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Once in a long while Banker McElwin made it a policy to gather up a number of his boastful relations, reinforced by a number of friends, and then conduct the party to the house of another kinsman, where he would give them an evening of delight. He did not give notice of these gracious recognitions, preferring to make the event sweeter with surprise. On his part it was a generous forgetfulness of self-importance—it was as if a placid and beneficent moon had come to beam upon a cluster of stars. To the men he would quote stocks, as if, a lover of letters, he were giving a poem to a "mite society." Upon the ladies he would smile and throw off vague hints of future silks and fineries.
One evening this coterie gathered at the home of Jasper Staggs. Old Jasper, in his earlier days, had been a town marshal, and it was his boast that he had arrested Steve Day, the desperado who had choked the sheriff and defied the law. This great feat was remembered by the public, and old Jasper nursed it as a social pension. But it did not bring in revenue sufficient to sustain life, so he made a pretense of collecting difficult accounts while his wife and "old maid" daughter did needlework and attended to the few wants of one boarder, Sam Lyman. The "banker's society" recognized the Staggs family in the evening of the day which followed Sam Lyman's call at the First National, and was in excitable progress while Lyman, in ignorance of it all, prolonged his talk with Warren. In the family sitting room the banker talked of the possibility of a panic in Wall Street. In the parlor the younger relatives were playing games, with Annie Staggs, the old maid, as director of ceremonies. After a time they hit upon the game of forfeits. Miss Eva McElwin, the great man's daughter, fell under penalty, and the sentence was that she should go through the ceremony of marriage with the first man who came through the door. At that moment Sam Lyman entered the room. He was greeted with shouts and clapping of hands, and he drew back in dismay, but Miss Annie ran to him and led him forward. Eva McElwin, with a pout, turned to some one and said:
"What, with that thing?"
"Oh, you've got to," was shouted. "Yes, you have."
"Well, what is expected of me?" Lyman asked.
"Why," Miss Annie cried, "you've got to marry a young lady, the belle of Old Ebenezer."
He had often gazed at the girl, in church, had been struck by her beauty, but had shared the belief of the envious—that she was a charming "simpleton."
"Well, don't you think you'd better introduce us?"
"Oh, no, it will be all the funnier."
"Marry, and get acquainted afterwards, eh? Well, I guess that is the rule in society. I beg your pardon," he added, speaking to Miss McElwin, "for not appearing in a more appropriate garb, but as there seems to be some hurry in the matter, I haven't the time nor the clothes to meet a more fashionable demand. I am at your service."
He offered his arm and the girl took it with a laugh, but with more of scorn than of good humor.
"Take your places here," Miss Annie said. And then she cried: "Oh, where is Henry Bostic? We'll have him perform the ceremony. He'll make it so deliriously solemn." She ran away and soon returned, with a young man serious enough to have divided the pulpit with any circuit rider in the country.
The ceremony was performed, and then began the congratulations. "Oh, please quit," Miss McElwin pleaded. "I'm tired of it. Zeb," she said, turning to a bold looking young man, "tell them to quit."
"Here," he commanded, "we've got enough of this, so let's start on something else. Let's play old Sister Phoebe. Why the deuce won't they let us dance?"
"Henry," said Miss Annie, stepping out upon the veranda with the serious young man, "they always called you queer, but I must say that you know how to perform a marriage ceremony."
"I trust so," he answered.
"You do; and when you are ordained——"
"I was ordained this morning."
"What!" she cried. "Then the marriage came near being actual. It only required the license."
"The last legislature repealed the marriage license law," he replied.
"Mercy on me!" she cried.
"Mercy on them," said the young man who had been regarded as queer.
She took hold of a post to steady herself. She heard the deep voice of the banker; the droning tone of "Old Sister Phoebe" came from the parlor.
"Don't tremble so. It can't be helped now," said the young man. "It's nothing to cry about. How did I know? You said you wanted me to perform a marriage ceremony, and I did. How did I know it was in fun? You didn't say so. The father and mother were in the other room. They could have come in and objected. How did I know but that they had given their consent, and stayed in the other room for sentimental reasons? I am not supposed to know everything."
"Oh, but who will tell Cousin McElwin?" she sobbed. "And who will tell Zeb Sawyer? Oh, it's awful, and it's all your fault, and you know it. You are crazy, that's what you are."
