain t give myself no worry; I hain t 
 lost no sleep. I ve allowed all along that Dave 
 Harum d find out that he wa n t the unly man 
 that needed my kind o work, an I ain t meanin 
 any disrispect to you when I say t 
 
 " Just so," said John. " I quite understand. 
 Nobody could expect to take just the place with 
 him that you have filled. And, by the way," he 
 added, " as you are going in the morning, and 
 I may not see you again, would you kindly give 
 me the last balance sheets of the two ledgers and 
 the bill-book. I suppose, of course, that they 
 are brought down to the first of the month, and 
 I shall want to have them." 
 
 " Oh, yes, cert nly, of course wa al I guess 
 
DAVID HARUM. 137 
 
 Dave s got em," replied Chet, looking consider 
 ably disconcerted, " but I ll look em up in the 
 mornin . My train don t go till ten o clock, an 
 I ll see you bout any little last thing in the morn 
 in but I guess I ve got to go now. on ac 
 count of a lot of things. You c n shut up, can t 
 ye?" 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Timson made his exit, and 
 not long afterward David came in. By that 
 time everything had been put away, the safe and 
 vault closed, and Peleg had departed with the 
 mail and his freedom for the rest of the day. 
 
 " Wa al," said Mr. Harum, lifting himself to 
 a seat on the counter, " how ve you made out? 
 All O. K.?" 
 
 " Yes," replied John, " I think so." 
 
 "Where s Chet?" 
 
 " He went away some few minutes ago. He 
 said he had a good many things to attend to as 
 he was leaving in the morning." 
 
 "E-um m!" said David incredulously. "I 
 guess t won t take him long to close up his mat 
 ters. Did he leave ev ry thing in good shape? 
 Cash all right, an so on?" 
 
 " I think so," said John. " The cash is right 
 I am sure." 
 
 " How bout the books? " 
 
 " I asked him to let me have the balance 
 sheets, and he said that you must have them, but 
 that he would come in in the morning and well, 
 what he said was that he would see me in the 
 morning, and, as he put it, look after any little 
 last thing." 
 
 "E-um m!" David grunted. "He won t do 
 no such a thing. We ve seen the last of him, you 
 bet, an a good riddance. He ll take the nine 
 10 
 
138 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 o clock to-night, that s what he ll do. Drawed 
 his pay, I guess, didn t he? " 
 
 " He said he was to be paid for this month," 
 answered John, " and took sixty dollars. Was 
 that right?" 
 
 " Yes," said David, nodding his head absently. 
 "What was it he said about them statements?" 
 he inquired after a moment. 
 
 " He said he guessed you must have them." 
 
 " E-um m! " was David s comment. " What d 
 he say about leavin ?" 
 
 John laughed and related the conversation as 
 exactly as he could. 
 
 " What d I tell ye," said Mr. Harum, with 
 a short laugh. " Mebbe he won t go till to-mor- 
 ro , after all," he remarked. " He ll want to put 
 in a leetle more time tellin how he was sent for 
 in a hurry by that big concern fm out of town 
 t he s goin to." 
 
 " Upon my word, I can t understand it," said 
 John, " knowing that you can contradict him." 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " he ll allow that if he 
 gits in the fust word, he ll take the pole. It don t 
 matter anyway, long s he s gone. I guess you 
 an me c n pull the load, can t we?" and he 
 dropped down off the counter and started to go 
 out. " By the way," he said, halting a moment, 
 "can t you come in to tea at six o clock? I 
 want to make ye acquainted with Polly, an she s 
 itchin to see ye." 
 
 " I shall be delighted," said John. 
 
 " Polly," said David, " I ve ast the young 
 feller to come to tea, but don t you say the word 
 1 Eagle to him. You c n show your ign rance 
 bout all the other kinds of birds an animals you 
 
DAVID HARUM. 139 
 
 ain t familiar with," said the unfeeling brother, 
 " but leave eagles alone." 
 
 " What you up to now?" she asked, but she 
 got no answer but a laugh. 
 
 From a social point of view the entertainment 
 could not be described as a very brilliant success. 
 Our friend was tired and hungry. Mr. Harum 
 was unusually taciturn, and Mrs. Bixbee, being 
 under her brother s interdict as regarded the sub 
 ject which, had it been allowed discussion, might 
 have opened the way, was at a loss for general 
 ities. But John afterward got upon terms of the 
 friendliest nature with that kindly soul. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SOME weeks after John s assumption of his 
 duties in the office of David Harum, Banker, 
 that gentleman sat reading his New York paper 
 in the " wing settin -room," after tea, and Aunt 
 Polly was occupied with the hemming of a towel. 
 The able editorial which David was perusing was 
 strengthening his conviction that all the intelli 
 gence and virtue of the country were monopo 
 lized by the Republican party, when his medita 
 tions were broken in upon by Mrs. Bixbee, who 
 knew nothing and cared less about the Force 
 Bill or the doctrine of protection to American 
 industries. 
 
 " You hain t said nothin fer quite a while 
 about the bank," she remarked. " Is Mr. Lenox 
 gittin along all right?" 
 
 " Guess he s gittin into condition as fast as 
 c d be expected," said David, between two lines 
 of his editorial. 
 
 " It must be awful lonesome fer him," she 
 observed, to which there was no reply. 
 
 " Ain t it?" she asked, after an interval. 
 
 " Ain t what?" said David, looking up at her. 
 
 " Awful lonesome," she reiterated. 
 
 " Guess nobody ain t ever very lonesome when 
 you re round an got your breath/ was the reply. 
 " What you talkin about?" 
 140 
 
DAVID HARUM. I 4 t 
 
 " I ain t talkin about you, t any rate," said 
 Mrs. Bixbee. " I was sayin it must be awful 
 lonesome fer Mr. Lenox up here where he don t 
 know a soul hardly, an livin at that hole of a 
 tavern." 
 
 " I don t see t you ve any cause to com 
 plain long s he don t," said David, hoping that 
 it would not come to his sister s ears that he 
 had, for reasons of his own, discouraged any at 
 tempt on John s part to better his quarters, " an 
 he hain t ben very lonesome daytimes, I guess, so 
 fur, thout he s ben makin work fer himself to 
 kill time." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 "Wa al," said David, " we found that Chet 
 hadn t done more n to give matters a lick an a 
 promise in most a year. He done just enough 
 to keep up the day s work an no more an 
 the upshot on t is that John s had to put 
 in consid able time to git things straightened 
 out." 
 
 " What a shame! " exclaimed Aunt Polly. 
 
 " Keeps him f m bein lonesome," remarked 
 her brother with a grin. 
 
 " An he hain t had no time to himself! " she 
 protested. " I don t believe you ve made up 
 your mind yet whether you re goin to like him, 
 an I don t believe he ll stay anyway." 
 
 " I ve told more n forty-leven times," said 
 Mr. Harum, looking up over his paper, " that I 
 thought we was goin to make a hitch of it, an 
 he cert nly hain t said nuthin bout leavin , an I 
 guess he won t fer a while, tavern or no tavern. 
 He s got a putty stiff upper lip of his own, I 
 reckon," David further remarked, with a short 
 laugh, causing Mrs. Bixbee to look up at him 
 
142 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 inquiringly, which look the speaker answered 
 with a nod, saying, " Me an him had a little go- 
 round to-day." 
 
 "You hain t had no words, hev ye?" she 
 asked anxiously. 
 
 " Wa al, we didn t have what ye might call 
 words. I was jest tryin a little experiment with 
 him." 
 
 " Humph," she remarked, " you re alwus try- 
 in exper ments on somebody, an you ll be liable 
 to git ketched at it some day." 
 
 " Exceptin on you," said David. " You don t 
 think I d try any experiments on you, do ye?" 
 
 "Me!" she cried. "You re at me the hull 
 endurin time, an you know it." 
 
 " Wa al, but Polly," said David insinuatingly, 
 " you don t know how int restin you be" 
 
 " Glad you think so," she declared, with a sniff 
 and a toss of the head. " What you ben up to 
 with Mr. Lenox? " 
 
 " Oh, nuthin much," replied Mr. Harum, 
 making a feint of resuming his reading. 
 
 "Be ye goin to tell me, or air ye too shamed 
 on t? " she added with a little laugh, which some 
 what turned the tables on her teasing brother. 
 
 " Wa al, I laid out to try an read this paper," 
 he said, spreading it out on his lap, " but," re 
 signedly, " I guess t ain t no use. Do you know 
 what a count fit bill is? " he asked. 
 
 " I dunno s I ever see one," she said, " but 
 I s pose I do. They re agin the law, ain t they?" 
 
 " The s a number o things that s agin the 
 law," remarked David dryly. 
 
 " Wa al?" ejaculated Mrs. Bixbee after a mo 
 ment of waiting. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " the ain t much to tell, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 143 
 
 but it s plain I don t git no peace till you git it 
 out of me. It was like this: The young feller s 
 took holt everywhere else right off, but handlin 
 the money bothered him consid able at fust. It 
 was slow work, an I c d see it myself; but he s 
 gettin the hang on t now. Another thing I ex 
 pected he d run up agin was count fits. The ain t 
 so very many on em round now-a-days, but the 
 is now an then one. He allowed to me that he 
 was liable to get stuck at fust, an I reckoned he 
 would. But I never said nuthin about it, nor 
 ast no questions until to-day; an this afternoon 
 I come in to look round, an I says to him, 
 What luck have you had with your money? 
 Git any bad? I says. Wa al, he says, colorin 
 up a little, I don t know how many I may have 
 took in an paid out agin without knowin it, he 
 says, but the was a couple sent back from New 
 York out o that package that went down last 
 Friday. " 
 
 " What was they? I says. 
 
 " A five an a ten, he says. 
 
 " Where be they? I says. 
 
 " They re in the draw there they re ruther 
 int restin objects of study, he says, kind o laugh- 
 in on the wrong side of his mouth. 
 
 : Countin em in the cash? I says, an with 
 that he kind o reddened up agin. No, sir, he 
 says, * I charged em up to my own account, an 
 I ve kept em to compare with. 
 
 " You hadn t ought to done that/ I says. 
 
 You think I ought to a put em in the 
 fire at once? says he. 
 
 " No/ I says, that wa n t what I meant. 
 Why didn t you mix em up with the other 
 money, an let em go when you was payin out? 
 
I4 4 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Anyways/ I says, you charge em up to profit 
 an loss if you re goin to charge em to any- 
 thin , an let me have em, I says. 
 
 " What ll you do with em? he says to me, 
 kind o shuttin his jaws together. 
 
 " I ll take care on em, I says. They 
 mayn t be good enough to send down to New 
 York, I says, but they ll go around here all 
 right jest as good as any other, I says, long s 
 you keep em movinY " 
 
 "David Harum!" cried Polly, who, though 
 not quite comprehending some of the technical 
 ities of detail, was fully alive to the turpitude of 
 the suggestion. " I hope to gracious he didn t 
 think you was in earnest. Why, s pose they was 
 passed around, wouldn t somebody git stuck with 
 em in the long run? You know they would." 
 Mrs. Bixbee occasionally surprised her brother 
 with unexpected penetration, but she seldom got 
 much recognition of it. 
 
 " I see by the paper," he remarked, " that the 
 was a man died in Pheladelphy one day last 
 week," which piece of barefaced irrelevancy elic 
 ited no notice from Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
 " What more did he say?" she demanded. 
 
 " Wa al," responded Mr. Harum with a laugh, 
 " he said that he didn t see why I should be a 
 loser by his mistakes, an that as fur as the bills 
 was concerned they belonged to him, an with 
 that," said the narrator, " Mister Man gits em 
 out of the draw an jest marches into the back 
 room an puts the dum things int the fire." 
 
 " He done jest right," declared Aunt Polly, 
 " an you know it, don t ye now? " 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " f m his standpoint 
 f m his standpoint, I guess he did, an ," rubbing 
 
DAVID HARUM. 145 
 
 his chin with two fingers of his left hand, " it s a 
 putty dum good standpoint too. I ve ben look- 
 in ," he added reflectively, " fer an honest man 
 fer quite a number o years, an I guess I ve found 
 him; yes m, I guess I ve found him." 
 
 " An be you goin to let him lose that fifteen 
 dollars?" asked the practical Polly, fixing her 
 brother with her eyes. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, with a short laugh, 
 " what c n I do with such an obst nit critter s 
 he is? He jest backed into the britchin , an I 
 couldn t do nothin with him." Aunt Polly sat 
 over her sewing for a minute or two without tak 
 ing a stitch. 
 
 " I m sorry you done it," she said at last. 
 
 " I dunno but I did make ruther a mess of it," 
 admitted Mr. Harum. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IT was the 23d of December, and shortly after 
 the closing hour. Peleg had departed and our 
 friend had just locked the vault when David 
 came into the office and around behind the 
 counter. 
 
 " Be you in any hurry? " he asked. 
 
 John said he was not, whereupon Mr. Harum 
 hitched himself up onto a high office stool, with 
 his heels on the spindle, and leaned sideways 
 upon the desk, while John stood facing him with 
 his left arm upon the desk. 
 
 " John," said David, " do ye know the Widdo 
 Cullom?" 
 
 " No," said John, " but I know who she is 
 a tall, thin woman, who walks with a slight stoop 
 and limp. I noticed her and asked her name be 
 cause there was something about her looks that 
 attracted my attention as though at some time 
 she might have seen better days." 
 
 " That s the party," said David. "She has 
 seen better days, but she s eat an drunk sorro 
 mostly fer goin on thirty year, an darned little 
 else good share o the time, I reckon." 
 
 " She has that appearance certainly," said 
 John. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David, " she s had a putty 
 tough time, the widdo has, an yet," he pro- 
 146 
 
DAVID HARUM. 147 
 
 ceeded after a momentary pause, " the was a time 
 when the Culloms was some o the king-pins o 
 this hull region. They used to own quarter o 
 the county, an they lived in the big house up on 
 the hill where Doc Hays lives now. That was 
 considered to be the finest place anywheres 
 round here in them days. I used to think the 
 Capitol to Washington must be somethin like 
 the Cullom house, an that Billy P. (folks used to 
 call him Billy P. cause his father s name was 
 William an his was William Parker), an that 
 Billy P. d jest s like s not be president. I ve 
 changed my mind some on the subject of presi 
 dents since I was a boy." 
 
 Here Mr. Harum turned on his stool, put his 
 right hand into his sack-coat pocket, extracted 
 therefrom part of a paper of " Maple Dew," and 
 replenished his left cheek with an ample wad of 
 " fine-cut." John took advantage of the break 
 to head off what he had reason to fear might 
 turn into a lengthy digression from the matter in 
 hand by saying, " I beg pardon, but how does it 
 happen that Mrs. Cullom is in such circum 
 stances? Has the family all died out? " 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " they re most on em 
 dead, all on em, in fact, except the widdo s son 
 Charley, but as fur s the family s concerned, it 
 more n died out it gin out! D ye ever hear 
 of Jim Wheton s calf? Wa al, Jim brought three 
 or four veals into town one spring to sell. Dick 
 Larrabee used to peddle meat them days. Dick 
 looked em over an says, Look here, Jim/ he 
 says, I guess you got a " deakin " in that lot/ he 
 says. I dunno what you mean/ says Jim. 
 Yes, ye do, goll darn ye! says Dick, yes, ye 
 do. You didn t never kill that calf, an you know 
 
148 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 it. That calf died, that s what that calf done. 
 Come, now, own up, he says. Wa al, says Jim, 
 I didn t kill it, an it didn t die nuther it jest 
 kind o gin out. " 
 
 John joined in the laugh with which the nar 
 rator rewarded his own effort, and David went 
 on: "Yes, sir, they jes petered out. Old Billy, 
 Billy P. s father, inheritid all the prop ty never 
 done a stroke of work in his life. He had a col- 
 lidge education, went to Europe, an all that, an 
 before he was fifty year old he hardly ever 
 come near the old place after he was growed up. 
 The land was all farmed out on shares, an his 
 farmers mostly bamboozled him the hull time. 
 He got consid able income, of course, but as 
 things went along and they found out how slack 
 he was they kept bitin off bigger chunks all the 
 time, an sometimes he didn t git even the core. 
 But all the time when he wanted money an he 
 wanted it putty often I tell ye the ea siest way 
 was to stick on a morgidge; an after a spell it 
 got so t he d have to give a morgidge to pay 
 the int rist on the other morgidges." 
 
 " But," said John, " was there nothing to the 
 estate but land?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said David, "old Billy s father 
 left him some consid able pers nal, but after that 
 was gone he went into the morgidge bus nis as 
 I tell ye. He lived mostly up to Syrchester and 
 around, an when he got married he bought a 
 place in Syrchester and lived there till Billy P. 
 was about twelve or thirteen year old, an he was 
 about fifty. By that time he d got bout to the 
 end of his rope, an the wa n t nothin for it but 
 to come back here to Homeville an make the 
 most o what the was left an that s what he 
 
DAVID HARUM. 149 
 
 done, let alone that he didn t make the most on t 
 to any pertic ler extent. Mis Cullom, his wife, 
 wa n t no help to him. She was a city woman 
 an didn t take to the country no way, but when 
 she died it broke old Billy up wus n ever. She 
 peaked an pined, an died when Billy P. was 
 about fifteen or so. Wa al, Billy P. an the old 
 man wrastled along- somehow, an the boy went 
 to collidge fer a year or so. How they ever got 
 along s they did I dunno. The was a story 
 that some far-off relation left old Billy some 
 money, an I guess that an what they got off m 
 what farms was left carried em along till Billy 
 P. was twenty-five or so, an then he up an got 
 married. That was the crownin stroke," re 
 marked David. " She was one o the village 
 girls respectable folks, more n ordinary good 
 lookin an high steppin , an had had some 
 schoolin . But the old man was prouder n a 
 cock-turkey, an thought nobody wa n t quite 
 good enough fer Billy P., an all along kind o 
 reckoned that he d marry some money an git a 
 new start. But when he got married on the 
 quiet, you know, cause he knowed the old man 
 would kick wa al, that killed the trick, an the 
 old man into the bargain. It took the gumption 
 all out of him, an he didn t live a year. Wa al, 
 sir, it was curious, but, s I was told, putty much 
 the hull village sided with the old man. The 
 Culloms was kind o kings in them days, an 
 folks wa n t so one-man s-good s-anotherish as 
 they be now. They thought Billy P. done 
 wrong, though they didn t have nothin to say 
 gainst the girl neither an she s very much re 
 spected, Mis Cullom is, an as fur s I m con 
 cerned, I ve alwus guessed she kept Billy P. goin 
 
150 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 full as long s any one could. But t wa n t no 
 use that is to say, the sure thing come to pass. 
 He had a nom nal title to a good deal o prop ty, 
 but the equity in most on t if it had ben to be 
 put up wa n t enough to pay fer the papers. You 
 see, the ain t never ben no real cash value in farm 
 prop ty in these parts. The ain t ben hardly a 
 dozen changes in farm titles, cept by inher tance 
 or foreclosure, in thirty years. So Billy P. didn t 
 make no effort. Int rist s one o them things 
 that keeps right on nights an Sundays. He jest 
 had the deeds made out and handed em over 
 when the time came to settle. The was some 
 village lots though that was clear, that fetched 
 him in some money from time to time until they 
 was all gone but one, an that s the one Mis Cul- 
 lom lives on now. It was consid able more n a 
 lot in fact, a putty sizable place. She thought 
 the sun rose an set where Billy P. was, but she 
 took a crotchit in her head, and wouldn t ever 
 sign no papers fer that, an lucky fer him too. 
 The was a house on to it, an he had a roof over 
 his head anyway when he died six or seven years 
 after he married, an left her with a boy to raise. 
 How she got along all them years till Charley got 
 big enough to help, I swan! I don t know. She 
 took in sewin an washin , an went out to cook 
 an nurse, an all that, but I reckon the was now 
 an then times when they didn t overload their 
 stomechs much, nor have to open the winders to 
 cool off. But she held onto that prop ty of her n 
 like a pup to a root. It was putty well out when 
 Billy P. died, but the village has growed up to it. 
 The s some good lots could be cut out on t, an 
 it backs up to the river where the current s 
 enough to make a mighty good power fer a lee- 
 
DAVID HARUM. I5 I 
 
 trie light. I know some fellers that are talkin 
 of startin a plant here, an it ain t out o sight 
 that they d pay a good price fer the river front, 
 an enough land to build on. Fact on t is, it s 
 got to be a putty valu ble piece o prop ty, more 
 n she cal lates on, I reckon." 
 
 Here Mr. Harum paused, pinching his chin 
 with thumb and index finger, and mumbling his 
 tobacco. John, who had listened with more at 
 tention than interest wondering the while as to 
 what the narrative was leading up to thought 
 something might properly be expected of him to 
 show that he had followed it, and said, " So Mrs. 
 Cullom has kept this last piece clear, has she? " 
 
 " No," said David, bringing down his right 
 hand upon the desk with emphasis, " that s jest 
 what she hain t done, an that s how I come to 
 tell ye somethin of the story, an more on t n 
 you ve cared about hearin , mebbe." 
 
 " Not at all," John protested. " I have been 
 very much interested." 
 
 "You have, have you?" said Mr. Harum. 
 " Wa al, I got somethin I want ye to do. Day 
 after to-morro s Chris mus, an I want ye to 
 drop Mis Cullom a line, somethin like this, That 
 Mr. Harum told ye to say that that morgidge 
 he holds, havin ben past due fer some time, an 
 no int rist havin ben paid fer, let me see, more n 
 a year, he wants to close the matter up, an he ll 
 see her Chris mus mornin at the bank at nine 
 o clock, he havin more time on that day; but 
 that, as fur as he can see, the bus nis won t take 
 very long somethin like that, you under 
 stand?" 
 
 " Very well, sir," said John, hoping that his 
 employer would not see in his face the disgust 
 
152 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 and repugnance he felt as he surmised what a 
 scheme was on foot, and recalled what he had 
 heard of Harum s hard and unscrupulous ways, 
 though he had to admit that this, excepting per 
 haps the episode of the counterfeit money, was 
 the first revelation to him personally. But this 
 seemed very bad indeed. 
 
 " All right," said David cheerfully, " I s pose 
 it won t take you long to find out what s in your 
 stockin , an if you hain t nothin else to do Chris - 
 mus mornin I d like to have you open the office 
 and stay round a spell till I git through with 
 Mis Cullom. Mebbe the 11 be some papers to 
 fill out or witniss or somethin ; an have that 
 skeezicks of a boy make up the fires so st the 
 place ll be warm." 
 
 " Very good, sir," said John, hoping that the 
 interview was at an end. 
 
 But the elder man sat for some minutes ap 
 parently in a brown study, and occasionally a 
 smile of sardonic cunning wrinkled his face. At 
 last he said: " I ve told ye so much that I may 
 as well tell ye how I come by that morgidge. 
 Twont take but a minute, an then you can run 
 an play," he added with a chuckle. 
 
 " I trust I have not betrayed any impa 
 tience," said John, and instantly conscious of his 
 infelicitous expression, added hastily, " I have re 
 ally been very much interested." 
 
 " Oh, no," was the reply, " you hain t betrayed 
 none, but I know old fellers like me gen rally tell 
 a thing twice over while they re at it. Wa al," 
 he went on, " it was like this. After Charley 
 Cullom got to be some grown he helped to keep 
 the pot a-bilin , n they got on some better. Bout 
 seven year ago, though, he up an got married, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 153 
 
 an then the fat ketched fire. Finally he allowed 
 that if he had some money he d go West n take 
 up some land, n git along like pussly n a flower 
 gard n. He ambitioned that if his mother d 
 raise a thousan dollars on her place he d be sure 
 to take care of the int rist, an prob ly pay off 
 the princ ple in almost no time. Wa al, she done 
 it, an off he went. She didn t come to me fer 
 the money, because I dunno at any rate she 
 didn t, but got it of Zeke Swinney. 
 
 " Wa al, it turned out jest s any fool might 
 ve predilictid, fer after the first year, when I 
 reckon he paid it out of the thousan , Charley 
 never paid no int rist. The second year he was 
 jest gettin goin , an the next year he lost a hoss 
 jest as he was cal latin to pay, an the next year 
 the grasshoppers smote him, n so on; an the 
 outcome was that at the end of five years, when 
 the morgidge had one year to run, Charley d 
 paid one year, an she d paid one, an she stood 
 to owe three years int rist. How old Swinney 
 come to hold off so was that she used to pay the 
 cuss ten dollars or so ev ry six months n git no 
 credit fer it, an no receipt an no witniss, n he 
 knowed the prop ty was improving all the time. 
 He may have had another reason, but at any rate 
 he let her run, and got the shave reg lar. But 
 at the time I m tel-lin you about he d begun to 
 cut up, an allowed that if she didn t settle up the 
 int rist he d foreclose, an I got wind on t an I 
 run across her one day an got to talkin with her, 
 an she gin me the hull narration. How much 
 do you owe the old critter? I says. A hunderd 
 an eighty dollars, she says, an where I m goin 
 to git it, she says, the Lord only knows. An 
 He won t tell ye, I reckon, I says. Wa al, of 
 n 
 
154 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 course I d known that Swinney had a morgidge 
 because it was a matter of record, an I knowed 
 him well enough to give a guess what his game 
 was goin to be, an more n that I d had my eye 
 on that piece an parcel an I figured that he 
 wa n t any likelier a citizen n I was." (" Yes," 
 said John to himself, " where the carcase is the 
 vultures are gathered together.") 
 
 " Wa al, I says to her, after we d had a little 
 more talk, s posen you come round to my place 
 to-morro bout leven o clock, an mebbe we c n 
 cipher this thing out. I don t say positive that 
 we kin, I says, but mebbe, mebbe. So that 
 afternoon I sent over to the county seat an got 
 a description an had a second morgidge drawed 
 up fer two hundred dollars, an Mis Cullom 
 signed it mighty quick. I had the morgidge 
 made one day after date, cause, as I said to her, it 
 was in the nature of a temp rary loan, but she 
 was so tickled she d have signed most anythin 
 at that pertic ler time. Now, I says to her, 
 1 you go an settle with old Step-an -fetch-it, but 
 don t you say a word where you got the money, 
 I says. * Don t ye let on nothin stretch that 
 conscience o your n if nes sary, I says, * an be 
 pertic ler if he asks you if Dave Harum give ye 
 the money you jest say, " No, he didn t." That 
 wont be no lie, I says, because I aint givin it 
 to ye, I says. Wa al, she done as I told her. Of 
 course Swinney suspicioned fust off that I was 
 mixed up in it, but she stood him off so fair an 
 square that he didn t know jest what to think, but 
 his claws was cut fer a spell, anyway. 
 
 " Wa al, things went on fer a while, till I 
 made up my mind that I ought to relieve Swin 
 ney of some of his anxieties about worldly bus nis, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 155 
 
 an* I dropped in on him one mornin an passed 
 the time o day, an after we d eased up our minds 
 on the subjects of each other s health an such 
 like I says, You hold a morgidge on the Widder 
 Cullom s place, don t ye? Of course he 
 couldn t say nothin but yes. * Does she keep 
 up the int rist all right? I says. I don t want 
 to be pokin my nose into your bus nis, I says, 
 an don t tell me nothin you don t want to. 
 Wa al, he knowed Dave Harum was Dave 
 Harum, an that he might s well spit it out, an 
 he says, Wa al, she didn t pay nothin fer a good 
 while, but last time she forked over the hull 
 amount. But I hain t no notion/ he says, that 
 she ll come to time agin. An s posin she 
 don t, I says, you ll take the prop ty, won t ye? 
 Don t see no other way/ he says, an lookin up 
 quick, unless you over-bid me/ he says. No/ 
 I says, I ain t buyin no real estate jest now, but 
 the thing I come in fer/ I says, leavin out the 
 pleasure of havin a talk with you, was to say that 
 I d take that morgidge off m your hands. 
 
 "Wa al, sir, he, he, he, he! Scat my - ! 
 At that he looked at me fer a minute with his 
 jaw on his neck, an then he hunched himself, 
 n drawed in his neck like a mud turtle. No/ 
 he says, I ain t sufferin fer the money, an I 
 guess I ll keep the morgidge. It s putty near 
 due now, but mebbe I ll let it run a spell. I 
 guess the security s good fer it. * Yes/ I says, 
 I reckon you ll let it run long enough fer the 
 widder to pay the taxes on t once more anyhow; 
 I guess the secur ty s good enough to take that 
 resk; but how bout my secur ty? I says. What 
 d you mean? he says. I mean/ says I, that 
 I ve got a second morgidge on that prop ty, an 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 I begin to tremble fer my secur ty. You ve jest 
 told me, I says, that you re goin to foreclose 
 an I cal late to protect myself, an I don t car- 
 late, I says, to have to go an bid on that 
 prop ty, an put in a lot more money to save my 
 investment, unless I m bleeged to not much! 
 an you can jest sign that morgidge over to me, 
 an the sooner the quicker, I says." 
 
 David brought his hand down on his thigh 
 with a vigorous slap, the fellow of the one which, 
 John could imagine, had emphasized his demand 
 upon Swinney. The story, to which he had at first 
 listened with polite patience merely, he had found 
 more interesting as it went on, and, excusing 
 himself, he brought up a stool, and mounting it, 
 said, " And what did Swinney say to that? " Mr. 
 Harum emitted a gurgling chuckle, yawned his 
 quid out of his mouth, tossing it over his shoulder 
 in the general direction of the waste basket, and 
 bit off the end of a cigar which he found by slap 
 ping his waistcoat pockets. John got down and 
 fetched him a match, which he scratched in the 
 vicinity of his hip pocket, lighted his cigar (John 
 declining to join him on some plausible pretext, 
 having on a previous occasion accepted one of 
 the brand), and after rolling it around with his 
 lips and tongue to the effect that the lighted end 
 described sundry eccentric curves, located it 
 firmly with an upward angle in the left-hand cor 
 ner of his mouth, gave it a couple of vigorous 
 puffs, and replied to John s question. 
 
 " Wa al, Zeke Swinney was a perfesser of re 
 ligion some years ago, an mebbe he is now, 
 but what he said to me on this pertic ler occasion 
 was that he d see me in hell fust, an then he 
 wouldn t. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 157 
 
 " Wa al/ I says, mebbe you won t, mebbe 
 you will, it s alwus a pleasure to meet ye/ I says, 
 but in that case this morgidge bus nis 11 be a 
 question fer our executors/ I says, fer you don t 
 never foreclose that morgidge, an don t you fer- 
 git it/ I says. 
 
 " Oh, you d like to git holt o that prop ty 
 yourself. I see what you re up to/ he says. 
 
 " Look a-here, Zeke Swinney/ I says, I ve 
 got an int rist in that prop ty, an I propose to 
 p tect it. You re goin to sign that morgidge 
 over to me, or I ll foreclose and surrygate ye/ I 
 says, unless you allow to bid in the prop ty, in 
 which case we ll see whose weasel-skin s the long 
 est. But I guess it won t come to that/ I says. 
 You kin take your choice/ I says. Whether 
 I want to git holt o that prop ty myself ain t 
 neither here nor there. Mebbe I do, an mebbe 
 I don t, but anyways/ I says, you don t git it, 
 nor wouldn t ever, for if I can t make you sign 
 over, I ll either do what I said or I ll back the 
 widder in a defence fer usury. Put that in your 
 pipe an smoke it/ I says. 
 
 " What do you mean? he says, gittin half 
 out his chair. 
 
 " I mean this/ I says, that the fust six 
 months the widder couldn t pay she gin you ten 
 dollars to hold off, an the next time she gin 
 you fifteen, an that you ve bled her fer shaves to 
 the tune of sixty odd dollars in three years, an 
 then got your int rist in full. 
 
 " That riz him clean out of his chair," said 
 David. " She can t prove it/ he says, shakin 
 his fist in the air. 
 
 " Oh, ho! ho! I says, tippin my chair back 
 agin the wall. If Mis Cullom was to swear 
 
!58 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 how an where she paid you the money, givin 
 chapter an verse, and showin her own mem ran- 
 dums even, an I was to swear that when I twitted 
 you with gittin it you didn t deny it, but only 
 said that she couldn t prove it, how long do you 
 think it ould take a Freeland County jury to 
 find agin ye? I allow, Zeke Swinney, I says, 
 * that you wa n t born yestid y, but you ain t so 
 old as you look, not by a dum sight! an then 
 how I did laugh! 
 
 " Wa al," said David, as he got down off the 
 stool and stretched himself, yawning, " I guess 
 I ve yarned it enough fer one day. Don t fergit 
 to send Mis Cullom that notice, an make it up 
 an up. I m goin to git the thing off my mind 
 this trip." 
 
 " Very well, sir," said John, " but let me ask, 
 did Swinney assign the mortgage without any 
 trouble?" 
 
 "O Lord! yes," was the reply. " The 
 wa n t nothin else fer him to do. I had another 
 twist on him that I hain t mentioned. But he 
 put up a great show of doin it to obleege me. 
 Wa al, I thanked him an so on, an when we d 
 got through I ast him if he wouldn t step over to 
 the Eagil an take something an he looked kind 
 o shocked an said he never drinked nothin . It 
 was gin his princ ples, he said. Ho, ho, ho, ho! 
 Scat my - ! Princ ples!" and John heard 
 him chuckling to himself all the way out of the 
 office. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 CONSIDERING John s relations with David 
 Harum, it was natural that he should wish to 
 think as well of him as possible, and he had not 
 (or thought he had not) allowed his mind to be 
 influenced by the disparaging remarks and in 
 sinuations which had been made to him, or in his 
 presence, concerning his employer. He had 
 made up his mind to form his opinion upon his 
 own experience with the man, and so far it had 
 not only been pleasant but favorable, and far 
 from justifying the half-jeering, half-malicious 
 talk that had come to his ears. It had been 
 made manifest to him, it was true, that David 
 was capable of a sharp bargain in certain lines, but 
 it seemed to him that it was more for the pleas 
 ure of matching his wits against another s than 
 for any gain involved. Mr. Harum was an experi 
 enced and expert horseman, who delighted above 
 all things in dealing in and trading horses, and 
 John soon discovered that, in that community at 
 least, to get the best of a " hoss-trade " by al 
 most any means was considered a venial sin, if 
 a sin at all, and the standards of ordinary busi 
 ness probity were not expected to govern those 
 transactions. 
 
 David had said to him once when he sus 
 pected that John s ideas might have sustained 
 
 159 
 
l6o DAVID HARUM. 
 
 something of a shock, " A hoss-trade ain t like 
 anythin else. A feller may be straighter n a 
 string in ev rythin else, an never tell the truth 
 that is, the hull truth about a hoss. I trade 
 hosses with hoss-traders. They all think they 
 know as much as I do, an I dunno but what they 
 do. They hain t learnt no diff rent anyway, an 
 they ve had chances enough. If a feller come 
 to me that didn t think he knowed anythin about 
 a hoss, an wanted to buy on the square, he d 
 git, fur s I knew, square treatment. At any rate 
 I d tell him all t I knew. But when one o them 
 smart Alecks comes along and cal lates to do up 
 old Dave, why he s got to take his chances, that s 
 all. An mind ye," asserted David, shaking his 
 forefinger impressively, " it ain t only them fel 
 lers. I ve ben wuss stuck two three time by 
 church members in good standin than anybody 
 I ever dealed with. Take old Deakin Perkins. 
 He s a terrible feller fer church bus nis; c n pray 
 an psalm-sing to beat the Jews, an in spiritual 
 matters c n read his title clear the hull time, but 
 when it comes to hoss-tradin you got to git up 
 very early in the mornin or he ll skin the eye- 
 teeth out of ye. Yes, sir! Scat my ! I be 
 lieve the old critter makes hosses! But the 
 deakin," added David, "he, he, he, he! the 
 deakin hain t hardly spoke to me fer some con- 
 sid able time, the deakin hain t. He, he, he! 
 
 " Another thing," he went on, " the ain t no 
 gamble like a hoss. You may think you know 
 him through an through, an fust thing you 
 know he ll be cuttin up a lot o didos right out 
 o nothin . It stands to reason that sometimes 
 you let a hoss go all on the square as you know 
 him an the feller that gits him don t know how 
 
DAVID HARUM. l6l 
 
 to hitch him or treat him, an he acts like a 
 diff rent hoss, an the feller allows you swindled 
 him. You see, hosses gits used to places an 
 ways to a certain extent, an when they re 
 changed, why they re apt to act diff rent. Hosses 
 don t know but dreadful little, really. Talk 
 about hoss sense wa al, the ain t no such thing." 
 
 Thus spoke David on the subject of his fa 
 vorite pursuit and pastime, and John thought 
 then that he could understand and condone some 
 things he had seen and heard, at which at first he 
 was inclined to look askance. But this matter 
 of the Widow Cullom s was a different thing, and 
 as he realized that he was expected to play a part, 
 though a small one, in it, his heart sank within 
 him that he had so far cast his fortunes upon 
 the good will of a man who could plan and carry 
 out so heartless and cruel an undertaking as that 
 which had been revealed to him that after 
 noon. He spent the evening in his room trying 
 to read, but the widow s affairs persistently thrust 
 themselves upon his thoughts. All the unpleas 
 ant stories he had heard of David came to his 
 mind, and he remembered with misgiving some 
 things which at the time had seemed regular and 
 right enough, but which took on a different color 
 in the light in which he found himself recalling 
 them. He debated with himself whether he 
 should not decline to send Mrs. Cullom the no 
 tice as he had been instructed, and left it an 
 open question when he went to bed. 
 
 He wakened somewhat earlier than usual to 
 find that the thermometer had gone up, and the 
 barometer down. The air was full of a steady 
 downpour, half snow, half rain, about the most 
 disheartening combination which the worst cli- 
 
162 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 mate in the world that of central New York" 
 can furnish. He passed rather a busy day in the 
 office in an atmosphere redolent of the unsavory 
 odors raised by the proximity of wet boots and 
 garments to the big cylinder stove outside the 
 counter, a compound of stale smells from kitchen 
 and stable. 
 
 After the bank closed he dispatched Peleg 
 Hopkins, the office boy, with the note for Mrs. 
 Cullom. He had abandoned his half-formed in 
 tention to revolt, but had made the note not only 
 as little peremptory as was compatible with a 
 clear intimation of its purport as he understood 
 it, but had yielded to a natural impulse in begin 
 ning it with an expression of personal regret a 
 blunder which cost him no little chagrin in the 
 outcome. 
 
 Peleg Hopkins grumbled audibly when he 
 was requested to build the fires on Christmas 
 day, and expressed his opinion that " if there 
 warn t Bible agin workin on Chris mus, the d 
 ort ter be"; but when John opened the door of 
 the bank that morning he found the temperature 
 in comfortable contrast to the outside air. The 
 weather had changed again, and a blinding snow 
 storm, accompanied by a buffeting gale from the 
 northwest, made it almost impossible to see a 
 path and to keep it. In the central part of the 
 town some tentative efforts had been made to 
 open walks, but these were apparent only as 
 slight and tortuous depressions in the depths of 
 snow. In the outskirts the unfortunate pedes 
 trian had to wade to the knees. 
 
 As John went behind the counter his eye 
 was at once caught by a small parcel lying on 
 his desk, of white note paper, tied with a cot- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 163 
 
 ton string, which he found to be addressed, 
 " Mr. John Lenox, Esq., Present," and as he 
 took it up it seemed heavy for its size. 
 
 Opening it, he found a tiny stocking, knit 
 of white wool, to which was pinned a piece of 
 paper with the legend, " A Merry Christmas 
 from Aunt Polly." Out of the stocking fell a 
 packet fastened with a rubber strap. Inside were 
 five ten-dollar gold pieces and a slip of paper 
 on which was written, " A Merry Christmas 
 from Your Friend David Harum." For a mo 
 ment John s face burned, and there was a curious 
 smarting of the eyelids as he held the little stock 
 ing and its contents in his hand. Surely the 
 hand that had written " Your Friend " on that 
 scrap of paper could not be the hand of an 
 oppressor of widows and orphans. " This," said 
 John to himself, " is what he meant when he 
 supposed it wouldn t take me long to find out 
 what was in my stocking. " 
 
 The door opened and a blast and whirl of 
 wind and snow rushed in, ushering the tall, bent 
 form of the Widow Cullom. The drive of the 
 wind was so strong that John vaulted over the 
 low cash counter to push the door shut again. 
 The poor woman was white with snow from the 
 front of her old worsted hood to the bottom of 
 her ragged skirt. 
 
 " You are Mrs. Cullom? " said John. " Wait 
 a moment till I brush off the snow, and then 
 come to the fire in the back room. Mr. Harum 
 will be in directly, I expect." 
 
 " Be I much late?" she asked. " I made s 
 much haste s I could. It don t appear to me s 
 if I ever see a blusteriner day, n I ain t as strong 
 
164 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 as I used to be. Seemed as if I never would git 
 here." 
 
 " Oh, no," said John, as he established her be 
 fore the glowing grate of the Franklin stove in 
 the bank parlor, " not at all. Mr. Harum has 
 not come in himself yet. Shall you mind if I 
 excuse myself a moment while you make yourself 
 as comfortable as possible? " She did not appar 
 ently hear him. She was trembling from head to 
 foot with cold and fatigue and nervous excite 
 ment. Her dress was soaked to the knees, and as 
 she sat down and put up her feet to the fire John 
 saw a bit of a thin cotton stocking and her de 
 plorable shoes, almost in a state of pulp. A snow- 
 obliterated path led from the back door of the 
 office to David s house, and John snatched his hat 
 and started for it on a run. As he stamped off 
 some of the snow on the veranda the door was 
 opened for him by Mrs. Bixbee. " Lord sakes! " 
 she exclaimed. " What on earth be you cavortin 
 round for such a mornin s this without no over 
 coat, an on a dead run? What s the matter? " 
 
 " Nothing serious," he answered, " but I m 
 in a great hurry. Old Mrs. Cullom has walked 
 up from her house to the office, and she is wet 
 through and almost perished. I thought you d 
 send her some dry shoes and stockings, and an 
 old shawl or blanket to keep her wet skirt off 
 her knees, and a drop of whisky or something. 
 She s all of a tremble, and I m afraid she will 
 have a chill." 
 
 "Certain! certain!" said the kind creature, 
 and she bustled out of the room, returning in a 
 minute or two with an armful of comforts. 
 " There s a pair of bedroom slips lined with 
 lamb s wool, an a pair of woolen stockin s, an a 
 
DAVID HARUM. 165 
 
 blanket shawl. This here petticut, t ain t what 
 ye d call bran new, but it s warm and comf table, 
 an I don t believe she s got much of anythin on 
 ceptin her dress, an I ll git ye the whisky, but " 
 here she looked deprecatingly at John " it 
 ain t gen ally known t we keep the stuff in the 
 house. I don t know as it s right, but though 
 David don t hardly ever touch it he will have it 
 in the house." 
 
 " Oh," said John, laughing, " you may trust 
 my discretion, and we ll swear Mrs. Cullom to 
 secrecy." 
 
 " Wa al, all right," said Mrs. Bixbee, joining 
 in the laugh as she brought the bottle; "jest a 
 minute till I make a passel of the things to keep 
 the snow out. There, now, I guess you re fixed, 
 an you kin hurry back fore she ketches a 
 chill." 
 
 " Thanks very much," said John as he started 
 away. " I have something to say to you besides 
 * Merry Christmas, but I must wait till another 
 time."" 
 
 When John got back to the office David had 
 just preceded him. 
 
 " Wa al, wa al," he was saying, " but you be 
 in a putty consid able state. Hullo, John! what 
 you got there? Wa al, you air the stuff! Slips, 
 blanket-shawl, petticut, stockin s wa al, you an 
 Polly ben puttin your heads together, I guess. 
 
 What s that? Whisky! Wa al, scat my ! I 
 
 didn t s pose wild hosses would have drawed it 
 out o Polly to let on the was any in the house, 
 much less to fetch it out. Jest the thing! Oh, 
 yes ye are, Mis Cullom jest a mouthful with 
 water," taking the glass from John, " jest a 
 spoonful to git your blood a-goin , an then Mr. 
 
1 66 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Lenox an me 11 go into the front room while 
 you make yourself comf table." 
 
 " Consarn it all!" exclaimed Mr. Harum as 
 they stood leaning against the teller s counter, 
 facing the street, " I didn t cal late to have Mis 
 Cullom hoof it up here the way she done. When 
 I see what kind of a day it was I went out to 
 the barn to have the cutter hitched an send for 
 her, an I found ev rythin topsy-turvy. That 
 dum d uneasy sorril colt had got cast in the stall, 
 an I ben fussin with him ever since. I clean for 
 got all bout Mis Cullom till jest now." 
 
 " Is the colt much injured? " John asked. 
 
 " Wa al, he won t trot a twenty gait in some 
 time, I reckon," replied David. " He s wrenched 
 his shoulder some, an mebbe strained his inside. 
 Don t seem to take no int rist in his feed, an* 
 that s a bad sign. Consarn a hoss, anyhow! If 
 they re wuth anythin they re more bother n a 
 teethin baby. Alwus some dum thing ailin em, 
 an I took consid able stock in that colt too," he 
 added regretfully, " an I could a got putty near 
 what I was askin fer him last week, an putty 
 near what he was wuth, an I ve noticed that 
 most gen ally alwus when I let a good offer go 
 like that, some cussed thing happens to the hoss. 
 It ain t a bad idee, in the hoss bus nis anyway, to 
 be willin to let the other feller make a dollar 
 once n a while." 
 
 After that aphorism they waited in silence for 
 a few minutes, and then David called out over his 
 shoulder, " How be you gettin along, Mis Cul 
 lom?" 
 
 " I guess I m fixed," she answered, and David 
 walked slowly back into the parlor, leaving John 
 in the front office. He was annoyed to realize 
 
DAVID HARUM. !6/ 
 
 that in the bustle over Mrs. Cullom and what fol 
 lowed, he had forgotten to acknowledge the 
 Christmas gift; but, hoping that Mr. Harum had 
 been equally oblivious, promised himself to repair 
 the omission later on. He would have preferred 
 to go out and leave the two to settle their affair 
 without witness or hearer, but his employer, who, 
 as he had found, usually had a reason for his ac 
 tions, had explicitly requested him to remain, and 
 he had no choice. He perched himself upon one 
 of the office stools and composed himself to await 
 the conclusion of the affair. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MRS. CULLOM was sitting at one corner of 
 the fire, and David drew a chair opposite to her. 
 
 " Feelin all right now? whisky hain t made 
 ye liable to no disorderly conduct, has it?" he 
 asked with a laugh. 
 
 " Yes, thank you," was the reply, " the warm 
 things are real comfortin , n I guess I hain t had 
 licker enough to make me want to throw things. 
 You got a kind streak in ye, Dave Harum, if 
 you did send me this here note but I s pose ye 
 know your own bus nis," she added with a sigh 
 of resignation. " I ben fearin fer a good while 
 t I couldn t hold on t that prop ty, an I don t 
 know but what you might s well git it as Zeke 
 Swinney, though I ben hopin gainst hope that 
 Charley d be able to do more n he has." 
 
 " Let s see the note," said David curtly. 
 " H m, humph, regret to say that I have been 
 instructed by Mr. Harum wa al, h m m, cal - 
 lated to clear his own skirts anyway h m m 
 must be closed up without further delay (John s 
 eye caught the little white stocking which still 
 lay on his desk) wa al, yes, that s about what I 
 told Mr. Lenox to say fur s the bus nis part s 
 concerned I might a done my own regrettin 
 if I d wrote the note myself." (John said some 
 thing to himself.) " T ain t the pleasantest thing 
 
 168 
 
DAVID HARUM. 169 
 
 in the world fer ye, I allow, but then you see, 
 bus nis is bus nis." 
 
 John heard David clear his throat, and there 
 was a hiss in the open fire. Mrs. Cullom was 
 silent, and David resumed: 
 
 " You see, Mis Cullom, it s like this. I ben 
 thinkin of this matter fer a good while. That 
 place ain t ben no real good to ye sence the first 
 year you signed that morgidge. You hain t 
 scurcely more n made ends meet, let alone the 
 int rist, an it s ben simply a question o time, an 
 who d git the prop ty in the long run fer some 
 years. I reckoned, same as you did, that Char 
 ley d mebbe come to the front but he hain t 
 done it, an t ain t likely he ever will. Charley s 
 a likely nough boy some ways, but he hain t got 
 much * git there in his make-up, not more n 
 enough fer one anyhow, I reckon. That s about 
 the size on t, ain t it?" 
 
 Mrs. Cullom murmured a feeble admission 
 that she was " fraid it was." 
 
 " Wa al," resumed Mr. Harum, " I see how 
 things was goin , an I see that unless I played 
 euchre, Zeke Swinney d git that prop ty, an 
 whether I wanted it myself or not, I didn t car- 
 late he sh d git it anyway. He put a spoke in 
 my wheel once, an I hain t forgot it. But that 
 hain t neither here nor there. Wa al," after a 
 short pause, " you know I helped ye pull the 
 thing along on the chance, as ye may say, that 
 you an your son d somehow make a go on t." 
 
 " You ben very kind, so fur," said the widow 
 faintly. 
 
 " Don t ye say that, don t ye say that," pro 
 tested David. " T wa n t no kindness. It was 
 jest bus nis. I wa n t takin no chances, an I 
 
 12 
 
I/O 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 s pose I might let the thing run a spell longer if 
 I c d see any use in t. But the ain t, an so I 
 ast ye to come up this mornin so t we c d settle 
 the thing up without no fuss, nor trouble, nor 
 lawyer s fees, nor nothin . I ve got the papers 
 all drawed, an John Mr. Lenox here to take 
 the acknowlidgments. You hain t no objection 
 to windin the thing up this mornin , have ye? " 
 
 " I s pose I ll have to do whatever you say," 
 replied the poor woman in a tone of hopeless dis 
 couragement, " an I might as well be killed to 
 once, as to die by inch pieces." 
 
 " All right then," said David cheerfully, ig 
 noring her lethal suggestion, " but before we git 
 down to bus nis an signin papers, an in order 
 to set myself in as fair a light s I can in the 
 matter, I want to tell ye a little story." 
 
 " I hain t no objection s I know of," ac 
 quiesced the widow graciously. 
 
 " All right," said David, " I won t preach 
 more n about up to the sixthly How d you feel 
 if I was to light up a cigar? I hain t much of a 
 hand at a yarn, an if I git stuck, I c n puff a 
 spell. Thank ye. Wa al, Mis Cullom, you used 
 to know somethin about my folks. I was 
 raised on Buxton Hill. The was nine on us, 
 an I was the youngest o the lot. My father 
 farmed a piece of about forty to fifty acres, an 
 had a small shop where he done odd times small 
 jobs of tinkerin fer the neighbors when the was 
 anythin to do. My mother was his second, an 
 I was the only child of that marriage. He mar 
 ried agin when I was about two year old, an 
 how I ever got raised s more n I c n tell ye. 
 My sister Polly was sponsible more n any one, I 
 guess, an the only one o the whole lot that ever 
 
DAVID HARUM. iji 
 
 gin me a decent word. Small farmin ain t cal - 
 lated to fetch out the best traits of hurr^an nature 
 an keep em out an it seems to me some 
 times that when the old man w a n t cuffm my 
 ears he was lickin me with a rawhide or a strap. 
 Fur s that was concerned, all his boys used to 
 ketch it putty reg lar till they got too big. One 
 on em up an licked him one night, an lit out 
 next day. I s pose the old man s disposition was 
 sp iled by what some feller said farmin was, 
 workin all day, an doin chores all night/ an 
 larrupin me an all the rest on us was about all 
 the enjoyment he got. My brothers an sis 
 ters ceptin of Polly was putty nigh as bad 
 in respect of cuffs an such like; an my step- 
 marm was, on the hull, the wust of all. She 
 hadn t no childern o her own, an it appeared s 
 if I was jest pizen to her. T wa n t so much 
 slappin an cuffin with her as t was tongue. 
 She c d say things that d jest raise a blister like 
 pizen ivy. I s pose I was about as ord nary, no- 
 account-lookin , red-headed, freckled little cuss as 
 you ever see, an slinkin in my manners. The 
 air of our home circle wa n t cal lated to raise 
 heroes in. 
 
 " I got three four years schoolin , an made 
 out to read an write an cipher up to long divi 
 sion fore I got through, but after I got to be 
 six year old, school or no school, I had to work 
 reg lar at anything I had strength fer, an more 
 too. Chores before school an after school, an 
 a two-mile walk to git there. As fur s clo es 
 was concerned, any old thing that d hang to 
 gether was good enough fer me; but by the time 
 the older boys had outgrowed their duds, an they 
 was passed on to me, the wa n t much left on 
 
i; 2 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 em. A pair of old cowhide boots that leaked 
 in more snow an water n they kept out, an a 
 couple pairs of woolen socks that was putty much 
 all darns, was expected to see me through the 
 winter, an I went barefoot f m the time the snow 
 was off the ground till it flew agin in the fall. 
 The wa n t but two seasons o the year with me 
 them of chilblains an stun-bruises." 
 
 The speaker paused and stared for a moment 
 into the comfortable glow of the fire, and then 
 discovering to his apparent surprise that his cigar 
 had gone out, lighted it from a coal picked out 
 with the tongs. 
 
 " Farmin s a hard life," remarked Mrs. Cul- 
 lom with an air of being expected to make some 
 contribution to the conversation. 
 
 " An yit, as it seems to me as I look back 
 on t," David resumed pensively, " the wust on t 
 was that nobody ever gin me a kind word, cept 
 Polly. I s pose I got kind o used to bein cold an 
 tired; dressin in a snowdrift where it blowed into 
 the attic, an goin out to fodder cattle fore sun 
 up; pickin up stun in the blazin sun, an doin 
 all the odd jobs my father set me to, an the older 
 ones shirked onto me. That was the reg lar or 
 der o things; but I remember I never did git 
 used to never pleasin nobody. Course I didn t 
 expect nothin f m my step-marm,an the only way 
 I ever knowed I d done my stent fur s father was 
 concerned, was that he didn t say nothin . But 
 sometimes the older ones d git settin round, 
 talkin an laughin , havin pop corn an apples, 
 an that, an I d kind o sidle up, wantin to join 
 em, an some on em d say, * What you doin 
 here? time you was in bed, an give me a shove 
 or a cuff. Yes, ma am," looking up at Mrs. Cul- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 173 
 
 lorn, " the wust on t was that I was kind o scairt 
 the hull time. Once in a while Polly d give me 
 a mossel o comfort, but Polly wa n t but little 
 older n me, an bein the youngest girl, was 
 chored most to death herself." 
 
 It had stopped snowing, and though the wind 
 still came in gusty blasts, whirling the drift 
 against the windows, a wintry gleam of sunshine 
 came in and touched the widow s wrinkled face. 
 
 " It s amazin how much trouble an sorrer 
 the is in the world, an how soon it begins," she 
 remarked, moving a little to avoid the sunlight. 
 " I hain t never ben able to reconcile how many 
 good things the be, an how little most on us 
 gits o them. I hain t ben to meetin fer a long 
 spell cause I hain t had no fit clo es, but I re 
 member most of the preachin I ve set under 
 either dwelt on the wrath to come, or else on 
 the Lord s doin all things well, an providin . I 
 hope I ain t no wickeder n than the gen ral run, 
 but it s putty hard to hev faith in the Lord s pro 
 vidin when you hain t got nothin in the house 
 but corn meal, an none too much o that." 
 
 " That s so, Mis Cullom, that s so," affirmed 
 David. " I don t blame ye a mite. Doubts as 
 sail, an oft prevail/ as the hymn-book says, an 
 I reckon it s a sight easier to have faith on meat 
 an potatoes n it is on corn meal mush. Wa al, 
 as I was sayin I hope I ain t tirin ye with my 
 goin s on? " 
 
 "No," said Mrs. Cullom, "I m engaged to 
 hear ye, but nobody d suppose to see ye now 
 that ye was such a florn little critter as you 
 make out." 
 
 " It s jest as I m tellin ye, an more also, as 
 the Bible says," returned David, and then, rather 
 
174 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 more impressively, as if he were leading up to 
 his conclusion, " it come along to a time when 
 I was twixt thirteen an fourteen. The was a 
 cirkis billed to show down here in Homeville, 
 an ev ry barn an shed fer miles around had pic 
 tures stuck onto em of el phants, an rhinoce 
 roses, an ev ry animul that went into the ark ; an 
 girls ridin bareback an jumpin through hoops, 
 an fellers ridin bareback an turnin summersets, 
 an doin turnovers on swings; an clowns gettin* 
 hoss-whipped, an ev ry kind of a thing that could 
 be pictered out; an how the was to be a grand 
 percession at ten o clock, ith golden chariots, 
 an scripteral allegories, an the hull bus nis; an 
 the gran performance at two o clock; admission 
 twenty-five cents, children under twelve, at cet- 
 ery, air so forth. Wa al, I hadn t no more idee 
 o goin to that cirkis n I had o flyin to the 
 moon, but the night before the show somethin 
 waked me bout twelve o clock. I don t know 
 how t was. I d ben helpin mend fence all day, 
 an gen ally I never knowed nothin after my 
 head struck the bed till mornin . But that night, 
 anyhow, somethin waked me, an I went an 
 looked out the windo , an there was the hull 
 thing goin by the house. The was more or 
 less moon, an I see the el phant, an the big 
 wagins the drivers kind o noddin over the 
 dashboards an the chariots with canvas covers 
 I don t know how many of em an the cages 
 of the tigers an lions, an all. Wa al, I got up the 
 next mornin at sun-up an done my chores; an 
 after breakfust I set off fer the ten-acre lot where 
 I was mendin fence. The ten-acre was the far 
 thest off of any, Homeville way, an I had my 
 dinner in a tin pail so t I needn t lose no time 
 
DAVID HARUM. 175 
 
 goin home at noon, an , as luck would have it, 
 the wa n t nobody with me that mornin . Wa al, 
 I got down to the lot an set to work ; but some 
 how I couldn t git that show out o my head no 
 how. As I said, I hadn t no more notion of goin 
 to that cirkis n I had of kingdom come. I d 
 never had two shillin of my own in my hull life. 
 But the more I thought on t the uneasier I got. 
 Somethin seemed pullin an haulin at me, an 
 fin ly I gin in. I allowed I d see that percession 
 anyway if it took a leg, an mebbe I c d git back 
 ithout nobody missin me. T any rate, I d 
 take the chances of a lickin jest once fer that s 
 what it meant an I up an put fer the village 
 lickity-cut. I done them four mile lively, I c n 
 tell ye, an the stun-bruises never hurt me once. 
 " When I got down to the village it seemed 
 to me as if the hull population of Freeland Coun 
 ty was there. I d never seen so many folks to 
 gether in my life, an fer a spell it seemed to me 
 as if ev rybody was a-lookin at me an sayin , 
 That s old Harum s boy Dave, playin hookey, 
 an I sneaked round dreadin somebody d give 
 me away; but I fin ly found that nobody wa n t 
 payin any attention to me they was there to see 
 the show, an one red-headed boy more or less 
 wa n t no pertic ler account. Wa al, putty soon 
 the percession hove in sight, an the was a reg lar 
 stampede among the boys, an when it got by, 
 I run an ketched up with it agin, an walked 
 alongside the el phant, tin pail an all, till they 
 fetched up inside the tent. Then I went off to 
 one side it must a ben about leven or half-past, 
 an eat my dinner I had a devourin appetite 
 an thought I d jest walk round a spell, an then 
 light out fer home. But the was so many things 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 to see an hear all the side-show pictures of 
 Fat Women, an Livin Skelitons; an Wild Wom 
 en of Madygasker, an Wild Men of Borneo; an 
 snakes windin round women s necks; hand-or- 
 gins; fellers that played the cordion, an mouth- 
 pipes, an drum an cymbals all to once, an such 
 like that I fergot all about the time an the ten- 
 acre lot, an the stun fence, an fust I knowed the 
 folks was makin fer the ticket wagin, an the 
 band begun to play inside the tent. Be I taxin 
 your patience over the limit? " said David, break 
 ing off in his story and addressing Mrs. Cullom 
 more directly. 
 
 " No, I guess not," she replied; " I was jest 
 thinkin of a circus I went to once," she added 
 with an audible sigh. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, taking a last farewell 
 of the end of his cigar, which he threw into the 
 grate, " mebbe what s comin 11 int rist ye more 
 n the rest on t has. I was standin gawpin 
 round, list nin to the band an watchin the folks 
 git their tickets, when all of a suddin I felt a 
 twitch at my hair it had a way of workin out of 
 the holes in my old chip straw hat an somebody 
 says to me, Wa al, sonny, what you thinkin of? 
 he says. I looked up, an who do you s pose it 
 was? It was Billy P. Cullom! I knowed who 
 he was, fer I d seen him before, but of course he 
 didn t know me. Yes, ma am, it was Billy P., 
 an wa n t he rigged out to kill ! " 
 
 The speaker paused and looked into the fire, 
 smiling. The woman started forward facing him, 
 and clasping her hands, cried, " My husband! 
 What d he have on?" 
 
 "Wa al," said David slowly and reminiscently, 
 " near s I c n remember, he had on a blue broad- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 cloth claw-hammer coat with flat gilt buttons, an 
 a double-breasted plaid velvet vest, an pearl-gray 
 pants, strapped down over his boots, which was 
 of shiny leather, an a high pointed collar an blue 
 stock with a pin in it (I remember wonderin if 
 it c d be real gold), an a yeller-white plug beaver 
 hat." 
 
 At the description of each article of attire Mrs. 
 Cullom nodded her head, with her eyes fixed on 
 David s face, and as he concluded she broke out 
 breathlessly, " Oh, yes! Oh, yes! David, he 
 wore them very same clo es, an he took me to 
 that very same show that very same night!" 
 There was in her face a look almost of awe, as if 
 a sight of her long-buried past youth had been 
 shown to her from a coffin. 
 
 Neither spoke for a moment or two, and it 
 was the widow who broke the silence. As David 
 had conjectured, she was interested at last, and sat 
 leaning forward with her hands clasped in her lap. 
 
 "Well," she exclaimed, "ain t ye goin on? 
 What did he say to ye?" 
 
 "Cert nly, cert nly," responded David, "I ll 
 tell ye near s I c n remember, an I c n remember 
 putty near. As I told ye, I felt a twitch at my 
 hair, an he said, What be you thinkin about, 
 sonny? I looked up at him, an looked away 
 quick. I dunno, I says, diggin my big toe into 
 the dust; an then, I dunno how I got the spunk 
 to, for I was shyer n a rat, Guess I was thinkin 
 bout mendin that fence up in the ten-acre lot s 
 much s anythin , I says. 
 
 " Ain t you goin to the cirkis? he says. 
 
 " I hain t got no money to go to cirkises, I 
 says, rubbin the dusty toes o one foot over t 
 other, nor nothin else, I says. 
 
178 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Wa al, he says, why don t you crawl un 
 der the canvas? 
 
 "That kind o riled me, shy s I was. I 
 don t crawl under no canvases, I says. If I 
 can t go in same s other folks, I ll stay out/ I 
 says, lookin square at him fer the fust time. He 
 wa n t exac ly smilin , but the was a look in his 
 eyes that was the next thing to it." 
 
 " Lordy me!" sighed Mrs. Cullom, as if to 
 herself. "How well I can remember that look; 
 jest as if he was laughin at ye, an wa n t laughin 
 at ye, an his arm around your neck ! " 
 
 David nodded in reminiscent sympathy, and 
 rubbed his bald poll with the back of his hand. 
 
 " Wa al," interjected the widow. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, resuming, " he says to 
 me, Would you like to go to the cirkis? an 
 with that it occurred to me that I did want to go 
 to that cirkis more n anythin I ever wanted to 
 before nor since, it seems to me. But I tell ye 
 the truth, I was so far f m expectin to go t I 
 really hadn t knowed I wanted to. I looked at 
 him, an then down agin, an began tenderin up 
 a stun-bruise on one heel agin the other instep, 
 an all I says was, bein so dum d shy, * I dunno, 
 I says. But I guess he seen in my face what my 
 feelin s was, fer he kind o laughed an pulled out 
 half-a-dollar an says: D you think y x ou could 
 git a couple o tickits in that crowd? If you kin, 
 I think I ll go myself, but I don t want to git my 
 boots all dust, he says. I allowed I c d try; an 
 I guess them bare feet o mine tore up the dust 
 some gettin over to the wagin. Wa al, I had 
 another scare gettin the tickits, fer fear some one 
 that knowed me d see me with a half-a-dollar, 
 an think I must a stole the money. But I got 
 
DAVID HARUM. 179 
 
 em an carried em back to him, an he took em 
 an put em in his vest pocket, an handed me a 
 ten-cent piece, an says, Mebbe you ll want 
 somethin in the way of refreshments fer yourself 
 an mebbe the eFphant, he says, an walked off 
 toward the tent ; an I stood stun still, lookin after 
 him. He got off about a rod or so an stopped 
 an looked back. Ain t you comin ? he says. 
 
 " Be I goin with you? " I says. 
 
 " Why not? he says, nless you d ruther go 
 alone, an he put his ringer an thumb into his 
 vest pocket. Wa al, ma am, I looked at him a 
 minute, with his shiny hat an boots, an fine 
 clo es, an gold pin, an thought of my ragged ole 
 shirt, an cotton pants, an ole chip hat with the 
 brim most gone, an my tin pail an all. I ain t 
 fit to, I says, ready to cry an wa al, he jest 
 laughed, an says, Nonsense, he says, come 
 along. A man needn t be ashamed of his workin 
 clo es, he says, an I m dum d if he didn t take 
 holt of my hand, an in we went that way to 
 gether." 
 
 " How like him that was ! " said the widow 
 softly. 
 
 " Yes, ma am, yes, ma am, I reckon it was," 
 said David, nodding. 
 
 " Wa al," he went on after a little pause, " I 
 was ready to sink into the ground with shyniss 
 at fust, but that wore off some after a little, an 
 we two seen the hull show, I tell ye. W T e walked 
 round the cages, an we fed the el phant that is, 
 he bought the stuff an I fed him. I member 
 he, he, he! t he says, mind you git the right 
 end, he says, an then we got a couple o seats, 
 an the doin s begun." 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE widow was looking at David with shin 
 ing eyes and devouring his words. All the years 
 of trouble and sorrow and privation were wiped 
 out, and she was back in the days of her girl 
 hood. Ah, yes! how well she remembered him 
 as he looked that very day so handsome, so 
 splendidly dressed, so debonair; and how proud 
 she had been to sit by his side that night, ob 
 served and envied of all the village girls. 
 
 " I ain t goin to go over the hull show," pro 
 ceeded David, " well s I remember it. The 
 didn t nothin git away from me that afternoon, 
 an once I come near to stickin a piece o ginger 
 bread into my ear stid o my mouth. I had my 
 ten-cent piece that Billy P. give me, but he 
 wouldn t let me buy nothin ; an when the gin 
 gerbread man come along he says, Air ye hun 
 gry, Dave? (I d told him my name), air ye hun 
 gry? Wa al, I was a growin boy, an I was 
 hungry putty much all the time. He bought 
 two big squares an gin me one, an when I d 
 swallered it, he says, Guess you better tackle this 
 one too, he says, I ve dined. I didn t exac ly 
 know what dined meant, but he, he, he, he! 
 I tackled it," and David smacked his lips in 
 memory. 
 
 " Wa al," he went on, " we done the hull pro- 
 180 
 
DAVID HARUM. l8l 
 
 grammy gingerbread, lemonade pink lemon 
 ade, an he took some o that pop corn, peanuts, 
 
 pep mint candy, cin mun candy scat my ! 
 
 an he payin fer ev rythin I thought he was jest 
 made o money! An I remember how we talked 
 about all the doin s; the ridin , an jumpin , an 
 summersettin , an all fer he d got all the shyniss 
 out of me for the time an once I looked up at 
 him, an he looked down at me with that curious 
 look in his eyes an put his hand on my shoulder. 
 Wa al, now, I tell ye, I had a queer, crinkly feel- 
 in go up an down my back, an I like to up an 
 cried." 
 
 " Dave," said the widow, " I kin see you two 
 as if you was settin there front of me. He was 
 alwus like that. Oh, my! Oh, my! David," 
 she added solemnly, while two tears rolled slowly 
 down her wrinkled face, " we lived together, hus- 
 ban an wife, fer seven year, an he never give 
 me a cross word." 
 
 " I don t doubt it a mossel," said David sim 
 ply, leaning over and poking the fire, which oper 
 ation kept his face out of her sight and was pro 
 longed rather unduly. Finally he straightened 
 up and, blowing his nose as it were a trumpet, 
 said: 
 
 " Wa al, the cirkis fin ly come to an end, an 
 the crowd hustled to git out s if they was afraid 
 the tent d come down on em. I got kind o 
 mixed up in em, an somebody tried to git my 
 tin pail, or I thought he did, an the upshot was 
 that I lost sight o Billy P., an couldn t make out 
 to ketch a glimpse of him nowhere. An then I 
 kind o come down to earth, kerchug! It was 
 five o clock, an I had better n four mile to walk 
 mostly up hill an if I knowed anything bout 
 
1 82 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 the old man, an I thought I did, I had the all- 
 firedist lickin ahead of me t I d ever got, an that 
 was sayin a good deal. But, boy s I was, I had 
 grit enough to allow t was wuth it, an off I 
 put." 
 
 " Did he lick ye much?" inquired Mrs. Cul- 
 lom anxiously. 
 
 " Wa al," replied David, " he done his best. 
 He was layin fer me when I struck the front gate 
 I knowed it wa n t no use to try the back door, 
 an he took me by the ear most pulled it off 
 an marched me off to the barn shed without a 
 word. I never see him so mad. Seemed like 
 he couldn t speak fer a while, but fin ly he says, 
 Where you ben all day? 
 
 Down t the village, I says. 
 
 " What you ben up to down there? he says. 
 Went to the cirkis, I says, thinkin I might 
 s well make a clean breast on t. 
 
 " Where d you git the money? he says. 
 Mr. Cullom took me/ I says. 
 
 " You lie, he says. You stole the money 
 somewheres, an I ll trounce it out of ye, if I 
 kill ye, he says. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, twisting his shoulders in 
 recollection, " I won t harrer up your feelin s. S 
 I told you, he clone his best. I was willin to 
 quit long fore he was. Fact was, he overdone 
 it a little, an he had to throw water in my face 
 fore he got through; an he done that as thor 
 ough as the other thing. I was somethin like 
 a chickin jest out o the cistern. I crawled off 
 to bed the best I could, but I didn t lay on my 
 back fer a good spell, I c n tell ye." 
 
 " You poor little critter," exclaimed Mrs. Cul 
 lom sympathetically. " You poor little critter! " 
 
DAVID HARUM. ^3 
 
 " T was more n wuth it, Mis Cullom," said 
 David emphatically. " I d had the most enjoy- 
 ble day, I might say the only enjoy ble day, 
 t I d ever had in my hull life, an I hain t 
 never fergot it. I got over the lickin in 
 course of time, but I ve ben enjoyin that cirkis 
 fer forty year. The wa n t but one thing to hen- 
 der, an that s this, that I hain t never ben able 
 to remember an to this day I lay awake nights 
 tryin to that I said Thank ye to Billy P., an 
 I never seen him after that day." 
 
 " How s that?" asked Mrs. Cullom. 
 
 " Wa al," was the reply, " that day was the 
 turnin point with me. The next night I lit out 
 with what duds I c d git together, an as much 
 grub s I could pack in that tin pail; an the next 
 time I see the old house on Buxton Hill the 
 hadn t ben no Harums in it fer years." 
 
 Here David rose from his chair, yawned and 
 stretched himself, and stood with his back to 
 the fire. The widow looked up anxiously 
 into his face. " Is that all?" she asked after a 
 while. 
 
 " Wa al, it is an it ain t. I ve got through 
 yarnin about Dave Harum at any rate, an meb- 
 be we d better have a little confab on your mat 
 ters, seein t I ve got you way up here such a 
 mornin s this. I gen ally do bus nis fust an 
 talkin afterward," he added, " but I kind o got 
 to goin an kept on this time." 
 
 He put his hand into the breast pocket of his 
 coat and took out three papers, which he shuffled 
 in review as if to verify their identity, and then 
 held them in one hand, tapping them softly upon 
 the palm of the other, as if at a loss how to begin. 
 The widow sat with her eyes fastened upon the 
 
1 84 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 papers, trembling with nervous apprehension. 
 Presently he broke the silence. 
 
 " About this here morgidge o your n," he 
 said, " I sent ye word that I wanted to close the 
 matter up, an seein t you re here an come fer 
 that purpose, I guess we d better make a job on t. 
 The ain t no time like the present, as the say- 
 in is." 
 
 " I s pose it ll hev to be as you say," said the 
 widow in a shaking voice. 
 
 " Mis Cullom," said David solemnly, " you 
 know, an I know, that I ve got the repitation of 
 bein a hard, graspin , schemin man. Mebbe I 
 be. Mebbe I ve ben hard done by all my hull 
 life, an have had to be; an mebbe, now t I ve 
 got ahead some, it s got to be second nature, an 
 I can t seem to help it. Bus nis is bus nis ain t 
 part of the golden rule, I allow, but the way it 
 gen ally runs, fur s I ve found out, is, Do unto 
 the other feller the way he d like to do unto you, 
 an do it fust. But, if you want to keep this 
 thing a-runnin as it s goin on now fer a spell 
 longer, say one year, or two, or even three, you 
 may, only I ve got somethin to say to ye fore 
 ye elect." 
 
 " Wa al," said the poor woman, " I expect it 
 d only be pilin up wrath agin the day o wrath. 
 I can t pay the int rist now without starvin , an 
 I hain t got no one to bid in the prop ty fer me 
 if it was to be sold." 
 
 " Mis Cullom," said David, " I said I d got 
 somethin more to tell ye, an if, when I git 
 through, you don t think I ve treated you right, 
 includin this mornin s confab, I hope you ll fer- 
 give me. It s this, an I m the only person livin 
 that s knowin to it, an in fact I may say that 
 
DAVID HARUM. ^5 
 
 I m the only person that ever was really knowin 
 to it. It was before you was married, an I m 
 sure he never told ye, fer I don t doubt he fergot 
 all about it, but your husband, Billy P. Cullom, 
 that was, made a small investment once on a time, 
 yes, ma am, he did, an in his kind of careless 
 way it jes slipped his mind. The amount of 
 cap tal he put in wa n t large, but the rate of 
 int rist was uncommon high. Now, he never 
 drawed no dividends on t, an they ve ben cumu- 
 latin fer forty year, more or less, at compound 
 int rist." 
 
 The widow started forward, as if to rise from 
 her seat. David put his hand out gently and 
 said, " Jest a minute, Mis Cullom, jest a minute, 
 till I git through. Part o that cap tal," he re 
 sumed, " consistin of a quarter an some odd 
 cents, was invested in the cirkis bus nis, an the 
 rest on t the cap tal, an all the cash cap tal that 
 I started in bus nis with was the ten cents your 
 husband give me that day, an here," said David, 
 striking the papers in his left hand with the back 
 of his right, " here is the dividends! This here 
 second morgidge, not bein on record, may jest 
 as well go onto the fire it s gettin low an 
 here s a satisfaction piece which I m goin to exe 
 cute now, that ll clear the thousan dollar one. 
 Come in here, John," he called out. 
 
 The widow stared at David for a moment 
 speechless, but as the significance of his words 
 dawned upon her, the blood flushed darkly in 
 her face. She sprang to her feet and, throwing 
 up her arms, cried out: " My Lord! My Lord! 
 Dave! Dave Harum! Is it true? tell me it s 
 true! You ain t foolin me, air ye, Dave? You 
 wouldn t fool a poor old woman that never done 
 13 
 
1 86 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 ye no harm, nor said a mean word agin ye, would 
 ye? Is it true? an is my place clear? an I don t 
 owe nobody any thin I mean, no money? Tell it 
 agin. Oh, tell it agin! Oh, Dave! it s too good 
 to be true! Oh! Oh! Oh, my! an here I be 
 cryin like a great baby, an , an " fumbling in 
 her pocket " I do believe I hain t got no hank - 
 chif Oh, thank ye," to John; " I ll do it up an 
 send it back to-morrer. Oh, what made ye do it, 
 Dave?" 
 
 " Set right down an take it easy, Mis Cul- 
 lom," said David soothingly, putting his hands on 
 her shoulders and gently pushing her back into 
 her chair. " Set right down an take it easy. 
 Yes," to John, " I acknowledge that I signed 
 that." 
 
 He turned to the widow, who sat wiping her 
 eyes with John s handkerchief. 
 
 " Yes, ma am," he said, " it s as true as any- 
 thin kin be. I wouldn t no more fool ye, ye 
 know I wouldn t, don t ye? than I d jerk a 
 hoss," he asseverated. " Your place is clear 
 now, an by this time to-morro the won t 
 be the scratch of a pen agin it. I ll send the 
 satisfaction over fer record fust thing in the 
 mornin ." 
 
 " But, Dave," protested the widow, " I s pose 
 ye know what you re doin ? " 
 
 " Yes," he interposed, " I cal late I do, putty 
 near. You ast me why I done it, an I ll tell ye 
 if ye want to know. I m payin off an old score, 
 an gettin off cheap, too. That s what I m doin ! 
 I thought I d hinted up to it putty plain, seem 
 t I ve talked till my jaws ache; but I ll sum it 
 up to ye if you like." 
 
 He stood with his feet aggressively wide 
 
DAVID HARUM. 187 
 
 apart, one hand in his trousers pocket, and hold 
 ing in the other the " morgidge," which he waved 
 from time to time in emphasis. 
 
 " You c n estimate, I reckon," he began, 
 " what kind of a bringin -up I had, an what a 
 poor, mis able, God-fersaken, scairt-to-death little 
 forlorn critter I was; put upon, an snubbed, an 
 jawed at till I d come to believe myself what 
 was rubbed into me the hull time that I was the 
 most all- round no-account animul that was ever 
 made out o dust, an wa n t ever likely to be no 
 difFrent. Lookin back, it seems to me that 
 exceptin of Polly I never had a kind word said 
 to me, nor a day s fun. Your husband, Billy P. 
 Cullom, was the fust man that ever treated me 
 human up to that time. He give me the only 
 enjoy ble time t I d ever had, an I don t know t 
 ariythin s ever equaled it since. He spent 
 money on me, an he give me money to spend 
 that had never had a cent to call my own an\ 
 Mis Cullom, he took me by the hand, an he 
 talked to me, an he gin me the fust -notion t I d 
 ever had that mebbe I wa n t only the scum o 
 the earth, as I d ben teached to believe. I told 
 ve that that day was the turnin point of my life. 
 Wa al, it wa n t the lickin I got, though that had 
 somethin to do with it, but I d never have had 
 the spunk to run away s I did if it hadn t ben 
 for the heartenin Billy P. gin me, an never 
 knowed it, an never knowed it," he repeated 
 mournfully. " I alwus allowed to pay some o 
 jhat debt back to him, but seein s I can t do that, 
 Mis Cullom, I m glad an thankful to pay it to 
 his widdo ." 
 
 " Mebbe he knows, Dave," said Mrs. Cullom 
 softly. 
 
1 88 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Mebbe he does," assented David in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Neither spoke for a time, and then the widow 
 said: " David, I can t thank ye s I ought ter 
 I don t know how but I ll pray for ye night an 
 mornin s long s I got breath. An , Dave," she 
 added humbly, " I want to take back what I said 
 about the Lord s providin ." 
 
 She sat a moment, lost in her thoughts, and 
 then exclaimed, " Oh, it don t seem s if I c d 
 wait to write to Charley ! " 
 
 " I ve wrote to Charley," said David, " an 
 told him to sell out there an come home, an to 
 draw on me fer any balance he needed to move 
 him. I ve got somethin in my eye that ll be 
 easier an better payin than fightin grasshoppers 
 an drought in Kansas." 
 
 " Dave Harum ! " cried the widow, rising to 
 her feet, " you ought to a ben a king! " 
 
 " Wa al," said David with a grin, " I don t 
 know much about the kingin bus nis, but I guess 
 a cloth cap n a hoss whip s more n my line 
 than a crown an scepter. An now," he added, 
 " s we ve got through th our bus nis, s pose you 
 step over to the house an see Polly. She s ex- 
 pectin on ye to dinner. Oh, yes," replying to 
 the look of deprecation in her face as she viewed 
 her shabby frock, " you an Polly c n prink up 
 some if you want to, but we can t take No 
 fer an answer Chris mus day, clo es or no 
 clo es." 
 
 " I d really like ter," said Mrs. Cullom. 
 
 " All right then," said David cheerfully. 
 " The path is swep by this time, I guess, an I ll 
 see ye later. Oh, by the way," he exclaimed, 
 " the s somethin I fergot. I want to make you 
 
DAVID HARUM. i$g 
 
 a proposition, ruther an onusual one, but seein 
 ev rythin is as t is, perhaps you ll consider it." 
 
 " Dave," declared the widow, " if I could, an* 
 you ast for it, I d give ye anythin on the face o 
 this mortal globe! " 
 
 " Wa al," said David, nodding and smiling, " I 
 thought that mebbe, long s you got the int rist 
 of that investment we ben talkin about, you d 
 let me keep what s left of the princ pal. Would 
 ye like to see it? " 
 
 Mrs. Cullom looked at him with a puzzled 
 expression without replying. 
 
 David took from his pocket a large wallet, se 
 cured by a strap, and, opening it, extracted some 
 thing enveloped in much faded brown paper. 
 Unfolding this, he displayed upon his broad fat 
 palm an old silver dime black with age. 
 
 " There s the cap tal," he said. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 JOHN walked to the front door with Mrs. 
 Cullom, but she declined with such evident sin 
 cerity his offer to carry her bundle to the house 
 that he let her out of the office and returned to 
 the back room. David was sitting before the 
 fire, leaning back in his chair with his hands 
 thrust deep in his trousers pockets. He looked 
 up as John entered and said, " Draw up a chair." 
 
 John brought a chair and stood by the side of 
 it while he said, " I want to thank you for the 
 Christmas remembrance, which pleased and 
 touched me very deeply; and," he added diffi 
 dently, " I want to say how mortified I am in 
 fact, I want to apologize for " 
 
 " Regrettin ?" interrupted David with a mo 
 tion of his hand toward the chair and a smile of 
 great amusement. " Sho, sho! Se down, se 
 down. I m glad you found somethin in your 
 stockin if it pleased ye, an as fur s that regret o 
 your n was concerned wa al wa al, I liked ye 
 all the better for t, I did fer a fact. He, he, he! 
 Appearances was ruther agin me, wasn t they, 
 the way I told it." 
 
 " Nevertheless," said John, seating himself, 
 " I ought not to have that is tc say, I ought to 
 have known " 
 
 " How could ye," David broke in, " when I 
 190 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 IQI 
 
 as good as told ye I was cal latin to rob the old 
 
 lady? He, he, he, he! Scat my ! Your 
 
 face was a picture when I told ye to write that 
 note, though I reckon you didn t know I no 
 ticed it." 
 
 John laughed and said, " You have been very 
 generous all through, Mr. Harum." 
 
 " Nothin to brag on," he replied, " nothin to 
 brag on. Fur s Mis Cullom s matter was con 
 cerned, t was as I said, jes payin off an old 
 score; an as fur s your stockin , it s really putty 
 much the same. I ll allow you ve earned it, if 
 it ll set any easier on your stomech." 
 
 " I can t say that I have been overworked," 
 said John with a slight laugh. 
 
 "Mebbe not," rejoined David, " but you hain t 
 ben overpaid neither, an I want ye to be satis 
 fied. Fact is," he continued, " my gettin you 
 up here was putty consid able of an experiment, 
 but I ben watchin ye putty close, an I m more n 
 satisfied. Mebbe Timson c d beat ye at figurin 
 an countin money when you fust come, an 
 knowed more about the pertic ler points of the 
 office, but outside of that he was the biggist 
 dumb-head I ever see, an you know how he lef 
 things. He hadn t no tack, fer one thing. Out 
 side of summin up figures an countin money 
 he had a faculty fer gettin things t other-end 
 to that beat all. I d tell him a thing, an 
 explain it to him two three times over, an he d 
 
 say Yes, yes, an , scat my ! when it came 
 
 to carryin on t out, he hadn t sensed it a mite 
 jes got it which-end-t other. An talk! Wa al, 
 I think it must a ben a kind of disease with him. 
 He really didn t mean no harm, mebbe, but he 
 couldn t no more help lettin out anythin he 
 
IQ2 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 knowed, or thought he knowed, than a settin hen 
 c n help settin . He kep me on tenter-hooks the 
 hull endurin time." 
 
 " I should say he was honest enough, was he 
 not?" said John. 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied David with a touch of 
 scorn, " he was honest enough fur s money mat 
 ters was concerned; but he hadn t no tack, nor no 
 sense, an many a time he done more mischief 
 with his gibble-gabble than if he d took fifty dol 
 lars out an out. Fact is," said David, " the kind 
 of honesty that won t actually steal s a kind of 
 fool honesty that s common enough; but the 
 kind that keeps a feller s mouth shut when he 
 hadn t ought to talk s about the scurcest thing 
 goin . I ll jes tell ye, fer example, the last mess 
 he made. You know Purse, that keeps the gen - 
 ral store? Wa al, he come to me some months 
 ago, on the quiet, an said that he wanted to 
 borro five hunderd. He didn t want to git no 
 indorser, but he d show me his books an give 
 me a statement an a chattel morgidge fer six 
 months. He didn t want nobody to know t he 
 was anyway pushed fer money because he wanted 
 to git some extensions, an so on. I made up my 
 mind it was all right, an I done it. Wa al, about 
 a month or so after he come to me with tears in 
 his eyes, as ye might say, an says, I got some- 
 thin I want to show ye, an handed out a letter 
 from the house in New York he had some of his 
 biggist dealin s with, tellin him that they re 
 gretted " here David gave John a nudge " that 
 they couldn t give him the extensions he ast 
 for, an that his paper must be paid as it fell 
 due some twelve hunderd dollars. Some 
 body s leaked, he says, an they ve heard of 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 193 
 
 that morgidge, an I m in a putty scrape/ he 
 says. 
 
 " H m m/ I says, what makes ye think so? 
 
 Can t be nothin else, he says; 4 I ve dealt 
 with them people fer years an never ast fer noth 
 in but what I got it, an now to have em round 
 up on me like this, it can t be nothin but what 
 they ve got wind o that chattel morgidge, he 
 says. 
 
 * H m m, I says. Any o their people ben 
 up here lately? I says. 
 
 " * That s jest it, he says. One o their trav- 
 ellin men was up here last week, an he come in 
 in the afternoon as chipper as you please, wantin 
 to sell me a bill o goods, an I put him off, sayin 
 that I had a putty big stock, an so on, an he 
 said he d see me agin in the mornin you know 
 that sort of talk, he says. 
 
 Wa al/ I says, did he come in? 
 
 " No/ says Purse, he didn t. I never set 
 eyes on him agin, an more n that/ he says, he 
 took the first train in the mornin , an now/ he 
 says, * I expect I ll have ev ry last man I owe 
 anythin to buzzin round my ears. 
 
 " Wa al/ I says, I guess I see about how 
 the land lays, an I reckon you ain t fur out about 
 the morgidge bein at the bottom on t, an the 
 ain t no way it c d a leaked out ceptin through 
 that dum d chuckle-head of a Timson. But this 
 is the way it looks to me you hain t heard noth 
 in in the village, have ye? I says. 
 
 " No/ he says. Not yit? he says. 
 
 Wa al, ye won t, I don t believe/ I says, 
 an as fur as that drummer is concerned, you c n 
 bet/ I says, that he didn t nor won t let on to 
 nobody but his own folks not till his bus nis is 
 
194 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 squared up, an more n that/ I says, seein that 
 your trouble s ben made ye by one o my help, 
 I don t see but what I ll have to see ye through/ 
 I says. You jes give me the address of the 
 New York parties, an tell me what you want 
 done, an I reckon I c n fix the thing so t they 
 won t bother ye. I don t believe/ I says, that 
 anybody else knows anythin yet, an I ll shut up 
 Timson s yawp so s it ll stay shut. " 
 
 "How did the matter come out?" asked 
 John, " and what did Purse say? " 
 
 " Oh," replied David, " Purse -went off head 
 up an tail up. He said he was everlastin ly 
 obliged to me, an he, he, he! he said t was 
 more n he expected. You see I charged him 
 what I thought was right on the rig nal deal, an 
 he squimmidged some, an I reckon he allowed 
 to be putty well bled if I took holt agin; but I 
 done as I agreed on the extension bus nis, an 
 [ m on his paper for twelve hunderd fer nothiir, 
 jest because that nikum-noddy of a Timson let 
 that drummer bamboozle him into talkin . I 
 found out the hull thing, an the very day I 
 wrote to the New York fellers fer Purse, I wrote 
 to Gen ral Wolsey to find me somebody to take 
 Timson s place. I allowed I d ruther have some 
 body that didn t know nobody, than such a clack- 
 in ole he-hen as Chet." 
 
 " I should have said that it was rather a haz 
 ardous thing to do," said John, " to put a total 
 stranger like me into what is rather a confidential 
 position, as well as a responsible one." 
 
 "Wa al," said David, "in the fust place I 
 knew that the Gen ral wouldn t recommend no 
 dead-beat nor no skin, an I allowed that if the 
 raw material was O. K., I could break it in; an 
 
DAVID HARUM. 195 
 
 if it wa n t I should find it out putty quick. Like 
 a young boss," he remarked, " if he s sound an 
 kind, an got gumption, I d sooner break him in 
 myself n not fur s my use goes an if I can t, 
 nobody can, an I get rid on him. You under 
 stand?" 
 
 " Yes," said John with a smile. 
 
 " Wa al," continued David, " I liked your let 
 ter, an when you come I liked your looks. Of 
 course I couldn t tell jest how you d take holt, 
 nor if you an me d hitch. An then agin, I 
 didn t know whether you could stan it here after 
 livin in a city all your life. I watched ye putty 
 close closter n you knowed of, I guess. I seen 
 right off that you was goin to fill your collar, 
 fur s the work was concerned, an though you 
 didn t know nobody much, an couldn t have no 
 amusement to speak on, you didn t mope nor 
 sulk, an what s more though I know I advised 
 ye to stay there fer a spell longer when you spoke 
 about boardin somewhere else I know what the 
 Eagle tavern is in winter; summer, too, fer that 
 matter, though it s a little better then, an I al 
 lowed that air test d be final. He, he, he! 
 Putty rough, ain t it?" 
 
 " It is, rather," said John, laughing. " I m 
 afraid my endurance is pretty well at an end. 
 Elright s wife is ill, and the fact is, that since day 
 before yesterday I have been living on what I 
 could buy at the grocery crackers, cheese, salt 
 fish, canned goods, et cetera." 
 
 "Scat my !" cried David. "Wa al! 
 
 Wa al! That s too dum d bad! Why on earth 
 why, you must be hungry! Wa al, you won t 
 have to eat no salt herrin to-day, because Polly 
 n I are expectin ye to dinner." 
 
196 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Two or three times during the conversation 
 David had gone to the window overlooking his 
 lawn and looked out with a general air of ob 
 serving the weather, and at this point he did so 
 again, coming back to his seat with a look of 
 satisfaction, for which there was, to John, no ob 
 vious reason. He sat for a moment without 
 speaking, and then, looking at his watch, said: 
 " Wa al, dinner s at one o clock, an Polly s a 
 great one fer bein on time. Guess I ll go out 
 an have another look at that pesky colt. You 
 better go over to the house bout quarter to one, 
 an you c n make your t ilet over there. I m 
 fraid if you go over to the Eagle it ll spoil 
 your appetite. She d think it might, anyway." 
 
 So David departed to see the colt, and John 
 got out some of the books and busied himself 
 with them until the time to present himself at 
 David s house. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " WHY, Mis Cullom, I m real glad to see ye. 
 Come right in," said Mrs. Bixbee as she drew 
 the widow into the " wing settin room," and pro 
 ceeded to relieve her of her wraps and her bundle. 
 " Set right here by the fire while I take these 
 things of your n into the kitchen to dry em out. 
 I ll be right back"; and she bustled out of the 
 room. When she came back Mrs. Cullom was 
 sitting with her hands in her lap, and there was 
 in her eyes an expression of smiling peace that 
 was good to see. 
 
 Mrs. Bixbee drew up a chair, and seating her 
 self, said: " Wa al, I don t know when I ve seen 
 ye to git a chance to speak to ye, an I was real 
 pleased when David said you was goin to be 
 here to dinner. An my! how well you re look- 
 in more like Cynthy Sweetland than I ve seen 
 ye fer I don t know when; an yet," she added, 
 looking curiously at her guest, " you pear some 
 how as if you d ben cryin ." 
 
 " You re real kind, I m sure," responded Mrs. 
 Cullom, replying to the other s welcome and re 
 marks seriatim; " I guess, though, I don t look 
 much like Cynthy Sweetland, if I do feel twenty 
 years younger n I did a while ago; an I have 
 ben cryin , I allow, but not fer sorro , Polly 
 Harum," she exclaimed, giving the other her 
 
 197 
 
198 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 maiden name. " Your brother Dave comes putty 
 nigh to bein an angel! " 
 
 " Wa al," replied Mrs. Bixbee with a twinkle, 
 " I reckon Dave might hev to be fixed up some 
 afore he come out in that pertic ler shape, but," 
 she added impressively, " es fur as bein a man 
 goes, he s bout s good s they make em. I 
 know folks thinks he s a hard bargainer, an 
 close-fisted, an some on em that ain t fit to lick 
 up his tracks says more n that. He s got his own 
 ways, I ll allow, but down at bottom, an all 
 through, I know the ain t no better man livin . 
 No, ma am, the ain t, an what he s ben to me, 
 Cynthy Cullom, nobody knows but me an an 
 mebbe the Lord though I hev seen the time," 
 she said tentatively, " when it seemed to me t I 
 knowed more about my affairs n He did," and 
 she looked doubtfully at her companion, who had 
 been following her with affirmative and sympa 
 thetic nods, and now drew her chair a little closer, 
 and said softly: " Yes, yes, I know. I ben putty 
 doubtful an rebellious myself a good many times, 
 but seems now as if He had had me in His mercy 
 all the time." Here Aunt Polly s sense of humor 
 asserted itself. " What s Dave ben up to now? " 
 she asked. 
 