"Well, you can exercise your own opinion about that. You people have all along said that I would never do anything, but if I haven't done something tonight to stir up the town——"
"Oh, you malicious thing. I don't know what to do! Oh, I don't know what is to become of me!"
"It's all very well to cry, for marriages are often attended by tears, but you should not call me malicious. Mr. McElwin laughed when my mother told him I was going to preach, and it almost broke her heart."
"Revengeful creature," she sobbed, clinging to the post.
"No, the Gospel is not revengeful, but it humbles pride, for that is a service done the Lord. Step in there and see if Mr. McElwin has anything to laugh about now. He laughed at my poor mother when he knew that all her earthly hope was centered in me. Well, I'll bid you good night."
"Oh, no," she cried, seizing him. "You shall not leave me to face it all. You shall not."
"No, that wouldn't be right. I'll face it."
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Lyman found favor with the company, that is, with the exception of Eva McElwin, whose position demanded a certain reserve. He had sought to engage her in conversation, and she had listened as if struck with the tone of his voice, but she turned suddenly away, remembering, doubtless, that she was present as an act of condescension, and that for the time being she was the social property not of any stranger, but of her "poor kin." Lyman looked after her with a smile and a merry twinkle of mischief in his eye. He had heard it said that her complexion was of a sort that would never freckle, and he was amused at his having remembered a remark so trivial. He had looked into her eyes, had plunged into them, he fancied, for she had merely glanced up at him: and he thought of the illumined-blue that mingles in the rainbow, and he mused that he had never seen a head so fine, so gracefully poised. And then he speculated upon the petulant waste of her life. Almost divine could have been her mission; what a balm in a house of sickness and distress. He thought of the pale man whom he had seen lying near the window; he fancied himself thus doomed to lie and waste slowly away, and he pictured the delight it would be to see her enter the room, like an angel sent to soothe him with her smile. She turned toward him to listen to a worshiping cousin, and Lyman saw her lips bud into a pout, and it was almost a grief to see her so spoiled and so shallow.
"Well, I see you are getting acquainted right along," said Zeb Sawyer, speaking to Lyman. "A man doesn't have to live here long before he knows everybody. But I'm kept so busy that I haven't much time for society."
"What business are you in?" Lyman asked.
"Mules; nothing but mules. Oh, well, occasionally I handle a horse or so, but I make a specialty of buying and selling mules. Good deal of money in it, I tell you. McElwin used to do something in that line himself. Yes, sir, and he paid me a mighty high compliment the other day—he said I was about as good a judge of mules as he ever saw, and that, coming from a man as careful as he is, was mighty high praise, I tell you. Helloa, what's up?"
From the family sitting room had come a roar and a noise like the upsetting of chairs. And into the parlor rushed McElwin, followed by his wife, Staggs, Mrs. Staggs, and the white and terrified Miss Annie.
"A most damnable outrage!" McElwin shouted, making straight for Lyman. "I mean you, sir," he cried, shaking his fist at Lyman. "You, sir. You try to bunco me and now you conspire with an imbecile to humble me into the dust. I mean you, sir. You have married my daughter. That fool is an ordained preacher, and your sockless legislature did away with marriage licenses."
Lyman looked about and saw Miss Eva faint in her mother's arms; he saw terror in the faces about him, and his cheek felt the hot breath of Sawyer's rage. He stepped back, for the banker's hand was at his throat.
"Pardon me," he said, with a quietness that struck the company with a becalming awe. "Pardon me, but I did not know that there was any conspiracy. Is there a doctor present? If there's not, send for one to attend the young lady."
Some one ran out. McElwin stood boiling with fury. Sawyer thrust forth his hand. Lyman knocked it up. "I will not step back for you," he said. "I have committed no outrage and I am not here to be insulted and pounced upon. Mr. McElwin, you ought to have sense enough to look calmly upon this unfortunate joke." He turned, attracted by a wail from Mrs. McElwin. Again he addressed the banker, now not so furious as awkwardly embarrassed. "They were playing and the young lady was to go through the marriage ceremony with the first man to enter the room, a common farce hereabouts, as you know; and I was the first man to enter. Don't blame me for a playful custom, or the action of a populist legislature."
"That may be all true, sir, but how could you presume, even in fun, to stand up with her? How is she?" he demanded, turning toward a woman who had just come from a room whither they had taken the "bride."
"Oh, she is all right. She was more scared than hurt."
He gave her a look of contempt, as if he had been hit with a sarcasm; and then he addressed himself to Lyman. "I ask, sir, how you could presume to stand up with her?"