 And then the widow told her story, with tears 
 and smiles, and the keen enjoyment which we all 
 have in talking about ourselves to a sympathetic 
 listener like Aunt Polly, whose interjections 
 pointed and illuminated the narrative. When it 
 was finished she leaned forward and kissed Mrs. 
 Cullom on the cheek. 
 
 " I can t tell ye how glad I be for ye," she 
 said; "but if I d known that David held that 
 morgidge, I could hev told ye ye needn t hev 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 I 99 
 
 worried yourself a mite. He wouldn t never 
 have taken your prop ty, more n he d rob a hen 
 roost. But he done the thing his own way- 
 kind o fetched it round fer a Merry Chris mus, 
 didn t he? Curious," she said reflectively, after 
 a momentary pause, " how he lays up things 
 about his childhood," and then, with a searching 
 look at the Widow Cullom, " you didn t let on, 
 an I didn t ask ye, but of course you ve heard 
 the things that some folks says of him, an natch- 
 ally they got some holt on your mind. There s 
 that story about Lish, over to Whitcom you 
 heard somethin about that, didn t ye?" 
 
 " Yes," admitted the widow, " I heard some- 
 thin of it, I s pose." 
 
 " Wa al," said Mrs. Bixbee, " you never heard 
 the hull story, ner anybody else really, but I m 
 goin to tell it to ye 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Cullom assentingly. 
 
 Mrs. Bixbee sat up straight in her chair with 
 her hands on her knees and an air of one who 
 would see justice done. 
 
 " Lish Harum," she began, " wa n t only half- 
 brother to Dave. He was hull-brother to me, 
 though, but notwithstandin that, I will say that 
 a meaner boy, a meaner growin man, an a 
 meaner man never walked the earth. He wa n t 
 satisfied to git the best piece an the biggist piece 
 he hated to hev any one else git anythin at all. 
 I don t believe he ever laughed in his life, except 
 over some kind o sufFrin man or beast an 
 what d tickle him the most was to be the means 
 on t. He took pertic ler delight in abusin an 
 tormentin Dave, an the poor little critter was 
 jest as fraicl as death of him, an good reason. 
 Father was awful hard, but he didn t go out of 
 
200 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 his way; but Lish never let no chance slip. 
 Wa al, I ain t goin to give you the hull fam ly 
 hist ry, an I ve got to go into the kitchen fer a 
 while fore dinner, but what I started out fer s 
 this: Lish fin ly settled over to Whitcom." 
 
 " Did he ever git married? " interrupted Mrs. 
 Cullom. 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied Mrs. Bixbee, " he got 
 married when he was past forty. It s curious," 
 she remarked, in passing, u but it don t seem as 
 if the was ever yit a man so mean but he c d 
 find some woman was fool enough to marry him, 
 an she was a putty decent sort of a woman too, 
 f m all accounts, an good lookin . Wa al, she 
 stood him six or seven year, an then she run 
 off." 
 
 "With another man?" queried the widow in 
 an awed voice. Aunt Polly nodded assent with 
 compressed lips. 
 
 " Yes m," she went on, " she left him an 
 went out West somewhere, an that was the last 
 of her; an when her two boys got old enough 
 to look after themselves a little, they quit him too, 
 an they wa n t no way growed up neither. Wa al, 
 the long an the short on t was that Lish got goin 
 down hill ev ry way, health an all, till he hadn t 
 nothin left but his disposition, an fairly got onter 
 the town. The wa n t nothin for it but to send 
 him to the county house, onless somebody d 
 s port him. Wa al, the committee knew Dave 
 was his brother, an one on em come to see him 
 to see if he d come forwud an help out, an he 
 seen Dave right here in this room, an Dave 
 made me stay an hear the hull thing. Man s 
 name was Smith, I remember, a peaked little man 
 with long chin whiskers that he kep clawin at 
 
DAVID HARUM. 2OI 
 
 with his fingers. Dave let him tell his story, an 
 he didn t say nothin fer a minute or two, an then 
 he says, * What made ye come to me? he says. 
 Did he send ye? 
 
 " Wa al/ says Smith, when it was clear that 
 he couldn t do nuthin , we ast him if the wa n t 
 nobody could put up fer him, an he said you was 
 his brother, an well off, an hadn t ought to let 
 him go t the poorhouse. 
 
 " He said that, did he? says Dave. 
 
 " Amountin to that/ says Smith. 
 
 * Wa al, says Dave, it s a good many years 
 sence I see Lish, an mebbe you know him better 
 n I do. You known him some time, eh? 
 Quite a number o years, says Smith. 
 
 " What sort of a feller was he/ says Dave, 
 when he was somebody? Putty good feller? 
 good citizen? good neighber? lib ral? kind to his 
 fam ly? ev rybody like him? gen ally pop lar, an 
 all that? 
 
 Wa al/ says Smith, wigglin in his chair 
 an pullin out his whiskers three four hairs 
 to a time, I guess he come some short of all 
 that. 
 
 " E umph! says Dave, I guess he did! 
 Now, honest/ he says, is the man, woman, or 
 child in Whitcom that knows Lish Harum that s 
 got a good word fer him? or ever knowed of his 
 doin or sayin anythin that hadn t got a mean 
 side to it some way? Didn t he drive his wife 
 off. out an out? an didn t his two boys hev to 
 quit him soon s they could travel? An 9 , says 
 Dave, if any one was to ask you to figure out a 
 pattern of the meanist human skunk you was 
 capable of thinkin of, wouldn t it honest, now! 
 Dave says, honest, now wouldn t it be s near 
 14 
 
202 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 like Lish Harum as one buckshot s like an 
 other? " 
 
 " My! " exclaimed Mrs. Cullom. " What did 
 Mr. Smith say to that? " 
 
 " Wa al," replied Mrs. Bixbee, " he didn t say 
 nuthin at fust, not in so many words. He sot 
 fer a minute clawin away at his whiskers an 
 he d got both hands into em by that time an 
 then he made a move as if he gin the hull thing 
 up an was goin . Dave set lookin at him, an 
 then he says, You ain t goin , air ye? 
 
 " Wa al/ says Smith, feelin s you do, I 
 guess my arrant here ain t goin t amount to 
 nothing an I may s well. 
 
 " No, you set still a minute/ says Dave. If 
 you ll answer my question honest an square, I ve 
 got sunthin more to say to ye. Come, now/ he 
 says. 
 
 " Wa al/ says Smith, with a kind of give-it- 
 up sort of a grin, I guess you sized him up 
 about right. I didn t come to see you on Lish 
 Harum s account. I come fer the town of Whit- 
 corn/ An then he spunked up some an says, 
 I don t give a darn/ he says, what comes of 
 Lish, an I don t know nobody as does, fur s he s 
 person ly concerned; but he s got to be a town 
 charge less n you take m off our hands. 
 
 " Dave turned to me an says, jest as if he 
 meant it, * How d you like to have him here, 
 Polly? 
 
 " Dave Harum! I says, what be you 
 thinkin of, seein what he is, an alwus was, an 
 how he alwus treated you? Lord sakes! I 
 says, you ain t thinkin of it ! 
 
 " Not much/ he says, with an ugly kind of 
 a smile, such as I never see in his face before, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 203 
 
 not much ! Not under this roof, or any roof of 
 mine, if it wa n t more n my cow stable an , he 
 says, turnin to Smith, this is what I want to 
 say to you: You ve done all right. I hain t no 
 fault to find with you. But I want you to go 
 back an say to Lish Harum that you ve seen 
 me, an that I told you that not one cent of my 
 money nor one mossel o my food would ever go 
 to keep him alive one minute of time; that if I 
 had an empty hogpen I wouldn t let him sleep 
 in t overnight, much less to bunk in with a de 
 cent hog. You tell him that I said the poor- 
 house was his proper dwellin , barrin the jail, an 
 that it d have to be a dum d sight poorer house 
 n I ever heard of not to be a thousan times too 
 good fer him. " 
 
 "My!" exclaimed Mrs. Cullom again. "I 
 can t really magine it of Dave." 
 
 " Wa al," replied Mrs. Bixbee, " I told ye how 
 set he is on his young days, an nobody knows 
 how cruel mean Lish used to be to him; but I 
 never see it come out of him so ugly before, 
 though I didn t blame him a mite. But I hain t 
 told ye the upshot: Now/ he says to Smith, who 
 set with his mouth gappin open, you under 
 stand how I feel about the feller, an I ve got 
 good reason for it. I want you to promise me 
 that you ll say to him, word fer word, jes what 
 I ve said to you about him, an I ll do this: You 
 folks send him to the poorhouse, an let him git 
 jes what the rest on em gits no more an no 
 less as long s he lives. When he dies you git 
 him the tightest coffin you kin buy, to keep him 
 f m spilin the earth as long as may be, an then 
 you send me the hull bill. But this has got to 
 be between you an me only. You c n tell the 
 
204 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 rest of the committee what you like, but if you 
 ever tell a livin soul about this here understand- 
 in , an I find it out, I ll never pay one cent, an 
 you ll be to blame. I m willin , on them terms, 
 to stan between the town of Whitcom an harm; 
 but fer Lish Harum, not one sumarkee! Is it 
 a barg in? Dave says. 
 
 " Yes, sir, says Smith, puttin out his hand. 
 An I guess/ he says, f m all t I c n gather, 
 thet you re doin all t we could expect, an more 
 too, an off he put." 
 
 " How d it come out? " asked Mrs. Cullom. 
 
 " Lish lived about two year," replied Aunt 
 Polly, " an Dave done as he agreed, but even 
 then when he come to settle up, he told Smith he 
 didn t want no more said about it n could be 
 helped." 
 
 " Wa al," said Mrs. Cullom, " it seems to me 
 as if David did take care on him after all, fur s 
 spendin money was concerned." 
 
 "That s the way it looks to me," said Mrs. 
 Bixbee, " but David likes to think t other. He 
 meant to be awful mean, an he was as mean 
 as he could but the fact is, he didn t reelly know 
 how. My sakes! Cynthy (looking at the clock), 
 I ll hev to excuse myself fer a spell. Ef you 
 want to do any fixin up fore dinner, jest step 
 into my bedroom. I ve laid some things out on 
 the bed, if you should happen to want any of 
 em," and she hurried out of the room. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 DAVID S house stood about a hundred feet 
 back from the street, facing the east. The main 
 body of the house was of two stories (through 
 which ran a deep bay in front), with mansard 
 roof. On the south were two stories of the 
 " wing," in which were the " settin room," Aunt 
 Polly s room, and, above, David s quarters. Ten 
 minutes or so before one o clock John rang the 
 bell at the front door. 
 
 " Sairy s busy," said Mrs. Bixbee apologetic 
 ally as she let him in, " an so I come to the door 
 myself." 
 
 " Thank you very much," said John. " Mr. 
 Harum told me to come over a little before one, 
 but perhaps I ought to have waited a few minutes 
 longer." 
 
 " No, it s all right," she replied, " for mebbe 
 you d like to wash an fix up fore dinner, so 
 I ll jes show ye where to," and she led the 
 way upstairs and into the " front parlor bed 
 room." 
 
 "There," she said, " make yourself comftable, 
 an dinner 11 be ready in about ten minutes." 
 
 For a moment John mentally rubbed his eyes. 
 Then he turned and caught both of Mrs. Bixbee s 
 hands and looked at her, speechless. When he 
 
 205 
 
206 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 found words he said: " I don t know what to say, 
 nor how to thank you properly. I don t believe 
 you know how kind this is." 
 
 " Don t say nothin about it," she protested, 
 but with a look of great satisfaction. " I done it 
 jest t relieve my mind, because ever sence you 
 fust come, I ben worryin over your bein at that 
 nasty tavern," and she made a motion to go. 
 
 [< You and your brother," said John earnestly, 
 still holding her hands, " have made me a gladder 
 and happier man this Christmas day than I have 
 been for a very long time." 
 
 " I m glad on t," she said heartily, " an I 
 hope you ll be comf table an contented here. I 
 must go now an help Sairy dish up. Come 
 down to the settin room when you re ready," and 
 she gave his hands a little squeeze. 
 
 "Aunt Po , I beg pardon, Mrs. Bixbee," 
 
 said John, moved by a sudden impulse, " do you 
 think you could find it in your heart to complete 
 my happiness by giving me a kiss? It s Christ 
 mas, you know," he added smilingly. 
 
 Aunt Polly colored to the roots of her hair. 
 " Wa al," she said, with a little laugh, " seein t 
 I m old enough to be your mother, I guess t 
 won t hurt me none," and as she went down the 
 stairs she softly rubbed her lips with the side of 
 her forefinger. 
 
 John understood now why David had looked 
 out of the bank window so often that morning. 
 All his belongings were in Aunt Polly s best bed 
 room, having been moved over from the Eagle 
 while he and David had been in the office. A de 
 lightful room it was, in immeasurable contrast 
 to his squalid surroundings at that hostelry. The 
 spacious bed, with its snowy counterpane and 
 
DAVID HARUM. 2O/ 
 
 silk patchwork " comf table " folded on the foot, 
 the bright fire in the open stove, the big bureau 
 and glass, the soft carpet, the table for writing 
 and reading standing in the bay, his books on 
 the broad mantel, and his dressing things laid out 
 ready to his hand, not to mention an ample sup 
 ply of dry towels on the rack. 
 
 The poor fellow s life during the weeks 
 which he had lived in Homeville had been utterly 
 in contrast with any previous experience. Never 
 theless he had tried to make the best of it, and to 
 endure the monotony, the dullness, the entire 
 lack of companionship and entertainment with 
 what philosophy he could muster. The hours 
 spent in the office were the best part of the day. 
 He could manage to find occupation for all of 
 them, though a village bank is not usually a 
 scene of active bustle. Many of the people who 
 did business there diverted him somewhat, and 
 most of them seemed never too much in a hurry 
 to stand around and talk the sort of thing that in 
 terested them. After John had got acquainted 
 with his duties and the people he came in contact 
 with, David gave less personal attention to the 
 affairs of the bank; but he was in and out fre 
 quently during the day, and rarely failed to in 
 terest his cashier with his observations and re 
 marks. 
 
 But the long winter evenings had been very 
 bad. After supper, a meal which revolted every 
 sense, there had been as many hours to be got 
 through with as he found wakeful, an empty 
 stomach often adding to the number of them, and 
 the only resource for passing the time had been 
 reading, which had often been well-nigh impos 
 sible for sheer physical discomfort. As has been 
 
2o8 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 remarked, the winter climate of the middle por 
 tion of New York State is as bad as can be im 
 agined. His light was a kerosene lamp of half- 
 candle power, and his appliance for warmth con 
 sisted of a small wood stove, which (as David 
 would have expressed it) " took two men an a 
 boy " to keep in action, and was either red 
 hot or exhausted. 
 
 As from the depths of a spacious lounging 
 chair he surveyed his new surroundings, and con 
 trasted them with those from which he had been 
 rescued out of pure kindness, his heart was full, 
 and it can hardly be imputed to him as a weakness 
 that for a moment his eyes filled with tears of 
 gratitude and happiness no less. 
 
 Indeed, there were four happy people at Da 
 vid s table that Christmas day. Aunt Polly had 
 " smartened up " Mrs. Cullom with collar and 
 cuffs, and in various ways which the mind of man 
 comprehendeth not in detail; and there had been 
 some arranging of her hair as well, which alto 
 gether had so transformed and transfigured her 
 that John thought that he should hardly have 
 known her for the forlorn creature whom he had 
 encountered in the morning. And as he looked 
 at the still fine eyes, large and brown, and shin 
 ing for the first time in many a year with a soft 
 light of happiness, he felt that he could under 
 stand how it was that Billy P. had married the 
 village girl. 
 
 Mrs. Bixbee was grand in black silk and lace 
 collar fastened with a shell-cameo pin not quite 
 as large as a saucer, and John caught the sparkle 
 of a diamond on her plump left hand David s 
 Christmas gift with regard to which she had 
 spoken apologetically to Mrs. Cullom: 
 
DAVID HARUM. 2OQ 
 
 " I told David that I was ever so much 
 obliged to him, but I didn t want a dimun more n 
 a cat wanted a flag, an I thought it was jest 
 throwin away money. But he would have it 
 said I c d sell it an keep out the poorhouse some 
 day, mebbe." 
 
 David had not made much change in his 
 usual raiment, but he was shaved to the blood, 
 and his round red face shone with soap and sat 
 isfaction. As he tucked his napkin into his shirt 
 collar, Sairy brought in the tureen of oyster soup, 
 and he remarked, as he took his first spoonful of 
 the stew, that he was " hungry nough t eat a 
 graven imidge," a condition that John was able 
 to sympathize with after his two days of fasting 
 on crackers and such provisions as he could buy 
 at Purse s. It was, on the whole, he reflected, 
 the most enjoyable dinner that he ever ate. 
 Never was such a turkey; and to see it give way 
 under David s skillful knife wings, drumsticks, 
 second joints, side bones, breast was an elevat 
 ing and memorable experience. And such pota 
 toes, mashed in cream; such boiled onions, tur 
 nips, Hubbard squash, succotash, stewed toma 
 toes, celery, cranberries, "currant jell!" Oh! 
 and to " top off " with, a mince pie to die for and 
 a pudding (new to John, but just you try it some 
 time) of steamed Indian meal and fruit, with a 
 sauce of cream sweetened with shaved maple 
 sugar. 
 
 " What ll you have? " said David to Mrs. Cul- 
 lom, "dark meat? white meat?" 
 
 " Anything," she replied meekly, " I m not 
 partic ler. Most any part of a turkey 11 taste 
 good, I guess." 
 
 " All right," said David. " Don t care means 
 
2io DAVID HARUM. 
 
 a little o both. I alwus know what to give Polly 
 piece o the second jint an the last-thing- 
 over-the-fence. Nice n rich fer scraggly folks," 
 he remarked. " How fer you, John? little o 
 both, eh?" and he heaped the plate till our 
 friend begged him to keep something for him 
 self. 
 
 " Little too much is jest right," he asserted. 
 
 When David had filled the plates and handed 
 them along Sairy was for bringing in and tak 
 ing out; they did their own helping to vegetables 
 and " passin " he hesitated a moment, and then 
 got out of his chair and started in the direction 
 of the kitchen door. 
 
 "What s the matter?" asked Mrs. Bixbee in 
 surprise. " Where you goin ? " 
 
 " Woodshed," said David. 
 
 "Woodshed!" she exclaimed, making as if 
 to rise and follow. 
 
 " You set still," said David. " Somethin I 
 fergot." 
 
 " What on earth! " she exclaimed, with an air 
 of annoyance and bewilderment. " What do you 
 want in the woodshed? Can t you set down an 
 let Sairy git it for ye? " 
 
 " No," he asserted with a grin. " Sairy might 
 sqush it. It must be putty meller by this time." 
 And out he went. 
 
 " Manners! " ejaculated Mrs. Bixbee. " You ll 
 think (to John) we re reg ler heathin." 
 
 " I guess not," said John, smiling and much 
 amused. 
 
 Presently Sairy appeared with four tumblers 
 which she distributed, and was followed by David 
 bearing a bottle. He seated himself and began 
 a struggle to unwire the same with an ice-pick. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 211 
 
 Aunt Polly leaned forward with a look of per 
 plexed curiosity. 
 
 " What you got there?" she asked. 
 
 " Vewve Clikot s universal an suv rin rem 
 edy," said David, reading the label and bring 
 ing the corners of his eye and mouth almost 
 together in a wink to John, " fer toothache, ear 
 ache, burns, scalds, warts, dispepsy, fallin o 
 the hair, windgall, ringbone, spavin, disap- 
 p inted affections, an pips in hens," and out 
 came the cork with a " wop" at which both 
 the ladies, even Mrs. Cullom, jumped and cried 
 out. 
 
 " David Harum," declared his sister with con 
 viction, " I believe thet that s a bottle of cham 
 pagne." 
 
 "If it ain t," said David, pouring into his tum 
 bler, " I ben swindled out o four shillin ," and 
 he passed the bottle to John, who held it up in 
 quiringly, looking at Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
 " No, thank ye," she said with a little toss of 
 the head, " I m a son o temp rence. I don t be 
 lieve," she remarked to Mrs. Cullom, " thet that 
 bottle ever cost less n a dollar." At which re 
 marks David apparently " swallered somethin the 
 wrong way," and for a moment or two was un 
 able to proceed with his dinner. Aunt Polly 
 looked at him suspiciously. It was her experi 
 ence that, in her intercourse with her brother, 
 he often laughed utterly without reason so far 
 as she could see. 
 
 " I ve always heard it was dreadful expen 
 sive," remarked Mrs. Cullom. 
 
 " Let me give you some," said John, reaching 
 toward her with the bottle. Mrs. Cullom looked 
 first at Mrs. Bixbee and then at David. 
 
212 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " I don t know," she said. " I never tasted 
 any/ 
 
 " Take a little," said David, nodding approv 
 ingly. 
 
 " Just a swallow," said the widow, whose curi 
 osity had got the better of scruples. She took a 
 swallow of the wine. 
 
 " How do ye like it? " asked David. 
 
 " Well," she said as she wiped her eyes, into 
 which the gas had driven the tears, " I guess I 
 could get along if I couldn t have it regular." 
 
 "Don t taste good?" suggested David with 
 a grin. 
 
 " Well," she replied, " I never did care any 
 great for cider, and this tastes to me about as if 
 I was drinkin cider an snuffin horseredish at 
 one and the same time." 
 
 "How s that, John?" said David, laughing. 
 
 " I suppose it s an acquired taste," said John, 
 returning the laugh and taking a mouthful of the 
 wine with infinite relish. " I don t think I ever 
 enjoyed a glass of wine so much, or," turning to 
 Aunt Polly, " ever enjoyed a dinner so much," 
 which statement completely mollified her feelings, 
 which had been the least bit in the world " set 
 edgeways." 
 
 " Mebbe your app tite s got somethin to do 
 with it," said David, shoveling a knife-load of 
 good things into his mouth. " Polly, this young 
 man s ben livin on crackers an salt herrin fer a 
 week." 
 
 " My land! " cried Mrs. Bixbee with an ex 
 pression of horror. " Is that reelly so? T ain t 
 now, reelly? " 
 
 " Not quite so bad as that," John answered, 
 smiling; "but Mrs. Elright has been ill for a 
 
DAVID HARUM. 213 
 
 couple of days and well, I have been foraging 
 around Purse s store a little." 
 
 " Wa al, of all the mean shames!" exclaimed 
 Aunt Polly indignantly. " David Harum, you d 
 ought to be ridic lous t allow such a thing." 
 
 "Wa al, I never!" said David, holding his 
 knife and fork straight up in either fist as they 
 rested on the table, and staring at his sister. " I 
 believe if the meetin -house roof was to blow off 
 you d lay it onto me somehow. I hain t ben run- 
 nin the Eagle tavern fer quite a consid able 
 while. You got the wrong pig by the ear as 
 usual. Jest you pitch into him," pointing with 
 his fork to John. " It s his funeral, if anybody s." 
 
 " Wa al," said Aunt Polly, addressing John 
 in a tone of injury, " I do think you might have 
 let somebody know; I think you d ortter ve 
 known 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Bixbee," he interrupted, " I did 
 know how kind you are and would have been, 
 and if matters had gone on so much longer I 
 should have appealed to you, I should have in 
 deed; but really," he added, smiling at her, "a 
 dinner like this is worth fasting a week for." 
 
 " Wa al," she said, mollified again, " you 
 won t git no more herrin nless you ask fer em." 
 
 " That is just what your brother said this 
 morning," replied John, looking at David with 
 a laugh. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE meal proceeded in silence for a few min 
 utes. Mrs. Cullom had said but little, but John 
 noticed that her diction was more conventional 
 than in her talk with David and himself in the 
 morning, and that her manner at the table was 
 distinctly refined, although she ate with apparent 
 appetite, not to say hunger. Presently she said, 
 with an air of making conversation, " I suppose 
 you ve always lived in the city, Mr. Lenox?" 
 
 " It has always been my home," he replied, 
 " but I have been away a good deal." 
 
 " I suppose folks in the city go to theaters a 
 good deal," she remarked. 
 
 " They have a great many opportunities," said 
 John, wondering what she was leading up to. 
 But he was not to discover, for David broke in 
 with a chuckle. 
 
 " Ask Polly, Mis Cullom/ he said. " She 
 c n tell ye all about the theater, Polly kin." Mrs. 
 Cullom looked from David to Mrs. Bixbee, 
 whose face was suffused. 
 
 " Tell her," said David, with a grin. 
 
 " I wish you d shet up," she exclaimed. " I 
 sha n t do nothin of the sort." 
 
 " Ne mind," said David cheerfully, " Til tell 
 ye, Mis Cullom." 
 
 "Dave Harum!" expostulated Mrs. Bixbee, 
 but he proceeded without heed of her protest. 
 214 
 
DAVID HARUM. 215 
 
 " Polly an I," he said, " went down to New 
 York one spring some years ago. Her nerves 
 was some wore out long of diffrences with Sairy 
 about clearin up the woodshed, an bread risin s, 
 an not bein able to suit herself up to Purse s in 
 the qual ty of silk velvit she wanted fer a Sunday- 
 go-to-meetin gown, an I thought a spell off d do 
 her good. Wa al, the day after we got there I 
 says to her while we was havin breakfust it was 
 picked-up el phant on toast, near s I c n remem 
 ber, wa n t it, Polly?" 
 
 " That s as near the truth as most o the rest 
 on t so fur," said Polly with a sniff. 
 
 " Wa al, I says to her," he proceeded, un 
 touched by her scorn, " How d you like to go 
 t the theater? You hain t never ben/ I says, an 
 now you re down here you may jest as well see 
 somethin while you got a chanst, I says. Up 
 to that time," he remarked, as it were in passing, 
 " she d ben somewhat prejuced ginst theaters, 
 an " 
 
 "Wa al," Mrs. Bixbee broke in, "I guess 
 what we see that night was cal lated 
 
 " You hold on," he interposed. " I m tellin 
 this story. You had a chanst to an wouldn t. 
 Anyway," he resumed, " she allowed she d try 
 it once, an we agreed we d go somewheres that 
 night. But somethin happened to put it out o 
 my mind, an I didn t think on t agin till I got 
 back to the hotel fer supper. So I went to the 
 feller at the news-stand an says, Got any show- 
 tickits fer to-night? 
 
 " Theater? he says. 
 
 " I reckon so/ I says. 
 
 " * Wa al/ he says, I hain t got nothin now 
 but two seats fer Clyanthy. 
 
2i6 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Is it a good show? I says moral, an so 
 on? I m goin to take my sister, an she s a 
 little pertic ler about some things/ I says. He 
 kind o grinned, the feller did. I ve took my 
 wife twice, an she s putty pertic ler herself/ he 
 says, laughin. " 
 
 " She must a ben," remarked Mrs. Bixbee 
 with a sniff that spoke volumes of her opinion of 
 " the feller s wife." David emitted a chuckle. 
 
 " Wa al," he continued, " I took the tickits on 
 the feller s recommend, an the fact of his wife s 
 bein so pertic ler, an after supper we went. It 
 was a mighty handsome place inside, gilded an 
 carved all over like the outside of a cirkis wagin, 
 an when we went in the orchestry was playin an 
 the people was comin in, an after we d set a few 
 minutes I says to Polly, What do you think 
 on t? I says. 
 
 " I don t see anythin very unbecomin so 
 fur, an the people looks respectable enough/ 
 she says. 
 
 " * No jail birds in sight fur s ye c n see so 
 fur, be they? I says. He, he, he, he! " 
 
 " You needn t make me out more of a gump 
 n I was," protested Mrs. Bixbee. " An you was 
 jest as " David held up his finger at her. 
 
 " Don t you sp ile the story by discountin the 
 sequil. Wa al, putty soon the band struck up 
 some kind of a dancin tune, an the curt in went 
 up, an a girl come prancin down to the foot 
 lights an begun singin an dancin , an , scat my 
 ! to all human appearances you c d a cov 
 ered ev ry dum thing she had on with a postage 
 stafrip." John stole a glance at Mrs. Cullom. 
 She was staring at the speaker with wide-open 
 eyes of horror and amazement. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 217 
 
 " I guess I wouldn t go very fur into pertic - 
 lers," said Mrs. Bixbee in a warning tone. 
 
 David bent his head down over his plate and 
 shook from head to foot, and it was nearly a min 
 ute before he was able to go on. "Wa al," he said, 
 " I heard Polly give a kind of a gasp an a snort, 
 s if some one d throwed water n her face. But 
 she didn t say nothin , an , I swan! I didn t dast 
 to look at her fer a spell; an putty soon in come 
 a hull crowd more girls that had left their clo es 
 in their trunks or somewhere, singin , an dancin , 
 an weavin round on the stage, an after a few 
 minutes I turned an looked at Polly. He, he, 
 he, he!" 
 
 "David Harum!" cried Mrs. Bixbee, " ef 
 you re goin to discribe any more o them scand - 
 lous goin s on I sh ll take my victuals into the 
 kitchin. I didn t see no more of em," she added 
 to Mrs. Cullom and John, " after that fust trollop 
 appeared." 
 
 " I don t believe she did," said David, " fer 
 when I turned she set there with her eys shut 
 tighter n a drum, an her mouth shut too so s 
 her nose an chin most come together, an her 
 face was red enough so t a streak o red paint d 
 V made a white mark on it. Polly/ I says, 
 I m afraid you ain t gettin the wuth o your 
 money. 
 
 " David Harum/ she says, with her mouth 
 shut all but a little place in the corner toward 
 me, if you don t take me out o this place, I ll 
 go without ye/ she says. 
 
 " Don t you think you c d stan it a little 
 
 longer? I says. * Mebbe they ve sent home fer 
 
 their clo es/ I says. He, he, he, he! But with 
 
 that she jest give a hump to start, an I see she 
 
 is 
 
21 8 DAVID II ARUM. 
 
 meant bus nis. When Polly Bixbee," said David 
 impressively, " puts that foot o her n dozvn some- 
 thin s got to sqush, an don t you fergit it." Mrs. 
 Bixbee made no acknowledgment of this tribute 
 to her strength of character. John looked at 
 David. 
 
 " Yes," he said, with a solemn bend of the 
 head, as if in answer to a question, " I squshed. 
 I says to her, All right. Don t make no dis 
 turbance more n you c n help, an jes put your 
 hank chif up to your nose s if you had the nose 
 bleed, an we squeezed out of the seats, an 
 sneaked up the aisle, au by the time we got out 
 into the entry I guess my face was as red as 
 Polly s. It couldn t a ben no redder," he 
 added. 
 
 " You got a putty fair color as a gen ral 
 thing," remarked Mrs. Bixbee dryly. 
 
 " Yes, ma am; yes, ma am, I expect that s so," 
 he assented, " but I got an extry coat o tan fol- 
 lerin you out o that theater. When we got out 
 into the entry one o them fellers that stands 
 round steps up to me an says, 4 Ain t your ma 
 feelin well? he says. Her feelin s has ben a 
 trifle rumpled up, I says, an that gen ally brings 
 on the nosebleed, an then," said David, looking 
 over Mrs. Bixbee s head, " the feller went an 
 leaned up agin the wall." 
 
 "David Harum!" exclaimed Mrs. Bixbee, 
 " that s a downright lie. You never spoke to a 
 soul, an an ev rybody knows t I ain t more n 
 four years older n you be." 
 
 " Wa al, you see, Polly," her brother replied 
 in a smooth tone of measureless aggravation, 
 " the feller wa n t acquainted with us, an he only 
 went by appearances." 
 
DAVID HARUM. 219 
 
 Aunt Polly appealed to John : " Ain t he 
 enough to to I d know what?" 
 
 " I really don t see how you live with him," 
 said John, laughing. 
 
 Mrs. Cullom s face wore a faint smile, as if 
 she were conscious that something amusing was 
 going on, but was not quite sure what. The 
 widow took things seriously for the most part, 
 poor soul. 
 
 " I reckon you haven t followed theater-goin 
 much after that," she said to her hostess. 
 
 " No, rna am," Mrs. Bixbee replied with em 
 phasis, " you better believe I hain t. I hain t 
 never thought of it sence without tinglin all over. 
 I believe," she asserted, " that David d a stayed 
 the thing out if it hadn t ben fer me; but as true 
 s you live, Cynthy Cullom, I was so shamed 
 at the little t I did see that when I come to go to 
 bed I took my clo es off in the dark." 
 
 David threw back his head and roared with 
 laughter. Mrs. Bixbee looked at him with un 
 mixed scorn. " If I couldn t help makin a " 
 
 she began, " I d 
 
 "Oh, Lord! Polly," David broke in, "be 
 sure n wrap up when you go out. If you sh d 
 ketch cold an your sense o the ridic lous sh d 
 strike in you d be a dead- n -goner sure." This 
 was treated with the silent contempt which it de 
 served, and David fell upon his dinner with the 
 remark that " he guessed he d better make up fer 
 lost time," though as a matter of fact while he 
 had done most of the talking he had by no means 
 suspended another function of his mouth while 
 so engaged. 
 
 For a time nothing more was said which did 
 not relate to the replenishment of plates, glasses, 
 
220 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 and cups. Finally David cleaned up his plate 
 with his knife blade and a piece of bread, and 
 pushed it away with a sigh of fullness, mentally 
 echoed by John. 
 
 " I feel s if a child could play with me," he 
 remarked. " What s comin now, Polly?" 
 
 "The s a mince pie, an Injun puddin with ma 
 ple sugar an cream, an ice cream," she replied. 
 
 " Mercy on us! " he exclaimed. " I guess I ll 
 have to go an jump up an down on the verandy. 
 How do you feel, John? I s pose you got so 
 used to them things at the Eagle t you won t 
 have no stomech fer em, eh? Wa al, fetch em 
 along. May s well die fer the ole sheep s the 
 lamb, but, Polly Bixbee, if you ve got de 
 signs on my life, I may s well tell ye right now 
 t I ve left all my prop ty to the Institution fer 
 Disappinted Hoss Swappers." 
 
 " That s putty near next o kin, ain t it? " was 
 the unexpected rejoinder of the injured Polly. 
 
 "Wa al, scat my !" exclaimed David, 
 
 hugely amused, " if Polly Bixbee hain t made a 
 joke! You ll git yourself into the almanic, Polly, 
 fust thing you know." Sairy brought in the pie 
 and then the pudding. 
 
 " John," said David, " if you ve got a pencil 
 an a piece o paper handy I d like to have ye take 
 down a few of my last words fore we proceed to 
 the pie an puddin bus nis. Any more hoss- 
 redish in that bottle?" holding out his glass. 
 "Hi! hi ! that s enough. You take the rest 
 on t," which John did, nothing loath. 
 
 David ate his pie in silence, but before he 
 made up his mind to attack the pudding, which 
 was his favorite confection, he gave an audible 
 chuckle, which elicited Mrs. Bixbee s notice. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 221 
 
 " What you gigglin bout now? " she asked. 
 
 David laughed. " I was thinkin of some- 
 thin I heard up to Purse s last night," he said 
 as he covered his pudding with the thick cream 
 sauce. " Amri Shapless has ben gittin mar 
 ried." 
 
 u Wa al, I declare!" she exclaimed. "That 
 ole shack! Who in creation could he git to take 
 him?" 
 
 " Lize Annis is the lucky woman," replied 
 David with a grin. 
 
 "Wa al, if that don t beat all!" said Mrs. 
 Bixbee, throwing up her hands, and even from 
 Mrs. Cullom was drawn a " Well, I never! " 
 
 " Fact," said David, " they was married yes- 
 tidy forenoon. Squire Parker done the job. 
 Dominie White wouldn t have nothin to do 
 with it! " 
 
 " Squire Parker d ortter be shamed of him 
 self," said Mrs. Bixbee indignantly. 
 
 " Don t you think that trew love had ought 
 to be allowed to take its course?" asked David 
 with an air of sentiment. 
 
 " I think the squire d ortter be shamed of 
 himself," she reiterated. " S pose them two old 
 skinamulinks was to go an have children? " 
 
 " Polly, you make me blush," protested her 
 brother. " Hain t you got no respect fer the holy 
 institution of matrimuny? and at cet ry? " he 
 added, wiping his whole face with his napkin. 
 
 " Much as you hev, I reckon," she retorted. 
 " Of all the amazin things in this world, the 
 amazinist to me is the kind of people that gits 
 married to each other in gen ral; but this here 
 performence beats everything holler." 
 
 " Amri give a very good reason for t," said 
 
222 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 David with an air of conviction, and then he 
 broke into a laugh. 
 
 " Ef you got anythin to tell, tell it," said Mrs. 
 Bixbee impatiently. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, taking the last of his 
 pudding into his mouth, " if you insist on t, pain 
 ful as t is. I heard Dick Larrabee tellin bout 
 it. Amri told Dick day before yestiday that he 
 was thinkin of gettin married, an ast him to go 
 along with him to Parson White s an be a wit- 
 niss, an I reckon a kind of moral support. When 
 it comes to moral supporting" remarked David 
 in passing, " Dick s as good s a professional, an 
 he d go an see his gran mother hung sooner n 
 miss anythin , an never let his cigar go out durin 
 the performence. Dick said he congratilated Am 
 on his choice, an said he reckoned they d be 
 putty ekally yoked together, if nothin else." 
 
 Here David leaned over toward Aunt Polly 
 and said, protestingly, " Don t gi me but jest a 
 teasp nful o that ice cream. I m so full now t 
 I can t hardly reach the table." He took a taste 
 of the cream and resumed: " I can t give it jest 
 as Dick did," he went on, " but this is about the 
 gist on t. Him, an Lize, an Am went to Parson 
 White s about half after seven o clock an was 
 showed into the parler, an in a minute he come 
 in, an after sayin, Good evenin all round, he 
 says, Well, what c n I do for ye? lookin at Am 
 an* Lize, an then at Dick. 
 
 " Wa al/ says Am, me an Mis Annis here 
 has ben thinkin fer some time as how we d ought 
 to git married. 
 
 " Ought to git married? says Parson White, 
 scowlin fust at one an then at t other. 
 
 " Wa al, says Am, givin a kind o shuffle 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 22 3 
 
 with his feet, I didn t mean ortter exac ly, but 
 jest as well kinder comp ny/ he says. We 
 hain t neither on us got nobody, an we thought 
 we might s well/ 
 
 " What have you got to git married on? 
 says the dominie after a minute. Any thin ? 
 he says. 
 
 Wa al/ says Am, droppin his head side 
 ways an borin into his ear ith his middle finger, 
 I got the promise mebbe of a job o work fer a 
 couple o days next week/ H m m m, says the 
 dominie, lookin at him. Have you got any- 
 thin to git married on? the dominie says, turn- 
 in to Lize. I ve got ninety cents comin to me 
 fer some work I done last week/ she says, wiltin 
 down onto the sofy an beginnin to snivvle. 
 Dick says that at that the dominie turned round 
 an walked to the other end of the room, an he 
 c d see he was dyin to laugh, but he come back 
 with a straight face. 
 
 " How old air you, Shapless?" he says to 
 Am. I ll be fifty-eight or mebbe fifty-nine come 
 next spring/ says Am. 
 
 " How old air you? the dominie says, turn- 
 in to Lize. She wriggled a minute an says, 
 Wa al, I reckon I m all o thirty/ she says." 
 
 "All o thirty!" exclaimed Aunt Polly. 
 " The woman s most s old s I be." 
 
 David laughed and went on with, " Wa al, 
 Dick said at that the dominie give a kind of a 
 choke, an Dick he bust right out, an Lize looked 
 at him as if she c d eat him. Dick said the dom 
 inie didn t say any thin fer a minute or two, an 
 then he says to Am, I suppose you c n find some 
 body that ll marry you, but I cert inly won t, an 
 what possesses you to commit such a piece o 
 
224 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 folly/ he says, passes my understanding. What 
 earthly reason have you fer wantin to marry? 
 On your own showin / he says, neither one on 
 you s got a cent o money or any settled way o 
 gettin any. 
 
 " That s jest the very reason/ says Am, 
 that s jest the very reason. I hain t got nothin , 
 an Mis Annis hain t got nothin , an we figured 
 that we d jes better git married an settle down, 
 an make a good home fer us both/ an if that 
 ain t good reasonin ," David concluded, " I don t 
 know what is." 
 
 " An be they actially married?" asked Mrs. 
 Bixbee, still incredulous of anything so prepos 
 terous. 
 
 " So Dick says," was the reply. " He says 
 Am an Lize come away f m the dominie s putty 
 down in the mouth, but fore long Amri braced 
 up an allowed that if he had half a dollar he d 
 try the squire in the mornin , an Dick let him 
 have it. I says to Dick, You re out fifty cents 
 on that deal/ an he says, slappin his leg, I don t 
 give a dum/ he says ; I wouldn t a missed it fer 
 double the money. " 
 
 Here David folded his napkin and put it in 
 the ring, and John finished the cup of clear coffee 
 which Aunt Polly, rather under protest, had 
 given him. Coffee without cream and sugar was 
 incomprehensible to Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Two or three days after Christmas John was 
 sitting in his room in the evening when there 
 came a knock at the door, and to his " Come in " 
 there entered Mr. Harum, who was warmly wel 
 comed and entreated to take the big chair, which, 
 after a cursory survey of the apartment and its 
 furnishings, he did, saying, " Wa al, I thought 
 I d come in an see how Polly d got you fixed; 
 whether the baskit [casket?] was worthy of the 
 jew l, as I heard a feller say in a theater once." 
 
 " I was never more comfortable in my life," 
 said John. " Mrs. Bixbee has been kindness 
 itself, and even permits me to smoke in the room. 
 Let me give you a cigar." 
 
 "Heh! You got putty well round Polly, I 
 reckon," said David, looking around the room 
 as he lighted the cigar, " an I m glad you re 
 comf table I reckon t is a shade better n the 
 Eagle," he remarked, with his characteristic 
 chuckle. 
 
 " I should say so," said John emphatically, 
 " and I am more obliged than I can tell you." 
 
 " All Polly s doin s," asserted David, holding 
 the end of his cigar critically under his nose. 
 " That s a trifle better article n I m in the habit 
 of smokin ," he remarked. 
 
 " I think it s my one extravagance," said John 
 
 225 
 
226 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 semi-apologetically, "but I don t smoke them ex 
 clusively. I am very fond of good tobacco, 
 and 
 
 " I understand," said David, " an if I had my 
 life to live over agin, knowin what I do now, I d 
 do diff rent in a number o ways. I often think," 
 he proceeded, as he took a pull at the cigar and 
 emitted the smoke with a chewing movement 
 of his mouth, " of what Andy Brown used to say. 
 Andy was a curious kind of a customer t I used 
 to know up to Syrchester. He liked good things, 
 Andy did, an didn t scrimp himself when they 
 was to be had that is, when he had the go-an - 
 fetch-it to git em with. He used to say, Boys, 
 whenever you git holt of a ten-dollar note you 
 want to git it into ye or onto ye jest s quick s 
 you kin. We re here to-day an gone to-morrer/ 
 he d say, an the ain t no pocket in a shroud, 
 an I m dum d if I don t think sometimes," de 
 clared Mr. Harum, " that he wa n t very fur off 
 neither. T any rate," he added with a philoso- 
 unexpected by his hearer, " s I look back, it 
 ain t the money t I ve spent fer the good times 
 t I ve had t I regret; it s the good times t I 
 might s well Ve had an didn t. I m inclined to 
 think," he remarked with an air of having given 
 the matter consideration, " that after Adam an 
 Eve got bounced out of the gard n they kicked 
 themselves as much as anythin fer not havin 
 leaned up the hull tree while they was about it." 
 
 John laughed and said that that was very 
 likely among their regrets. 
 
 " Trouble with me was," said David, " that till 
 I was consid able older n you be I had to scratch 
 grav l like all possessed, an it s hard work now 
 sometimes to git the idee out of my head but 
 
 Nphy 
 am 
 
DAVID HARUM. 22/ 
 
 what the money s wuth more n the things. I 
 guess," he remarked, looking at the ivory-backed 
 brushes and the various toilet knick-knacks of 
 cut-glass and silver which adorned John s bureau, 
 and indicating them with a motion of his hand, 
 " that up to about now you ben in the habit of 
 figurin the other way mostly." 
 
 "Too much so, perhaps," said John; "but 
 yet, after all, I don t think I am sorry. I wouldn t 
 spend the money for those things now, but I am 
 glad I bought them when I did." 
 
 " Jess so, jess so," said David appreciatively. 
 He reached over to the table and laid his cigar 
 on the edge of a book, and, reaching for his 
 hip pocket, produced a silver tobacco box, at 
 which he looked contemplatively for a moment, 
 opening and shutting the lid with a snap. 
 
 " There," he said, holding it out on his palm, 
 " I was twenty years makin up my mind to buy 
 that box, an to this day I can t bring myself to 
 carry it all the time. Yes, sir, I wanted that box 
 fer twenty years. I don t mean to say that I 
 didn t spend the wuth of it foolishly times over 
 an agin, but I couldn t never make up my mind 
 to put that amount o money into that pertic ler 
 thing. I was alwus figurin that some day I d 
 have a silver tobacco box, an I sometimes think 
 the reason it seemed so extrav gant, an I put it 
 off so long, was because I wanted it so much. 
 Now I s pose you couldn t understand that, could 
 ye?" 
 
 Yes," said John, nodding his head thought 
 fully, " I think I can understand it perfectly," and 
 indeed it spoke pages of David s biography. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David, " I never spent a 
 small amount o money but one other time an 
 
228 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 got so much value, only I alwus ben kickin my 
 self to think I didn t do it sooner." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested John, " you enjoyed it 
 all the more for waiting so long." 
 
 " No," said David, lk it wa n t that I dunno 
 t was the feelin t I d got there at last, I guess. 
 Fur s waitin fer things is concerned, the is such 
 a thing as waitin too long. Your appetite 11 
 change mebbe. I used to think when I was a 
 youngster that if ever I got where I c d have 
 all the custard pie I c d eat that d be all t I d 
 ask fer. I used to imagine bein baked into one 
 an eatin my way out. Nowdays the s a good 
 many things I d sooner have than custard pie, 
 though," he said with a wink, " I gen ally do eat 
 two pieces jest to please Polly." 
 
 John laughed. " What was the other thing? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Other thing I once bought? " queried David. 
 " Oh, yes, it was the fust hoss I ever owned. 
 I give fifteen dollars fer him, an if he wa n t a 
 dandy you needn t pay me a cent. Crowbait 
 wa n t no name fer him. He was stun blind on 
 the off side, an couldn t see anythin in pertic ler 
 on the nigh side couldn t get nigh nough, I 
 reckon an had most ev rythin wrong with him 
 that c d ail a hoss; but I thought he was a thor 
 oughbred. I was bout seventeen year old then, 
 an was helpin lock-tender on the Erie Canal, an 
 when the wa n t no boat goin through I put in 
 most o my time cleanin that hoss. If he got 
 through th less n six times a day he got off 
 cheap, an once I got up an give him a little 
 attention at night. Yes, sir, if I got big money s 
 wuth out o that box it was mostly a matter of 
 feelin ; but as fur s that old plugamore of a hoss 
 
DAVID HARUM. 22Q 
 
 was concerned, I got it both ways, for I got my 
 fust real start out of his old carkiss." 
 
 " Yes?" said John encouragingly. 
 
 " Yes, sir," affirmed David, " I cleaned him 
 up, an fed him up, an almost got im so st he 
 c d see enough out of his left eye to shy at a 
 load of hay close by; an fin ly traded him off fer 
 another record-breaker an fifteen dollars to 
 boot" 
 
 " Were you as enthusiastic over the next one 
 as the first?" asked John, laughing. 
 
 4< Wa al," replied David, relighting his tempo 
 rarily abandoned cigar against a protest and 
 proffer of a fresh one " wa al, he didn t lay holt 
 on my affections to quite the same extent. I 
 done my duty by him, but I didn t set up with 
 him nights. You see," he added with a grin, 
 " I d got some used to bein a hoss owner, an the 
 edge had wore off some." He smoked for a 
 minute or two in silence, with as much apparent 
 relish as if the cigar had not been stale. 
 
 " Aren t you going on? " asked John at last. 
 
 " Wa al," he replied, pleased with his audience, 
 " I c d go on, I s pose, fast enough an fur enough, 
 but I don t want to tire ye out. I reckon you 
 never had much to do with canals?" 
 
 " No," said John, smiling, " I can t say that 
 I have, but I know something about the subject 
 in a general way, and there is no fear of your 
 tiring me out." 
 
 " All right," proceeded David. " As I was 
 sayin , I got another equine wonder an fifteen 
 dollars to boot fer my old plug, an it wa n t a 
 great while before I was in the hoss bus nis to 
 stay. After between two an three years I had 
 fifty or sixty hosses an mules, an took all sorts 
 
2 3 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 of towin jobs. Then a big towin concern quit 
 bus nis, an I bought their hull stock an got my 
 money back three four times over, an by the time 
 \I was about twenty-one I had got ahead enough 
 \to quit the canal an all its works fer good, an go 
 (into other things. But there was where I got 
 /my livin after I run away f m Buxton Hill. Be 
 fore I got the job of lock-tendin I had made the 
 trip to Albany an back twice * walkin my pas 
 sage, as they used to call it, an I made one trip 
 helpin steer, so t my canal experience was putty 
 thorough, take it all round." 
 
 " It must have been a pretty hard life," re 
 marked John. 
 
 David took out his penknife and proceeded 
 to impale his cigar upon the blade thereof. 
 " No," he said, to John s proffer of the box, " this 
 11 last quite a spell yet. Wa al," he resumed 
 after a moment, in reply to John s remark, 
 " viewin it all by itself, it was a hard life. A 
 thing is hard though, I reckon, because it s 
 harder n somethin else, or you think so. Most 
 things go by comparin . I s pose if the gen ral 
 run of trotters never got better n three n a half 
 that a hoss that c d do it in three d be fast, but 
 we don t call em so nowdays. I s pose if at that 
 same age you d had to tackle the life you d a 
 found it hard, an the was hard things about it 
 trampin all night in the rain, fer instance; sleep- 
 in in barns at times, an all that; an once the 
 cap n o the boat got mad at somethin an pitched 
 me head over heels into the canal. It was about 
 the close of navigation an the was a scum of ice. 
 I scrambled out somehow, but he wouldn t a 
 cared if I d ben drownded. He was an excep 
 tion, though. The canalers was a rough set in 
 
DAVID HARUM. 23! 
 
 gen ral, but they averaged fer disposition bout 
 like the ord nary run o folks; the was mean 
 ones an clever ones; them that would put upon 
 ye, an them that would treat ye decent. The 
 work was hard an the grub wasn t alwus much 
 better n what you he, he, he! what you ben 
 gettin at the Eagle " (John was now by the way 
 of rather relishing jokes on that subject); " but I 
 hadn t ben raised in the lap o luxury not to any 
 consid able extent not enough to stick my nose 
 up much. The men I worked fer was rough, an 
 I got my share of cusses an cuffs, an once in a 
 while a kick to keep up my spirit of perseverance ; 
 but, on the hull, I think I got more kindness n 
 I did at home (leavin Polly out), an as fer gen 
 ral treatment, none on em c d come up to my 
 father, an wuss yet, my oldest brother Lish. The 
 cap n that throwed me overboard was the wust, 
 but alongside o TLish he was a forty hosspower 
 angil with a hull music store o harps; an even 
 my father c d a given him cards an spades; an 
 as fer the victuals " (here David dropped his cigar 
 end and pulled from his pocket the silver tobacco 
 box) " as fer the victuals," he repeated, " they 
 mostly averaged up putty high after what I d ben 
 used to. Why, I don t believe I ever tasted a 
 piece of beefsteak or roast beef in my life till after 
 I left home. When we had meat at all it was 
 pork boiled pork, fried pork, pigs liver, an all 
 that, enough to make you shamed to look a pig 
 in the face an fer the rest, potatoes, an duff, an 
 johnny-cake, an meal mush, an milk emptins 
 bread that you c d smell a mile after it got cold. 
 With leven folks on a small farm nuthin c d 
 afford to be eat that c d be sold, an ev rythin 
 that couldn t be sold had to be eat. Once in a 
 
2 3 2 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 while the d be pie of some kind, or gingerbread ; 
 but with leven to eat em I didn t ever git more 
 n enough to set me hankerin ." 
 
 " I must say that I think I should have liked 
 the canal better," remarked John as David 
 paused. " You were, at any rate, more or less 
 free that is, comparatively, I should say." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I did," said David, " an I never 
 see the time, no matter how rough things was, 
 that I wished I was back on Buxton Hill. I 
 used to want to see Polly putty bad once in a 
 while, an used to figure that if I ever growed up 
 to be a man, an had money enough, I d buy her 
 a new pair o shoes an the stuff fer a dress, an 
 sometimes my cal lations went as fur s a gold 
 breastpin; but I never wanted to see none o the 
 rest on em, an fer that matter, I never did. Yes, 
 sir, the old ditch was better to me than the place 
 I was borned in, an , as you say, I wa n t nobody s 
 slave, an I wa n t scairt to death the hull time. 
 Some o the men was rough, but they wa n t 
 cruel, as a rule, an as I growed up a little I 
 was putty well able to look out fer myself 
 wa al, wa al (looking at his watch), I guess you 
 must a had enough o my meemores fer one 
 sittin ." 
 
 " No, really," John protested, " don t go yet. 
 I have a little proposal to make to you," and he 
 got up and brought a bottle from the bottom of 
 the washstand. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " fire it out." 
 
 " That you take another cigar and a little of 
 this," holding up the bottle. 
 
 " Got any glasses?" asked David with prac 
 tical mind. 
 
 " One and a tooth mug," replied John, laugh- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 233 
 
 ing. " Glass for you, tooth mug for me. Tastes 
 just as good out of a tooth mug." 
 
 " Wa al," said David, with a comical air of 
 yielding as he took the glass and held it out to 
 John, " under protest, stric ly under protest 
 sooner than have my clo es torn. I shall tell 
 Polly if I should happen to mention it that 
 you threatened me with vi lence. Wa al, here s 
 lookin at ye," which toast was drunk with the 
 solemnity which befitted it. 
 
 T6 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE two men sat for a while smoking in 
 silence, John taking an occasional sip of his grog. 
 Mr. Harum had swallowed his own liquor " raw," 
 as was the custom in Homeville and vicinity, fol 
 lowing the potation with a mouthful of water. 
 Presently he settled a little farther down in his 
 chair and his face took on a look of amused rec 
 ollection. 
 
 He looked up and gave a short laugh. 
 " Speakin of canals," he said, as if the subject 
 had only been casually mentioned, " I was think- 
 in of somethin ." 
 
 "Yes?" said John. 
 
 " E-up," said David. " That old ditch f m 
 Albany to Buffalo was an almighty big enter 
 prise in them days, an a great thing fer the pros 
 perity of the State, an a good many better men 
 n I be walked the ole towpath when they was 
 young. Yes, sir, that s a fact. Wa al, some 
 years ago I had somethin of a deal on with a 
 New York man by the name of Price. He had 
 a place in Newport where his fam ly spent the 
 summer, an where he went as much as he could 
 git away. I was down to New York to see him, 
 an we hadn t got things quite straightened out, 
 an he says to me, I m goin over to Newport, 
 where my wife an fam ly is, fer Sunday, an why 
 234 
 
DAVID HARUM. 33$ 
 
 can t you come with me/ he says, an stay over 
 till Monday? an we c n have the day to our 
 selves over this matter? Wa al, I says, I m 
 only down here on this bus nis, an as I left a 
 hen on, up home, I m willin to save the time stid 
 of waitin here fer you to git back, if you don t 
 think, I says, that it ll put Mis Price out any 
 to bring home a stranger without no notice. 
 
 " * Wa al, he says, laughin , I guess she c n 
 manage fer once/ an so I went along. When we 
 got there the was a carriage to meet us, an two 
 men in uniform, one to drive an one to open the 
 door, an we got in an rode up to the house 
 cottige, he called it, but it was built of stone, an 
 wa n t only about two sizes smaller n the Fifth 
 Avenue Hotel. Some kind o doin s was goin 
 on, fer the house was blazin with light, an music 
 was playin . 
 
 " What s on? says Price to the feller that 
 let us in. 
 
 " Sir and Lady somebody s dinin here to 
 night, sir/ says the man. 
 
 " Damn! says Price, I fergot all about the 
 cussed thing. Have Mr. Harum showed to a 
 room/ he says, an serve dinner in my office in 
 a quarter of an hour, an have somebody show 
 Mr. Harum there when it s ready. 
 
 " Wa al," pursued David, " I was showed up 
 to a room. The was lace coverin s on the bed 
 pillers, an a silk an lace spread, an more dum 
 trinkits an bottles an lookin -glasses n you c d 
 shake a stick at, an a bathroom, an Lord knows 
 what ; an I washed up, an putty soon one o them 
 fellers come an showed me down to where Price 
 was waitin . Wa al, we had all manner o things 
 fer supper, an champagne, an so on, an after 
 
236 
 
 DAVID IIARUM. 
 
 we got done, Price says, I ve got to ask you to 
 excuse me, Harum/ he says. I ve got to go an 
 dress an show up in the drawin -room, he says. 
 * You smoke your cigar in here, an when you 
 want to go to your room jes ring the bell. 
 
 " All right, I says. I m bout ready to 
 turn in anyway. " 
 
 The narrator paused for a moment. John 
 was rather wondering what it all had to do with 
 the Erie Canal, but he said nothing. 
 
 " Wa al, next mornin ," David resumed, " I 
 got up an shaved an dressed, an set round 
 waitin fer the breakfust bell to ring till nigh on 
 to half-past nine o clock. Bom-by the came a 
 knock at the door, an I says, Come in/ an in 
 come one o them fellers. Beg pah din, sir, 
 he says. Did you ring, sir? 
 
 " No, I says, I didn t ring. I was waitin 
 to hear the bell. 
 
 " Thank you, sir, he says. An will you 
 have your breakfust now, sir? 
 
 " Where? I says. 
 
 " Oh/ he says, kind o grinnin , I ll bring 
 it up here, sir, d rec ly/ he says, an went off. 
 Putty soon come another knock, an in come the 
 feller with a silver tray covered with a big nap 
 kin, an on it was a couple of rolls wrapped up in 
 a napkin, a b iled egg done up in another napkin, 
 a cup an saucer, a little chiney coffee-pot, a little 
 pitcher of cream, some loaf sugar in a silver dish, 
 a little pancake of butter, a silver knife, two little 
 spoons like what the childern play with, a silver 
 pepper duster an salt dish, an an orange. Oh, 
 yes, the was another contraption a sort of a 
 chiney wineglass. The feller set down the tray 
 an says, Anythin else you d like to have, sir? 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " No, I says, lookin it over, I guess there s 
 enough to last me a day or two/ an with that he 
 kind o turned his face away fer a second or two. 
 Thank you, sir, he says. * The second break- 
 fust is at half-past twelve, sir, an out he put. 
 Wa al," David continued, " the bread an butter 
 was all right enough, exceptin they d fergot the 
 salt in the butter, an the coffee was all right; 
 but when it come to the egg, dum d if I wa n t 
 putty nigh out of the race; but I made up my 
 mind it must be hard-b iled, an tackled it on that 
 idee. Seems t amuse ye," he said with a grin, 
 getting up and helping himself. After swallow 
 ing the refreshment, and the palliating mouth 
 ful of water, he resumed his seat and his nar 
 rative. 
 
 " Wa al, sir," he said, " that dum d egg was 
 about s near raw as it was when i was laid, an 
 the was a crack in the shell, an fust thing I 
 knowed it kind o c lapsed, an I give it a grab, 
 an it squirtid all over my pants, an the floor, an 
 on my coat an vest, an up my sleeve, an all over 
 
 the tray. Scat my ! I looked gen ally like 
 
 an ab lition orator before the war. You never 
 see such a mess," he added, with an expression 
 of rueful recollection. " I believe that dum d 
 egg held more n a pint." 
 
 John fairly succumbed to a paroxysm of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Funny, wa n t it?" said David dryly. 
 
 " Forgive me," pleaded John, when he got his 
 breath. 
 
 " Oh, that s all right," said David, " but it 
 wa n t the kind of emotion it kicked up in my 
 breast at the time. I cleaned myself up with a 
 towel well s I could, an thought I d step out an 
 
2 3 8 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 take the air before the feller d come back to git 
 that tray, an mebbe rub my nose in t." 
 
 " Oh, Lord! " cried John. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David, unheeding, " I allowed 
 t I d walk round with my mouth open a spell, 
 an git a little air on my stomech to last me till 
 that second breakfust; an as I was pokin round 
 the grounds I come to a sort of arbor, an there 
 was Price, smokin a cigar. 
 
 " Mornin , Harum; how you feelin ? he 
 says, gettin up an shakin hands; an as we 
 passed the time o day, I noticed him noticin my 
 coat. You see as they dried out, the egg spots 
 got to showin agin. 
 
 " Got somethin on your coat there/ he says. 
 
 " Yes, I says, tryin to scratch it out with 
 my ringer nail. 
 
 " * Have a cigar? he says, handin one out. 
 
 " Never smoke on an empty stomech, I 
 says. 
 
 " What? 1 he says. 
 
 " Bad fer the ap tite, I says, an I m savin 
 mine fer that second breakfust o your n. 
 
 " What! he says, haven t you had anythin 
 to eat? An then I told him what I ben tellin 
 you. Wa al, sir, fust he looked kind o mad an 
 disgusted, an then he laughed till I thought he d 
 bust, an when he quit he says, Excuse me, 
 Harum, it s too damned bad; but I couldn t help 
 laughin to save my soul. An it s all my fault 
 too, he says. I intended to have you take your 
 breakfust with me, but somethin happened last 
 night to upset me, an I woke with it on my mind, 
 an I f ergot. Now you jes come right into the 
 house, an I ll have somethin got fer you that ll 
 stay your stomech better n air, he says. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 239 
 
 " No/ I says, I ve made trouble enough fer 
 one day, I guess/ an I wouldn t go, though he 
 urged me agin an agin. You don t fall in with 
 the customs of this region? I says to him. 
 
 " Not in that pertic ler, at any rate/ he says. 
 It s one o the fool notions that my wife an the 
 girls brought home f m Eurup. I have a good 
 solid meal in the mornin , same as I alwus did/ 
 he says." 
 
 Mr. Harum stopped talking to relight his 
 cigar, and after a puff or two, " When I started 
 out," he said, " I hadn t no notion of goin into all 
 the highways an byways, but when I git begun 
 one thing s apt to lead to another, an you never 
 c n tell jest where I will fetch up. Now I started 
 off to tell somethin in about two words, an I m 
 putty near as fur off as when I begun." 
 
 " Well," said John, " it s Saturday night, and 
 the longer your story is the better I shall like it. 
 I hope the second breakfast was more of a suc 
 cess than the first one," he added with a laugh. 
 
 " I managed to average up on the two meals, 
 I guess," David remarked. " Wa al," he re 
 sumed, " Price an I set round talkin bus nis 
 an things till about twelve or a little after, mebbe, 
 an then he turned to me an kind o looked me 
 over an says, * You an me is about of a build, 
 an if you say so I ll send one of my coats an 
 vests up to your room an have the man take 
 yours an clean em. 
 
 " * I guess the is ruther more egg showin 
 than the law allows/ I says, * an mebbe that d 
 be a good idee; but the pants caught it the wust/ 
 I says. 
 
 " Mine ll fit ye/ he says. 
 
 " * What ll your wife say to seein me airifyin 
 
240 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 round in your git-up? I says. He gin me a 
 funny kind of look. My wife? he says. Lord, 
 she don t know more about my clo es n you do. 
 That struck me as bein ruther curious," re 
 marked David. " Wouldn t it you? " 
 
 " Very," replied John gravely. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said David. " Wa al, when we 
 went into the eatin room the table was full, most 
 ly young folks, chatterin an laughin . Price 
 int duced me to his wife, an I set down by him 
 at the other end of the table. The wa n t noth- 
 in wuth mentioning nobody paid any attention 
 to me cept now an then a word irom Price, 
 an I wa n t fer talkin anyway I c d have eat 
 a raw dog. After breakfust, as they called it, 
 Price an I went out onto the verandy an had 
 some coffee, an smoked an talked fer an hour 
 or so, an then he got up an excused himself to 
 write a letter. You may like to look at the 
 papers awhile, he says. I ve ordered the hosses 
 at five, an if you like I ll show you round a 
 little. 
 
 " Won t your wife be wantin em? I says. 
 
 " No, I guess she ll git along, he says, kind 
 o smilin . 
 
 " All right, I says, don t mind me. An 
 so at five up come the hosses an the two fellers 
 in uniform an all. I was lookin the hosses over 
 when Price come out. Wa al, what do you 
 think of em? he says. 
 
 " Likely pair, I says, goin over an exam- 
 inin the nigh one s feet an legs. Sore forr ed? 
 I says, lookin up at the driver. 
 
 " A trifle, sir, he says, touchin his hat. 
 
 * What s that? says Price, comin up an ex- 
 aminin the critter s face an head. I don t see 
 
DAVID HARUM. 24! 
 
 anythin the matter with his forehead/ he says. 
 I looked up an give the driver a wink," said 
 David with a chuckle, " an he give kind of a 
 chokin gasp, but in a second was lookin as sol 
 emn as ever. 
 
 " I can t tell ye jes where we went," the nar 
 rator proceeded, " but anyway it was where all 
 the nabobs turned out, an I seen more style an 
 git-up in them two hours n I ever see in my life, 
 I reckon. The didn t appear to be no one we 
 run across that, accordin to Price s tell, was wuth 
 under five million, though we may V passed one 
 without his noticin ; an the was a good many 
 that run to fifteen an twenty an over, an most 
 on em, it appeared, was f m New York. Wa al, 
 fin ly we got back to the house a little fore seven. 
 On the way back Price says, * The are goin to 
 be three four people to dinner to-night in a quiet 
 way, an the ain t no reason why you shouldn t, 
 stay dressed jest as you are, but if you would feel 
 like puttin on evenin clo es (that s what he called 
 em), why I ve got an extry suit that ll fit ye to a 
 " tee," he says. 
 
 " No, I says, I guess I better not. I reck 
 on I d better git my grip an go to the hotel. I 
 sh d be ruther bashful to wear your swallertail, 
 an all them folks ll be strangers/ I says. But 
 he insisted on t that I sh d come to dinner any 
 way, an fin ly I gin in, an thinkin I might s 
 well go the hull hog, I allowed I d wear his clo es; 
 but if I do anythin or say anythin t you don t 
 like/ says I, don t say I didn t warn ye. What 
 would you V done? " Mr. Harum asked. 
 
 " Worn the clothes without the slightest hesi 
 tation," replied John. " Nobody gave your cos 
 tume a thought." 
 
242 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " They didn t appear to, fer a fact," said David, 
 " an I didn t either, after I d slipped up once or 
 twice on the matter of pockets. The same feller 
 brought em up to me that fetched the stuff in 
 the mornin ; an the rig was complete coat, vest, 
 pants, shirt, white necktie, an , by gum ! shoes an 
 
 silk socks, an , sir, scat my ! the hull outfit 
 
 fitted me as if it was made fer me. Shell I wait 
 on you, sir? says the man. No/ I says, I 
 guess I c n git into the things; but mebbe you 
 might come up in bout quarter of an hour an 
 put on the finishin touches, an here, I says, 
 I guess that brand of eggs you give me this 
 mornin s wuth about two dollars apiece. 
 
 Thank you, sir, he says, grinnin , * I d like 
 to furnish em right along at that rate, sir, an 
 I ll be up as you say, sir. " 
 
 " You found the way to his heart," said John, 
 smiling. 
 
 " My experience is," said David dryly, " that 
 most men s hearts is located ruther closter to 
 their britchis pockets than they are to their breast 
 pockets." 
 
 " I m afraid that s so," said John. 
 
 " But this feller," Mr. Harum continued, 
 " was a putty decent kind of a chap. He come 
 up after I d got into my togs an pulled me here, 
 an pulled me there, an fixed my necktie, an 
 hitched me in gen ral so st I wa n t neither too 
 tight nor too free, an when he got through, 
 You ll do now, sir, he says. 
 Think I will? says I. 
 
 : Couldn t nobody look more fit, sir, he 
 says, an I m dum d," said David, with an assert 
 ive nod, " when I looked at myself in the lookin - 
 glass I scurcely knowed myself, an (with a con- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 243 
 
 fidential lowering of the voice) when I got back 
 to New York the very fust hard work I done 
 was to go an buy the hull rig-out an ," he 
 added with a grin, " strange as it may appear, it 
 ain t wore out yit" 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " PEOPLE don t dress for dinner in Home- 
 ville, as a rule, then," John said, smiling. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Harum, " when they dress fer 
 breakfust that does em fer all three meals. I ve 
 wore them things two three times when I ve ben 
 down to the city, but I never had em on but 
 once up here." 
 
 "No? "said John. 
 
 " No," said David, " I put em on once to 
 show to Polly how city folks dressed he, he, he, 
 he! an when I come into the room she set 
 forwud on her chair an stared at me over her 
 specs. What on airth! she says. 
 
 ; I bought these clo es, I says, to wear 
 when bein ent tained by the fust fam lies. How 
 do I look? I says. 
 
 " Turn round, she says. You look f m 
 behind, she says, like a red-headed snappin 
 bug, an in front/ she says, as I turned agin, like 
 a reg lar slinkum. I ll bet, she says, that you 
 hain t throwed away less n twenty dollars on that 
 foolishniss. Polly s a very conservative person," 
 remarked her brother, " and don t never imagine 
 a vain thing, as the Bible says, not when she 
 knows it, an I thought it wa n t wuth while, to 
 argue the point with her." 
 
 John laughed and said, " Do you recall that 
 244 
 
DAVID HARUM. 245 
 
 memorable interview between the governors of 
 the two Carolinas?" 
 
 " Nothin in the historical lit riture of our 
 great an glorious country," replied Mr. Harum 
 reverently, " sticks closter to my mind like a 
 burr to a cow s tail," he added, by way of illustra 
 tion. " Thank you, jest a mouthful." 
 
 " How about the dinner? " John asked after a 
 little interlude. "Was it pleasant?" 
 
 " Fust rate," declared David. " The young 
 folks was out somewhere else, all but one o 
 Price s girls. The was twelve at the table all 
 told. I was int duced to all of em in the parlor, 
 an putty soon in come one of the fellers an said 
 somethin to Mis Price that meant dinner was 
 ready, an the girl come up to me an took holt 
 of my arm. * You re goin to take me out, she 
 says, an we formed a procession an marched out 
 to the dinin room. You re to sit by mammer, 
 she says, showin me, an there was my name on 
 a card, sure enough. Wa al, sir, that table was 
 a show! I couldn t begin to describe it to ye. 
 The was a hull flower garden in the middle, an 
 a worked tablecloth; four five glasses of all col 
 ors an sizes at ev ry plate, an a nosegay, an five 
 six diff rent forks an a lot o knives, though fer 
 that matter," remarked the speaker, " the wa n t 
 but one knife in the lot that amounted to any- 
 thin , the rest on em wouldn t hold nothin ; an 
 the was three four sort of chiney slates with what 
 they call the you n me " 
 
 " Menu," suggested John. 
 
 " I guess that s it," said David, " but that 
 wa n t the way it was spelt. Wa al, I set down 
 an tucked my napkin into my neck, an though 
 I noticed none o the rest on em seemed to care, 
 
246 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 I allowed that t wa n t my shirt, an mebbe Price 
 might want to wear it agin fore t was washed." 
 
 John put his handkerchief over his face and 
 coughed violently. David looked at him sharp 
 ly. "Subject to them spells?" he asked. 
 
 " Sometimes," said John when he recovered 
 his voice, and then, with as clear an expression 
 of innocence as he could command, but some 
 what irrelevantly, asked, " How did you get on 
 with Mrs. Price?" 
 
 " Oh," said David, " nicer n a cotton hat. 
 She appeared to be a quiet sort of woman that 
 might a lived anywhere, but she was dressed to 
 kill an so was the rest on em, fer that matter," 
 he remarked with a laugh. " I tried to tell Polly 
 about em afterwuds, an he, he, he! she shut 
 me up mighty quick, an I thought myself at 
 the time, thinks I, it s a good thing it s warm 
 weather, I says to myself. Oh, yes, Mis Price 
 made me feel quite to home, but I didn t talk 
 much the fust part of dinner, an I s pose she 
 was more or less took up with havin so many 
 folks at table; but fin ly she says to me, Mr. 
 Price was so annoyed about your breakfust, Mr. 
 Harum. 
 
 " Was he? I says. I was afraid you d be 
 the one that d be vexed at me. 
 
 Vexed with you? I don t understand/ 
 she says. 
 
 " Bout the napkin I sp iled, I says. Meb 
 be not actially sp iled, I says, but it ll have to 
 go into the wash fore it c n be used agin/ She 
 kind o smiled, an says, Really, Mr. Harum, I 
 don t know what you are talkin about. 
 
 Hain t nobody told ye? I says. Well, if 
 they hain t they will, an I may s well make a 
 
DAVID HARUM. 247 
 
 clean breast on t. I m awful sorry/ I says, but 
 this mornin when I come to the egg I didn t see 
 no way to eat it cept to peel it, an fust I knew 
 it kind of exploded and daubed ev rythin all 
 over creation. Yes m/ I says, * it went off, s ye 
 might say, like old Elder Maybee s powder. I 
 guess," said David, " that I must a ben talkin 
 ruther louder n I thought, fer I looked up an 
 noticed that putty much ev ry one on em was 
 lookin our way, an kind o laughin , an Price in 
 pertic ler was grinnin straight at me. 
 
 " What s that/ he says, about Elder May- 
 bee s powder? 
 
 " Oh, nuthin much/ I says, jest a little 
 supprise party the elder had up to his house. 
 
 " Tell us about it/ says Price. * Oh, yes, 
 do tell us about it/ says Mis Price. 
 
 " Wa al/ I says, the ain t much to it in the 
 way of a story, but seein dinner must be most 
 through/ I says, I ll tell ye all the was of it. 
 The elder had a small farm bout two miles out 
 of the village/ I says, an he was great on raisin 
 chickins an turkeys. He was a slow, putterin 
 kind of an ole foozle, but on the hull a putty de 
 cent citizen. Wa al/ I says, one year when the 
 poultry was comin along, a family o skunks 
 moved onto the premises an done so well that 
 putty soon, as the elder said, it seemed to him 
 that it was comin to be a ch ice between the 
 chickin bus nis an the skunk bus nis, an though 
 he said he d heard the was money in it, if it was 
 done on a big enough scale, he hadn t ben edi- 
 cated to it, he said, and didn t take to it any ways. 
 So/ I says, he scratched round an got a lot o 
 traps an set em, an the very next mornin he 
 went out an found he d ketched an ole he-one 
 
248 DAVID II ARUM. 
 
 president of the comp ny. So he went to git his 
 gun to shoot the critter, an found he hadn t got 
 no powder. The boys had used it all up on 
 woodchucks, an the wa n t nothin fer it but to 
 git some more down to the village, an , as he had 
 some more things to git, he hitched up long in 
 the forenoon an drove down. At this," said 
 David, " one of the ladies, wife to the judge, name 
 o Pomfort, spoke up an says, Did he leave 
 that poor creature to suffer all that time? 
 Couldn t it have been put out of it s misery some 
 other way? 
 
 " Wa al marm/ I says, I never happened to 
 know but one feller that set out to kill one o 
 them things with a club, an he put in most o 
 his time fer a week or two up in the woods hatin 
 himself, I says. He didn t mingle in gen ral so- 
 ci ty, an in fact/ I says, he had the hull road to 
 himself, as ye might say, fer a putty consid able 
 spell. " 
 
 John threw back his head and laughed. "Did 
 she say any more? " he asked. 
 
 " No," said David with a chuckle. " All the 
 men set up a great laugh, an she colored up in 
 a kind of huff at fust, an then she begun to laugh 
 too, an then one o the waiter fellers put some- 
 thin down in front of me an I went eatin agin. 
 But putty soon Price, he says, Come, he says, 
 Harum, ain t you goin on? How about that 
 powder? 
 
 " Wa al/ I says, mebbe we had ought to 
 put that critter out of his misery. The elder went 
 down an bought a pound o powder an had it 
 done up in a brown paper bundle, an put it 
 with his other stuff in the bottom of his dem crat 
 wagin ; but it come on to rain some while he was 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 249 
 
 riditv back, an the stuff got more or less wet, an 
 so when he got home he spread it out in a dishpan 
 an put it under the kitchen stove to dry, an 
 thinkin that it wa n t dryin fast enough, I s pose, 
 made out to assist Nature, as the savin is, by 
 stirrin on t up with the kitchin poker. Wa al, 
 I says, * I don t jes know how it happened, an 
 the elder cert inly didn t, fer after they d got him 
 untangled f m under what was left of the wood 
 shed an the kitchin stove, an tied him up in 
 cotton battin , an set his leg, an put out the 
 house, an a few things like that, bom-by he come 
 round a little, an the fust thing he says was, 
 "Wa al, wa al, wa al!" "What is it, pa?" says 
 Mis Maybee, bendin down over him. " That 
 peowder," he says, in almost no voice, " that 
 peowder! I was jest stirrin on t a little, an it 
 went o-f-f, it went o-f-f," he says, " seemin ly 
 in a minute! " an that, I says to Mis Price, 
 4 was what that egg done. 
 
 " We ll have to forgive you that egg, she 
 says, laughin like ev rything, for Elder May- 
 bee s sake ; an in fact," said David, "they all 
 laughed except one feller. He was an English 
 man I fergit his name. When I got through 
 he looked kind o puzzled an says " (Mr. Harum 
 imitated his style as well as he could), " But ra - 
 ally, Mr. Harum, you kneow that s the way pow- 
 dah always geoes off, don t you kneow, an then," 
 said David, " they laughed harder n ever, an the 
 Englishman got redder n a beet." 
 
 " What did you say? " asked John. 
 
 " Nuthin ," said David. " They was all laugh- 
 in so t I couldn t git in a word, an then the 
 waiter brought me another plateful of somethin . 
 
 Scat my !" he exclaimed, " I thought that 
 
 17 
 
250 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 dinner d go on till kingdom come. An wine! 
 Wa al! I begun to feel somethin like the old 
 feller did that swallered a full tumbler of white 
 whisky, thinkin it was water. The old feller was 
 temp rence, an the boys put up a job on him one 
 hot day at gen ral trainin . Somebody ast him 
 afterwuds how it made him feel, an he said he 
 felt as if he was sittin straddle the meetin house, 
 an ev ry shingle was a Jew s-harp. So I kep 
 mum fer a while. But jes before we fiii ly got 
 through, an I hadn t said nothin fer a spell, Mis 
 Price turned to me an says, Did you have a 
 pleasant drive this afternoon? 
 
 " Yes m/ I says, I seen the hull show, putty 
 much. I guess poor folks must be t a premium 
 round here. I reckon, I says, that if they d 
 club together, the folks your husband p inted out 
 to me to-day could almost satisfy the require- 
 menjs of the Merican Soci ty fer For n Missions. 
 Mis Price laughed, an looked over at her hus 
 band. Yes, says Price, I told Mr. Harum about 
 some of the people we saw this afternoon, an I 
 must say he didn t appear to be as much im 
 pressed as I thought he would. How s that, Ha 
 rum? f he says to me. 
 
 " Wa al, says I, I was thinkin t I d like 
 to bet you two dollars to a last year s bird s nest, 
 I says, that if all them fellers we seen this after 
 noon, that air over fifty, c d be got together, 
 an some one was sucldinly to holler " Low 
 BRIDGE ! " that nineteen out o twenty d duck 
 their heads. " 
 
 "And then?" queried John. 
 
 "Wa al," said David, "all on em laughed 
 some, but Price he jes lay back an roared, 
 and I found out afterwuds," added David, " that 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 2 5 I 
 
 ev ry man at the table, except the Englishman, 
 know d what low bridge meant from actial ex 
 perience. Wa al, scat my - !" he exclaimed, 
 as he looked at his watch, " it ain t hardly wuth 
 while undressing" and started for the door. As 
 he was halfway through it, he turned and said, 
 " Say, I s pose you d a. known what to do with 
 that egg," but he did not wait for a reply. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 IT must not be understood that the Harums, 
 Larrabees, Robinsons, Elrights, and sundry who 
 have thus far been mentioned, represented the 
 only types in the prosperous and enterprising 
 village of Homeville, and David perhaps some 
 what magnified the one-time importance of the 
 Cullom family, although he was speaking of a 
 period some forty years earlier. Be that as it 
 may, there were now a good many families, most 
 of them descendants of early settlers, who lived in 
 good and even fine houses, and were people of re 
 finement and considerable wealth. These consti 
 tuted a coterie of their own, though they were on 
 terms of acquaintance and comity with the " vil 
 lage people," as they designated the rank and file 
 of the Homeville population. To these houses 
 came in the summer sons and daughters, nieces, 
 nephews, and grandchildren, and at the period of 
 which I am writing there had been built on the 
 shore of the lake, or in its vicinity, a number of 
 handsome and stately residences by people who 
 had been attracted by the beauty of the situation 
 and the salubrity of the summer climate. And 
 so, for some months in the pleasant season, the 
 village was enlivened by a concourse of visitors 
 who brought with them urban customs, cos 
 tumes, and equipages, and gave a good deal of 
 252 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 253 
 
 life and color to the village streets. Then did 
 Homeville put its best foot forward and money in 
 its pouch. 
 
 " I ain t what ye might call an old residenter," 
 said David, " though I was part raised on Bux- 
 ton Hill, an I ain t so well quainted with the 
 nabobs; but Polly s lived in the village ever 
 sence she got married, an knows their fam ly his- 
 t ry, dam, an sire, an pedigree gen ally. Of 
 course," he remarked, " I know all the men folks, 
 an they know me, but I never ben into none o 
 their houses except now an then on a matter of 
 bus nis, an I guess," he said with a laugh, " that 
 Polly d allow t she don t spend all her time in 
 that circle. Still," he added, " they all know her, 
 an ev ry little while some o the women folks 11 
 come in an see her. She s putty popular, Polly 
 is," he concluded. 
 
 " I should think so, indeed," remarked John. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David, " the s worse folks n 
 Polly Bixbee, if she don t put on no style; an the 
 fact is, that some of the folks that lives here the 
 year round, an always have, an call the rest on 
 us village people, Y jest as countryfied in their 
 way s me an Polly is in our n only they don t 
 know it. Bout the only diff rence is the way 
 they talk an live." John looked at Mr. Harum 
 in some doubt as to the seriousness of the last 
 remark. 
 
 " Go to the Piscopal church, an have what 
 they call dinner at six o clock," said David. 
 " Now, there s the The dore Verjooses," he con 
 tinued; "the rig nal Verjoos come an settled 
 here some time in the thirties, I reckon. He was 
 some kind of a Dutchman, I guess " [" Dutch 
 man " was Mr. Harum s generic name for all peo- 
 
254 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 pie native to the Continent of Europe] ; " but he 
 had some money, an bought land an 1 morgidges, 
 an so *on, an havin money money was awful 
 source in them early days made more; never 
 spent anythin to speak of, an died pinchin the 
 rig nal cent he started in with." 
 
 " He was the father of Mr. Verjoos the other 
 banker here, I suppose?" said John. 
 
 " Yes," said David, " the was two boys an a 
 sister. The oldest son, Alferd, went into the 
 law an done bus nis in Albany, an afterw ds 
 moved to New York; but he s always kept up the 
 old place here. The old man left what was a 
 good deal o propity fer them days, an Alf he 
 kept his share an made more. He was in the 
 Assembly two three terms, an afterw ds member 
 of Congress, an they do say," remarked Mr. Ha- 
 rum with a wink, " that he never lost no money 
 by his politics. On the other hand, The dore 
 made more or less of a muddle on t, an mongst 
 em they set him up in the bankin bus nis. I 
 say them because the Verjooses, an the Rog- 
 erses, an the Swaynes, an a lot of em, is all more 
 or less related to each other, but Alf s reely the 
 one at the bottom on t, an after The d lost most 
 of his money it was the easiest way to kind o 
 keep him on his legs." 
 
 " He seems a good-natured, easy-going sort 
 of person," said John by way of comment, and, 
 truth to say, not very much interested. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said David rather contemptuously, 
 " you could drive him with a tow string. He 
 don t knoiv enough to run away. But what I 
 was gettin at was this: He an his wife he mar 
 ried one of the Tenakers has lived right here 
 fer the Lord knows how long; born an brought 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 255 
 
 up here both on em, an somehow we re village 
 people an they ain t, that s all." 
 
 " Rather a fine distinction," remarked his 
 hearer, smiling 1 . 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David. " Now, there s old 
 maid Allis, relative of the Rogerses, lives all 
 alone down on Clark Street in an old house that 
 hain t had a coat o paint or a new shingle sence 
 the three Thayers was hung, an she talks about 
 the folks next door, both sides, that she s knowed 
 alwus, as village people, and I don t believe," 
 asserted the speaker, " she was ever away f m 
 Homeville two weeks in the hull course of her 
 life. She s a putty decent sort of a woman too," 
 Mr. Harum admitted. "If the was a death in 
 the house she d go in an help, but she wouldn t 
 never think of askin one on em to tea." 
 
 " I suppose you have heard it said," remarked 
 John, laughing, " that it takes all sorts of people 
 to make a world." 
 
 " I think I hev heard a rumor to that effect," 
 said David, " an I guess the s about as much 
 human nature in some folks as the is in others, 
 if not more." 
 
 " And I don t fancy that it makes very much 
 difference to you," said John, " whether the Ver- 
 jooses or Miss Allis call you village people 
 or not." 
 
 " Don t cut no figger at all," declared Mr. 
 Harum. " Polly n I are too old to set up fer 
 shapes even if we wanted to. A good fair road- 
 gait s good enough fer me; three square meals, 
 a small portion of the filthy weed, as it s called 
 in po try, a boss r two, a ten-dollar note where 
 you c n lay your hand on t, an once in a while, 
 when your consciunce pricks ye, a little some- 
 
256 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 thin to permote the cause o temp rence, an 
 make the inwurd moniter quit jerkin the reins 
 wa al, I guess I c n git along, heh?" 
 
 " Yes," said John, by way of making some re 
 joinder, " if one has all one needs it is enough." 
 
 " Wa al, yes," observed the philosopher, 
 " that s so, as you might say, up to a certain 
 point, an in some ways. I s pose a feller could 
 git along, but at the same time I ve noticed that, 
 gen ally speakin , a leetle too big s about the 
 right size." 
 
 " I am told," said John, after a pause in which 
 the conversation seemed to be dying out for 
 lack of fuel, and apropos of nothing in par 
 ticular, " that Homeville is quite a summer re 
 sort." 
 
 " Quite a consid able," responded Mr. Harum. 
 " It has ben to some extent fer a good many 
 years, an it s gettin more an more so all the 
 time, only diff rent. I mean," he said, " that the 
 folks that come now make more show an most 
 on em who ain t visitin their relations either has 
 places of their own or hires em fer the summer. 
 One time some folks used to come an stay at 
 the hotel. The was quite a fair one then," he ex 
 plained; "but it burned up, an wa n t never built 
 up agin because it had got not to be thought the 
 fash nable thing to put up there. Mis Robinson 
 (Dug s wife), an Mis Truman, round on Lay- 
 lock Street, has some fam lies that come an board 
 with them ev ry year, but that s about all the 
 boardin the is nowdays." Mr. Harum stopped 
 and looked at his companion thoughtfully for a 
 moment, as if something had just occurred to 
 him. 
 
 " The 11 be more o your kind o folk round, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 257 
 
 come summer; he said; and then, on a second 
 thought, "you re Tiscopal, ain t ye?" 
 
 " I have always attended that service," replied 
 John, smiling, " and I have gone to St. James s 
 here nearly every Sunday." 
 
 " Hain t they taken any notice of ye? " asked 
 David. 
 
 " Mr. Euston, the rector, called upon me," 
 said John, " but I have made no further acquaint 
 ances." 
 
 " E-um m! " said David, and, after a moment, 
 in a sort of confidential tone, " Do you like goin 
 to church?" he asked. 
 
 "Well," said John, "that depends yes, I 
 think I do. I think it is the proper thing," he 
 concluded weakly. 
 
 " Depends some on how a feller s ben 
 brought up, don t ye think so? " said David. 
 
 " I should think it very likely," John assented, 
 struggling manfully with a yawn. 
 
 " I guess that s about my case," remarked 
 Mr. Harum, " an I sh d have to admit that I 
 ain t much of a hand fer church-goin . Polly has 
 the princ pal charge of that branch of the bus nis, 
 an the one I stay away from, when I don t go," 
 he said with a grin, " s the Prespyteriun." John 
 laughed. 
 
 " No, sir," said David, " I ain t much of a 
 hand for t. Polly used to worry at me about it 
 till I fin ly says to her, Polly, I says, I ll tell 
 ye what I ll do. I ll compermise with ye, I says. 
 1 I won t undertake to toiler right along in your 
 track I hain t got the req sit speed, I says, but 
 f m now on I ll go to church reg lar on Thanks- 
 givin . It was putty near Thanksgivin time," 
 he remarked, " an I dunno but she thought if 
 
258 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 she c d git me started I d finish the heat, an so 
 we fixed it at that." 
 
 " Of course," said John with a laugh, " you 
 kept your promise? " 
 
 " Wa al, sir," declared David with the utmost 
 gravity, " fer the next five years I never missed 
 attendin church on Thanksgivin day but four 
 times; but after that," he added, " I had to beg 
 off. It was too much of a strain," he declared 
 with a chuckle, " an it took more time n Polly 
 c d really afford to git me ready." And so he 
 rambled on upon such topics as suggested them 
 selves to his mind, or in reply to his auditor s 
 comments and questions, which were, indeed, 
 more perfunctory than otherwise. For the Ver- 
 jooses, the Rogerses, the Swaynes, and the rest, 
 were people whom John not only did not know, 
 but whom he neither expected nor cared to 
 know; and so his present interest in them was 
 extremely small. 
 
 Outside of his regular occupations, and de 
 spite the improvement in his domestic environ 
 ment, life was so dull for him that he could not 
 imagine its ever being otherwise in Homeville. 
 It was a year since the world his world had 
 come to an end, and though his sensations of loss 
 and defeat had passed the acute stage, his mind 
 was far from healthy. He had evaded David s 
 question, or only half answered it, when he 
 merely replied that the rector had called upon 
 him. The truth was that some tentative ad 
 vances had been made to him, and Mr. Euston 
 had presented him to a few of the people in his 
 flock; but beyond the point of mere politeness 
 he had made no response, mainly from indiffer 
 ence, but to a degree because of a suspicion that 
 
DAVID HARUM. 259 
 
 his connection with Mr. Harum would not, to 
 say the least, enhance his position in the minds 
 of certain of the people of Homeville. As has 
 been intimated, it seemed at the outset of his ca 
 reer in the village as if there had been a com 
 bination of circumstance and effort to put him 
 on his guard, and, indeed, rather to prejudice 
 him against his employer; and Mr. Harum, as it 
 now appeared to our friend, had on one or two oc 
 casions laid himself open to mis judgment, if no 
 more. No allusion had ever been made to the 
 episode of the counterfeit money by either his 
 employer or himself, and it was not till months 
 afterward that the subject was brought up by 
 Mr. Richard Larrabee, who sauntered into the 
 bank one morning. Finding no one there but 
 John, he leaned over the counter on his elbows, 
 and, twisting one leg about the other in a restful 
 attitude, proceeded to open up a conversation 
 upon various topics of interest to his mind. Dick 
 was Mr. Harum s confidential henchman and fac 
 totum, although not regularly so employed. His 
 chief object in life was apparently to get as much 
 amusement as possible out of that experience, 
 and he w r as quite unhampered by over-nice no 
 tions of delicacy or bashfulness. But, withal, Mr. 
 Larrabee was a very honest and loyal person, 
 strong in his likes and dislikes, devoted to David, 
 for whom he had the greatest admiration, and he 
 had taken a fancy to our friend, stoutly main 
 taining that he " wa n t no more stuck-up n you 
 be," only, as he remarked to Bill Perkins, " he 
 hain t had the advantigis of your bringin up." 
 
 After some preliminary talk " Say," he said 
 to John, " got stuck with any more countyfit 
 money lately? " 
 
260 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 John s face reddened a little and Dick laughed. 
 
 :< The old man told me about it," he said. 
 " Say, you d ought to done as he told ye to. 
 You d a saved fifteen dollars," Dick declared, 
 looking at our friend with an expression of the 
 utmost amusement. 
 
 " I don t quite understand," said John rather 
 stiffly. 
 
 " Didn t he tell ye to charge em up to the 
 bank, an let him take em?" asked Dick. 
 
 " Well?" said John shortly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know," said Mr. Larrabee. " He 
 said sumpthin to make you think he was goin to 
 pass em out, an you didn t give him no show 
 to explain, but jest marched into the back room 
 an stuck em onto the fire. Ho, ho, ho, ho! He 
 told me all about it," cried Dick. " Say," he de 
 clared, " I dunno s I ever see the old man more 
 kind o womble-cropped over anythin . Why, 
 he wouldn t no more a passed them bills n he d 
 a cut his hand off. He, he, he, he! He was 
 jest ticklin your heels a little," said Mr. Larrabee, 
 " to see if you d kick, an ," chuckled the speaker, 
 " you surely did." 
 
 " Perhaps I acted rather hastily," said John, 
 laughing a little from contagion. 
 
 " Wa al," said Dick, " Dave s got ways of his 
 own. I ve summered an wintered with him now 
 for a good many years, an / ain t got to the bot 
 tom of him yet, an ," he added, " I don t know 
 nobody that has." 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 ALTHOUGH, as time went on and John had 
 come to a better insight of the character of the 
 eccentric person whom Dick had failed to fath 
 om, his half-formed prejudices had fallen away, 
 it must be admitted that he ofttimes found him a 
 good deal of a puzzle. The domains of the seri 
 ous and the facetious in David s mind seemed to 
 have no very well denned boundaries. 
 