"Well, I was told that I had to."
"And you were willing enough, no doubt."
"I didn't hang back very much; they didn't have to tear my clothes."
"But I wish they had torn your flesh, as you have torn mine. Who ever knew of so disgraceful and ridiculous a situation? It beats anything I ever heard of."
"But it can be made all right," said old man Staggs. "Nobody's hurt."
"We can get a divorce," Zeb Sawyer suggested.
"Yes," said Lyman, "but our friends, the populists, have enacted rather peculiar divorce laws. And without some vital cause, the application must be signed by both parties. It's in the nature of a petition."
"Well, that can be arranged," McElwin declared, with a sigh. "Annie, is Eva better?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you. And you must pardon me for talking to you as I did just now, for I was never so upset in my life. Cousin Jasper, I wish you would have my carriage ordered. Annie, tell Mrs. McElwin that we will go home at once. Mr. Lyman, let me see you a moment in private."
Lyman followed him out upon the veranda. He had not analyzed his own feelings, but he was conscious of a strange victory.
"Mr. Lyman, you came to me and wanted to borrow a hundred dollars."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I can let you have it."
"No, I thank you."
"What, you don't want it?"
"Well, it wouldn't look exactly right for a rich man's son-in-law to borrow money so soon after marriage."
"Confound your impudence, sir—I beg your pardon."
"I thank you," said Lyman.
"You thank me? What for?"
"For begging my pardon."
"Come, that is all nonsense, Mr. Lyman. Tell my wife that I'll be ready in a moment," he shouted with his head thrust in at the door. "The most absurd of nonsense," he said, turning back to Lyman. "It will raise a horse laugh throughout the county, and will then be dismissed as a good joke on me. Yes, sir, on me. And now will you agree to conform to the requirements of that ridiculous legislature, and sign the petition to the court?"
"I haven't been informed that the legislature requires me to sign any petition. And I have no favors to ask of the court."
"Is it possible, Mr. Lyman, that you do not see the necessity of it?"
"And is it possible, Mr. McElwin, that you do not see the humor of it?"
"The absurdity, yes. But I see no fun in it. I am a dignified man, sir."
"Of course you tell me this in confidence—that you are a dignified man. All right—I won't say anything about it. But even dignity sometimes stands in need of advice. Go home and get a good night's sleep."
"Do you mean that you won't agree—"
"Not tonight."
"Mr. Lyman, I have heard that you are one of the kindest hearted of men."
"Oh, then you have heard of me? And I was not an entire stranger when I called at your bank? Yes, I suppose I have been what they were pleased to term a good fellow, and it strikes me that I have got the worst end of the bargain all along; so now, for once in my life, I am going to be mean. I will not sign your petition, Mr. McElwin."
"What, sir, do you mean it?"
"Yes, I mean it. I cannot afford to surrender a position so deliciously absurd."
"Then I will compel you, sir." He began to choke with anger.
"All right. I suppose you will invite me to be present."
"I will compel you to leave this town."
"What! After forming so strong an attachment?"
"You are not a gentleman, sir."
"No? Well, I have married into a pretty good family."
"I will not bandy words with you. But I will see you, and perhaps when you least expect it."
"Very well. Good night, and please remember that there is no humor in the law, that the statutes do not recognize a joke, and that, for the present at least, the young woman is my wife."
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At the breakfast table the next morning old man Staggs spread himself back with a loud laugh as Lyman entered the room. His wife looked at him with sharp reproof.
"Jasper, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," she said. "It is a sin to laugh at a trouble. Sit down, Mr. Lyman."
"Cousin Sam," said Lyman, and the old man roared again. "Well, sir," he declared, with the tears streaming out of his eyes, "I never saw anything like it in my life. It knocked him, knocked him prosperous, as old Moxey used to say. Best joke I ever heard of."
"Jasper, don't," his wife pleaded. "For my sake don't. I am afraid he'll never speak to us again."
"Well, what of that? Can we coin his words and pass them for money? And he has never given us anything but words. He has been promising Annie a silk dress since she was fourteen. Won't speak to us again. What do you want? More promises? I'm gettin' tired of 'em. Why, he has even flung ridicule on my arrest of that desperate man, the most dangerous fellow that ever trod shoe leather. And, as Mr. Lyman don't appear to be upset, I'm glad the thing happened."
"But nearly all the blame falls on me," Miss Annie whimpered. "I am afraid ever to meet