 The talk had drifted back to the people and 
 gossip of Homeville, but, sooth to say, it had not 
 on this occasion got far away from those topics. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Harum, " Alf Verjoos is on 
 the hull the best off of any of the lot. As I told 
 ye, he made money on top of what the old 
 man left him, an he married money. The fam ly 
 some on em conies here in the summer, an 
 he s here part o the time gen ally, but the women 
 folks won t stay here winters,. an the house is left 
 in care of Alf s sister who never got married. He 
 don t care a hill o white beans fer anything in 
 Homeville but the old place, and he don t cal late 
 to have nobody on his grass, not if he knows it. 
 Him an me are on putty friendly terms, but the 
 fact is," said David, in a semi-confidential tone, 
 " he s about an even combine of pykery an vini- 
 ger, an about as pop lar in gen ral round here 
 as a skunk in a hen-house; but Mis Verjoos is 
 
 261 
 
262 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 putty well liked; an one o the girls, Claricy is 
 her name, is a good deal of a fav rit. Juliet, the 
 other one, don t mix with the village folks much, 
 an sometimes don t come with the fam ly at all. 
 She favors her father," remarked the historian. 
 
 " Inherits his popularity, I conclude," re 
 marked John, smiling. 
 
 " She does favor him to some extent in that 
 respect," was the reply; " an she s dark com 
 plected like him, but she s a mighty han some 
 girl, notwithstandin . Both on em is han some 
 girls," observed Mr. Harum, " an great fer 
 hosses, an that s the way I got quainted with 
 em. They re all fer ridin hossback when they re 
 up here. Did you ever ride a hoss? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said John, " I have ridden a good 
 deal one time and another." 
 
 " Never c d see the sense on t," declared Da 
 vid. " I c n imagine gettin on to a hoss s back 
 when t was either that or walkin , but to do 
 it fer the fun o the thing s more n I c n under 
 stand. There you be," he continued, " stuck up 
 four five feet up in the air like a clo espin, havin 
 your backbone chucked up into your skull, an 
 takin the skin off in spots an places, expectin 
 ev ry next minute the critter ll git out f m under 
 ye no, sir," he protested, " if it come to be that 
 it was either to ride a hossback fer the fun o the 
 thing or have somebody kick me, an kick me 
 hard, I d say, Kick away. It comes to the same 
 thing fur s enjoyment goes, and it s a dum sight 
 safer." 
 
 John laughed outright, while David leaned 
 forward with his hands on his knees, looking at 
 him with a broad though somewhat doubtful 
 smile. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 263 
 
 " That being your feeling," remarked John, 
 " I should think saddle horses would be rather 
 out of your line. Was it a saddle horse that the 
 Misses Verjoos were interested in?" 
 
 "Wa al, I didn t buy him fer that," replied 
 David, " an in fact when the feller that sold him 
 to me told me he d ben rode, I allowed that 
 ought to knock twenty dollars off n the price, 
 but I did have such a hoss, an , outside o that, he 
 was a nice piece of hoss flesh. I was up to the 
 barn one mornin , mebbe four years ago," he con 
 tinued, " when in drove the Verjoos carriage with 
 one of the girls, the oldest one, inside, an the 
 yeller-haired one on a hossback. * Good morn 
 in . You re Mr. Harum, ain t you? she says. 
 Good mornin , I says, Harum s the name t 
 I use when I appear in public. You re Miss Ver 
 joos, I reckon/ I says. 
 
 " She laughed a little, an says, motionin with 
 her head to ds the carriage, My sister is Miss 
 Verjoos. I m Miss Claricy. I took off my cap, 
 an the other girl jest bowed her head a little. 
 
 " I heard you had a hoss t I could ride/ 
 says the one on hossback. 
 
 " Wa al/ I says, lookin at her hoss, an he 
 was a good one," remarked David, " * fer a saddle 
 hoss, I shouldn t think you was entirely out o 
 hosses long s you got that one. Oh/ she says, 
 this is my sister s hoss. Mine has hurt his leg 
 so badly that I am fraid I sha n t be able to ride 
 him this summer. Wa al/ I says, I ve got 
 a hoss that s ben rode, so I was told, but I don t 
 know of my own knowinV 
 
 " Don t you ride? she says. Hossback? 
 I says. Why, of course/ she says. No, 
 ma am/ I says, not when I c n raise the money 
 
264 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 to pay my fine. 9 She looked kind o puzzled at 
 that," remarked David, " but I see the other girl 
 look at her an give a kind of quiet laugh." 
 
 " Can I see him? says Miss Claricy. Cer- 
 t nly/ I says, an went an brought him out. 
 Oh! she says to her sister, ain t he a beauty? 
 C n I try him? she says to me. Wa al, I says, 
 1 I guess I c n resk it if you can, but I didn t buy 
 him fer a saddle hoss, an if I m to own him fer 
 any len th of time I d ruther he d fergit the sad 
 dle bus nis, an in any case, I says, I wouldn t 
 like him to git a sore back, an then agin, I says, 
 I hain t got no saddle. 
 
 " Wa al, she says, givin her head a toss, if 
 I couldn t sit straight I d never ride agin. I never 
 made a hoss s back sore in my life, she says. 
 * We c n change the saddle, she says, an off she 
 
 jumps, an , scat my ! " exclaimed David, 
 
 " the way she knowed about gettin that saddle 
 fixed, pads, straps, girt s, an the hull bus nis, an 
 put up her foot fer me to give her a lift, an 
 wheeled that hoss an went out o the yard a-kitin , 
 was as slick a piece o hoss bus nis as ever I see. 
 It took fust money, that did," said Mr. Harum 
 with a confirmatory shake of the head. " Wa al," 
 he resumed, " in about a few minutes back she 
 come, lickity-cut, an pulled up in front of me. 
 C n you send my sister s hoss home? she says, 
 an then I sha n t have to change agin. I ll 
 stay on my hoss, she says, laughin , an then agin 
 laughin fit to kill, fer I stood there with my 
 mouth open clear to my back teeth, not bein 
 used to doin bus nis ith quite so much neatniss 
 an dispatch, as the sayin is. 
 
 " * Oh, it s all right, she says. Poppa came 
 home last night an I ll have him see you this 
 
DAVID HARUM. 265 
 
 afternoon or to-morroV But mebbe he n I 
 won t agree about the price/ I says. * Yes, you 
 will/ she says, an if you don t I won t make his 
 back sore an off they went, an left me standin 
 there like a stick in the mud. I ve bought an 
 sold hosses to some extent fer a consid able num 
 ber o years," said Mr. Harum reflectively, " but 
 that partic ler transaction s got a peg all to itself." 
 
 John laughed and asked, " How did it come 
 out? I mean, what sort of an interview did you 
 have with the young woman s father, the popular 
 Mr. Verjoos?" 
 
 " Oh," said David, " he druv up to the office 
 the next mornin , bout ten o clock, an come into 
 the back room here, an after we d passed the 
 time o day, he says, clearin his throat in a way 
 he s got, * He-uh, he-uh! he says, my daughter 
 tells me that she run off with a hoss of yours 
 yestidy in rather a summery manner, an he-uh- 
 uh I have come to see you about payin fer him. 
 What is the price? he says. 
 
 " Wa al/ I says, more n anythin to see what 
 he d say, what would you say he was wuth? An 
 with that he kind o stiffened a little stiffer n he 
 was before, if it could be. 
 
 " Really/ he says, * he-uh-uh, I haven t any 
 idea. I haven t seen the animal, an I should not 
 consider myself qual fied to give an opinion upon 
 his value if I had, but/ he says, * I don t know 
 that that makes any material diff rence, however, 
 because I am quite he-uh, he-uh in your hands 
 he-uh! within limits he-uh-uh! within lim 
 its/ he says. That kind o riled me," remarked 
 David. " I see in a minute what was passin in his 
 mind. Wa al/ I says, Mr. Verjoos, I guess the 
 fact o the matter is t I m about as much in the 
 IS 
 
2 66 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 mud as you be in the mire your daughter s got 
 my hoss, I says. * Now you ain t dealin with a 
 hoss jockey, I says, though I don t deny that I 
 buy an sell hosses, an once in a while make 
 money at it. You re dealin with David Ha- 
 rum, Banker, an I consider t I m dealin with 
 a lady, or the father of one on her account, I 
 says. 
 
 " He-uh, he-uh! I meant no offense, sir, he 
 says. 
 
 " None bein meant, none will be took/ I 
 says. Now, I says, I was offered one-seventy- 
 rive fer that hoss day before yestidy, an wouldn t 
 take it. I can t sell him fer that, I says. 
 
 " He-uh, uh! cert nly not, he says. 
 
 " Wait a minit, I says. I can t sell him fer 
 that because I said I wouldn t; but if you feel 
 like drawin your check fer one-seventy-.su-, I 
 says, we ll call it a deal. " The speaker paused 
 with a chuckle. 
 
 "Well?" said John. 
 
 "Wa al," said David, "he, he, he, he! That 
 clean took the wind out of him, an he got redder 
 n a beet. He-uh-uh-uh-huh! really, he says, 
 I couldn t think of offerin you less than two 
 hunderd. 
 
 " All right, I says, I ll send up fer the hoss. 
 One-seventy-six is my price, no more an no 
 less, an I got up out o my chair." 
 
 " And what did he say then? " asked John. 
 
 " Wa al," replied Mr. Harum, " he settled his 
 neck down into his collar an necktie an cleared 
 his throat a few times, an says, You put me in 
 ruther an embarrassin position, Mr. Harum. 
 My daughter has set her heart on the hoss, an 
 he-uh-uh-uh ! with a kind of a smile like a 
 
DAVID HARUM. 267 
 
 wrinkle in a boot, I can t very well tell her that 
 I wouldn t buy him because you wouldn t accept 
 a higher offer than your own price. I I think 
 I must accede to your proposition, an he-uh-uh 
 accept the favor/ he says, draggin the words 
 out by the roots. 
 
 " No favor at all/ I says, not a bit on t, not 
 a bit on t. It was the cleanest an slickist deal 
 I ever had/ I says, an I ve had a good many. 
 That girl o your n/ I says, * if you don t mind 
 my sayin it, comes as near bein a full team an a 
 cross dog under the wagin as you c n git ; an you 
 c n tell her if you think fit/ I says, that if she 
 ever wants anythiri more out o my barn I ll 
 throw off twenty-four dollars ev ry time, if she ll 
 only do her own buyinV 
 
 "Wa al," said Mr. Harum, "I didn t know 
 but what he d gag a little at that, but he didn t 
 seem to, an when he went off after givin me his 
 check, he put out his hand an shook hands, a 
 thing he never done before." 
 
 " That was really very amusing," was John s 
 comment. 
 
 " T wa n t a bad day s work either," observed 
 Mr. Harum. " I ve sold the crowd a good many 
 hosses since then, an I ve laughed a thousan 
 times over that pertic ler trade. Me n Miss Clar- 
 icy," he added, " has alwus ben good friends 
 sence that time an she n Polly are reg lar neet- 
 ups. She never sees me in the street but what 
 it s How dee do, Mr. H-a-rum? An I ll say, 
 Ain t that ole boss wore out yet? or, When 
 you comin round to run off with another hoss? 
 I ll say." 
 
 At this point David got out of his chair, 
 yawned, and walked over to the window. 
 
268 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Did you ever in all your born days," he said, 
 " see such dum d weather? Jest look out there 
 no sleighin , no wheelin , an a barn full wantin 
 exercise. Wa al, I guess I ll be moseyin along." 
 And out he went. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 IF John Lenox had kept a diary for the first 
 year of his life in Homeville most of its pages 
 would have been blank. 
 
 The daily routine of the office (he had no 
 assistant but the callow Hopkins) was more ex 
 acting than laborious, but it kept him confined 
 seven hours in the twenty-four. Still, there was 
 time in the lengthened days as the year advanced 
 for walking, rowing, and riding or driving about 
 the picturesque country which surrounds Home 
 ville. He and Mr. Harum often drove together 
 after the bank closed, or after " tea," and it 
 was a pleasure in itself to observe David s dex 
 terous handling of his horses, and his content and 
 satisfaction in the enjoyment of his favorite pas 
 time. In pursuit of business he "jogged round," 
 as he said, behind the faithful Jinny, but when 
 on pleasure bent, a pair of satin-coated trotters 
 drew him in the latest and " slickest " model of 
 top-buggies. 
 
 "Of course," he said, "I d ruther ride all 
 alone than not to ride at all, but the s twice as 
 much fun in t when you ve got somebody along. 
 I ain t much of a talker, unless I happen to git 
 started " (at which assertion John repressed a 
 smile), " but once in a while I like to have some 
 body to say somethin to. You like to come 
 along, don t ye?" 
 
 269 
 
2 ;o DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Very much indeed." 
 
 " I used to git Polly to come once in a while," 
 said David, " but it wa n t no pleasure to her. 
 She hadn t never ben used to hosses an alwus 
 set on the edge of the seat ready to jump, an if 
 one o the critters capered a little she d want to 
 git right out then an there. I reckon she never 
 went out but what she thanked mercy when she 
 struck the hoss block to git back with hull 
 bones." 
 
 " I shouldn t have thought that she would 
 have been nervous with the reins in your hands," 
 said John. 
 
 "Wa al," replied David, " the last time she 
 come along somethin give the team a little scare 
 an she reached over an made a grab at the lines. 
 That," he remarked with a grin, " was quite a 
 good while ago. I says to her when we got 
 home, I guess after this you d better take your 
 airin s on a stun-boat. You won t be so lia 
 ble to git run away with an throwed out, I 
 says." 
 
 John laughed a little, but made no comment. 
 
 " After all," said David, " I dunno s I blamed 
 her fer bein skittish, but I couldn t have her 
 grabbin the lines. It s curi s," he reflected, " I 
 didn t used to mind what I rode behind, nor who 
 done the drivin , but I d have to admit that as I 
 git older I prefer to do it myself. I ride ev ry 
 once in a while with fellers that c n drive as well, 
 an mebbe better, n I can, an I know it, but if 
 anythin turns up, or looks like it, I can t help 
 wishin t I had holt o the lines myself." 
 
 The two passed a good many hours together 
 thus beguiling the time. Whatever David s other 
 merits as a companion, he was not exacting of 
 
DAVID HARUM. 2/1 
 
 response when engaged in conversation, and 
 rarely made any demands upon his auditor. 
 
 During that first year John made few addi 
 tions to his social acquaintance, and if in the 
 summer the sight of a gay party of young peo 
 ple caused some stirrings in his breast, they were 
 not strong enough to induce him to make 
 any attempts toward the acquaintance which 
 he might have formed. He was often conscious 
 of glances of curiosity directed toward him 
 self, and Mr. Euston was asked a good many 
 questions about the latest addition to his congre 
 gation. 
 
 Yes, he had called upon Mr. Lenox and his 
 call had been returned. In fact, they had had 
 several visits together had met out walking 
 once and had gone on in company. Was Mr. 
 Lenox " nice "? Yes, he had made a pleasant im 
 pression upon Mr. Euston, and seemed to be a 
 person of intelligence and good breeding very 
 gentlemanlike. Why did not people know him? 
 Well, Mr. Euston had made some proffers to that 
 end, but Mr. Lenox had merely expressed his 
 thanks. No, Mr. Euston did not know how he 
 happened to be in Homeville and employed by 
 that queer old Mr. Harum, and living with him 
 and his funny old sister; Mr. Lenox had not con 
 fided in him at all, and though very civil and 
 pleasant, did not appear to wish to be communi 
 cative. 
 
 So our friend did not make his entrance that 
 season into the drawing or dining rooms of any 
 of what David called the " nabobs " houses. By 
 the middle or latter part of October Homeville 
 was deserted of its visitors and as many of that 
 
272 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 class of its regular population as had the means 
 to go with and a place to go to. 
 
 It was under somewhat different auspices that 
 John entered upon the second winter of his so 
 journ. It has been made plain that his relations 
 with his employer and the kind and lovable Polly 
 were on a satisfactory and permanent footing. 
 
 " I m dum d," said David to Dick Larrabee, 
 " if it hain t got putty near to the p int when if 
 I want to git anythin out o the common run out 
 o Polly, I ll have to ask John to fix it fer me. 
 She s like a cow with a calf," he declared. 
 
 " David sets all the store in the world by 
 him," stated Mrs. Bixbee to a friend, " though he 
 don t jes let on to not in so many words. He s 
 got a kind of a notion that his little boy, if he d 
 lived, would V ben like him some ways. I never 
 seen the child," she added, with an expression 
 which made her visitor smile, " but as near s I 
 c n make out f m Dave s tell, he must a ben red 
 headed. Didn t you know t he d ever ben mar 
 ried? Wa al, he was fer a few years, though it s 
 the one thing wa al, I don t mean exac ly that 
 it s one o the things he don t have much to say 
 about. But once in a while he ll talk about the 
 boy, what he d be now if he d lived, an so on; 
 an he s the greatest hand fer childern everlast- 
 in ly pickin on em up when he s ridin and such 
 as that an I seen him once when we was trav- 
 elin on the cars go an take a squawlin baby 
 away f m it s mother, who looked ready to drop, 
 an lay it across that big chest of his, an the little 
 thing never gave a whimper after he got it into 
 his arms jest went right off to sleep. No," 
 said Mrs. Bixbee, " I never had no childern, an 
 I don t know but what I was glad of it at the 
 
DAVID HARUM. 2/3 
 
 time; Jim Bixbee was about as much baby as I 
 
 thought I could manage, but now " 
 
 There was some reason for not concluding 
 the sentence, and so we do not know what was 
 in her mind. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE year that had passed had seemed a very 
 long one to John, but as the months came and 
 went he had in a measure adjusted himself to the 
 change in his fortunes and environment; and so 
 as time went on the poignancy of his sorrow and 
 regret diminished, as it does with all of us. Yet 
 the sight of a gray-haired man still brought a 
 pang to his heart, and there were times of yearn 
 ing longing to recall every line of the face, 
 every detail of the dress, the voice, the words, of 
 the girl who had been so dear to him, and who 
 had gone out of his life as irrevocably, it seemed 
 to him, as if by death itself. It may be strange, 
 but it is true that for a very long time it never oc 
 curred to him that he might communicate with 
 her by mailing a letter to her New York address 
 to be forwarded, and when the thought came to 
 him the impulse to act upon it was very strong, 
 but he did not do so. Perhaps he would have 
 written had he been less in love with her, but 
 also there was mingled with that sentiment some 
 thing of bitterness which, though he could not 
 quite explain or justify it, did exist. Then, too, 
 he said to himself, " Of what avail would it be? 
 Only to keep alive a longing for the impossible." 
 No, he would forget it all. Men had died and 
 worms had eaten them, but not for love. Many 
 274 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 275 
 
 men lived all their lives without it and got on 
 very well too, he was aware. Perhaps some day, 
 when he had become thoroughly affiliated and 
 localized, he would wed a village maiden, and 
 rear a Freeland County brood. Our friend, as 
 may be seen, had a pretty healthy mind, and we 
 need not sympathize with him to the disturbance 
 of our own peace. 
 
 Books accumulated in the best bedroom. 
 John s expenses were small, and there was very 
 little temptation, or indeed opportunity, for spend 
 ing. At the time of his taking possession of his 
 quarters in David s house he had raised the ques 
 tion of his contribution to the household ex 
 penses, but Mr. Harum had declined to discuss 
 the matter at all and referred him to Mrs. Bixbee, 
 with whom he compromised on a weekly sum 
 which appeared to him absurdly small, but which 
 she protested she was ashamed to accept. After 
 a while a small upright piano made its appear 
 ance, with Aunt Polly s approval. 
 
 " Why, of course," she said. " You needn t 
 to hev ast me. I d like to hev you anyway. I 
 like music ever so much, an so does David, 
 though I guess it would floor him to try an 
 raise a tune. I used to sing quite a little when I 
 was younger, an I gen ally help at church an 
 prayer meetin now. Why, cert nly. Why not? 
 When would you play if it wa n t in the evenin ? 
 David sleeps over the wing. Do you hear him 
 snore?" 
 
 " Hardly ever," replied John, smiling. " That 
 is to say, not very much just enough sometimes 
 to know that he is asleep." 
 
 "Wa al," she said decidedly, "if he s fur 
 enough off so t you can t hear him, I guess he 
 
276 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 won t hear you much, an he sure won t hear you 
 after he gits to sleep." 
 
 So the piano came, and was a great comfort 
 and resource. Indeed, before long it became the 
 regular order of things for David and his sister 
 to spend an hour or so on Sunday evenings lis 
 tening to his music and their own as well that 
 is, the music of their choice which latter was 
 mostly to be found in " Carmina Sacra " and 
 "Moody and Sankey"; and Aunt Polly s heart 
 was glad indeed when she and John together 
 made concord of sweet sounds in some familiar 
 hymn tune, to the great edification of Mr. Ha- 
 rum, whose admiration was unbounded. 
 
 " Did I tell you," said David to Dick Larra- 
 bee, " what happened the last time me an John 
 went ridin together? " 
 
 " Not s I remember on," replied Dick. 
 
 " Wa al, we ve rode together quite a consid - 
 able," said Mr. Harum, " but I hadn t never said 
 anythin to him about takin a turn at the lines. 
 This day we d got a piece out into the country 
 an I had the brown colts. I says to him, Ever 
 do any drivin ? " 
 
 " More or less, he says. 
 Like to take the lines fer a spell? I says. 
 
 " Yes, he says, lookin kind o pleased, if 
 you ain t afraid to trust me with em, he says. 
 
 " Wa al, I ll be here, I says, an handed em 
 over. Wa al, sir, I see jest by the way he took 
 holt on em it wa n t the fust time, an we went 
 along to where the road turns in through a piece 
 of woods, an the track is narrer, an we run slap 
 onto one o them dum d road-engines that had 
 got wee-wawed putty near square across the 
 
DAVID HARUM. 277 
 
 track. Now I tell ye," said Mr. Harum, " them 
 bosses didn t like it fer a cent, an tell the truth 
 I didn t like it no better. We couldn t go ahead 
 fer we couldn t git by the cussed thing, an the 
 hosses was par ntly tryin to git back under 
 
 the buggy, an , scat my ! if he didn t 
 
 straighten em out an back em round in that 
 narrer road, an hardly scraped a wheel. Yes, 
 sir," declared Mr. Harum, " I couldn t a done 
 it slicker myself, an I don t know nobody that 
 could." 
 
 " Guess you must a felt a little ticklish your 
 self," said Dick sympathetically, laughing as 
 usual. 
 
 " Wa al, you better believe," declared the 
 other. " The was bout half a minute when I d 
 have sold out mighty cheap, an took a promise 
 fer the money. He s welcome to drive any team 
 in my barn," said David, feeling in which view 
 Mr. Larrabee shared that encomium was pretty 
 well exhausted in that assertion. 
 
 " I don t believe," said Mr. Harum after a mo 
 ment, in which he and his companion reflected 
 upon the gravity of his last declaration, " that 
 the s any dum thing that feller can t do. The last 
 thing s a piany. He s got a little one that stands 
 up on it s hind legs in his room, an he c n play 
 it with both hands thout lookin on. Yes, sir, 
 we have reg lar concerts at my house ev ry Sun 
 day night, admission free, an childern half price, 
 an ," said David, " you d ought to hear him an 
 Polly sing, an he, he, he! you d ought to see 
 her singin tickleder n a little dog with a nose 
 gay tied to his tail." 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 OUR friend s acquaintance with the rector of 
 St. James s church had grown into something 
 like friendship, and the two men were quite often 
 together in the evening. John went sometimes 
 to Mr. Euston s house, and not unfrequently the 
 latter would spend an hour in John s room over 
 a cigar and a chat. On one of the latter occa 
 sions, late in the autumn, Mr. Euston went to the 
 piano after sitting a few minutes and looked over 
 some of the music, among which were two or 
 three hymnals. " You are musical/ he said. 
 
 " In a modest way," was the reply. 
 
 " I am very fond of it," said the clergyman, 
 " but have little knowledge of it. I wish I had 
 more," he added in a tone of so much regret as 
 to cause his hearer to look curiously at him. 
 " Yes," he said, " I wish I knew more or less. 
 It s the bane of my existence," declared the rec 
 tor with a half laugh. John looked inquiringly at 
 him, but did not respond. 
 
 " I mean the music so called at St. 
 James s," said Mr. Euston. " I don t wonder 
 you smile," he remarked; "but it s not a matter 
 for smiling with me." 
 
 " I beg pardon," said John. 
 
 " No, you need not," returned the other, " but 
 really Well, there are a good many unpleas- 
 278 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 279 
 
 ant and disheartening experiences in a clergy 
 man s life, and I can, I hope, face and endure 
 most of them with patience, but the musical part 
 of my service is a never-ending source of anxiety, 
 perplexity, and annoyance. I think," said Mr. 
 Euston, " that I expend more nerve tissue upon 
 that branch of my responsibilities than upon all 
 the rest of my work. You see we can not afford 
 to pay any of the singers, and indeed my people 
 some of them, at least think fifty dollars is a 
 great sum for poor little Miss Knapp, the organ 
 ist. The rest are volunteers, or rather, I should 
 say, have been pressed into the service. We 
 are supposed to have two sopranos and two 
 altos; but in effect it happens sometimes that 
 neither of a pair will appear, each expecting 
 the other to be on duty. The tenor, Mr. Hub- 
 ber, who is an elderly man without any voice 
 to speak of, but a very devout and faithful 
 churchman, is to be depended upon to the extent 
 of his abilities; but Mr. Little, the bass well," 
 observed Mr. Euston, " the less said about him 
 the better." 
 
 " How about the organist?" said John. "I 
 think she does very well, doesn t she?" 
 
 " Miss Knapp is the one redeeming feature," 
 replied the rector, " but she has not much cour 
 age to interfere. Rubber is nominally the leader, 
 but he knows little of music." Mr. Euston gave 
 a sorry little laugh. " It s trying enough," he 
 said, " one Sunday with another, but on Christ 
 mas and Easter, when my people make an un 
 usual effort, and attempt the impossible, it is 
 something deplorable." 
 
 John could not forbear a little laugh. " I 
 should think it must be pretty trying," he said. 
 
280 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " It is simply corroding," declared Mr. 
 Euston. 
 
 They sat for a while smoking in silence, the 
 contemplation of his woes having apparently 
 driven other topics from the mind of the har 
 assed clergyman. At last he said, turning to 
 our friend: 
 
 " I have heard your voice in church." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " And I noticed that you sang not only the 
 hymns but the chants, and in a way to suggest 
 the idea that you have had experience and train 
 ing. I did not come here for the purpose," said 
 Mr. Euston, after waiting a moment for John 
 to speak, " though I confess the idea has oc 
 curred to me before, but it was suggested again 
 by the sight of your piano and music. I know 
 that it is asking a great deal," he continued, " but 
 do you think you could undertake, for a while 
 at least, to help such a lame dog as I am over 
 the stile? You have no idea," said the rector ear 
 nestly, " what a service you would be doing not 
 only to me, but to my people and the church." 
 
 John pulled thoughtfully at his mustache for 
 a moment, while Mr. Euston watched his face. 
 " I don t know," he said at last in a doubtful 
 tone. " I am afraid you are taking too much for 
 granted I don t mean as to my good will, but 
 as to my ability to be of service, for I suppose 
 you mean that I should help in drilling your 
 choir." 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Euston. " I suppose it 
 would be too much to ask you to sing as well." 
 
 " I have had no experience in the way of lead 
 ing or directing," replied John, ignoring the sug 
 gestion, " though I have sung in church more 
 
DAVID HARUM. 2 8l 
 
 or less, and am familiar with the service, but even 
 admitting my ability to be of use, shouldn t you 
 be afraid that my interposing might make more 
 trouble than it would help? Wouldn t your choir 
 resent it? Such people are sometimes jealous, 
 you know." 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes," sighed the rector. " But," 
 he added, " I think I can guarantee that there 
 will be no unpleasant feeling either toward you 
 or about you. Your being from New York will 
 give you a certain prestige, and their curiosity 
 and the element of novelty will make the begin 
 ning easy." 
 
 There came a knock at the door and Mr. 
 Harum appeared, but, seeing a visitor, was for 
 withdrawing. 
 
 " Don t go," said John. " Come in. Of 
 course you know Mr. Euston." 
 
 " Glad to see ye," said David, advancing and 
 shaking hands. " You folks talkin bus nis?" he 
 asked before sitting down. 
 
 " I am trying to persuade Mr. Lenox to do 
 me a great favor," said Mr. Euston. 
 
 " Well, I guess he won t want such an awful 
 sight o persuadin ," said David, taking a chair, 
 " if he s able to do it. What does he want of 
 ye?" he asked, turning to John. Mr. Euston 
 explained, and our friend gave his reasons for 
 hesitating all but the chief one, which was that 
 he was reluctant to commit himself to an under 
 taking which he apprehended would be not only 
 laborious but disagreeable. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " as fur s the bus nis 
 
 itself s concerned, the hull thing s all nix-cum- 
 
 rouse to me; but as fur s gettin folks to come 
 
 an sing, you c n git a barn full, an take your 
 
 19 
 
2 g2 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 pick; an a feller that c n git a pair of bosses an 
 a buggy out of a tight fix the way you done 
 a while ago ought to be able to break in a little 
 team of half a dozen women or so." 
 
 " Well," said John, laughing, " you could have 
 done what I was lucky enough to do with the 
 horses, but " 
 
 " Yes, yes," David broke in, scratching his 
 cheek, " I guess you got me that time." 
 
 Mr. Euston perceived that for some reason 
 he had an ally and advocate in Mr. Harum. He 
 rose and said good-night, and John escorted him 
 downstairs to the door. " Pray think of it as 
 favorably as you can," he said, as they shook 
 hands at parting. 
 
 " Putty nice kind of a man," remarked Davfd 
 when John came back; "putty nice kind of a 
 man. Bout the only quaintance you ve made 
 of his kind, ain t he? Wa al, he s all right fur s 
 he goes." Comes of good stock, I m told, an 
 looks it. Runs a good deal to emptins in his 
 preachin though, they say. How do you find 
 him?" 
 
 " I think I enjoy his conversation more than 
 his sermons," admitted John with a smile. 
 
 "Less of it at times, ain t the ?" suggested 
 David. " I may have told ye," he continued, 
 " that I wa n t a very reg lar churchgoer, but 
 I ve ben more or less in my time, an when I did 
 listen to the sermon all through, it gen ally 
 seemed to me that if the preacher d put all the 
 really was in it together he wouldn t need to have 
 took only bout quarter the time; but what with 
 scorin fer a start, an laggin on the back stretch, 
 an ev ry now an then breakin to a stan still, I 
 gen ally wanted to come down out o the stand be- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 283 
 
 fore the race was over. The s a good many fast 
 quarter bosses," remarked Mr. Harum, " but 
 them that c n keep it up fer a full mile is source. 
 What you goin to do about the music bus nis, or 
 hain t ye made up your mind yet?" he asked, 
 changing the subject. 
 
 "I like Mr. Euston," said John, "and he 
 seems very much in earnest about this matter; 
 but I am not sure," he added thoughtfully, " that 
 I can do what he wants, and I must say that I 
 am very reluctant to undertake it; still, I don t 
 know but that I ought to make the trial," and he 
 looked up at David. 
 
 " I guess I would if I was you," said the latter/ 
 " It can t do ye no harm, an it may do ye some 
 good. The fact is," he continued, " that you ain t 
 out o danger of runnin in a rut. It would do 
 you good mebbe to git more acquainted, an meb- 
 be this ll be the start on t." 
 
 " With a little team of half a dozen women, 
 as you called them," said John. " Mr. Euston 
 has offered to introduce me to any one I cared to 
 know." 
 
 " I didn t mean the singin folks," responded 
 Mr. Harum, " I meant the church folks in gen - 
 ral, an it ll come round in a natur l sort of way 
 not like bein took round by Mr. Euston as 
 if you d ast him to. You can t git along you 
 may, an have fer a spell, but not alwus with no 
 body to visit with but me an Polly an Dick, an 
 so on, an once in a while with the parson; you. ben 
 used to somethin difFrent, an while I ain t sayin 
 that Homeville soci ty, pertic lerly in the winter, 
 s the finest in the land, or that me an Polly ain t 
 all right in our way, you want a change o feed 
 once in a while, or you may git the colic. Now," 
 
284 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 proceeded the speaker, " if this singin bus nis 
 don t do more n to give ye somethin new to 
 think about, an take up an evenin now an then, 
 even if it bothers ye some, I think mebbe it ll 
 be a good thing fer ye. They say a reasonable 
 amount o fleas is good fer a dog keeps him 
 from broodin over bein a dog, mebbe," sug 
 gested David. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," said John. " In 
 deed, I don t doubt that you are right, and I will 
 take your advice." 
 
 " Thank you," said David a minute or two 
 later on, holding out the glass while John poured, 
 " jest a wisdom toothful. I don t set up to be no 
 Sol mon, an if you ever find out how I m bettin 
 on a race jest copper me an you c n wear di - 
 monds, but I know when a hoss has stood too 
 long in the barn as soon as the next man." 
 
 It is possible that even Mr. Euston did not 
 fully appreciate the difficulties of the task which 
 he persuaded our friend John to undertake; and 
 it is certain that had the latter known all that 
 they were to be he would have hardened his heart 
 against both the pleadings of the rector and the 
 advice of David. His efforts were welcomed and 
 seconded by Mr. Hubber the tenor, and Miss 
 Knapp the organist, and there was some earnest 
 ness displayed at first by the ladies of the choir; 
 but Mr. Little, the bass, proved a hopeless case, 
 and John, wholly against his intentions, and his 
 inclinations as well, had eventually to take over 
 the basso s duty altogether, as being the easiest 
 way in fact, the only way to save his efforts 
 from downright failure. 
 
 Without going in detail into the trials and 
 tribulations incident to the bringing of the mu- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 285 
 
 sical part of the service at Mr. Euston s church 
 up to a respectable if not a high standard, it may 
 be said that with unremitting pains this end was 
 accomplished, to the boundless relief and grati 
 tude of that worthy gentleman, and to a good 
 degree of the members of his congregation. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ON a fine Sunday in summer after the close of 
 the service the exit of the congregation of St. 
 James s church presents an animated and inspir 
 ing spectacle. A good many well-dressed ladies 
 of various ages, and not quite so many well- 
 dressed men, mostly (as David would have put it) 
 " runnin a little younger," come from out the 
 sacred edifice with an expression of relief easily 
 changeable to something gayer. A few drive 
 away in handsome equipages, but most prefer to 
 walk, and there is usually a good deal of smiling 
 talk in groups before parting, in which Mr. Eus- 
 ton likes to join. He leaves matters in the vestry 
 to the care of old Barlow, the sexton, and makes, 
 if one may be permitted the expression, " a quick 
 change." 
 
 Things had come about very much as David 
 had desired and anticipated, and our friend had 
 met quite a number of the " summer people," 
 having been waylaid at times by the rector in 
 whose good graces he stood so high that he 
 might have sung anything short of a comic song 
 during the offertory and presented willy-nilly. 
 On this particular Sunday he had lingered a 
 while in the gallery after service over some mat 
 ter connected with the music, and when he came 
 out of the church most of the people had made 
 286 
 
DAVID HARUM. 287 
 
 their way down the front steps and up the street; 
 but standing near the gate was a group of three 
 the rector and two young women whom John 
 had seen the previous summer, and now recog 
 nized as the Misses Verjoos. He raised his hat 
 as he was passing the group, when Mr. Eus- 
 ton detained him: " I want to present you to the 
 Misses Verjoos." A tall girl, dressed in some 
 black material which gave John the impression 
 of lace, recognized his salutation with a slight 
 bow and a rather indifferent survey from a pair 
 of very somber dark eyes, while her sister, in 
 light colors, gave him a smiling glance from a 
 pair of very blue ones, and, rather to his surprise, 
 put out her hand with the usual declaration of 
 pleasure, happiness, or what not. 
 
 " We were just speaking of the singing," said 
 the rector, " and I was saying that it was all your 
 doing." 
 
 " You really have done w r onders," conde 
 scended she of the somber eyes. " We have only 
 been here a day or two and this is the first time 
 we have been at church." 
 
 The party moved out of the gate and up 
 the street, the rector leading with Miss Ver 
 joos, followed by our friend and the younger 
 sister. 
 
 " Indeed you have," said the latter, seconding 
 her sister s remark. " I don t believe even your 
 self can quite realize what the difference is. My! 
 it is very nice for the rest of us, but it must be a 
 perfect killing bore for you." 
 
 " I have found it rather trying at times," said 
 John; "but now you are so kind it is begin 
 ning to appear to me as the most delightful of 
 pursuits.* 
 
288 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Very pretty," remarked Miss Clara. " Do 
 you say a good deal of that sort of thing? " 
 
 " I am rather out of practice," replied John. 
 " I haven t had much opportunity for some time." 
 
 " I don t think you need feel discouraged," 
 she returned. " A good method is everything, 
 and I have no doubt you might soon be in form 
 again." 
 
 " Thanks for your encouragement," said John, 
 smiling. " I was beginning to feel quite low in 
 my mind about it." She laughed a little. 
 
 " I heard quite a good deal about you last 
 year from a very good friend of yours," said Miss 
 Clara after a pause. 
 
 John looked at her inquiringly. 
 
 " Mrs. Bixbee," she said. " Isn t she an old 
 dear?" 
 
 " I have reason to think so, with all my 
 heart," said John stoutly. 
 
 " She talked a lot about you to me," said Miss 
 Clara. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Yes, and if your ears did not burn you have 
 no sense of gratitude. Isn t Mr. Harum funny? " 
 
 " I have sometimes suspected it," said John, 
 laughing. " He once told me rather an amusing 
 thing about a young woman s running off with 
 one of his horses." 
 
 " Did he tell you that? Really? I wonder 
 what you must have thought of me? " 
 
 " Something of what Mr. Harum did, I 
 fancy," said John. 
 
 "What was that?" 
 
 " Pardon me," was the reply, " but I have 
 been snubbed once this morning." She gave a 
 little laugh. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 289 
 
 " Mr. Harum and I are great neetups, as he 
 says. Is neetups a nice word?" she asked, 
 looking at her companion. 
 
 " I should think so if I were in Mr. Harum s 
 place," said John. " It means * cronies, I be 
 lieve, in his dictionary." 
 
 They had come to where Freeland Street ter 
 minates in the Lake Road, which follows the bor 
 der of the lake to the north and winds around 
 the foot of it to the south and west. 
 
 " Why! " exclaimed Miss Clara, " there comes 
 David. I haven t seen him this summer." 
 
 They halted and David drew up, winding the 
 reins about the whipstock and pulling off his 
 buckskin glove. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Harum?" said the 
 girl, putting her hand in his. 
 
 " How air ye, Miss Claricy? Glad to see ye 
 agin," he said. " I m settin up a little ev ry day 
 now, an you don t look as if you was off your 
 feed much, eh? " 
 
 " No," she replied, laughing, " I m in what 
 you call pretty fair condition, I think." 
 
 " Wa al, I reckon," he said, looking at her 
 smiling face with the frankest admiration. 
 " Guess you come out a little finer ev ry season, 
 don t ye? Hard work to keep ye out o the f ree 
 fer-all class, I guess. How s all the folks? " 
 
 " Nicely, thanks," she replied. 
 
 " That s right," said David. 
 
 " How is Mrs. Bixbee? " she inquired. 
 
 " Wa al," said David with a grin, " I ben a 
 little down in the mouth lately bout Polly 
 seems to be fallin away some don t weigh much 
 more n I do, I guess;" but Miss Clara only 
 laughed at this gloomy report. 
 
290 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " How is my horse Kirby? " she asked. 
 
 " Wa al, the ole bag-o -bones is breathin yet," 
 said David, chuckling, " but he s putty well wore 
 out has to lean up agin the shed to whicker. 
 Guess I ll have to sell ye another putty soon 
 now. Still, what the is left of him s s good s 
 ever t will be, an I ll send him up in the morn- 
 in ." He looked from Miss Clara to John, whose 
 salutation he had acknowledged with the briefest 
 of nods. 
 
 " How d you ketch him? " he asked, indicat 
 ing our friend with a motion of his head. " Had 
 to go after him with a four-quart measure, didn t 
 ye? or did he let ye corner him? " 
 
 " Mr. Euston caught him for me," she said, 
 laughing, but coloring perceptibly, while John s 
 face grew very red. " I think I will run on and 
 join my sister, and Mr. Lenox can drive home 
 with you. Good bye, Mr. Harum. I shall be 
 glad to have Kirby whenever it is convenient. 
 We shall be glad to see you at Lakelawn," she 
 said to John cordially, " whenever you can 
 come;" and taking her prayer book and hymnal 
 from him, she sped away. 
 
 " Look at her git over the ground," said 
 David, turning to watch her while John got into 
 the buggy. " Ain t that a gait? " 
 
 " She is a charming girl," said John as old 
 Jinny started off. 
 
 " She s the one I told you about that run off 
 with my hoss," remarked David, " an I alwus 
 look after him fer her in the winter." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said John. " She was laugh 
 ing about it to-day, and saying that you and she 
 were great friends." 
 
 " She was, was she? " said David, highly 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 291 
 
 pleased. " Yes, sir, that s the girl, an , scat my 
 
 ! if I was thirty years younger she c d run 
 
 off with me jest as easy an I dunno but what 
 she could anyway," he added. 
 
 " Charming girl," repeated John rather 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 44 Wa al," said David, " I don t know as much 
 about girls as I do about some things; my ex 
 perience hain t laid much in that line, but I 
 wouldn t like to take a contract to match her on 
 any limit. I guess," he added softly, " that the 
 consideration in that deal d have to be love an 
 affection. Git up, old lady," he exclaimed, and 
 drew the whip along old Jinny s back like a ca 
 ress. The mare quickened her pace, and in a few 
 minutes they drove into the barn. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 "WHERE you ben?" asked Mrs. Bixbee of 
 her brother as the three sat at the one o clock 
 dinner. " I see you drivin off somewheres." 
 
 " Ben up the Lake Road to Lizer Howe s," 
 replied David. " He s got a hoss t I ve some 
 notion o buyin ." 
 
 " Ain t the week-days enough," she asked, 
 " to do your horse-tradin in ithout breakin the 
 Sabbath? " 
 
 David threw back his head and lowered a 
 stalk of the last asparagus of the year into his 
 mouth. 
 
 " Some o the best deals I ever made," he said, 
 " was made on a Sunday. Hain t you never 
 heard the sayin , The better the day, the better 
 the deal ?" 
 
 "Wa al," declared Mrs. Bixbee, " the can t 
 be no blessin on money that s made in that way, 
 an you d be better off without it." 
 
 " I dunno," remarked her brother, " but 
 Deakin Perkins might ask a blessin on a hoss 
 trade, but I never heard of it s bein done, an I 
 don t know jest how the deakin d put it; it d be 
 two fer the deakin an one fer the other feller, 
 though, somehow, you c n bet." 
 
 " Humph! " she ejaculated. " I guess nobody 
 ever did; an I sh d think you had money enough 
 292 
 
DAVID HARUM. 293 
 
 an horses enough an time enough to keep out o 
 that bus nis on Sunday, anyhow." 
 
 "Waal, wa al," said David, " mebbe I ll 
 swear off before long, an anyway the wa n t no 
 blessin needed on this trade, fer if you ll ask 
 Lizer he ll tell ye the wa n t none made. Lizer 
 s o your way o thinkin on the subjict." 
 
 " That s to his credit, anyway," she asserted. 
 
 " Jes so," observed her brother; " I ve gen - 
 ally noticed that folks who was of your way o 
 thinkin never made no mistakes, an Lizer s a 
 very consistent believer;" whereupon he laughed 
 in a way to arouse both Mrs. Bixbee s curiosity 
 and suspicion. 
 
 " I don t see anythin in that to laugh at," she 
 declared. 
 
 " He, he, he, he! " chuckled David. 
 
 " Wa al, you may s well tell it one time s an 
 other. That s the way," she said, turning to 
 John with a smile trembling on her lips, " t he 
 picks at me the hull time." 
 
 " I ve noticed it," said John. " It s shame 
 ful." 
 
 " I do it hully fer her good," asserted David 
 with a grin. " If it wa n t fer me she d git in 
 time as narrer as them seven-day Babtists over 
 to Feeble they call em the narrer Babtists. 
 You ve heard on em, hain t you, Polly?" 
 
 " No," she said, without looking up from her 
 plate, " I never heard on em, an I don t much 
 believe you ever did neither." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed David. "You lived 
 here goin on seventy year an never heard on 
 em?" 
 
 " David Harum ! " she cried, " I ain t within 
 ten year " 
 
294 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Hold on," he protested, " don t throw that 
 teacup. I didn t say you was, I only said you 
 was goin* on an about them people over to 
 Feeble, they ve got the name of the narrer Bab- 
 tists because they re so narrer in their views 
 that fourteen on em c n sit, side an side, in a 
 buggy." This astonishing statement elicited a 
 laugh even from Aunt Polly, but presently she 
 said: 
 
 " Wa al, I m glad you found one man that 
 would stan you off on Sunday." 
 
 " Yes m," said her brother, " Lizer s jest 
 your kind. I knew t he d hurt his foot, an prob - 
 ly couldn t go to meeting an sure enough, he was 
 settin on the stoop, an I drove in an pulled up 
 in the lane alongside. We said good mornin an 
 all that, an I ast after the folks an how his foot 
 was gettin long, an so on, an fin ly I says, I 
 see your boy drivin a hoss the other day that 
 looked a little f m the middle o the road as 
 if he might match one I ve got, an I thought 
 I d drive up this mornin an see if we couldn t 
 git up a dicker. Wa al, he give a kind of 
 a hitch in his chair as if his foot hurt him, an 
 then he says, I guess I can t deal with ye to 
 day. I don t never do no bus nis on Sunday/ he 
 says. 
 
 " I ve heard you was putty pertic ler, I says, 
 but I m putty busy jest about now, an I thought 
 that mebbe once in a way, an seem that you 
 couldn t go to meetin anyway, an that I ve come 
 quite a ways an don t know when I c n see you 
 agin, an so on, that mebbe you d think, under 
 all the circumstances, the wouldn t be no great 
 harm in t long s I don t pay over no money, 
 at cetery, I says. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 295 
 
 No, he says, shakin his head in a sort o 
 mournful way, I m glad to see ye, an I m sorry 
 you ve took all that trouble fer nuthin , but my 
 conscience won t allow me, he says, * to do no 
 bus nis on Sunday. 
 
 " Wa al, I says, I don t ask no man to go 
 agin his conscience, but it wouldn t be no very 
 glarin transgression on your part, would it, if 
 I was to go up to the barn all alone by myself 
 an look at the hoss? I c d see," continued Mr. 
 Harum, " that his face kind o brightened up at 
 that, but he took his time to answer. Wa al, 
 he says fin ly, I don t want to lay down no law 
 fer you, an if you don t see no harm in t, I guess 
 the ain t nuthin to prevent ye. So I got down 
 an started fer the barn, an he, he, he! when 
 I d got about a rod he hollered after me, He s 
 in the end stall, he says. 
 
 " Wa al," the narrator proceeded, " I looked 
 the critter over an made up my mind about what 
 he was wuth to me, an went back an got in, 
 an drove into the yard, an turned round, an 
 drew up agin longside the stoop. Lizer looked 
 up at me in an askin kind of a way, but he didn t 
 say anythin . 
 
 " I s pose/ I says, that you wouldn t want 
 me to say anythin more to ye, an I may s well 
 jog along back. 
 
 " Wa al, he says, I can t very well help 
 hearin ye, kin I, if you got anythin to say? 
 
 " Wa al, I says, the hoss ain t exac ly what 
 I expected to find, nor jes what I m lookin 
 fer; but I don t say I wouldn t a made a deal 
 with ye if the price had ben right, an it hadn t 
 ben Sunday. I reckon," said David with a wink 
 at John, " that that there foot o his n must a 
 
296 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 give him an extry twinge the way he wriggled in 
 his chair; but I couldn t break his lockjaw 
 yit. So I gathered up the lines an took out the 
 whip, an made all the motions to go, an then 
 I kind o stopped an says, I don t want you 
 to go agin your princ ples nor the law an gosp l 
 on my account, but the can t be no harm in 
 s posin a case, can the ? No, he allowed 
 that s posin wa n t jest the same as doin . 
 * Wa al/ says I, now s posin I d come up 
 here yestidy as I have to-day, an looked your 
 hoss over, an said to you, " What price do you 
 put on him?" what do you s pose you d a 
 said? 
 
 " Wa al/ he said, puttin it that way, I 
 s pose I d a said one-seventy/ 
 
 " Yes/ I says, an then agin, if I d said that 
 he wa n t wuth that money to me, not bein jes 
 what I wanted an so he ain t but that I d give 
 one-forty, cash, what do you s pose you d a 
 said? 
 
 " Wa al/ he says, givin a hitch, of course 
 I don t know jes what I would have said, but I 
 
 fuessy he says, t I d a said if you ll make it one- 
 fty you c n have the hoss. 
 
 Wa al, now/ I says, s posin I was to send 
 Dick Larrabee up here in the mornin ,with the 
 money, what do you s pose you d do? 
 : I s pose I d let him go/ says Lizer. 
 " All right/ I says, an off I put. That con 
 science o Lizer s," remarked Mr. Harum in 
 conclusion, " is wuth its weight in gold, jest 
 about." 
 
 "David Harum," declared Aunt Polly, " you d 
 ort to be shamed o yourself." 
 
 " Wa al/ said David with an air of meekness, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 297 
 
 " if I ve done anythin I m sorry for, I m willin 
 
 to be forgi n. Now, s posin " 
 
 " I ve heard enough bout s posin fer one 
 day," said Mrs. Bixbee decisively, " unless it s 
 s posin you finish your dinner so s t Sairy c n git 
 through her work sometime." 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 AFTER dinner John went to his room and 
 David and his sister seated themselves on the 
 " verandy." Mr. Harum lighted a cigar and en 
 joyed his tobacco for a time in silence, while Mrs. 
 Bixbee perused, with rather perfunctory dili 
 gence, the columns of her weekly church paper. 
 
 " I seen a sight fer sore eyes this mornin ," 
 quoth David presently. 
 
 " What was that? " asked Aunt Polly, looking 
 up over her glasses. 
 
 " Claricy Verjoos fer one part on t," said 
 David. 
 
 " The Verjooses hev come, hev they? Wa al, 
 that s good. I hope she ll come up an see me." 
 
 David nodded. " An the other part on t 
 was," he said, " she an that young feller of our n 
 was walkin together, an a putty slick pair they 
 made too." 
 
 " Ain t she purty?" said Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
 " They don t make em no puttier," affirmed 
 David; "an they was a nice pair. I couldn t 
 help thinkin ," he remarked, " what a nice hitch 
 up they d make." 
 
 " Guess the ain t much chance o that," she 
 observed. 
 
 " No, I guess not either," said David. 
 
 " He hain t got anythin to speak of, I s pose, 
 298 
 
DAVID HARUM. 299 
 
 an though I reckon she ll hev prop ty some day, 
 all that set o folks seems to marry money, an 
 some one s alwus dyin an leavin some on em 
 some more. The ain t nothin truer in the 
 Bible," declared Mrs. Bixbee with conviction, " n 
 that sayin thet them that has gits." 
 
 " That s seemin ly about the way it runs In 
 gen ral," said David. 
 
 " It don t seem right," said Mrs. Bixbee, with 
 her eyes on her brother s face. " Now there 
 was all that money one o Mis Elbert Swayne s 
 relations left her last year, an Lucy Scramm, 
 that s poorer n poverty s back kitchin, an the 
 same relation to him that Mis Swayne was, 
 only got a thousan dollars, an the Swaynes 
 rich already. Not but what the thousan was 
 a godsend to the Scramms, but he might jest 
 as well a left em comf tibly off as not, r stid 
 of pilin more onto the Swaynes that didn t 
 need it." 
 
 " Does seem kind o tough," David observed, 
 leaning forward to drop his cigar ash clear of the 
 veranda floor, " but that s the way things goes, 
 an I ve often had to notice that a man ll some 
 times do the foolishist thing or the meanest thing 
 in his hull life after he s dead." 
 
 " You never told me," said Mrs. Bixbee, after 
 a minute or two, in which she appeared to be fol 
 lowing up a train of reflection, " much of any- 
 thin about John s matters. Hain t he ever told 
 you anythin more n what you ve told me? or 
 don t ye want me to know? Didn t his father 
 leave anythin ? " 
 
 " The was a little money," replied her brother, 
 blowing out a cloud of smoke, " an a lot of un 
 likely chances, but nothin to live on." 
 
30O DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " An the wa n t nothin for t but he had to 
 come up here?" she queried. 
 
 " He d a had to work on a salary somewhere, 
 I reckon," was the reply. " The was one thing," 
 added David thoughtfully after a moment/ that ll 
 mebbe come to somethin some time, but it may 
 be a good while fust, an don t you ever let on 
 to him nor nobody else t I ever said anythin 
 about it." 
 
 " I won t open my head to a livin soul," she 
 declared. " What was it? " 
 
 " Wa al, I don t know s I ever told ye," he 
 said, " but a good many years ago I took some 
 little hand in the oil bus nis, but though I didn t 
 git in as deep as I wish now t I had, I ve alwus 
 kept up a kind of int rist in what goes on in that 
 line." 
 
 " No, I guess you never told me," she said. 
 " Where you goin ?" as he got out of his chair. 
 
 " Goin to git my cap," he answered. " Dum 
 the dum things! I don t believe the s a fly in 
 Freeland County that hain t danced the wild 
 kachuky on my head sence we set here. Be I 
 much specked?" he asked, as he bent his bald 
 poll for her inspection. 
 
 " Oh, go long! " she cried, as she gave him a 
 laughing push. 
 
 " Mongst other things," he resumed, when he 
 had returned to his chair and relighted his cigar, 
 " the was a piece of about ten or twelve hunderd 
 acres of land down in Pennsylvany havin some 
 coal on it, he told me he understood, but all the 
 timber, ten inch an over, d ben sold off. He 
 told me that his father s head clerk told him that 
 the old gentleman had tried fer a long time to 
 dispose of it; but it called fer too much to de- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 301 
 
 velop it, I guess; t any rate he couldn t, an 5 
 John s got it to pay taxes on." 
 
 " I shouldn t think it was wuth anythin to 
 him but jest a bill of expense," observed Mrs. 
 Bixbee. 
 
 " Tain t now," said David, " an mebbe won t 
 be fer a good while; still, it s wuth somethin , an 
 I advised him to hold onto it on gen ral prin- 
 c ples. I don t know the pertic ler prop ty, of 
 course," he continued, " but I do know somethin 
 of that section of country, fer I done a little pros- 
 pectin round there myself once on a time. But 
 it wa n t in the oil territory them days, or wa n t 
 known to be, anyway." 
 
 " But it s eatin itself up with taxes, ain t it?" 
 objected Mrs. Bixbee. 
 
 " Wa al," he replied, " it s free an clear, an 
 the taxes ain t so very much though they do 
 stick it to an outside owner down there an the 
 p int is here: I ve alwus thought they didn t drill 
 deep enough in that section. The was some 
 little traces of oil the time I told ye of, an I ve 
 heard lately that the s some talk of a move to 
 test the territory agin, an , if anythin was to be 
 found, the young feller s prop ty might be wuth 
 somethin , but," he added, " of course the ain t 
 no tellin ." 
 
 - 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 " WELL," said Miss Verjoos, when her sister 
 overtook her, Mr. Euston having stopped at his 
 own gate, " you and your latest discovery seemed 
 to be getting on pretty well from the occasional 
 sounds which came to my ears. What is he 
 like?" 
 
 " He s charming," declared Miss Clara. 
 
 " Indeed," remarked her sister, lifting her eye 
 brows. " You seem to have come to a pretty 
 broad conclusion in a very short period of time. 
 Charming doesn t leave very much to be added 
 on longer acquaintance, does it? " 
 
 " Oh, yes it does," said Miss Clara, laughing. 
 " There are all degrees : Charming, very charm 
 ing, most charming, and perfectly charming." 
 
 " To be sure," replied the other. " And there 
 is the descending scale: Perfectly charming, most 
 charming, very charming, charming, very pleas 
 ant, quite nice, and, oh, yes, well enough. Of 
 course you have asked him to call." 
 
 " Yes, I have," said Miss Clara. 
 
 " Don t you think that mamma " 
 
 " No, I don t," declared the girl with deci 
 sion. " I know from what Mr. Euston said, and 
 I know from the little talk I had with him this 
 morning, from his manner and je ne sais quoi 
 that he will be a welcome addition to a set of 
 302 
 
DAVID HARUM. 303 
 
 people in which every single one knows just what 
 every other one will say on any given sub 
 ject and on any occasion. You know how 
 it is." 
 
 " Well," said the elder sister, smiling and half 
 shutting her eyes with a musing look, " I think 
 myself that we all know each other a little too 
 well to make our affairs very exciting. Let us 
 hope the new man will be all you anticipate, and," 
 she added with a little laugh, and a side glance at 
 her sister, " that there will be enough of him to 
 go round." 
 
 It hardly needs to be said that the aristocracy 
 of Homeville and all the summer visitors and 
 residents devoted their time to getting as much 
 pleasure and amusement out of their life as was 
 to be afforded by the opportunities at hand: 
 Boating, tennis, riding, driving; an occasional 
 picnic, by invitation, at one or the other of two 
 very pretty waterfalls, far enough away to make 
 the drive there and back a feature; as much 
 dancing in an informal way as could be managed 
 by the younger people; and a certain amount of 
 flirtation, of course (but of a very harmless sort), 
 to supply zest to all the rest. But it is not intend 
 ed to give a minute account of the life, nor to de 
 scribe in detail all the pursuits and festivities 
 which prevailed during the season. Enough to 
 say that our friend soon had opportunity to par 
 take in them as much and often as was compat 
 ible with his duties. His first call at Lake- 
 lawn happened to be on an evening when the 
 ladies were not at home, and it is quite certain 
 that upon this, the occasion of his first essay of 
 the sort, he experienced a strong feeling of relief 
 to be able to leave cards instead of meeting a 
 
304 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 number of strange people, as he had thought 
 would be likely. 
 
 One morning, some days later, Peleg Hop 
 kins came in with a grin and said, " The s some 
 folks eout in front wants you to come eout an 
 see em." 
 
 "Who are they?" asked John, who for the 
 moment was in the back room and had not seen 
 the carriage drive up. 
 
 " The two Verjoos gals," said Peleg with an 
 other distortion of his freckled countenance. 
 " One on em hailed me as I was comin in and 
 ast me to ast you to come eout." John laughed 
 a little as he wondered what their feeling would 
 be were they aware that they were denomi 
 nated as the " Verjoos gals " by people of Peleg s 
 standing in the community. 
 
 " We were so sorry to miss your visit the 
 other evening," said Miss Clara, after the usual 
 salutations. 
 
 John said something about the loss having 
 been his own, and after a few remarks of no 
 special moment the young woman proceeded to 
 set forth her errand. 
 
 " Do you know the Bensons from Syrches- 
 ter?" she asked. 
 
 John replied that he knew who they were but 
 had not the pleasure of their acquaintance. 
 
 " Well," said Miss Clara, " they are extremely 
 nice people, and Mrs. Benson is very musical; 
 in fact, Mr. Benson does something in that line 
 himself. They have with them for a few days a 
 violinist, Fairman I think his name is, from Bos 
 ton, and a pianist what was it, Juliet?" 
 
 " Schlitz, I think," said Miss Verjoos. 
 
 " Oh, yes, that is it, and they are coming to 
 
DAVID HARUM. 305 
 
 the house to-night, and we are going to have 
 some music in an informal sort of way. We shall 
 be glad to have you come if you can." 
 
 " I shall be delighted," said John sincerely. 
 "At what time?" 
 
 " Any time you like," she said; " but the Ben- 
 sons will probably get there about half-past eight 
 or nine o clock." 
 
 " Thank you very much, and I shall be de 
 lighted," he repeated. 
 
 Miss Clara looked at him for a moment with 
 a hesitating air. 
 
 " There is another thing," she said. 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " I may as well tell you 
 that you will surely be asked to sing. Quite a 
 good many people who have heard you in the 
 quartette in church are anxious to hear you sing 
 alone, Mrs. Benson among them." 
 
 John s face fell a little. 
 
 " You do sing other than church music, do 
 you not? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes," he admitted, " I know some other 
 music." 
 
 " Do you think it would be a bore to 
 you." 
 
 " No," said John, who indeed saw no way out 
 of it; "I will bring some music, with pleasure." 
 if you wish." 
 
 " That s very nice of you," said Miss Clara, 
 " and you will give us all a great deal of pleas 
 ure." 
 
 He looked at her with a smile. 
 
 " That will depend," he said, and after a mo 
 ment, "Who will play for me?" 
 
 " I had not thought of that," was the reply. 
 
3 o6 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " I think I rather took it for granted that you 
 could play for yourself. Can t you?" 
 
 " After a fashion, and simple things," he said, 
 " but on an occasion I would rather not at 
 tempt it." 
 
 The girl looked at her sister in some per 
 plexity. 
 
 " I should think," suggested Miss Verjoos, 
 speaking for the second time, " that Mr. or Herr 
 Schlitz would play your accompaniments, par 
 ticularly if Mrs. Benson were to ask him, and if 
 he can play for the violin I should fancy he can 
 for the voice." 
 
 " Very well," said John, " we will let it go at 
 that." As he spoke David came round the cor 
 ner of the bank and up to the carriage. 
 
 " How d y do, Miss Verjoos? How air ye, 
 Miss Claricy?" he asked, taking off his straw 
 hat and mopping his face and head with his hand 
 kerchief. " Guess we re goin to lose our sleigh- 
 in , ain t we? " 
 
 " It seems to be going pretty fast," replied 
 Miss Clara, laughing. 
 
 " Yes m," he remarked, " we sh ll be scrapin 
 bare ground putty soon now if this weather holds 
 on. How s the old hoss now you got him agin? " 
 he asked. " Seem to ve wintered putty well? 
 Putty chipper, is he?" 
 
 " Better than ever," she affirmed. " He 
 seems to grow younger every year." 
 
 " Come, now," said David, " that ain t a-goin 
 to do. I cal lated to sell ye another hoss this 
 summer anyway. Ben dependin on t in fact, to 
 pay a dividend. The bankin bus nis has been so 
 neglected since this feller come that it don t 
 amount to much any more," and he laid his hand 
 
DAVID HARUM. 307 
 
 on John s shoulder, who colored a little as he 
 caught a look of demure amusement in the som 
 ber eyes of the elder sister. 
 
 " After that," he said, " I think I had better 
 get back to my neglected duties," and he bowed 
 his adieus. 
 
 " No, sir," said Miss Clara to David, " you 
 must get your dividend out of some one else this 
 summer." 
 
 " Wa al," said he, " I see I made a mistake 
 takin such good care on him. Guess I ll have to 
 turn him over to Dug Robinson to winter next 
 year. Ben havin a little visit with John?" he 
 asked. Miss Clara colored a little, with some 
 thing of the same look which John had seen in 
 her sister s face. 
 
 " We are going to have some music at the 
 house to-night, and Mr. Lenox has kindly prom 
 ised to sing for us," she replied. 
 
 "He has, has he?" said David, full of interest. 
 " Wa al, he s the feller c n do it if anybody can. 
 We have singin an music up t the house ev ry 
 Sunday night me an Polly an him an it s 
 fine. Yes, ma am, I don t know much about 
 music myself, but I c n beat time, an he s got a 
 stack o music more n a mile high, an one o the 
 songs he sings 11 jest make the windows rattle. 
 That s my fav rit," averred Mr. Harum. 
 
 " Do you remember the name of it?" asked 
 Miss Clara. 
 
 " No," he said; " John told me, an I guess I d 
 know it if I heard it; but it s about a feller sittin 
 one day by the org n an not feelin exac ly right 
 kind o tired an out o sorts an not knowin 
 jes where he was drivin at jes joggin long 
 with a loose rein fer quite a piece, an so on ; an 
 
308 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 then, by an by, strikin right into his gait an 
 goin on stronger n stronger, an fin ly finishin 
 up with an A men that carries him quarter way 
 round the track fore he c n pull up. That s my 
 fav rit," Mr. Harum repeated, " cept when him 
 an Polly sings together, an if that ain t a show 
 pertic lerly Polly I don t want a cent. No, 
 ma am, when him an Polly gits good an goin 
 you can t see em fer dust." 
 
 " I should like to hear them," said Miss Clara, 
 laughing, " and I should particularly like to hear 
 your favorite, the one which ends with the Amen 
 the very large A men." 
 
 " Seventeen hands," declared Mr. Harum. 
 " Must you be goin ? Wa al, glad to have seen 
 ye. Polly s hopin you ll come an see her putty 
 soon." 
 
 " I will," she promised. " Give her my love, 
 and tell her so, please." 
 
 They drove away and David sauntered in, 
 went behind the desks, and perched himself up 
 on a stool near the teller s counter as he often 
 did when in the office, and John was not particu 
 larly engaged. 
 
 "Got you roped in, have they?" he said, 
 
 using his hat as a fan. " Scat my ! but ain t 
 
 this a ring-tail squealer?" 
 
 " It is very hot," responded John. 
 
 " Miss Claricy says you re goin to sing fer 
 em up to their house to-night." 
 
 " Yes," said John, with a slight shrug of the 
 shoulders, as he pinned a paper strap around a 
 pile of bills and began to count out another. 
 
 " Don t feel very fierce for it, I guess, do 
 ye? " said David, looking shrewdly at him. 
 
 " Not very," said John, with a short laugh. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 309 
 
 " Feel a little skittish bout it, eh? " suggested 
 Mr. Harum. " Don t see why ye should any 
 body that c n put up a tune the way you kin." 
 
 " It s rather different," observed the younger 
 man, " singing for you and Mrs. Bixbee and 
 standing up before a lot of strange people." 
 
 " H-m, h-m," said David with a nod; " diff - 
 rence tween joggin along on the road an driv- 
 in a fust heat on the track; in one case the ain t 
 nothin up, an ye don t care whether you git there 
 a little more previously or a little less; an in the 
 other the s the crowd, an the judges, an the 
 stake, an your record, an mebbe the pool box 
 into the barg in, that s all got to be considered. 
 Feller don t mind it so much after he gits fairly 
 off, but thinkin on t beforehand s fidgity bus - 
 nis." 
 
 " You have illustrated it exactly," said John, 
 laughing, and much amused at David s very 
 characteristic, as well as accurate, illustration. 
 
 "My!" exclaimed Aunt Polly, when John 
 came into the sitting room after dinner dressed 
 to go out. " My, don t he look nice? I never 
 see you in them clo es. Come here a minute," 
 and she picked a thread off his sleeve and took 
 the opportunity to turn him round for the pur 
 pose of giving him a thorough inspection. 
 
 " That wa n t what you said when you see me 
 in my gold-plated harniss," remarked David, with 
 a grin. " You didn t say nothin putty to me." 
 
 " Humph! I guess the s some diff rence," ob 
 served Mrs. Bixbee with scorn, and her brother 
 laughed. 
 
 "How was you cal latin to git there?" he 
 asked, looking at our friend s evening shoes. 
 
310 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " I thought at first I would walk," was the 
 reply, " but I rather think I will stop at Robin 
 son s and get him to send me over." 
 
 " I guess you won t do nothin o the sort," 
 declared David. " Mike s all hitched to take you 
 over, an when you re ready jes ring the bell." 
 
 " You re awfully kind," said John gratefully, 
 " but I don t know when I shall be coming 
 home." 
 
 " Come back when you git a good ready," 
 said Mr. Harum. " If you keep him an the hoss 
 waitin a spell, I guess they won t take cold this 
 weather." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE Verjoos house, of old red brick, stands 
 about a hundred feet back from the north side of 
 the Lake Road, on the south shore of the lake. 
 Since its original construction a porte cochere 
 has been built upon the front. A very broad 
 hall, from which rises the stairway with a double 
 turn and landing, divides the main body of the 
 house through the middle. On the left, as one 
 enters, is the great drawing room; on the right a 
 parlor opening into a library; and beyond, the 
 dining room, which looks out over the lake. 
 The hall opens in the rear upon a broad, covered 
 veranda, facing the water, with a flight of steps to 
 a lawn which slopes down to the lake shore, a 
 distance of some hundred and fifty yards. 
 
 John had to pass through a little flock of 
 young people who stood near and about the en 
 trance to the drawing room, and having given 
 his package of music to the maid in waiting, with 
 a request that it be put upon the piano, he mount 
 ed the stairs to deposit his hat and coat, and then 
 went down. 
 
 In the south end of the drawing room were 
 some twenty people sitting and standing about, 
 most of them the elders of the families who con 
 stituted society in Homeville, many of whom 
 John had met, and nearly all of whom he knew 
 
312 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 by sight and name. On the edge of the group, 
 and halfway down the room, were Mrs. Verjoos 
 and her younger daughter, who gave him a cor 
 dial greeting; and the elder lady was kind enough 
 to repeat her daughter s morning assurances of 
 regret that they were out on the occasion of 
 his call. 
 
 " I trust you have been as good as your 
 word," said Miss Clara, " and brought some 
 music." 
 
 " Yes, it is on the piano," he replied, looking 
 across the room to where the instrument stood. 
 
 The girl laughed. " I wish," she said, " you 
 could have heard what Mr. Harum said this 
 morning about your singing, particularly his de 
 scription of The Lost Chord, and I wish that I 
 could repeat it just as he gave it." 
 
 " It s about a feller sittin one day by the 
 org n," came a voice from behind John s shoulder, 
 so like David s as fairly to startle him, " an not 
 feelin exac ly right kind o tired an out o sorts, 
 an not knowin jes where he was drivin at jes 
 joggin along with a loose rein fer quite a piece, 
 an so on; an then, by an by, strikin right into 
 his gait an goin on stronger an stronger, an 
 fin ly finishin up with an A men that carries him 
 quarter way round the track fore he c n pull 
 up." They all laughed except Miss Verjoos, 
 whose gravity was unbroken, save that behind 
 the dusky windows of her eyes, as she looked at 
 John, there was for an instant a gleam of mis 
 chievous drollery. 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Lenox," she said. " I 
 am very glad to see you," and hardly waiting 
 for his response, she turned and walked away. 
 
 " That is Juliet all over," said her sister. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 313 
 
 " You would not think to see her ordinarily that 
 she was given to that sort of thing, but once in 
 a while, when she feels like it well pranks! 
 She is the funniest creature that ever lived, I be 
 lieve, and can mimic and imitate any mortal crea 
 ture. She sat in the carriage this morning, and 
 one might have fancied from her expression that 
 she hardly heard a word, but I haven t a doubt 
 that she could repeat every syllable that was ut 
 tered. Oh, here come the Bensons and their 
 musicians." 
 
 John stepped back a pace or two toward the 
 end of the room, but was presently recalled and 
 presented to the newcomers. After a little talk 
 the Bensons settled themselves in the corner at 
 the lower end of the room, where seats were 
 placed for the two musicians, and our friend took 
 a seat near where he had been standing. The vio 
 linist adjusted his folding music rest. Miss Clara 
 stepped over to the entrance door and put up her 
 ringer at the young people in the hall. " After 
 the music begins," she said, with a shake of the 
 head, " if I hear one sound of giggling or chat 
 tering, I will send every one of you young hea 
 then home. Remember now! This isn t your 
 party at all." 
 
 " But, Clara, dear," said Sue Tenaker (aged 
 fifteen), " if we are very good and quiet do you 
 think they would play for us to dance a little 
 by and by?" 
 
 " Impudence!" exclaimed Miss Clara, giving 
 the girl s cheek a playful slap and going back to 
 her place. Miss Verjoos came in and took a 
 chair by her sister. Mrs. Benson leaned forward 
 and raised her eyebrows at Miss Clara, who took 
 a quick survey of the room and nodded in return. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Herr Schlitz seated himself on the piano chair, 
 pushed it a little back, drew it a little forward to 
 the original place, looked under the piano at 
 the pedals, took out his handkerchief and wiped 
 his face and hands, and after arpeggioing up 
 and down the key-board, swung into a waltz of 
 Chopin s (Opus 34, Number i), a favorite of 
 our friend s, and which he would have thor 
 oughly enjoyed for it was splendidly played 
 if he had not been uneasily apprehensive that he 
 might be asked to sing after it. And while on 
 some accounts he would have been glad of the 
 opportunity to " have it over," he felt a cowardly 
 sense of relief when the violinist came forward 
 for the next number. There had been enthusi 
 astic applause at the north end of the room, and 
 more or less clapping of hands at the south end, 
 but not enough to impel the pianist to supple 
 ment his performance at the time. The violin 
 number was so well received that Mr. Fairman 
 added a little minuet of Boccherini s without ac 
 companiment, and then John felt that his time 
 had surely come. But he had to sit, drawing 
 long breaths, through a Liszt fantasie on themes 
 from Faust before his suspense was ended by 
 Miss Clara, who was apparently mistress of cere 
 monies and who said to him, " Will you sing 
 now, Mr. Lenox?" 
 
 He rose and went to the end of the room 
 where the pianist was sitting. " I have been 
 asked to sing," he said to that gentleman. " Can 
 I induce you to be so kind as to play for me? " 
 
 " I am sure he will," said Mrs. Benson, look 
 ing at Herr Schlitz. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I blay for you if you vant," he 
 said. " Vhere is your moosic? " They went over 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 315 
 
 to the piano. " Oh, ho! Jensen, Lassen, Hel- 
 mund, Grieg you zing dem?" 
 
 " Some of them," said John. The pianist 
 opened the Jensen album. 
 
 " You want to zing one of dese? " he asked. 
 
 " As well as anything," replied John, who had 
 changed his mind a dozen times in the last ten 
 minutes and was ready to accept any suggestion. 
 
 " Ver goot," said the other. " Ve dry dis: 
 Lehn deine wang an meine Wang ." His face 
 brightened as John began to sing the German 
 words. In a measure or two the singer and 
 player were in perfect accord, and as the former 
 found his voice the ends of his fingers grew 
 warm again. At the end of the song the ap 
 plause was distributed about as after the Chopin 
 waltz. 
 
 " Sehr schon! " exclaimed Herr Schlitz, look 
 ing up and nodding; " you must zing zome 
 more," and he played the first bars of Marie, 
 am Fenster sitzest du, humming the words under 
 his breath, and quite oblivious of any one but 
 himself and the singer. 
 
 " Zierlich," he said when the song was done, 
 reaching for the collection of Lassen. " Mit 
 deinen blauen Augen," he hummed, keeping time 
 with his hands, but at this point Miss Clara came 
 across the room, followed by her sister. 
 
 " Mrs. Tenaker," she said, laughing, " asked 
 me to ask you, Mr. Lenox, if you wouldn t please 
 sing something they could understand." 
 
 " I have a song I should like to hear you 
 sing," said Miss Verjoos. " There is an obligate 
 for violin and we have a violinist here. It is a 
 beautiful song Tosti s Beauty s Eyes. Do you 
 know it? " 
 
316 DAVID IIARUM. 
 
 " Yes," he replied. 
 
 " Will you sing it for me? " she asked. 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure," he answered. 
 
 Once, as he sang the lines of the song, he 
 looked up. Miss Verjoos was sitting with her 
 elbows on the arm of her chair, her cheek rest 
 ing upon her clasped hands and her dusky eyes 
 were fastened upon his face. As the song con 
 cluded she rose and walked away. Mrs. Ten- 
 aker came over to the piano and put out her 
 hand. 
 
 " Thank you so much for your singing, Mr. 
 Lenox," she said. " Would you like to do an old 
 woman a favor? " 
 
 " Very much so," said John, smiling and 
 looking first at Mrs. Tenaker and then about the 
 room, " but there are no old women here as far 
 as I can see." 
 
 " Very pretty, sir, very pretty," she said, look 
 ing very graciously at him. " Will you sing 
 Annie Laurie for me?" 
 
 " With all my heart," he said, bowing. 
 He looked at Herr Schlitz, who shook his 
 head. 
 
 " Let me play it for you," said Mrs. Benson, 
 coming over to the piano. 
 
 " Where do you want it? " she asked, modu 
 lating softly from one key to another. 
 
 " I think D flat will be about right," he re 
 plied. " Kindly play a little bit of it." 
 
 The sound of the symphony brought most of 
 even the young people into the drawing room. 
 At the end of the first verse there was a subdued 
 rustle of applause, a little more after the second, 
 and at the end of the song so much of a burst of 
 approval as could be produced by the audience. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 317 
 
 Mrs. Benson looked up into John s face and 
 smiled. 
 
 " We appear to have scored the success of the 
 evening," she said with a touch of sarcasm. Miss 
 Clara joined them. 
 
 "What a dear old song that is!" she said. 
 " Did you see Aunt Charlie (Mrs. Tenaker) wip 
 ing her eyes? and that lovely thing of Tosti s! 
 We are ever so much obliged to you, Mr. 
 Lenox." 
 
 John bowed his acknowledgments. 
 
 " Will you take Mrs. Benson out to supper? 
 There is a special table for you musical people 
 at the east end of the veranda." 
 
 " Is this merely a segregation or a distinc 
 tion?" said John as they sat down. 
 
 " We shall have to wait developments to de 
 cide that point, I should say," replied Mrs. Ben 
 son. " I suppose that fifth place was put on the 
 off chance that Mr. Benson might be of our par 
 ty, but," she said, with a short laugh, " he is prob 
 ably nine fathoms deep in a flirtation with Sue 
 Tenaker. He shares Artemas Ward s tastes, who 
 said, you may remember, that he liked little girls 
 big ones too." 
 
 A maid appeared with a tray of eatables, and 
 presently another with a tray on which were 
 glasses and a bottle of Pommery sec. " Miss 
 Clara s compliments," she said. 
 
 " What do you think now? " asked Mrs. Ben 
 son, laughing. 
 
 " Distinctly a distinction, I should say," he 
 replied. 
 
 " Das ist nicht so schlecht," grunted Herr 
 Schlitz as he put half a pate into his mouth, " bot 
 1 vould brefer beer." 
 
318 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " The music has been a great treat to me," 
 remarked John. " I have heard nothing of the 
 sort for two years." 
 
 " You have quite contributed your share of 
 the entertainment," said Mrs. Benson. 
 
 " You and I together," he responded, smiling. 
 
 " You have got a be-oodifool woice," said 
 Herr Schlitz, speaking with a mouthful of salad, 
 " und you zing ligh a moosician, und you bro- 
 nounce your vorts very goot." 
 
 ;< Thank you," said John. 
 
 After supper there was more singing in the 
 drawing room, but it was not of a very classical 
 order. Something short and taking for violin 
 and piano was followed by an announcement 
 from Herr Schlitz. 
 
 " I zing you a zong," he said. The worthy 
 man " breferred beer," but had, perhaps, found 
 the wine quicker in effect, and in a tremendous 
 bass voice he roared out, Im tiefen Keller sitz ich 
 hier, auf einem Fass voll Reben, which, if not 
 wholly understood by the audience, had some of 
 its purport conveyed by the threefold repetition 
 of " trinke " at the end of each verse. Then a 
 deputation waited upon John, to ask in behalf of 
 the girls and boys if he knew and could sing 
 Solomon Levi. 
 
 " Yes," he said, sitting down at the piano, " if 
 you ll all sing with me," and it came to pass that 
 that classic, followed by Bring Back my Bonnie 
 to Me, Paddy Duffy s Cart, There s Music in the 
 Air, and sundry other ditties dear to all hearts, 
 was given by " the full strength of the company " 
 with such enthusiasm that even Mr. Fairman was 
 moved to join in with his violin; and when the 
 Soldier s Farewell was given, Herr Schlitz would 
 
DAVID HARUM. 319 
 
 have sung the windows out of their frames had 
 they not been open. Altogether, the even 
 ing s programme was brought to an end with a 
 grand climax. 
 
 44 Thank you very much," said John as he 
 said good night to Mrs. Verjoos. " I don t know 
 when I have enjoyed an evening so much." 
 
 " Thank you very much," she returned gra 
 ciously. " You have given us all a great deal of 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Verjoos, giving her hand 
 with a mischievous gleam in her half-shut eyes, 
 " I was enchanted with Solomon Levi." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 DAVID and John had been driving for some 
 time in silence. The elder man was apparently 
 musing upon something which had been sug 
 gested to his mind. The horses slackened their 
 gait to a walk as they began the ascent of a long 
 hill. Presently the silence was broken by a sound 
 which caused John to turn his head with a look 
 of surprised amusement Mr. Harum was sing 
 ing. The tune, if it could be so called, was scale- 
 less, and these were the words: 
 
 " Monday mornin I married me a wife, 
 Thinkin. to lead a more contented life ; 
 Fiddlin an danciri the 1 was played, 
 To see how \mhappy poor / was made. 
 
 " Tuesday morn m , bout break o day, 
 While my head on the /z /ler did lay, 
 She tuned up her clack, an scolded more 
 Than I ev&r heard be/ore." 
 
 "Never heard me sing before, did ye?" he 
 said, looking with a grin at his companion, who 
 laughed and said that he had never had that pleas 
 ure. " Wa al, that s all t I remember on t," said 
 David, " an I dunno s I ve thought about it in 
 thirty year. The was a number o verses which 
 carried em through the rest o the week, an 
 ended up in a case of sault an battery, I rec lect, 
 320 
 
DAVID HARUM. 321 
 
 but I don t remember jest how. Somethin we 
 ben sayin put the thing into my head, I guess." 
 
 " I should like to hear the rest of it," said 
 John, smiling. 
 
 David made no reply to this, and seemed to 
 be turning something over in his mind. At last 
 he said: 
 
 " Mebbe Polly s told ye that I m a wid wer." 
 
 John admitted that Mrs. Bixbee had said as 
 much as that. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David, " I m a wid wer of 
 long standin ." 
 
 No appropriate comment suggesting itself to 
 his listener, none was made. 
 
 " I hain t never cared to say much about it to 
 Polly," he remarked, " though fer that matter 
 Jim Bixbee, f m all accounts, was about as poor 
 a shack as ever was turned out, I guess, an " 
 
 John took advantage of the slight hesitation 
 to interpose against what he apprehended might 
 be a lengthy digression on the subject of the de 
 ceased Bixbee by saying: 
 
 " You were quite a young fellow when you 
 were married, I infer." 
 
 " Two or three years younger n you be, I 
 guess," said David, looking at him, " an a putty 
 green colt too in some ways," he added, handing 
 over the reins and whip while he got out his sil 
 ver tobacco box and helped himself to a liberal 
 portion of its contents. It was plain that he was 
 in the mood for personal reminiscences. 
 
 " As I look back on t now," he began, " it 
 kind o seems as if it must a ben some other 
 feller, an yet I remember it all putty dum d well 
 too all but one thing, an that the biggist part 
 on t, an that is how I ever come to git married 
 
322 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 at all. She was a widdo at the time, an kep the 
 boardin house where I was livin . It was up to 
 Syrchester. I was better lookin them days n I 
 be now had more hair at any rate though," he 
 remarked with a grin, " I was alwus a better goer 
 than I was a looker. I was doin fairly well," he 
 continued, " but mebbe not so well as was 
 thought by some. 
 
 " Wa al, she was a good-lookin woman, some 
 older n I was. She seemed to take some shine 
 to me. I d roughed it putty much alwus, an she 
 was putty clever to me. She was a good talker, 
 liked a joke an a laugh, an had some education, 
 an it come about that I got to beauin her round 
 quite a consid able, and used to go an set in her 
 room or the parlor with her sometimes evenin s 
 an all that, an I wouldn t deny that I liked it 
 putty well." 
 
 It was some minutes before Mr. Harum re 
 sumed his narrative. The reins were sagging 
 over the dashboard, held loosely between the 
 first two fingers and thumb of his left hand, 
 while with his right he had been making ab 
 stracted cuts at the thistles and other eligible 
 marks along the roadside. 
 
 " Wa al," he said at last, "we was married, an 
 our wheels tracked putty well fer quite a consid 
 able spell. I got to thinkin more of her all the 
 time, an she me, seemin ly. We took a few days 
 off together two three times that summer, to Ni- 
 ag ry, an Saratogy, an round, an had real good 
 times. I got to thinkin that the state of mat 
 rimony was a putty good institution. When it 
 come along fall, I was doin well enough so t 
 she could give up bus nis, an I hired a house an 
 we set up housekeepin . It was really more on 
 
DAVID HARUM. 323 
 
 my account than her n, fer I got to kind p feelin 
 that when the meat was tough or the pie wa n t 
 done on the bottom that I was sociated with it, 
 an gen ally I wanted a place of my own. But," 
 he added, " I guess it was a mistake, fur s she 
 was concerned." 
 
 "Why?" said John, feeling that some show 
 of interest was incumbent. 
 
 " I reckon," said David, " t she kind o missed 
 the comp ny an the talk at table, an the goin s 
 on gen ally, an mebbe the work of runnin the 
 place she was a great worker an it got to be 
 some diff rent, I s pose, after a spell, settin down 
 to three meals a day with jest only me stid of a 
 tableful, to say nothin of the evenin s. I was 
 glad enough to have a place of my own, but at 
 the same time I hadn t ben used to settin round 
 with nothin pertic ler to do or say, with some 
 body else that hadn t neither, an I wa n t then 
 nor ain t now, fer that matter, any great hand fer 
 readin . Then, too, we d moved into a difr rent 
 part o the town where my wife wa n t acquainted. 
 Wa al, anyway, fust things begun to drag some 
 she begun to have spells of not speakin , an 
 then she begun to git notions about me. Once 
 in a while I d have to go down town on some 
 bus nis in the evenin . She didn t seem to mind 
 it at fust, but bom-by she got it into her head 
 that the wa n t so much bus nis goin on as I 
 made out, an though along that time she d set 
 sometimes mebbe the hull evenin without sayin 
 anythin more n yes or no, an putty often not 
 that, yet if I went out there d be a flare-up; an as 
 things went on the d be spells fer a fortni t to 
 gether when I couldn t any time of day git a 
 word out of her hardly, unless it was to go fer 
 
324 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 me bout somethin that mebbe I d done an meb- 
 be I hadn t it didn t make no diff rence. An 
 when them spells was on, what she didn t take 
 out o me she did out o the house diggin an* 
 scrubbin , takin up carpits, layin down carpits, 
 shiftin the furniture, eatin one day in the kitchin 
 an another in the settin room, an sleepin most 
 anywhere. She wa n t real well after a while, 
 an the wuss she seemed to feel, the fiercer she 
 was fer scrubbin an diggin an upsettin things 
 in gen ral, an bom-by she got so she couldn t 
 keep a hired girl in the house more n a day or 
 two at a time. She either wouldn t have em, or 
 they wouldn t stay, an more n half the time we 
 was without one. This can t int rist you much, 
 can it?" said Mr. Harum, turning to his com 
 panion. 
 
 " On the contrary," replied John, " it interests 
 me very much. I was thinking," he added, " that 
 probably the state of your wife s health had a 
 good deal to do with her actions and views of 
 things, but it must have been pretty hard on you 
 all the same." 
 
 " Wa al, yes," said David, " I guess that s so. 
 Her health wa n t jes right, an she showed it 
 in her looks. I noticed that she d pined an 
 pindled some, but I thought the was some natu 
 ral criss-crossedniss mixed up into it too. But 
 I tried to make allow nces an the best o things, 
 an git along s well s I could; but things kind 
 o got wuss an wuss. I told ye that she begun 
 to have notions about me, an t ain t hardly nec - 
 sary to say what shape they took, an after a 
 while, mebbe a year n a half, she got so t she 
 wa n t satisfied to know where I was nights she 
 wanted to know where I was daytimes. Kind o 
 
DAVID HARUM. 325 
 
 makes me laugh now," he observed, " it seems 
 so redic lous; but it wa n t no laughin matter 
 then. If I looked out o winder she d hint it up 
 to me that I was watchin some woman. She 
 grudged me even to look at a picture paper; an 
 one day when we happened to be walkin to 
 gether she showed feelin about one o them 
 wooden Injun women outside a cigar store." 
 
 " Oh, come now, Mr. Harum," said John, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Wa al," said David with a short laugh, 
 " mebbe I did stretch that a little; but s I told 
 ye, she wanted to know where I was daytimes 
 well s nights, an ev ry once n a while she d turn 
 up at my bus nis place, an if I wa n t there she d 
 set an wait fer me, an I d either have to go 
 home with her or have it out in the office. I 
 don t mean to say that all the sort of thing I m 
 tellin ye of kep up all the time. It kind o run 
 in streaks; but the streaks kep comin oftener 
 an oftener, an you couldn t never tell when 
 the was goin to appear. Matters d go along 
 putty well fer a while, an then, all of a sudden, 
 an fer nothin t I could see, the d come on a 
 thunder shower fore you c d git in out o the 
 wet." 
 
 " Singular," said John thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David. " Wa al, it come 
 along to the second spring, bout the first of May. 
 She d ben more like folks fer about a week mebbe 
 n she had fer a long spell, an I begun to chirk 
 up some. I don t remember jest how I got the 
 idee, but f m somethin she let drop I gathered 
 that she was thinkin of havin a new bunnit. I 
 will say this for her," remarked David, " that she 
 was an economical woman, an never spent no 
 
326 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 money jest fer the sake o spendin it. Wa al, 
 we d got along so nice fer a while that I felt 
 more n usual like pleasin her, an I allowed to 
 myself that if she wanted a new bunnit, money 
 shouldn t stand in the way, an I set out to give 
 her a supprise." 
 
 They had reached the level at the top of the 
 long hill and the horses had broken into a trot, 
 when Mr. Harum s narrative was interrupted and 
 his equanimity upset by the onslaught of an ex 
 cessively shrill, active, and conscientious dog of 
 the " yellow " variety, which barked and sprang 
 about in front of the mares with such frantic as 
 siduity as at last to communicate enough of its 
 excitement to them to cause them to bolt forward 
 on a run, passing the yellow nuisance, which, 
 with the facility of long practice, dodged the cut 
 which David made at it in passing. It was with 
 some little trouble that the horses were brought 
 back to a sober pace. 
 
 " Dum that dum d dog!" exclaimed David 
 with fervor, looking back to where the object of 
 his execrations was still discharging convulsive 
 yelps at the retreating vehicle, " I d give a five- 
 dollar note to git one good lick at him. I d 
 make him holler pen-an -ink once! Why any 
 body s willin to have such a dum d, wuthless, 
 pestiferous varmint as that round s more n I 
 c n understand. I ll bet that the days they churn, 
 that critter, unless they ketch him an tie him 
 up the night before, 11 be under the barn all day, 
 an he s jest blowed off steam enough to run a 
 dog churn a hull forenoon." 
 
 Whether or not the episode of the dog had 
 diverted Mr. Harum s mind from his previous 
 topic, he did not resume it until John ventured 
 
DAVID HARUM. 327 
 
 to remind him of it, with " You were saying 
 something about the surprise for your wife." 
 
 " That s so," said David. " Yes, wa al, when 
 I went home that night I stopped into a mil nery 
 store, an after I d stood round a minute, a girl 
 come up an ast me if she c d show me any- 
 thin . 
 
 " I want to buy a bunnit/ I says, an she 
 kind o laughed. l No, I says, * it ain t fer me, 
 it s fer a lady, I says; an then we both laughed. 
 
 " What sort of a bunnit do you want? she 
 says. 
 
 " Wa al, I dunno, I says, * this is the fust 
 time I ever done anythin in the bunnit line. So 
 she went over to a glass case an took one out 
 an held it up, turnin it round on her hand. 
 
 " Wa al, I says, I guess it s putty enough 
 fur s it goes, but the don t seem to be much of 
 anythin to it. Hain t you got somethin a little bit 
 bigger an 
 
 "Showier? she says. How is this? she 
 says, doin the same trick with another. 
 
 " Wa al, I says, that looks more like it, but 
 I had an idee that the A i, trible-extry fine ar 
 ticle had more traps on t, an most any one might 
 have on either one o them you ve showed me an 
 not attrac no attention at all. You needn t mind 
 expense, I says. 
 
 " Oh, very well, she says, I guess I know 
 what you want, an goes over to another case an 
 fetches out another bunnit twice as big as either 
 the others, an with more notions on t than you 
 c d shake a stick at flowers, an gard n stuff, an 
 fruit, an glass beads, an feathers, an all that, till 
 you couldn t see what they was fixed on to. She 
 took holt on t with both hands, the girl did, an 
 
328 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 put it onto her head, an kind o smiled an turned 
 round slow so t I c d git a gen ral view on t. 
 ; Style all right? I says. 
 
 " The very best of its kind, she says. 
 How bout the kind? I says. 
 
 " The very best of its style, she says." 
 
 John laughed outright. David looked at him 
 for a moment with a doubtful grin. 
 
 "She was a slick one, wa n t she?" he said. 
 " What a hoss trader she would a made. I 
 didn t ketch on at the time, but I rec lected after 
 ward. Wa al," he resumed, after this brief di 
 gression, " how much is it? I says. 
 Fifteen dollars, she says. 
 
 " What? I says. Scat my ! I c d buy 
 
 head rigging enough to last me ten years fer 
 that. 
 
 * We couldn t sell it for less, she says. 
 
 " S posin the lady t I m buyin it fer don t 
 jest like it, I says, can you alter it or swap 
 somethin else for it? 
 
 Cert nly, within a reasonable time, she 
 says. 
 
 " Wa al, all right, I says, do her up. An 
 so she wrapped the thing round with soft paper 
 an put it in a box, an I paid for t an moseyed 
 along up home, feelin that ev ry man, woman, 
 an child had their eyes on my parcel, but thinkin 
 how tickled my wife would be." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE road they were on was a favorite drive 
 with the two men, and at the point where they 
 had now arrived David always halted for a look 
 back and down upon the scene below them to 
 the south, beyond the intervening fields, bright 
 with maturing crops, lay the village; to the west 
 the blue lake, winding its length like a broad 
 river, and the river itself a silver ribbon, till it 
 was lost beneath the southern hills. 
 
 Neither spoke. For a few minutes John took 
 in the scene with the pleasure it always afforded 
 him, and then glanced at his companion, who 
 usually had some comment to make upon any 
 thing which stirred his admiration or interest. 
 He was gazing, not at the landscape, but appar 
 ently at the top of the dashboard. " Ho, hum," 
 he said, straightening the reins, with a " elk " to 
 the horses, and they drove along for a while in 
 silence so long, in fact, that our friend, while 
 aware that the elder man did not usually aban 
 don a topic until he had " had his say out," was 
 moved to suggest a continuance of the narra 
 tive which had been rather abruptly broken off, 
 and in which he had become considerably inter 
 ested. 
 
 " Was your wife pleased?" he asked at last. 
 
 " Where was I? " asked the other in return. 
 22 329 
 
330 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " You were on your way home with your 
 purchase," was the reply. 
 
 " Oh, yes," Mr. Harum resumed. " It was a 
 little after tea time when I got to the house, an 
 I thought prob ly I d find her in the settin room 
 waitin fer me; but she wa n t, an I went up 
 to the bedroom to find her, feelin a little less 
 sure o things. She was settin lookin out o 
 winder when I come in, an when I spoke to her 
 she didn t give me no answer except to say, look- 
 in up at the clock, What s kept ye like this? 
 
 " Little matter o bus nis, I says, lookin as 
 smilin s I knew how, an holdin the box be 
 hind me. 
 
 " What you got there? she says, slewin her 
 head round to git a sight at it. 
 
 " Little matter o bus nis, I says agin, bring- 
 in the box to the front an feelin my face straight 
 en out s if you d run a flat iron over it. She 
 seen the name on the paper. 
 
 " * You ben spendin your time there, have 
 ye? she says, settin up in her chair an pointin 
 with her finger at the box. That s where you 
 ben the last half hour, hangin round with them 
 minxes in Mis Shoolbred s. What s in that 
 box? she says, with her face a-blazin . 
 
 " Now, Lizy, I says, I wa n t there ten min 
 utes if I was that, an I ben buyin you a bunnit. 
 
 " You ben buyin me a bunnit ? she 
 says, stif nin up stiffer n a stake. 
 
 " Yes/ I says, I heard you say somethin 
 bout a spring bunnit, an I thought, seein how 
 economicle you was, that I d buy you a nicer one 
 n mebbe you d feel like yourself. I thought it 
 would please ye, I says, tryin to rub her the 
 right way. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 33! 
 
 " Let me see it/ she says, in a voice dryer n 
 a lime-burner s hat, pressin her lips together an 
 reachin out fer the box. Wa al, sir, she snapped 
 the string with a jerk an sent the cover skimmin 
 across the room, an then, as she hauled the par 
 cel out of the box, she got up onto her feet. 
 Then she tore the paper off on t an looked at it 
 a minute, an then took it tween her thumb an 
 finger, like you hold up a dead rat by the tail, 
 an held it off at the end of her reach, an looked 
 it all over, with her face gettin even redder if it 
 could. Fin ly she says, in a voice tween a whis 
 per n a choke: 
 
 " What d you pay fer the thing? 
 
 " Fifteen dollars/ I says. 
 
 " Fifteen dollars? she says. 
 
 " Yes/ I says, don t ye like it? Wa al," 
 said David, " she never said a word. She drawed 
 in her arm an took holt of the bunnit with her 
 left hand, an fust she pulled off one thing an 
 dropped it on the floor, fur off as she c d reach, 
 an then another, an then another, an then, by 
 gum! she went at it with both hands jest as fast 
 as she could work em, an in less time n I m 
 tellin it to ye she picked the thing cleaner n 
 any chicken you ever see, an when she got down 
 to the carkis she squeezed it up between her two 
 hands, give it a wring an a twist like it was a 
 wet dish towel, an flung it slap in my face. 
 Then she made a half turn, throwin back her head 
 an grabbin into her hair, an give the awfullest 
 screechin laugh one screech after another that 
 you c d a heard a mile an then throwed her 
 self face down on the bed, screamin an kickin . 
 Wa al, sir, if I wa n t at my wits end, you c n 
 have my watch an chain. 
 
332 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " She wouldn t let me touch her no way, but, 
 as luck had it, it was one o the times when we 
 had a hired girl, an hearin the noise she come 
 gallopin up the stairs. She wa n t a young girl, 
 an she had a face humbly nough to keep her 
 awake nights, but she had some sense, an 
 You d bether run fer the docther, she says, 
 when she see the state my wife was in. You better 
 believe I done the heat of my life," said David, 
 " an more luck, the doctor was home an jest 
 finishin his tea. His house an office wa n t but 
 two three blocks off, an in about a few minutes 
 me an him an his bag was leggin it fer my 
 house, though I noticed he didn t seem to be n 
 as much of a twitter s I was. He ast me more 
 or less questions, an jest as we got to the house 
 he says: 
 
 : Has your wife had anythin to larm or 
 shock her this evenin ? 
 
 :< Nothin t I know on, I says, cept I 
 bought her a new bunnit that didn t seem to 
 come quite up to her idees. At that," remarked 
 Mr. Harum, " he give me a funny look, an we 
 went in an upstairs. 
 
 " The hired girl," he proceeded, " had got her 
 quieted down some, but when we went in she 
 looked up, an seein me, set up another screech, 
 an he told me to go downstairs an he d come 
 down putty soon, an after a while he did. 
 
 " Wa al? I says. 
 
 : She s quiet fer the present, he says, takin 
 a pad o paper out o his pocket, an writin on it. 
 Do you know Mis Jones, your next-door 
 neighbor? he says. I allowed t I had a speak- 
 in acquaintance with her. 
 
 " Wa al/ he says, fust, you step in an tell 
 
DAVID HARUM. 333 
 
 her I m here an want to see her, and ast her if 
 she won t come right along; an then you go 
 down to my office an have these things sent up ; 
 an then, he says, you go down town an send 
 this handin me a note that he d wrote an put 
 in an envelope up to the hospital better send 
 it up with a hack, or, better yet, go yourself, he 
 says, an hurry. You can t be no use here/ he 
 says. I ll stay, but I want a nurse here in an 
 hour, an less if possible. I was putty well 
 scared," said David, " by all that, an I says, 
 Lord, I says, is she as bad off as that? What 
 is it ails her? 
 
 " Don t you know? says the doc, givin me 
 a queer look. 
 
 " No, I says, she hain t ben fust rate fer 
 a spell back, but I couldn t git nothin out of her 
 what was the matter, an don t know what per- 
 tic ler thing ails her now, unless it s that dum d 
 bunnit, I says. 
 
 " At that the doctor laughed a little, kind as 
 if he couldn t help it. 
 
 " I don t think that was hully to blame/ he 
 says; l may have hurried matters up a little 
 somethin that was liable to happen any time in 
 the next two months. 
 
 You don t mean it? I says. 
 
 " Yes/ he says. Now you git out as fast 
 as you can. Wait a minute/ he says. How old 
 is your wife? 
 
 * F m what she told me fore we was mar 
 ried/ I says, she s thirty-one. 
 
 " Oh! he says, raisin his eyebrows. All 
 right; hurry up, now. 
 
 " I dusted around putty lively, an inside of 
 an hour was back with the nurse, an jest 
 
334 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 after we got inside the door " David paused 
 
 thoughtfully for a moment and then, lowering his 
 tone a little, " jest as we got inside the front 
 door, a door upstairs opened an I heard a little 
 Waa! waa! like it was the leetlist kind of a 
 new lamb an I tell you," said David, with a little 
 quaver in his voice, and looking straight over the 
 off horse s ears, " nothin t I ever heard before 
 nor since ever fetched me, right where I lived, 
 as that did. The nurse, she made a dive fer the 
 stairs, wavin me back with her hand, an I wa al 
 I went into the settin room, an wa al ne 
 mind. 
 
 " I dunno how" long I set there list nin to em 
 movin round overhead, an wonderin what was 
 goin on; but fin ly I heard a step on the stair 
 an I went out into the entry, an it was Mis 
 Jones. How be they? I says. 
 
 " We don t quite know yet, she says. The 
 little boy is a nice formed little feller, she says, 
 an them childern very often grow up, but he is 
 very little, she says. 
 
 ( An how bout my wife? I says. 
 
 " Wa al, she says, * we don t know jes yet, 
 but she is quiet now, an we ll hope fer the best. 
 If you want me, she says, I ll come any time, 
 night or day, but I must go now. The doctor 
 will stay all night, an the nurse will stay till you 
 c n git some one to take her place, an she went 
 home, an ," declared David, " you ve hearn tell of 
 the salt of the earth, an if that woman wa n t 
 more on t than a hoss c n draw down hill, the 
 ain t no such thing." 
 
 "Did they live?" asked John after a brief 
 silence, conscious of the bluntness of his ques 
 tion, but curious as to the sequel. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 335 
 
 " The child did," replied David; " not to grow 
 up, but till he was twixt six an seven; but my 
 wife never left her bed, though she lived three 
 four weeks. She never seemed to take no in- 
 t rist in the little feller, nor nothin else much; 
 but one day it was Sunday, long to the last- 
 she seemed a little more chipper n usual. I was 
 settin with her, an I said to her how much better 
 she seemed to be, tryin to chirk her up. 
 
 " No, she says, I ain t goin to live. 
 
 " Don t ye say that, I says. 
 
 " No/ she says, I ain t, an I don t care. 
 
 " I didn t know jest what to say, an she spoke 
 agin: 
 
 I want to tell you, Dave/ she says, that 
 you ve ben good an kind to me. 
 
 " l I ve tried to/ I says, * an Lizy/ I says, I ll 
 never fergive myself about that bunnit, long s I 
 live. 
 
 " That hadn t really nothin to do with it/ 
 she says, an you meant all right, though/ she 
 says, almost in a whisper, an the came across 
 her face, not a smile exac ly, but somethin like 
 a little riffle on a piece o still water, that bunnit 
 was enough to kill most anybody. " 
 
CHAPTER XL. 
 
 JOHN leaned out of the buggy and looked 
 back along the road, as if deeply interested in 
 observing something which had attracted his at 
 tention, and David s face worked oddly for a 
 moment. 
 
 Turning south in the direction of the village, 
 they began the descent of a steep hill, and Mr. 
 Harum, careful of loose stones, gave all his at 
 tention to his driving. Our friend, respecting his 
 vigilance, forebore to say anything which might 
 distract his attention until they reached level 
 ground, and then, " You never married again?" 
 he queried. 
 
 " No," was the reply. " My matrymonial ex 
 perience was brief an to the p int/ as the say- 
 in is." 
 
 " And yet," urged John, " you were a young 
 man, and I should have supposed " 
 
 " Wa al," said David, breaking in and emit 
 ting his chuckling laugh, " I allow t mebbe I 
 sometimes thought on t, an once, about ten year 
 after what I ben tellin ye, I putty much made up 
 my mind to try another hitch-up. The was a 
 woman that I seen quite a good deal of, an liked 
 putty well, an I had some grounds fer thinkin 
 t she wouldn t show me the door if I was to ask 
 In fact, I made up my mind I would take 
 336 
 
DAVID HARUM. 337 
 
 the chances, an one night I put on my best bib 
 an tucker an started fer her house. I had to go 
 cross the town to where she lived, an the farther 
 I walked the fiercer I got havin made up my 
 mind so t putty soon I was travelin s if I 
 was fraid some other feller d git there head o 
 me. Wa al, it was Sat day night, an the stores 
 was all open, an the streets was full o people, an 
 I had to pull up in the crowd a little, an I don t 
 know how it happened in pertic ler, but fust thing 
 I knew I run slap into a woman with a ban box, 
 an when I looked round, there was a mil nery 
 store in full blast an winders full o bunnits. 
 Wa al, sir, do you know what I done? Ye don t. 
 Wa al, the was a hoss car passin that run three 
 mile out in the country in a diff rent direction 
 f m where I started fer, an I up an got onto 
 that car, an rode the length o that road, an got 
 off an walked back an I never went near her 
 house f m that day to this, an that," said David, 
 " was the nearest I ever come to havin another 
 pardner to my joys an sorro s." 
 
 " That was pretty near, though," said John, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " mebbe Prov dence 
 might a had some other plan fer stoppin me 
 fore I smashed the hull rig, if I hadn t run into 
 the mil nery shop, but as it was, that fetched me 
 to a stan still, an I never started to run agin." 
 
 They drove on for a few minutes in silence, 
 which John broke at last by saying, " I have been 
 wondering how you got on after your wife died 
 and left you with a little child." 
 
 !< That was where Mis Jones come in," said 
 David. " Of course I got the best nurse I could, 
 an Mis Jones d run in two three times ev ry day 
 
338 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 an see t things was goin on as right s they 
 could; but it come on that I had to be away f m 
 home a good deal, an fin ly, corre fall, I got the 
 Joneses to move into a bigger house, where I 
 could have a room, an fixed it up with Mis Jones 
 to take charge o the little feller right along. 
 She hadn t but one child, a girl of about thirteen, 
 an had lost two little ones, an so between havin 
 took to my little mite of a thing f m the fust, an 
 my makin it wuth her while, she was willin , an 
 we went on that way till the wa n t no furtheV 
 occasion fur s he was concerned, though I lived 
 with them a spell longer when I was at home, 
 which wa n t very often, an after he died I was 
 gone fer a good while. But before that time, 
 when I was at home, I had him with me all the 
 time I could manage. With good care he d 
 growed up nice an bright, an as big as the aver 
 age, an smarter n a steel trap. He liked bein 
 with me better n anybody else, and when I c d 
 manage to have him I couldn t bear to have him 
 out o my sight. Wa al, as I told you, he got to 
 be most seven year old. I d had to go out to Chi 
 cago, an one day I got a telegraph sayin he was 
 putty sick an I took the fust train East. It 
 was long in March, an we had a breakdown, an 
 run into an awful snowstorm, an one thing an 
 other, an I lost twelve or fifteen hours. It 
 seemed to me that them two days was longer n 
 my hull life, but I fin ly did git home about nine 
 o clock in the mornin . When I got to the house 
 Mis Jones was on the lookout fer me, an the 
 door opened as I run up the stoop, an I see by 
 her face that I was too late. Oh, David, Da 
 vid! she says (she d never called me David be 
 fore), puttin her hands on my shoulders. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 339 
 
 " When? I says. 
 
 " Bout midnight, she says. 
 
 " Did he suffer much? I says. 
 
 " No, she says, I don t think so; but he 
 was out of his head most of the time after the 
 fust day, an I guess all the time the last twenty- 
 four hours. 
 
 " Do you think he d a knowed me? I says. 
 Did he say anythin ? an at that," said David, 
 " she looked at me. She wa n t cryin when I 
 come in, though she had ben ; but at that her face 
 all broke up. I don t know, she says. He 
 kept sayin things, an bout all we could under 
 stand was " Daddy, daddy," an then she 
 throwed her apern over her face, an " 
 
 David tipped his hat a little farther over his 
 eyes, though, like many if not most " horsey " 
 men, he usually wore it rather far down, and 
 leaning over, twirled the whip in the socket be 
 tween his two fingers and thumb. John studied 
 the stitched ornamentation of the dashboard until 
 the reins were pushed into his hands. But it 
 was not for long. David straightened himself, 
 and, without turning his head, resumed them as 
 if that were a matter of course. 
 
 " Day after the fun ral," he went on, " I says 
 to Mis Jones, I m goin back out West, I says, 
 an I can t say how long I shall be gone long 
 enough, anyway/ I says, to git it into my head 
 that when I come back the won t be no little 
 feller to jump up an round my neck when I 
 come into the house; but, long or short, I ll come 
 back some time, an meanwhile, as fur s things 
 between you an me air, they re to go on jest the 
 same, an more n that, do you think you ll re 
 member him some? I says. 
 
340 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 ( As long as I live/ she says, jes like my 
 own. 
 
 Wa al, I says, long s you remember him, 
 he ll be, in a way, livin to ye, an as long s that 
 I allow to pay fer his keep an tendin jes j the 
 same as I have, an , I says, if you don t let me 
 you ain t no friend o mine, an you ben a good 
 one. Wa al, she squimmidged some, but I 
 wouldn t let her say No. * I ve ranged it all 
 with my pardner an other ways, I says, an 
 more n that, if you git into any kind of a scrape 
 an I don t happen to be got at, you go to him 
 an git what you want. " 
 
 " I hope she lived and prospered," said John 
 fervently. 
 
 " She lived twenty year," said David, " an I 
 wish she was livin now. I never drawed a check 
 on her account without feelin t I was doin 
 somethin for my little boy. 
 
 " The s a good many diff rent sorts an kinds 
 o sorro ," he said, after a moment, " that s in some 
 ways kind o kin to each other, but I guess losin 
 a child s a specie by itself. Of course I passed 
 the achin , smartin point years ago, but it s some- 
 thin you can t fergit that is, you can t help feel- 
 in about it, because it ain t only what the child 
 was to you, but what you keep thinkin he d a* 
 ben growin more an more to be to you. When 
 I lost my little boy I didn t only lose him as he 
 was, but I ben losin him over an agin all these 
 years. What he d a ben when he was so old; 
 an what when he d got to be a big boy; an 
 what he d a ben when he went mebbe to col- 
 lidge; an what he d a ben afterward, an up to 
 now. Of course the times when a man stuffs 
 his face down into the pillers nights, passes, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 341 
 
 after a while; but while the s some sorro s 
 that the happenin o things helps ye to icrgit, 
 I guess the s some that the happenin o things 
 keeps ye rememberin , an losin a child s one 
 on em." 
 
CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 IT was the latter part of John s fifth winter 
 in Homeville. The business of the office had 
 largely increased. The new manufactories which 
 had been established did their banking with Mr. 
 Harum, and the older concerns, including nearly 
 all the merchants in the village, had transferred 
 their accounts from Syrchester banks to Da 
 vid s. The callow Hopkins had fledged and 
 developed into a competent all- round man, able 
 to do anything in the office, and there was a new 
 " skeezicks " discharging Peleg s former func 
 tions. Considerable impetus had been given to 
 the business of the town by the new road whose 
 rails had been laid the previous summer. There 
 had been a strong and acrimonious controversy 
 over the route which the road should take into 
 and through the village. There was the party 
 of the " nabobs " (as they were characterized by 
 Mr. Harum) and their following, and the party 
 of the " village people," and the former had car 
 ried their point; but now the road was an ac 
 complished fact, and most of the bitterness which 
 had been engendered had died away. Yet the 
 struggle was still matter for talk. 
 
 " Did I ever tell you," said David, as he and 
 
 his cashier were sitting in the rear room of the 
 
 bank, " how Lawyer Staples come to switch 
 
 round in that there railroad jangle last spring?" 
 
 342 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 343 
 
 " I remember," said John, " that you told me 
 he had deserted his party, and you laughed a little 
 at the time, but you did not tell me how it came 
 about." 
 
 " I kind o thought I told ye," said David. 
 
 " No," said John, " I am quite sure you did 
 not." 
 
 " Wa al," said Mr. Harum, " the was, as you 
 know, the Tenaker-Rogers crowd wantin one 
 thing, an the Purse-Babbit lot bound to have the 
 other, an run the road under the other fellers 
 noses. Staples was workin tooth an nail fer 
 the Purse crowd, an bein a good deal of a poli 
 tician, he was helpin em a good deal. In fact, 
 he was about their best card. I wa n t takin 
 much hand in the matter either way, though my 
 feelin s was with the Tenaker party. I know t 
 would come to a point where some money d 
 prob ly have to be used, an I made up my mind 
 I wouldn t do much drivin myself unless I had 
 to, an not then till the last quarter of the heat. 
 Wa al, it got to lookin like a putty even thing. 
 What little show I had made was if anythin on 
 the Purse side. One day Tenaker come in to see 
 me an wanted to know flat-footed which side the 
 fence I was on. f Wa al, I says, I ve ben settin 
 up fer shapes to be kind o on the fence, but I 
 don t mind sayin , betwixt you an me, that the 
 bulk o my heft is a-saggin your way; but I hain t 
 took no active part, an Purse an them thinks 
 I m goin to be on their side when it comes to a 
 pinch. 
 
 " Wa al, he says, it s goin to be a putty 
 close thing, an we re goin to need all the help 
 we c n git. 
 
 " Wa al, I says, I guess that s so, but fer 
 
344 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 the present I reckon I c n do ye more good by 
 keepin in the shade. Are you folks prepared to 
 spend a little money? I says. 
 
 Yes/ he says, if it comes to that/ 
 
 " Wa al/ I says, it putty most gen ally does 
 come to that, don t it? Now, the s one feller 
 that s doin ye more harm than some others/ 
 You mean Staples? he says. 
 
 " Yes/ I says, I mean Staples. He don t 
 really care a hill o white beans which way the 
 road comes in, but he thinks he s on the pop lar 
 side. Now/ I says, I don t know as it ll be 
 nec sary to use money with him, an I don t say 
 t you could, anyway, but mebbe his yawp c n be 
 stopped. I ll have a quiet word with him/ I says, 
 an see you agin/ So," continued Mr. Harum, 
 " the next night the was quite a lot of em in 
 the bar of the new hotel, an Staples was ha- 
 ranguin away the best he knowed how, an 
 bime by I nodded him off to one side, an we 
 went across the hall into the settin room. 
 
 " I see you feel putty strong bout this bus - 
 nis/ I says. 
 
 " Yes, sir, it s a matter of princ ple with me/ 
 he says, knockin his fist down onto the table. 
 
 " How does the outcome on t look to ye? 
 I says. Coin to be a putty close race, ain t it? 
 
 " Wa al/ he says, * tween you an me, I 
 reckon it is/ 
 
 " That s the way it looks to me/ I says, an 
 more n that, the other fellers are ready to spend 
 some money at a pinch. 
 
 They be, be they? he says. 
 Yes, sir/ I says, an we ve got to meet em 
 halfway. Now/ I says, takin a paper out o my 
 pocket, what I wanted to say to you is this : 
 
DAVID HARUM. 345 
 
 You ben ruther more prom nent in this matter 
 than most anybody fur s talkin goes but I m 
 consid ably int risted. The s got to be some 
 money raised, an I m ready, I says, to put 
 down as much as you be up to a couple o hun- 
 derd, an I ll take the paper round to the rest; 
 but, I says, unfoldin it, I think you d ought 
 to head the list, an I ll come next. Wa al," said 
 David with a chuckle and a shake of the head, 
 " you d ought to have seen his jaw go down. 
 He wriggled round in his chair, an looked ten 
 difFrent ways fer Sunday. 
 
 " What do you say? I says, lookin square 
 at him, 11 you make it a couple a hunderd? 
 
 Wa al, he says, I guess I couldn t go s 
 fur s that, an I wouldn t like to head the list 
 anyway. 
 
 " All right, I says, I ll head it. Will you 
 say one-fifty? 
 
 " No, he says, pullin his whiskers, I guess 
 not. 
 
 A hunderd? I says, an he shook his 
 head. 
 
 " Fifty, I says, an I ll go a hunderd, an 
 at that he got out his hank chif an blowed his 
 nose, an took his time to it. Wa al, I says, 
 what do ye say? 
 
 " Wa al, he says, I ain t quite prepared to 
 give ye n answer to-night. Fact on t is, he 
 says, it don t make a cent s wuth o diff rence 
 to me person ly which way the dum d road comes 
 in, an I don t jest this minute see why I should 
 spend any money in it. 
 
 There s the principle o the thing, I says. 
 Yes, he says, gettin out of his chair, of 
 course, there s the princ ple of the thing, an 
 23 
 
346 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 wa al, I ll think it over an see you agin/ he says, 
 lookin at his watch. I got to go now. 
 
 " Wa al, the next night," proceeded Mr. Ha- 
 rum, " I went down to the hotel agin, an the 
 was about the same crowd, but no Staples. The 
 wa n t much goin on, an Purse, in pertic ler, was 
 lookin putty down in the mouth. Where s 
 Staples? I says. 
 
 " Wa al, says Purse, he said mebbe he d 
 come to-night, an mebbe he couldn t. Said it 
 wouldn t make much diff rence; an anyhow he 
 was goin out o town up to Syrchester fer a few 
 days. I don t know what s come over the feller, 
 says Purse. I told him the time was gittin 
 short an we d have to git in our best licks, an 
 he said he guessed he d done about all t he could, 
 an in fact/ says Purse, he seemed to a lost 
 int rist in the hull thing. " 
 
 " What did you say? " John asked. 
 
 " Wa al," said David with a grin, " Purse 
 went on to allow t he guessed somebody s pock- 
 etbook had ben talkin , but I didn t say much of 
 anythin , an putty soon come away. Two three 
 days after," he continued, " I see Tenaker agin. 
 I hear Staples has gone out o town/ he says, 
 an I hear, too/ he says, that he s kind o 
 soured on the hull thing didn t care much how 
 it did come out. 
 
 Wa al/ I says, when he comes back you 
 c n use your own judgment about havin a little 
 interview with him. Mebbe somethin s made 
 him think the s two sides to this thing. But 
 anyway/ I says, I guess he won t do no more 
 hollerinV 
 
 " How s that? says Tenaker. 
 
 " Wa al/ I says, I guess I ll have to tell ye 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 347 
 
 a little story. Mebbe you ve heard it before, but 
 it seems to be to the point. Once on a time/ 
 I says, the was a big church meetin that had 
 lasted three days, an the last evenin the was 
 consid able excitement. The prayin an singin 
 had warmed most on em up putty well, an one 
 o the most movin of the speakers was tellin em 
 what was what. The was a big crowd, an while 
 most on em come to be edified, the was quite a 
 lot in the back part of the place that was ready fer 
 anythin . Wa al, it happened that standin mixed 
 up in that lot was a feller named we ll call him 
 Smith, to be sure of him an Smith was jes 
 runnin over with power, an ev ry little while 
 when somethin the speaker said touched him on 
 the funny bone he d out with an " A men! Yes, 
 Lord!" in a voice like a fact ry whistle. Wa al, 
 after a little the was some snickerin an gigghn 
 an scroughin an hustlin in the back part, an 
 even some of the serioustest up in front would 
 kind o smile, an the moderator leaned over an 
 says to one of the bretherin on the platform, 
 " Brother Jones," he says, " can t you git down 
 to the back of the hall an say somethin to quiet 
 Brother Smith? Smith s a good man, an a 
 pious man," the moderator says, " but he s very 
 excitable, an I m fraid he ll git the boys to 
 goin back there an disturb the meetin ." So 
 Jones he worked his way back to where Smith 
 was, an the moderator watched him go up to 
 Smith and jest speak to him bout ten seconds; 
 an after that Smith never peeped once. After 
 the meetin was over, the moderator says to 
 Jones, " Brother Jones," he says, " what did you 
 say to Brother Smith to-night that shut him up 
 so quick?" "I ast him fer a dollar for For n 
 
348 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 Missions," says Brother Jones, an , wa al/ I 
 says to Tenaker, that s what I done to Sta 
 ples. 
 
 " Did Mr. Tenaker see the point? " asked 
 John, laughing. 
 
 " He laughed a little," said David, " but didn t 
 quite ketch on till I told him about the subscrip 
 tion paper, an then he like to split." 
 
 " Suppose Staples had taken you up," sug 
 gested John. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " I didn t think I was 
 takin many chances. If, in the fust place, I 
 hadn t knowed Staples as well s I did, the Smith 
 fam ly, so fur s my experience goes, has got 
 more members n any other fam ly on top of the 
 earth." At this point a boy brought in a tele 
 gram. David opened it, gave a side glance at 
 his companion, and, taking out his pocketbook, 
 put the dispatch therein. 
 
CHAPTER XLIL 
 
 THE next morning David called John into 
 the rear room. "Busy?" he asked. 
 
 " No," said John. " Nothing that can t wait." 
 
 " Set down," said Mr. Harum, drawing a 
 chair to the fire. He looked up with his charac 
 teristic grin. " Ever own a hog? " he said. 
 
 " No," said John, smiling. 
 
 "Ever feel like ownin one?" 
 
 " I don t remember ever having any cravings 
 in that direction." 
 
 " Like pork?" asked Mr. Harum. 
 
 " In moderation," was the reply. David pro 
 duced from his pocketbook the dispatch received 
 the day before and handed it to the young man 
 at his side. " Read that," he said. 
 
 John looked at ft and handed it back. 
 
 " It doesn t convey any idea to my mind," he 
 said. 
 
 " What? " said David, " you don t know what 
 Bangs Galilee means? nor who Raisin is? " 
 
 " You ll have to ask me an easier one," said 
 John, smiling. 
 
 David sat for a moment in silence, and then, 
 " How much money have you got? " he asked. 
 
 " Well," was the reply, " with what I had and 
 what I have saved since I came I could get to 
 gether about five thousand dollars, I think." 
 
 349 
 
350 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Is it where you c n put your hands on t? " 
 
 John took some slips of paper from his pock- 
 etbook and handed them to David. 
 
 " H m, h m," said the latter. " Wa al, I owe 
 ye quite a little bunch o money, don t I? Forty- 
 five hunderd! Wa al! Couldn t you a done 
 better n to keep this here at four per cent? " 
 
 " Well," said John, " perhaps so, and perhaps 
 not. I preferred to do this at all events." 
 
 Thought the old man was safe anyway, 
 didn t ye?" said David in a tone which showed 
 that he was highly pleased. 
 
 " Yes," said John. 
 
 "Is this all?" asked David. 
 
 There is some interest on those certificates, 
 and I have some balance in my account," was the 
 reply; "and then, you know, I have some very 
 valuable securities a beautiful line of mining 
 stocks, and that promising Pennsylvania prop 
 erty." 
 
 At the mention of the last-named asset 
 David looked at him for an instant as if about to 
 speak, but if so he changed his mind. He sat 
 for a moment fingering the yellow paper which 
 carried the mystic words. Presently he said, 
 opening the message out, " That s from an old 
 friend of mine out to Chicago. He come from 
 this part of the country, an we was young fellers 
 together thirty years ago. I ve had a good many 
 deals with him and through him, an he never 
 give me a wrong steer, fur s I know. That is, I 
 never done as he told me without comin out all 
 right, though he s give me a good many pointers 
 ; I never did nothin about. Tain t nec sary to 
 \ name no names, but Bangs Galilee means buy 
 pork, an as I ve ben watchin the market fer 
 
DAVID HARUM. 35! 
 
 quite a spell myself, an standard pork s a good 
 deal lower n it costs to pack it, I ve made up my 
 mind to buy a few thousan barrels fer fam ly use. 
 It s a handy thing to have in the house," declared 
 Mr. Harum, " an I thought mebbe it wouldn t 
 be a bad thing fer you to have a little. It looks 
 cheap to me," he added, " an mebbe bime-by 
 what you don t eat you c n sell." 
 
 " Well," said John, laughing, " you see me 
 at table every day and know what my appetite 
 is like. How much pork do you think I could 
 take care of? " 
 
 " Wa al, at the present price," said David, " I 
 think about four thousan barrels would give ye 
 enough to eat fer a spell, an mebbe leave ye a 
 few barrels to dispose of if you should happen to 
 strike a feller later on that wanted it wuss n you 
 did." 
 
 John opened his eyes a little. " I should 
 only have a margin of a dollar and a quarter," 
 he said. 
 
 " Wa al, I ve got a notion that that ll carry 
 ye," said David. " It may go lower n what it is 
 now. I never bought anythin yet that didn t 
 drop some, an I guess nobody but a fool ever 
 did buy at the bottom more n once; but I ve 
 had an idee for some time that it was about 
 bottom, an this here telegraph wouldn t a ben 
 sent if the feller that sent it didn t think so too, 
 an I ve had some other cor spondence with 
 him." Mr. Harum paused and laughed a little. 
 
 " I was jest thinkin ," he continued, " of what 
 the Irishman said about Stafford. Never ben 
 there, have ye? Wa al, it s a place eight nine 
 mile f m here, an the hills round are so steep 
 that when you re goin up you c n look right 
 
352 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 back under the buggy by jes leanin over the 
 edge of the dash. I was drivin round there 
 once, an I met an Irishman with a big drove o 
 hogs. 
 
 " Hello, Pat! I says, where d all them 
 hogs come from? 
 
 " Stofford, he says. 
 
 " Wa al/ I says, I wouldn t a thought the 
 was so many hogs in Stofford. 
 
 " Oh, be gobs! he says, sure they re all 
 hogs in Stofford; an ," declared David, the 
 bears ben sellin that pork up in Chicago as if the 
 hull everlastin West was all hogs." 
 
 " It s very tempting," said John thought 
 fully. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " I don t want to tempt 
 ye exac ly, an certain I don t want to urge ye. 
 The ain t no sure things but death an taxes, as 
 the sayin is, but buyin pork at these prices is 
 buyin somethin that s got value, an you can t 
 wipe it out. In other words, it s buyin a war 
 ranted article at a price consid ably lower n it 
 c n be produced for, an though it may go lower, 
 if a man c n stick, it s bound to level up in the 
 long run." 
 
 Our friend sat for some minutes apparently 
 looking into the fire, but he was not conscious of 
 seeing anything at all. Finally he rose, went 
 over to Mr. Harum s desk, figured the interest on 
 the certificates up to the first of January, in 
 dorsed them, and filling up a check for the bal 
 ance of the amount in question, handed the check 
 and certificate to David. 
 
 "Think you ll go it, eh?" said the latter. 
 
 "Yes," said John; "but if I take the quan 
 tity you suggest, I shall have nothing to remar- 
 
DAVID HARUM. 353 
 
 gin the trade in case the market goes below a 
 certain point." 
 
 " I ve thought of that," replied David, " an 
 was goin to say to you that I d carry the trade 
 down as fur as your money would go, in case 
 more margins had to be called." 
 
 " Very well," said John. " And will you look 
 after the whole matter for me?" 
 
 " All right," said David. 
 
 John thanked him and returned to the front 
 room. 
 
 There were times in the months which fol 
 lowed when our friend had reason to wish that all 
 swine had perished with those whom Shylock 
 said " your prophet the Nazarite conjured the 
 devil into; " and the news of the world in general 
 was of secondary importance compared with the 
 market reports. After the purchase pork dropped 
 off a little, and hung about the lower figure for 
 some time. Then it began to advance by de 
 grees until the quotation was a dollar above the 
 purchase price. 
 
 John s impulse was to sell, but David made 
 no sign. The market held firm for a while, even 
 going a little higher. Then it began to drop 
 rather more rapidly than it had advanced, to 
 about what the pork had cost, and for a long pe 
 riod fluctuated only a few cents one way or the 
 other. This was followed by a steady decline to 
 the extent of half-a-dollar, and, as the reports 
 came, it " looked like going lower," which it did. 
 In fact, there came a day when it was so " low," 
 and so much more " looked like going lower " 
 than ever (as such things usually do when the 
 " bottom " is pretty nearly reached), that our 
 
354 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 friend had not the courage to examine the market 
 reports for the next two days, and simply tried 
 to keep the subject out of his mind. On the 
 morning of the third day the Syrchester paper 
 was brought in about ten o clock, as usual, and 
 laid on Mr. Harum s desk. John shivered a 
 little, and for some time refrained from looking 
 at it. At last, more by impulse than intention, 
 he went into the back room and glanced at the 
 first page without taking the paper in his hands. 
 One of the press dispatches was headed : " Great 
 Excitement on Chicago Board of Trade: Pork 
 Market reported Cornered: Bears on the Run," 
 and more of the same sort, which struck our 
 friend as being the most profitable, instructive, 
 and delightful literature that he had ever come 
 across. David had been in Syrchester the two 
 days previous, returning the evening before. 
 Just then he came into the office, and John 
 handed him the paper. 
 
 " Wa al," he said, holding it off at arm s 
 length, and then putting on his glasses, " them 
 fellers that thought they was all hogs up West, 
 are havin a change of heart, are they? I reck 
 oned they would fore they got through with it. 
 It s ben ruther a long pull, though, eh? " he said, 
 looking at John with a grin. 
 
 " Yes," said our friend, with a slight shrug of 
 the shoulders. 
 
 " Things looked ruther colicky the last two 
 three days, eh?" suggested David. "Did you 
 think the jig was up an the monkey was in the 
 box? " 
 
 " Rather," said John. " The fact is," he ad 
 mitted, " I am ashamed to say that for a few days 
 back I haven t looked at a quotation. I suppose 
 
DAVID HARUM. 355 
 
 you must have carried me to some extent. How 
 much was it? " 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " I kept the trade mar 
 gined, of course, an if we d sold out at the bot 
 tom you d have owed me somewhere along a 
 thousan or fifteen hunderd; but," he added, " it 
 was only in the slump, an didn t last long, an 
 anyway I cal lated to carry that pork to where it 
 would a ketched fire. I wa n t worried none, 
 an you didn t let on to be, an so I didn t say 
 anythin ." 
 
 " What do you think about it now?" asked 
 John. 
 
 " My opinion is now," replied Mr. Harum, 
 " that it s goin to putty near where it belongs, an 
 mebbe higher, an them s my advices. We can 
 sell now at some profit, an of course the bears 11 
 jump on agin as it goes up, an the other fellers 
 11 take the profits f m time to time. If I was 
 where I could watch the market, I d mebbe try 
 to make a turn in t casionally, but I guess as 
 t is we d better set down an let her take her own 
 
 fait. I don t mean to try an git the top price 
 m alwus willin to let the other feller make a 
 little but we ve waited fer quite a spell, an as 
 it s goin our way, we might s well wait a little 
 longer." 
 
 " All right," said John, " and I m very much 
 obliged to you." 
 
 "Sho, sho!" said David. 
 
 It was not until August, however, that the 
 deal was finally closed out. 
 
CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE summer was drawing to a close. The 
 season, so far as the social part of it was con 
 cerned, had been what John had grown accus 
 tomed to in previous years, and there were few 
 changes in or among the people whom he had 
 come to know very well, save those which a few 
 years make in young people: some increase of 
 importance in demeanor on the part of the young 
 men whose razors were coming into requisition; 
 and the changes from short to long skirts, from 
 braids, pig-tails, and flowing manes to more elab 
 orate coiffures on the part of the young women. 
 The most notable event had been the reopening 
 of the Verjoos house, which had been closed for 
 two summers, and the return of the family, fol 
 lowed by the appearance of a young man whom 
 Miss Clara had met abroad, and who represented 
 himself as the acknowledged fiance of that young 
 woman. It need hardly be said that discussions 
 of the event, and upon the appearance, manners, 
 prospects, etc., of that fortunate gentleman had 
 formed a very considerable part of the talk of 
 the season among the summer people; and, in 
 deed, interest in the affair had permeated all 
 grades and classes of society. 
 
 It was some six weeks after the settlement of 
 the transaction in " pork " that David and John 
 356 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 357 
 
 were driving together in the afternoon as they 
 had so often done in the last five years. They 
 had got to that point of understanding where 
 neither felt constrained to talk for the purpose of 
 keeping up conversation, and often in their long 
 drives there was little said by either of them. The 
 young man was never what is called " a great 
 talker," and Mr. Harum did not always " git 
 goin ." On this occasion they had gone along 
 for some time, smoking in silence, each man ab 
 sorbed in his thoughts. Finally David turned to 
 his companion. 
 
 " Do you know that Dutchman Claricy Ver- 
 joos is goin to marry?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes," replied John, laughing; " I have met 
 him a number of times. But he isn t a Dutch 
 man. What gave you that idea?" 
 
 " I heard it was over in Germany she run 
 across him," said David. 
 
 " I believe that is so, but he isn t a German. 
 He is from Philadelphia, and is a friend of the 
 Bradways." 
 
 " What kind of a feller is he? Good enough 
 for her?" 
 
 " Well," said John, smiling, " in the sense in 
 which that question is usually taken, I should 
 say yes. He has good looks, good manners, a 
 good deal of money, I am told, and it is said that 
 Miss Clara which is the main point, after all 
 is very much in love with him." 
 
 " H m," said David after a moment. " How 
 do you git along with the Verjoos girls? Was 
 Claricy s ears pointed all right when you seen 
 her fust after she come home?" 
 
 " Oh, yes! " replied John, smiling, "she and 
 her sister were perfectly pleasant and cordial, 
 
358 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 and Miss Verjoos and I are on very friendly 
 terms." 
 
 " I was thinkin ," said David, " that you an 
 Claricy might be got to likin each other, an 
 mebbe 
 
 " I don t think there could ever have been the 
 smallest chance of it," declared John hastily. 
 
 " Take the lines a minute," said David, hand 
 ing them to his companion after stopping the 
 horses. " The nigh one s picked up a stone, I 
 guess," and he got out to investigate. " The 
 river road," he remarked as he climbed back into 
 the buggy after removing the stone from the 
 horse s foot, " is about the puttiest road round 
 here, but I don t drive it oftener jest on account 
 of them dum d loose stuns." He sucked the air 
 through his pursed-up lips, producing a little 
 squeaking sound, and the horses started forward. 
 Presently he turned to John: 
 
 " Did you ever think of gettin married? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Well," said our friend with a little hesita 
 tion, " I don t remember that I ever did, very 
 definitely." 
 
 " Somebody t you knew fore you come up 
 here?" said David, jumping at a conclusion. 
 
 " Yes," said John, smiling a little at the 
 question. 
 
 " Wouldn t she have ye? " queried David, who 
 stuck at no trifles when in pursuit of information. 
 
 John laughed. " I never asked her," he re 
 plied, in truth a little surprised at his own will 
 ingness to be questioned. 
 
 " Did ye cal late to when the time come 
 right?" pursued Mr. Harum. 
 
 Of this part of his history John had, of course, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 359 
 
 never spoken to David. There had been a time 
 when, if not resenting the attempt upon his con 
 fidence, he would have made it plain that he did 
 not wish to discuss the matter, and the old wound 
 still gave him twinges. But he had not only 
 come to know his questioner very well, but to be 
 much attached to him. He knew, too, that the 
 elder man would ask him nothing save in the 
 way of kindness, for he had had a hundred proofs 
 of that; and now, so far from feeling reluc 
 tant to take his companion into his confidence, 
 he rather welcomed the idea. He was, withal, 
 a bit curious to ascertain the drift of the inquiry, 
 knowing that David, though sometimes working 
 in devious ways, rarely started without an inten 
 tion. And so he answered the question and what 
 followed as he might have told his story to a 
 woman. 
 
 " An didn t you never git no note, nor mes 
 sage, nor word of any kind? " asked David. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor hain t ever heard a word about her f m 
 that day to this?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor hain t ever tried to?" 
 
 " No," said John. " What would have been 
 the use?" 
 
 " Prov dence seemed to ve made a putty 
 clean sweep in your matters that spring, didn t 
 it?" 
 
 " It seemed so to me," said John. 
 
 Nothing more was said for a minute or two. 
 Mr. Harum appeared to have abandoned the pur 
 suit of the subject of his questions. At last he 
 said: 
 
 " You ben here most five years." 
 
360 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " Very nearly," John replied. 
 
 " Ben putty contented, on the hull?" 
 
 " I have grown to be/ said John. " Indeed, 
 it s hard to realize at times that I haven t always 
 lived in Homeville. I remember my former life 
 as if it were something I have read in a book. 
 There was a John Lenox in it, but he seems to 
 me sometimes more like a character in a story 
 than myself." 
 
 " An yet," said David, turning toward him, 
 " if you was to go back to it, this last five years 
 d git to be that way to ye a good deal quicker. 
 Don t ye think so? " 
 
 "Perhaps so," replied John. "Yes," he 
 added thoughtfully, " it is possible." 
 
 " I guess on the hull, though," remarked Mr. 
 Harum, " you done better up here in the country 
 n you might some ers else " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said John sincerely, " thanks to 
 you, I have indeed, and " 
 
 " an ne mind about me you got quite a 
 little bunch o money together now. I was think- 
 in t mebbe you might feel t you needn t to stay 
 here no longer if you didn t want to." 
 
 The young man turned to the speaker inquir 
 ingly, but Mr. Harum s face was straight to the 
 front, and betrayed nothing. 
 
 " It wouldn t be no more n natural," he went 
 on, " an mebbe it would be best for ye. You re 
 too good a man to spend all your days workin 
 fer Dave Harum, an I ve had it in my mind fer 
 some time somethin like that pork deal to 
 make you a little independent in case anythin 
 should happen, an gen ally. I couldn t give ye 
 no money cause you wouldn t a took it even if 
 I d wanted to, but now you got it, why " 
 
DAVID HARUM. 361 
 
 " I feel very much as if you had given it to 
 me," protested the young man. 
 
 David put up his hand. " No, no," he said, 
 " all t I did was to propose the thing to ye, an 
 to put up a little money fer two three days. I 
 didn t take no chances, an it s all right, an it s 
 your n, an it makes ye to a certain extent inde 
 pendent of Homeville." 
 
 " I don t quite see it so," said John. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, turning to him, " if 
 you d had as much five years ago you wouldn t 
 a come here, would ye? " 
 
 John was silent. 
 
 " What I was leadin up to," resumed Mr. 
 Harum after a moment, " is this : I ben thinkin 
 about it fer some time, but I haven t wanted to 
 speak to ye about it before. In fact, I might a 
 put it off some longer if things wa n t as they 
 are, but the fact o the matter is that I m goin 
 to take down my sign." 
 
 John looked at him in undisguised amaze 
 ment, not unmixed with consternation. 
 
 " Yes," said David, obviously avoiding the 
 other s eye, " * David Harum, Banker, is goin to 
 come down. I m gettin to be an old man," he 
 went on, " an what with some investments I ve 
 got, an a hoss-trade once in a while, I guess I c n 
 manage to keep the fire goin in the kitchin stove 
 fer Polly an me, an the ain t no reason why I 
 sh d keep my sign up much of any longer. Of 
 course," he said, if I was to go on as I be now I d 
 want ye to stay jest as you are ; but, as I was sayin , 
 you re to a consid able extent independent. You 
 hain t no speciul ties to keep ye, an you ought 
 anyway, as I said before, to be doin better for 
 yourself than jest drawin pay in a country bank." 
 
 24 
 
362 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 One of the most impressive morals drawn 
 from the fairy tales of our childhood, and indeed 
 from the literature and experience of our later 
 periods of life, is that the fulfilment of wishes is 
 often attended by the most unwelcome results. 
 There had been a great many times when to our 
 friend the possibility of being able to bid fare 
 well to Homeville had seemed the most desirable 
 of things, but confronted with the idea as a real 
 ity for what other construction could he put 
 upon David s words except that they amounted 
 practically to a dismissal, though a most kind 
 one? he found himself simply in dismay. 
 
 " I suppose," he said after a few moments, 
 " that by taking down your sign you mean 
 going out of business " 
 
 " Figger o speech," explained David. 
 
 " and your determination is not only a 
 great surprise to me, but grieves me very much. 
 I am very sorry to hear it more sorry than I 
 can tell you. As you remind me, if I leave 
 Homeville I shall not go almost penniless as I 
 came, but I shall leave with great regret, and, in 
 deed Ah, well " he broke off with a 
 
 wave of his hands. 
 
 " What was you goin to say? " asked David, 
 after a moment, his eyes on the horizon. 
 
 " I can t say very much more," replied the 
 young man, " than that I am very sorry. There 
 have been times," he added, " as you may under 
 stand, when I have been restless and discouraged 
 for a while, particularly at first; but I can see now 
 that, on the whole, I have been far from unhappy 
 here. Your house has grown to be more a real 
 home than any I have ever known, and you and 
 your sister are like my own people. What you 
 
DAVID HARUM. 363 
 
 say, that I ought not to look forward to spending 
 my life behind the counter of a village bank on a 
 salary, may be true; but I am not, at present at 
 least, a very ambitious person, nor, I am afraid, 
 a very clever one in the way of getting on in the 
 world; and the idea of breaking out for myself, 
 even if that were all to be considered, is not a 
 cheerful one. I am afraid all this sounds rather 
 selfish to you, when, as I can see, you have de 
 ferred your plans for my sake, and after all else 
 that you have done for me." 
 
 " I guess I sha n t lay it up agin ye," said 
 David quietly. 
 
 They drove along in silence for a while. 
 
 " May I ask," said John, at length, " when 
 you intend to * take down your sign, as you 
 put it? " 
 
 " Whenever you say the word," declared 
 David, with a chuckle and a side glance at his 
 companion. John turned in bewilderment. 
 
 " What do you mean?" he asked. 
 
 "Wa al," said David with another short laugh, 
 " fur s the sign s concerned, I s pose we could 
 stick a new one over it, but I guess it might s 
 well come down; but we ll settle that matter 
 later on." 
 
 John still looked at the speaker in utter per 
 plexity, until the latter broke out into a laugh. 
 
 " Got any idee what s goin onto the new 
 sign? " he asked. 
 
 " You don t mean " 
 
 " Yes, I do," declared Mr. Harum, " an my 
 notion s this, an don t you say aye, yes, nor no 
 till I git through," and he laid his left hand re- 
 strainingly on John s knee. 
 
 " The new sign 11 read Harum & Comp ny, 
 
364 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 or Harum & Lenox, jest as you elect. You 
 c n put in what money you got an I ll put in as 
 much more, which 11 make cap tal enough in 
 gen ral, an any extry money that s needed 
 wa al, up to a certain point, I guess I c n manage. 
 Now putty much all the new bus nis has come 
 in through you, an practically you got the hull 
 thing in your hands. You ll do the work about 
 s you re doin now, an you ll draw the same sal- 
 ry; an after that s paid we ll go snucks on any- 
 thin that s left that is," added David with a 
 chuckle, " if you feel that you c n stan it in 
 Homeville." 
 
 " I wish you was married to one of our 
 Homeville girls, though," declared Mr. Harum 
 later on as they drove homeward. 
 
CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 SINCE the whooping-cough and measles of 
 childhood the junior partner of Harum & Com 
 pany had never to his recollection had a day s 
 illness in his life, and he fought the attack which 
 came upon him about the first week in December 
 with a sort of incredulous disgust, until one 
 morning when he did not appear at breakfast. 
 He spent the next week in bed, and at the end of 
 that time, while he was able to be about, it was 
 in a languid and spiritless fashion, and he was 
 shaken and exasperated by a persistent cough. 
 The season was and had been unusually inclem 
 ent even for that region, where the thermometer 
 sometimes changes fifty degrees in thirty-six 
 hours; and at the time of his release from his 
 room there was a period of successive changes of 
 temperature from thawing to zero and below, a 
 characteristic of the winter climate of Homeville 
 and its vicinity. Dr. Hayes exhibited the inevi 
 table quinine, iron, and all the tonics in his phar 
 macopoeia, with cough mixtures and sundry, but 
 in vain. Aunt Polly pressed bottles of sovereign 
 decoctions and infusions upon him which were 
 received with thanks and neglected with the 
 blackest ingratitude and exhausted not only the 
 markets of Homeville, but her own and Sairy s 
 culinary resources (no mean ones, by the way) 
 
 365 
 
366 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 to tempt the appetite which would not respond. 
 One week followed another without any im 
 provement in his condition; and indeed as time 
 went on he fell into a condition of irritable list- 
 lessness which filled his partner with concern. 
 
 "What s the matter with him, Doc?" said 
 David to the physician. " He don t seem to take 
 no more int rist than a foundered hoss. Can t 
 ye do nothin for him ? " 
 
 " Not much use dosin him," replied the doc 
 tor. " Pull out all right, may be, come warm 
 weather. Big strong fellow, but this cussed in- 
 fluenzy, or grip, as they call it, sometimes hits 
 them hardest." 
 
 " Wa al, warm weather s some way off," re 
 marked Mr. Harum, " an he coughs enough to 
 tear his head off sometimes." 
 
 The doctor nodded. " Ought to clear out 
 somewhere," he said. " Don t like that cough 
 myself." 
 
 " What do you mean? " asked David. 
 
 " Ought to go way for a spell," said the doc 
 tor; " quit working, and get a change of cli 
 mate." 
 
 "Have you told him so?" asked Mr. Ha 
 rum. 
 
 " Yes," replied the doctor; " said he couldn t 
 get away." 
 
 "H m m!" said David thoughtfully, pinch 
 ing his lower lip between his thumb and ringer. 
 
 A day or two after the foregoing interview, 
 John came in and laid an open letter in front of 
 David, who was at his desk, and dropped lan 
 guidly into a chair without speaking. Mr. 
 Harum read the letter, smiled a little, and turn 
 ing in his chair, took off his glasses and looked 
 
DAVID HARUM. 367 
 
 at the young man, who was staring abstractedly 
 at the floor. 
 
 " I ben rather expectin you d git somethin 
 like this. What be you goin to do about it? " 
 
 " I don t know," replied John. " I don t like 
 the idea of leasing the property in any case, and 
 certainly not on the terms they offer; but it is 
 lying idle, and I m paying taxes on it 
 
 " Wa al, as I said, I ben expectin fer some 
 time they d be after ye in some shape. You got 
 this this mornin ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I expect you d sell the prop ty if you got a 
 good chance, wouldn t ye? " 
 
 " With the utmost pleasure," said John em 
 phatically. 
 
 " Wa al, I ve got a notion they ll buy it of 
 ye," said David, "if it s handled right. I 
 wouldn t lease it if it was mine an I wanted to 
 sell it, an yet, in the long run, you might git 
 more out of it an then agin you mightn t," he 
 added. 
 
 " I don t know anything about it," said John, 
 putting his handkerchief to his mouth in a fit of 
 coughing. David looked at him with a frown. 
 
 " I ben aware fer some time that the was a 
 movement on foot in your direction," he said. 
 " You know I told ye that I d ben int ristid in 
 the oil bus nis once on a time; an I hain t never 
 quite lost my int rist, though it hain t ben a very 
 active one lately, an some fellers down there 
 have kep me posted some. The s ben oil found 
 near where you re located, an the prospectin 
 points your way. The hull thing has ben kep as 
 close as possible, an the holes has ben plugged, 
 but the oil is there somewhere. Now it s like 
 
3 68 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 this: If you lease on shares an they strike the 
 oil on your prop ty, mebbe it ll bring you more 
 money; but they might strike, an agin they 
 mightn t. Sometimes you git a payin well an a 
 dry hole only a few hunderd feet apart. Never 
 theless they want to drill your prop ty. I know 
 who the parties is. These fellers that wrote this 
 letter are simply actin for em." 
 
 The speaker was interrupted by another fit 
 of coughing, which left the sufferer very red in 
 the face, and elicited from him the word which 
 is always greeted with laughter in a theater. 
 
 " Say," said David, after a moment, in which 
 he looked anxiously at his companion, " I don t 
 like that cough o your n." 
 
 " I don t thoroughly enjoy it myself," was the 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " Seems to be kind o growin on ye, don t 
 it?" 
 
 " I don t know," said John. 
 
 " I was talkin with Doc Hayes about ye," 
 said David, " an he allowed you d ought to have 
 your shoes off an run loose a spell." 
 
 John smiled a little, but did not reply. 
 
 "Spoke to you about it, didn t he?" contin 
 ued David. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "An you told him you couldn t git away?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Didn t tell him you wouldn t go if you 
 could, did ye?" 
 
 " I only told him I couldn t go," said John. 
 
 David sat for a moment thoughtfully tapping 
 the desk with his eyeglasses, and then said with 
 his characteristic chuckle: 
 
 " I had a letter f m Chet Timson yestidy." 
 
DAVID HARUM. 369 
 
 John looked up at him, failing to see the con 
 nection. 
 
 " Yes," said David, " he s out fer a job, an 
 the way he writes I guess the dander s putty well 
 out of him. I reckon the hain t ben nothin 
 much but hay in his manger fer quite a spell," re 
 marked Mr. Harum. 
 
 "H m!" said John, raising his brows, con 
 scious of a humane but very faint interest in 
 Mr. Timson s affairs. Mr. Harum got out a 
 cigar, and, lighting it, gave a puff or two, and 
 continued with what struck the younger man 
 as a perfectly irrelevant question. It really 
 seemed to him as if his senior were making con 
 versation. 
 
 "How s Peleg doin these days?" was the 
 query. 
 
 " Very well," was the reply. 
 
 " C n do most anythin t s nec sary, can t 
 he?" 
 
 A brief interruption followed upon the en 
 trance of a man, who, after saying good-morn 
 ing, laid a note on David s desk, asking for 
 the money on it. Mr. Harum handed it back, 
 indicating John with a motion of his 
 thumb. 
 
 The latter took it, looked at the face and back, 
 marked his initials on it with a pencil, and the 
 man went out to the counter. 
 
 " If you was fixed so t you could git away 
 fer a spell," said David a moment or two after 
 the customer s departure, " where would you 
 like to go? " 
 
 " I have not thought about it," said John 
 rather listlessly. 
 
 " Wa al, s pose you think about it a little 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 now, if you hain t got no pressin engagement. 
 Bus nis don t seem to be very rushin this 
 mornin ." 
 
 "Why?" said John. 
 
 " Because," said David impressively, " you re 
 goin somewhere right off, quick s you c n git 
 ready, an you may s well be makin up your 
 mind where." 
 
 John looked up in surprise. " I don t want 
 to go away," he said, " and if I did, how could I 
 leave the office? " 
 
 " No," responded Mr. Harum, " you don t 
 want to make a move of any kind that you don t 
 actually have to, an that s the reason fer makin 
 one. F m what the doc said, an f m what I c n 
 see, you got to git out o this dum d climate," 
 waving his hand toward the window, against 
 which the sleet was beating, " fer a spell; an as 
 fur s the office goes, Chet Timson d be tickled 
 to death to come on an help out while you re 
 away, an I guess mongst us we c n mosey along 
 some gait. I ain t quite to the bone-yard yet 
 myself," he added with a grin. 
 
 The younger man sat for a moment or two 
 with brows contracted, and pulling thoughtfully 
 at his moustache. 
 
 " There is that matter," he said, pointing to 
 the letter on the desk. 
 
 " Wa al," said David, " the ain t no tearin 
 hurry bout that ; an anyway, I was goin to make 
 you a suggestion to put the matter into my hands 
 to some extent." 
 
 "Will you take it? " said John quickly. That 
 is exactly what I should wish in any case." 
 
 " If you want I should," replied Mr. Harum. 
 " Would you want to give full power attorney, 
 
DAVID HARUM. 371 
 
 or jest have me say t I was instructed to act 
 for ye?" 
 
 u I think a better way would be to put the 
 property in your name altogether," said John. 
 " Don t you think so? " 
 
 " Wa al," said David, thoughtfully, after a 
 moment, " I hadn t thought of that, but mebbe I 
 could handle the matter better if you was to do 
 that. I know the parties, an if the was any 
 bluffin to be done either side, mebbe it would 
 be better if they thought I was playin my own 
 hand." 
 
 At that point Peleg appeared and asked Mr. 
 Lenox a question which took the latter to the 
 teller s counter. David sat for some time drum 
 ming on his desk with the fingers of both hands. 
 A succession of violent coughs came from the 
 front room. His mouth and brows contracted in 
 a wince, and rising, he put on his coat and hat 
 and went slowly out of the bank. 
 
CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE Vaterland was advertised to sail at one 
 o clock, and it wanted but fifteen or twenty min 
 utes of the hour. After assuring himself that his 
 belongings were all together in his state-room, 
 John made his way to the upper deck and lean 
 ing against the rail, watched the bustle of em 
 barkation, somewhat interested in the people 
 standing about, among whom it was difficult in 
 instances to distinguish the passengers from those 
 who were present to say farewell. Near him at 
 the moment were two people, apparently man 
 and wife, of middle age and rather distinguished 
 appearance, to whom presently approached, with 
 some evidence of hurry and with outstretched 
 hand, a very well dressed and pleasant looking 
 man. 
 
 " Ah, here you are, Mrs. Ruggles," John 
 heard him say as he shook hands. 
 
 Then followed some commonplaces of good 
 wishes and farewells, and in reply to a ques 
 tion which John did not catch, he heard the lady 
 addressed as Mrs. Ruggles say, " Oh, didn t you 
 see her? We left her on the lower deck a few 
 minutes ago. Ah, here she comes." 
 
 The man turned and advanced a step to meet 
 the person in question. John s eyes involuntarily 
 followed the movement, and as he saw her ap- 
 372 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 373 
 
 proach his heart contracted sharply : it was Mary 
 Blake. He turned away quickly, and as the 
 collar of his ulster was about his face, for the air 
 of the January day was very keen, he thought 
 that she had not recognized him. A moment 
 later he went aft around the deck-house, and go 
 ing forward to the smoking-room, seated himself 
 therein, and took the passenger list out of his 
 pocket. He had already scanned it rather cur 
 sorily, having but the smallest expectation of 
 coming upon a familiar name, yet feeling sure 
 that, had hers been there, it could not have es 
 caped him. Nevertheless, he now ran his eye 
 over the columns with eager scrutiny, and the 
 hands which held the paper shook a little. 
 
 There was no name in the least like Blake. 
 It occurred to him that by some chance or error 
 hers might have been omitted, when his eye 
 caught the following: 
 
 William Ruggles New York. 
 
 Mrs. Ruggles 
 
 Mrs. Edward Ruggles. ... " " 
 It was plain to him then. She was obviously 
 traveling with the people whom she had just 
 joined on deck, and it was equally plain that she 
 was Mrs. Edward Ruggles. When he looked 
 up the ship was out in the river. 
 
CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 JOHN had been late in applying for his pas 
 sage, and in consequence, the ship being very 
 full, had had to take what berth he could get, 
 which happened to be in the second cabin. The 
 occupants of these quarters, however, were not 
 rated as second-class passengers. The Vater- 
 land took none such on her outward voyages, 
 and all were on the same footing as to the fare 
 and the freedom of the ship. The captain and 
 the orchestra appeared at dinner in the second 
 saloon on alternate nights, and the only disadvan 
 tage in the location was that it was very far aft; 
 unless it could be considered a drawback that the 
 furnishings were of plain wood and plush instead 
 of carving, gilding, and stamped leather. In fact, 
 as the voyage proceeded, our friend decided that 
 the after-deck was pleasanter than the one amid 
 ships, and the cozy second-class smoking-room 
 more agreeable than the large and gorgeous one 
 forward. 
 
 Consequently, for a while he rarely went 
 across the bridge which spanned the opening be 
 tween the two decks. It may be that he had a 
 certain amount of reluctance to encounter Mrs. 
 Edward Ruggles. 
 
 The roof of the second cabin deck-house was, 
 when there was not too much wind, a favorite 
 374 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 375 
 
 place with him. It was not much frequented, as 
 most of those who spent their time on deck 
 apparently preferred a place nearer amidships. 
 He was sitting there on the morning of the fifth 
 day out, looking idly over the sea, with an occa 
 sional glance at the people who were walking on 
 the promenade-deck below, or leaning on the rail 
 which bounded it. He turned at a slight sound 
 behind him, and rose with his hat in his hand. 
 The flush in his face, as he took the hand which 
 was offered him, reflected the color in the face 
 of the owner, but the grayish brown eyes, which 
 he remembered so well, looked into his, a little 
 curiously, perhaps, but frankly and kindly. She 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Lenox? " she said. 
 
 " How do you do, Mrs. Ruggles?" said John, 
 throwing up his hand as, at the moment of his 
 reply, a puff of wind blew the cape of his mackin 
 tosh over his head. They both laughed a little 
 (this was their greeting after nearly six years), 
 and sat down. 
 
 "What a nice place!" she said, looking 
 about her. 
 
 "Yes," said John; "I sit here a good deal 
 when it isn t too windy." 
 
 " I have been wondering why I did not 
 get a sight of you," she said. " I saw your 
 name in the passenger list. Have you been 
 ill?" 
 
 " I m in the second cabin," he said, smiling. 
 
 She looked at him a little incredulously, and 
 he explained. 
 
 " Ah, yes," she said, " I saw your name, but 
 as you did not appear in the dining saloon, I 
 thought you must either be ill or that you did 
 
376 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 not sail. Did you know that I was on board? " 
 she asked. 
 
 It was rather an embarrassing question. 
 
 " I have been intending," he replied rather 
 lamely, " to make myself known to you that is, 
 to well, make my presence on board known to 
 you. I got just a glimpse of you before we 
 sailed, when you came up to speak to a man who 
 had been saying good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Rug 
 gles. I heard him speak their name, and look 
 ing over the passenger list I identified you as 
 Mrs. Edward Ruggles." 
 
 " Ah," she said, looking away for an instant, 
 " I did not know that you had seen me, and I 
 wondered how you came to address me as Mrs. 
 Ruggles just now." 
 
 " That was how," said John; and then, after 
 a moment, " it seems rather odd, doesn t it, that 
 we should be renewing an acquaintance on an 
 ocean steamer as we did once before, so many 
 years ago? and that the first bit of intelligence 
 that I have had of you in all the years since I 
 saw you last should come to me through the pas 
 senger list? " 
 
 "Did you ever try to get any?" she asked. 
 " I have always thought it very strange that we 
 should never have heard anything about you." 
 
 " I went to the house once, some weeks after 
 you had gone," said John, " but the man in 
 charge was out, and the maid could tell me noth 
 ing." 
 
 " A note I wrote you at the time of your fa 
 ther s death," she said, " we found in my small 
 nephew s overcoat pocket after we had been some 
 time in California; but I wrote a second one 
 before we left New York, telling you of 
 
DAVID HARUM. 377 
 
 our intended departure, and where we were 
 going." 
 
 " I never received it," he said. Neither spoke 
 for a while, and then: 
 
 " Tell me of your sister and brother-in-law," 
 he said. 
 
 " My sister is at present living in Cambridge, 
 where Jack is at college," was the reply; " but 
 poor Julius died two years ago." 
 
 " Ah," said John, " I am grieved to hear of 
 Mr. Carling s death. I liked him very much." 
 
 " He liked you very much," she said, " and 
 often spoke of you." 
 
 There was another period of silence, so long, 
 indeed, as to be somewhat embarrassing. None 
 of the thoughts which followed each other in 
 John s mind was of the sort which he felt like 
 broaching. He realized that the situation was 
 getting awkward, and that consciousness added 
 to the confusion of his ideas. But if his compan 
 ion shared his embarrassment, neither her face 
 nor her manner betrayed it as at last she said, 
 turning, and looking frankly at him: 
 
 " You seem very little changed. Tell me 
 about yourself. Tell me something of your life 
 in the last six years." 
 
 During the rest of the voyage they were to 
 gether for a part of every day, sometimes with 
 the company of Mrs. William Ruggles, but more 
 often without it, as her husband claimed much of 
 her attention and rarely came on deck; and John, 
 from time to time, gave his companion pretty 
 much the whole history of his later career. But 
 with regard to her own life, and, as he noticed, 
 especially the two years since the death of her 
 brother-in-law, she was distinctly reticent. She 
 25 
 
378 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 never spoke of her marriage or her husband, 
 and after one or two faintly tentative allusions, 
 John forebore to touch upon those subjects, and 
 was driven to conclude that her experience had 
 not been a happy one. Indeed, in their inter 
 course there were times when she appeared dis 
 trait and even moody; but on the whole she 
 seemed to him to be just as he had known and 
 loved her years ago; and all the feeling that he 
 had had for her then broke forth afresh in spite of 
 himself in spite of the fact that, as he told him 
 self, it was more hopeless than ever: absolutely 
 so, indeed. 
 
 It was the last night of their voyage together. 
 The Ruggleses were to leave the ship the next 
 morning at Algiers, where they intended to re 
 main for some time. 
 
 " Would you mind going to the after-deck? " 
 he asked. " These people walking about fidget 
 me," he added rather irritably. 
 
 She rose, and they made their way aft. John 
 drew a couple of chairs near to the rail. " I 
 don t care to sit down for the present/ she said, 
 and they stood looking out at sea for a while in 
 silence. 
 
 " Do you remember," said John at last, " a 
 night six years ago when we stood together, at 
 the end of the voyage, leaning over the rail like 
 this?" 
 
 " Yes," she said. 
 
 " Does this remind you of it?" he asked. 
 
 " I was thinking of it," she said. 
 
 " Do you remember the last night I was at 
 your house? " he asked, looking straight out over 
 the moonlit water. 
 
 " Yes," she said again. 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 379 
 
 " Did you know that night what was in my 
 heart to say to you?" 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 "May I tell you now?" he asked, giving a 
 side glance at her profile, which in the moonlight 
 showed very white. 
 
 " Do you think you ought? " she answered in 
 a low voice, " or that I ought to listen to you? " 
 
 " I know," he exclaimed. " You think that 
 as a married woman you should not listen, and 
 that knowing you to be one I should not speak. 
 If it were to ask anything of you I would not. 
 It is for the first and last time. To-morrow we 
 part again, and for all time, I suppose. I have 
 carried the words that were on my lips that night 
 all these years in my heart. I know I can have 
 no response I expect none; but it can not harm 
 you if I tell you that I loved you then, and 
 have " 
 
 She put up her hand in protest. 
 
 " You must not go on, Mr. Lenox," she said, 
 turning to him, " and I must leave you." 
 
 "Are you very angry with me?" he asked 
 humbly. 
 
 She turned her face to the sea again and gave 
 a sad little laugh. 
 
 " Not so much as I ought to be," she an 
 swered; " but you yourself have given the reason 
 why you should not say such things, and why I 
 should not listen, and why I ought to say good 
 night." 
 
 "Ah, yes," he said bitterly; "of course you 
 are right, and this is to be the end." 
 
 She turned and looked at him for a moment. 
 11 You will never again speak to me as you have 
 to-night, will you?" she asked. 
 
380 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 " I should not have said what I did had I not 
 thought I should never see you again after to 
 morrow," said John, " and I am not likely to do 
 that, ami?" 
 
 " If I could be sure," she said hesitatingly, 
 and as if to herself. 
 
 " Well," said John eagerly. She stood with 
 her eyes downcast for a moment, one hand rest 
 ing on the rail, and then she looked up. 
 
 " We expect to stay in Algiers about two 
 months," she said, " and then we are going to 
 Naples to visit some friends for a few days, about 
 the time you told me you thought you might be 
 there. Perhaps it would be better if we said 
 good-bye to-night ; but if after we get home 
 you are to spend your days in Homeville and I 
 mine in New York, we shall not be likely to meet, 
 and, except on this side of the ocean, we may, as 
 you say, never see each other again. So, if you 
 wish, you may come to see me in Naples if you 
 happen to be there when we are. I am sure after 
 to-night that I may trust you, may I not? But," 
 she added, " perhaps you would not care. I am 
 treating you very frankly; but from your stand 
 point you would expect or excuse more frankness 
 than if I were a young girl." 
 
 " I care very much," he declared, " and it will 
 be a happiness to me to see you on any footing, 
 and you may trust me never to break bounds 
 again." She made a motion as if to depart. 
 
 " Don t go just yet," he said pleadingly; 
 " there is now no reason why you should for a 
 while, is there? Let us sit here in this gorgeous 
 night a little longer, and let me smoke a cigar." 
 
 At the moment he was undergoing a revul 
 sion of feeling. His state of mind was like that 
 
DAVID HARUM. 381 
 
 of an improvident debtor who, while knowing 
 that the note must be paid some time, does not 
 quite realize it for a while after an extension. 
 At last the cigar was finished. There had been 
 but little said between them. 
 
 " I really must go," she said, and he walked 
 with her across the hanging bridge and down 
 the deck to the gangway door. 
 
 " Where shall I address you to let you know 
 when we shall be in Naples?" she asked as they 
 were about to separate. 
 
 " Care of Cook and Son," he said. " You 
 will find the address in Baedeker." 
 
 He saw her the next morning long enough 
 for a touch of the hand and a good-bye before 
 the bobbing, tubby little boat with its Arab crew 
 took the Ruggleses on board. 
 
CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 How John Lenox tried to kill time during 
 the following two months, and how time retali 
 ated during the process, it is needless to set forth. 
 It may not, however, be wholly irrelevant to note 
 that his cough had gradually disappeared, and 
 that his appetite had become good enough to 
 carry him through the average table d hote din 
 ner. On the morning after his arrival at Na 
 ples he found a cable dispatch at the office of 
 Cook and Son, as follows : " Sixty cash, forty 
 stock. Stock good. Harum." 
 
 "God bless the dear old boy!" said John 
 fervently. The Pennsylvania property was sold 
 at last; and if "stock good" was true, the dis 
 patch informed him that he was, if not a rich 
 man for modern days, still, as David would have 
 put it, " wuth consid able." No man, I take it, 
 is very likely to receive such a piece of news 
 without satisfaction; but if our friend s first sen 
 sation was one of gratification, the thought which 
 followed had a drop of bitterness in it. <k If I 
 could only have had it before! " he said to him 
 self; and indeed many of the disappointments of 
 life, if not the greater part, come because events 
 are unpunctual. They have a way of arriving 
 sometimes too early, or worse, too late. 
 
 Another circumstance detracted from his sat- 
 382 
 
DAVID HARUM. 383 
 
 isfaction: a note he expected did not appear 
 among the other communications waiting him at 
 the bankers, and his mind was occupied for the 
 while with various conjectures as to the reason, 
 none of which was satisfactory. Perhaps she had 
 changed her mind. Perhaps a score of things! 
 Well, there was nothing for it but to be as patient 
 as possible and await events. He remembered 
 that she had said she was to visit some friends 
 by the name of Hartleigh, and she had told 
 him the name of their villa, but for the moment 
 he did not remember it. In any case he did not 
 know the Hartleighs, and if she had changed her 
 mind as was possibly indicated by the omission 
 
 to send him word well ! He shrugged his 
 
 shoulders, mechanically lighted a cigarette, and 
 strolled down and out of the Piazza Martiri and 
 across to the Largo della Vittoria. He had a half- 
 formed idea of walking back through the Villa 
 Nazionale, spending an hour at the Aquarium, 
 and then to his hotel for luncheon. It occurred 
 to him at the moment that there was a steamer 
 from Genoa on the Monday following, that he 
 was tired of wandering about aimlessly and alone, 
 and that there was really no reason why he 
 should not take the said steamer and go home. 
 Occupied with these reflections, he absently ob 
 served, just opposite to him across the way, a 
 pair of large bay horses in front of a handsome 
 landau. A coachman in livery was on the box, 
 and a small footman, very much coated and silk- 
 hatted, was standing about; and, as he looked, 
 two ladies came out of the arched entrance to 
 the court of the building before which the equi 
 page was halted, and the small footman sprang 
 to the carriage door. 
 
384 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 One of the ladies was a stranger to him, but 
 the other was Mrs. William Ruggles; and John, 
 seeing that he had been recognized, at once 
 crossed over to the carriage; and presently, hav 
 ing accepted an invitation to breakfast, found 
 himself sitting opposite them on his way to the 
 Villa Violante. The conversation during the 
 drive up to the Vomero need not be detailed. 
 Mrs. Hartleigh arrived at the opinion that our 
 friend was rather a dull person. Mrs. Ruggles, 
 as he had found out, was usually rather taciturn. 
 Neither is it necessary to say very much of the 
 breakfast, nor of the people assembled. 
 
 It appeared that several guests had departed 
 the previous day, and the people at table con 
 sisted only of Mr. and Mrs. Ruggles, Mary, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Hartleigh and their two daughters, and 
 John, whose conversation was mostly with his 
 host, and was rather desultory. In fact, there was 
 during the meal a perceptible air of something 
 like disquietude. Mr. Ruggles in particular said 
 almost nothing, and wore an appearance of what 
 seemed like anxiety. Once he turned to his host: 
 " When ought I to get an answer to that cable, 
 Hartleigh? to-day, do you think?" 
 
 " Yes, I should say so without doubt," was 
 the reply, " if it s answered promptly, and in fact 
 there s plenty of time. Remember that we are 
 about six hours earlier than New York by the 
 clock, and it s only about seven in the morning 
 over there." 
 
 Coffee was served on the balustraded platform 
 of the flight of marble steps leading down to the 
 grounds below. 
 
 " Mary," said Mrs. Hartleigh, when cigarettes 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 385 
 
 had been offered, " don t you want to show Mr. 
 Lenox something of La Violante?" 
 
 " I shall take you to my favorite place," she 
 said, as they descended the steps together. 
 
 The southern front of the grounds of the Villa 
 Violante is bounded and upheld by a wall of tufa 
 fifty feet in height and some four hundred feet 
 long. About midway of its length a semicircu 
 lar bench of marble, with a rail, is built out over 
 one of the buttresses. From this point is visible 
 the whole bay and harbor of Naples, and about 
 one third of the city lies in sight, five hundred 
 feet below. To the left one sees Vesuvius and 
 the Sant Angelo chain, which the eye follows to 
 Sorrento. Straight out in front stands Capri, and 
 to the right the curve of the bay, ending at Po- 
 silipo. The two, John and his companion, halted 
 near the bench, and leaned upon the parapet of 
 the wall for a while in silence. From the streets 
 below rose no rumble of traffic, no sound of 
 hoof or wheel; but up through three thousand 
 feet of distance came from here and there the 
 voices of street-venders, the clang of a bell, and 
 ever and anon the pathetic supplication of a don 
 key. Absolute quiet prevailed where they stood, 
 save for these upcoming sounds. The April sun, 
 deliciously warm, drew a smoky odor from the 
 hedge of box with which the parapet walk was 
 bordered, in and out of which darted small green 
 lizards with the quickness of little fishes. 
 
 John drew a long breath. 
 
 " I don t believe there is another such view in 
 the world," he said. " I do not wonder that this 
 is your favorite spot." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " you should see the grounds 
 the whole place is superb but this is the glory 
 
386 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 of it all, and I have brought you straight here 
 because I wanted to see it with you, and this may 
 be the only opportunity." 
 
 "What do you mean?" he asked apprehen 
 sively. 
 
 " You heard Mr. Ruggles s question about 
 the cable dispatch?" she said. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well," she said, " our plans have been very 
 much upset by some things he has heard from 
 home. We came on from Algiers ten days ear 
 lier than we had intended, and if the reply to Mr. 
 Ruggles s cable is unfavorable, we are likely to 
 depart for Genoa to-morrow and take the steamer 
 for home- on Monday. The reason why I did not 
 send a note to your bankers," she added, " was 
 that we came on the same boat that I intended 
 to write by; and Mr. Hartleigh s man has in 
 quired for you every day at Cook s so that Mr. 
 Hartleigh might know of your coming and call 
 upon you." 
 
 John gave a little exclamation of dismay. 
 Her face was very still as she gazed out over the 
 sea with half-closed eyes. He caught the scent 
 of the violets in the bosom of her white dress. 
 
 " Let us sit down," she said at last. " I have 
 something I wish to say to you." 
 
 He made no rejoinder as they seated them 
 selves, and during the moment or two of silence 
 in which she seemed to be meditating how to 
 begin, he sat bending forward, holding his stick 
 with both hands between his knees, absently 
 prodding holes in the gravel. 
 
 " I think," she began, " that if I did not be 
 lieve the chances were for our going to-morrow, 
 I would not say it to-day." John bit his lip and 
 
DAVID HARUM. 
 
 387 
 
 gave the gravel a more vigorous punch. " But I 
 have felt that I must say it to you some time be 
 fore we saw the last of each other, whenever that 
 time should be." 
 
 " Is it anything about what happened on 
 board ship?" he asked in a low voice. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " it concerns all that took 
 place on board ship, or nearly all, and I have had 
 many misgivings about it. I am afraid that I 
 did wrong, and I am afraid, too, that in your 
 secret heart you would admit it." 
 
 " No, never! " he exclaimed. " If there was 
 any wrong done, it was wholly of my own doing. 
 I was alone to blame. I ought to have remem 
 bered that you were married, and perhaps yes, 
 I did remember it in a way, but I could not re 
 alize it. I had never seen or heard of your 
 husband, or heard of your marriage. He was 
 a perfectly unreal person to me, and you you 
 seemed only the Mary Blake that I had known, 
 and as I had known you. I said what I did that 
 night upon an impulse which was as unpre 
 meditated as it was sudden. I don t see how you 
 were wrong. You couldn t have foreseen what 
 took place and 
 
 " Have you not been sorry for what took 
 place?" she asked, with her eyes on the ground. 
 " Have you not thought the less of me since?" 
 
 He turned and looked at her. There was a 
 little smile upon her lips and on her downcast 
 eyes. 
 
 " No, by Heaven! " he exclaimed desperately, 
 " I have not, and I am not sorry. Whether I 
 ought to have said what I did or not, it was true, 
 and I wanted you to know 
 
 He broke off as she turned to him with a 
 
388 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 smile and a blush. The smile was almost a 
 laugh. 
 
 " But, John," she said, " I am not Mrs. Ed 
 ward Ruggles. I am Mary Blake." 
 
 The parapet was fifty feet above the terrace. 
 The hedge of box was an impervious screen. 
 
 Well, and then, after a little of that sort of 
 thing, they both began hurriedly to admire the 
 view again, for some one was coming. But it 
 was only one of the gardeners, who did not un 
 derstand English; and confidence being once 
 more restored, they fell to discussing every 
 thing. 
 
 " Do you think you could live in Homeville, 
 dear? " asked John after a while. 
 
 " I suppose I shall have to, shall I not? " said 
 Mary. " And are you, too, really happy, John? " 
 
 John instantly proved to her that he was. 
 " But it almost makes me unhappy," he added, 
 " to think how nearly we have missed each other. 
 If I had only known in the beginning that you 
 were not Mrs. Edward Ruggles!" 
 
 Mary laughed joyously. The mistake which 
 a moment before had seemed almost tragic now 
 appeared delightfully funny. 
 
 " The explanation is painfully simple," she 
 answered. " Mrs. Edward Ruggles the real 
 one did expect to come on the Vaterland, 
 whereas I did not. But the day before the 
 steamer sailed she was summoned to Andover 
 by the serious illness of her only son, who is at 
 school there. I took her ticket, got ready over 
 night I like to start on these unpremeditated 
 journeys and here I am." John put his arm 
 
DAVID HARUM. 389 
 
 about her to make sure of this, and kept it there 
 lest he should forget. " When we met on the 
 steamer and I saw the error you had made I was 
 tempted and yielded to let you go on uncor- 
 rected. But," she added, looking lovingly up 
 into John s eyes, " I m glad you found out your 
 mistake at last." 
 
CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT later Mr. Harum sat at his desk 
 in the office of Harum & Co. There were a 
 number of letters for him, but the one he opened 
 first bore a foreign stamp, and was postmarked 
 " Napoli." That he was deeply interested in the 
 contents of this epistle was manifest from the be 
 ginning, not only from the expression of his face, 
 but from the frequent " wa al, wa als " which were 
 elicited as he went on; but interest grew into 
 excitement as he neared the close, and culmi 
 nated as he read the last few lines. 
 
 "Scat my CATS!" he cried, and, grabbing his 
 hat and the letter, he bolted out of the back door 
 in the direction of the house, leaving the rest of 
 his correspondence to be digested any time. 
 390 
 
EPILOGUE. 
 
 I MIGHT, in conclusion, tell how John s fur 
 ther life in Homeville was of comparatively short 
 duration; how David died of injuries received in 
 a runaway accident; how John found himself the 
 sole executor of his late partner s estate, and, save 
 for a life provision for Mrs. Bixbee, the only 
 legatee, and rich enough (if indeed with his own 
 and his wife s money he had not been so before) 
 to live wherever he pleased. But as heretofore 
 I have confined myself strictly to facts, I am, to 
 be consistent, constrained to abide by them now. 
 Indeed, I am too conscientious to do otherwise, 
 notwithstanding the temptation to make what 
 might be a more artistic ending to my story. 
 David is not only living, but appears almost no 
 older than when we first knew him, and is still 
 just as likely to " git goin " on occasion. Even 
 " old Jinny " is still with us, though her mas 
 ter does most of his " joggin round " behind 
 a younger horse. Whatever Mr. Harum s tes 
 tamentary intentions may be, or even whether 
 he has made a will or not, nobody knows but 
 himself and his attorney. Aunt Polly well, 
 there is a little more of her than when we first 
 made her acquaintance, say twenty pounds. 
 
 John and his wife live in a house which they 
 built on the shore of the lake. It is a settled 
 
 391 
 
392 
 
 DAVID HARUM. 
 
 thing that David and his sister dine with them 
 every Sunday. Mrs. Bixbee at first looked a lit 
 tle askance at the wine on the table, but she does 
 not object to it now. Being a " son o temp - 
 rence," she has never been induced to taste any 
 champagne, but on one occasion she was per 
 suaded to take the smallest sip of claret. 
 " Wa al," she remarked with a wry face, " I guess 
 the can t be much sin or danger n drinkin any- 
 thin t tastes the way that does." 
 
 She and. Mrs. Lenox took to each other from 
 the first, and the latter has quite supplanted (and 
 more) Miss Claricy (Mrs. Elton) with David. In 
 fact, he said to our friend one day during the 
 first year of the marriage, " Say, John, I ain t 
 sure but what we ll have to hitch that wife o 
 your n on the off side." 
 
 I had nearly forgotten one person whose con 
 versation has yet to be recorded in print, but 
 which is considered very interesting by at least 
 four people. His name is David Lenox. 
 
 I think that s all. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 The Deemster is a story of unusual power. . . . Certain passages and 
 chapters have an intensely dramatic grasp, and hold the fascinated reader 
 with a force rarely excited nowadays in literature." The Critic. 
 
 THE BONDMAN. $1.50. 
 
 J- (New copyright edition, revised by the author.) 
 
 "A story of Iceland and Icelanders at an early era. Our author throws 
 a charm about the homes and people he describes which will win the interest 
 and care of every reader. Their simple lives, and legends which shaped 
 and directed them, take the reader clear away from the sensational and fever 
 ish and unhealthy romance and give the mind a rest." Chicago Inter-Ocean. 
 
 ^THE SCAPEGOAT. $1.50. 
 
 J- (New copyright edition, revised by the author.) 
 
 DAVY S HONEYMOON. $1.00. 
 
 isant to meet the author of The Deemster 
 ttle story like this. ... It shows the same o 
 and much of the same artistic skill." Philade 
 
 LITTLE MANX NATION. $1.00. 
 
 ^ "It is pleasant to meet the author of The Deemster in a brightly 
 
 humorous little story like this. ... It shows the same observation of 
 
 Manx character, and much of the same artistic skill." Philadelphia Times. 
 
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D. APPLETON AND COMPANY S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NOVELS BY MAARTEN MAARTENS. 
 
 Each, izmo, cloth, $1.50. 
 LJER MEMOR Y. With Photogravure Portrait. 
 
 * After Maarten Maartens s long silence this new example of his fine 
 
 literary art will be received with peculiar interest. He offers in this book a 
 singularly delicate and sympathetic study of character. 
 
 " Maarten Maartens took us all by storm some time ago with his fine 
 story christened God s Fool. He established himself at once in our affec 
 tions as a unique creature who had something to say and knew how to say 
 it in the most fascinating way. He is a serious story writer, who sprang 
 into prominence when he first put his pen to paper, and who has ever since 
 kept his work up to the standard of excellence which he raised in the be 
 ginning." New York Herald. 
 
 "THE GREATER GLORY. A Story of High Life. 
 
 " Until the Appletons discovered the merits of Maarten Maartens, 
 the foremost of Dutch novelists, it is doubtful if many American readers 
 knew that there were Dutch novelists. His God s Fool and Joost Ave- 
 lingh made for him an American reputation. To our mind this work is 
 his best. . . . He is a master of epigram, an artist in description, a prophet 
 in insight." Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " It would take several columns to give any adequate idea of the superb 
 way in which the Dutch novelist has developed his theme and wrought 
 out one of the most impressive stories of the period. ... It belongs to the 
 small class of novels which one can not afford to neglect." San Francisco 
 Chronicle. 
 
 r^OD S FOOL. 
 
 ^^ "Throughout there is an epigrammatic force which would make 
 palatable a less interesting story of human lives or one less deftly told." 
 London Saturday Review. 
 
 "A remarkable work." New York Times. 
 
 "Maarten Maartens has secured a firm footing in the eddies of current 
 literature. . . . Pathos deepens into tragedy in the thrilling story of God s 
 Fool. "Philadelphia Ledger. 
 
 " Its preface alone stamps the author as one of the leading English 
 novelists of to-day." Boston Daily A dvertiser. 
 
 "A story of remarkable interest and point" New York Observer. 
 
 TOOST AVELINGH. 
 
 "Aside from the masterly handling of the principal characters and 
 general interest in the story, the series of pictures of Dutch life give the 
 book a charm peculiarly its ovfn."New York Herald. 
 
 " Can be heartily recommended, both from a moral and artistic stand 
 point." New York Mail and Express. 
 
 " So unmistakably good as to induce the hope that an acquaintance 
 with the Dutch literature of fiction may soon become more general among 
 us." London Morning Post. 
 
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 " Mr. Crockett s book is distinctly one of the books of the year. Five 
 months of 1898 have passed without bringing to the reviewers desk any 
 thing to be compared with it in beauty of description, convincing charac 
 terization, absorbing plot and humorous appeal. The freshness and sweet 
 sincerity of the tale are most invigorating, and that the book will be very 
 much read there is no possible doubt." Boston Budget. 
 
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 memory of it a stimulus and a joy." New York Evangelist. 
 
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 ism of personal experience. However modified and disguised, it is hardly 
 possible to think that the writer s personality does not present itself in Saun- 
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 in the cases of Nance and the Hempie ; never more typical Scotsman of 
 the humble sort than the farmer Peter Chrystie." London Athenautn. 
 
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 ress and Adventures. Illustrated. 
 
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 some, sunshiny kind, with a pure-minded, sound-hearted hero, and a hero 
 ine who is merely a good and beautiful woman; and if any other love story 
 half so sweet has been written this year it has escaped our notice." Neu> 
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 ing that he is master of the subject." Chicago Journal. 
 
 * One of the most delightful books of short stories which have come to 
 our notice in a long time." Boston Times. 
 
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 Western stories. Wayside courtships they are, but full of tender feeling 
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 sorbing interest by hundreds of workingmen." Boston Herald. 
 
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 ** of Political Warfare. 
 
 " The work is, in brief, a keen and searching study of lobbies and lobby 
 ists. At least, it is the lobbies that furnish its motive. For the rest, the 
 Story is narrated with much power, and the characters of Brennan the smart 
 wire-puller, the millionaire Davis, the reformer Tuttle, and Evelyn Ward are 
 skillfully individualized. . . . Mr. Garland s people have this peculiar char 
 acteristic, that they have not had a literary world made for them to live in. 
 They seem to move and act in the cold gray light of reality, and in that try 
 ing light they are evidently human." Chicago Record. 
 
 A SPOIL OF OFFICE. A Story of the Modern 
 " West. 
 
 " It awakens in the mind a tremendous admiration for an artist who 
 could so find his way through the mists of familiarity to an artistic haven. 
 ... In reading A Spoil of Office one feels a continuation of interest ex 
 tending from the fictional into the actual, with no break or divergence. And 
 it seems to he only a question of waiting a day or two ere one will run up 
 against the characters in real life." 
 
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 ^* Boards, 50 cents. 
 
 "True feeling, the modesty of Nature, and the sure touch of art are the 
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 author s laurels." Chicago Tribune. 
 
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 enthralling in its vivid human interest." London Academy. 
 
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 *J^HE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. Being the 
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 in the Virginia Regiment, and afterwards of Amherst s 
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 "Another historical romance of the vividness and intensity of The 
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 wanes; one finds it difficult to interrupt the narrative with breathing space. 
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 good that we do not stop to think of its literature, and the personality of 
 Doltaire is a masterpiece of creative art." New York Mail and Express. 
 
 TRAIL OF THE SWORD. A Novel. 
 
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 " Mr. Parker here adds to a reputation already wide, and anew demon 
 strates his power of pictorial portrayal and of strong dramatic situation and 
 climax." Philadelphia Bitlletin. 
 
 "The tale holds the reader s interest from first to last, for it is full of fire 
 and spirit, abounding in incident, and marked by good character draw 
 ing." Pittsburg Times. 
 
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 TRESPASSER. $1.25. 
 
 " Interest, pith, force, and charm Mr. Parker s new story possesses 
 all these qualities. . . . Almost bare of synthetical decoration , his para 
 graphs are, stirring because they are real. We read at times as we have 
 read the great masters of romance breathlessly." The Critic. 
 
 " Gilbert Parker writes a strong novel, but thus far this is his master 
 piece. . . . It is one of the great novels of the year." Boston Advertiser. 
 
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 has been matter of certainty and assurance." The Nation. 
 
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 n^IIE SEVEN SEAS. A volume of poems by 
 -*- RUDYARD KIPLING, author of " Many Inventions," 
 
 "Barrack-Room Ballads," etc. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50; 
 
 half calf, $3.00 ; morocco, $5.00. 
 
 " The spirit and method of Kipling s fresh and virile song have taken 
 the English reading world. . . . When we turn to the larger portion of 
 The Seven Seas," how imaginative it is, how impassioned, how superbly 
 rhythmic and sonorous! . . . The ring and diction of this verse add new 
 elements to our song. . . . The true laureate of Greater Britain." E. 
 C. Stedman, in the Book Buyer. 
 
 " The most original poet who has appeared in his generation. . . . His 
 is the lustiest voice now lifted in the world, the clearest, the bravest, with 
 the fewest false notes in it. ... I do not see why, in reading his book, we 
 should not put ourselves in the presence of a great poet again, and consent 
 to put off our mourning for the high ones lately dead." W. D. Hoiuelis. 
 
 " The Seven Seas is the most remarkable book of verse that Mr. 
 Kipling has given us Here the human sympathy is broader and deeper, 
 the patriotism heartier and fuller, the intellectual and spiritual insight 
 keener, the command of the literary vehicle more complete and sure, than 
 in any previous verse work by the author. The volume pulses with power 
 power often rough and reckless in expression, but invariably conveying the 
 effect intended. There is scarcely a line which does not testify to the 
 strong individuality of the writer." London Globe. 
 
 " Mr. Kipling s The Seven Seas is a distinct advance upon his char 
 acteristic lines. The surpassing strength, the almost violent originality, 
 the glorious swish and swing of his lines all are there in increased meas 
 ure. . . . The book is a marvel of originality and genius a brand-new 
 landmark in the history of English letters." Chicago Tribune. 
 
 M 
 
 ANY INVENTIONS. By RUDYARD KIPLING. 
 Containing Fourteen Stories and Two Poems. i2mo, 427 
 pages. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " Many Inventions will confirm Mr. Kipling s reputation. . . . We 
 would cite with pleasure sentences from almost every page, and extract 
 incidents from almost every story. But to what end ? Here is the com- 
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 weightiest and most humane in breadth of view." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Kipling s powers as a story-teller are evidently not diminishing. 
 We advise everybody to buy Many Inventions, and to profit hy some of 
 the best entertainment that modern fiction has to offer." New York Sun. 
 
 " Many Inventions will be welcomed wherever the English language 
 is spoken. . . . Every one of the stories bears the imprint of a master who 
 conjures up incident as if by magic, and who portrays character, scenery, 
 and feeling with an ease which is only exceeded by the boldness of force. * 
 Boston Globe. 
 
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 MAR 24 193C 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY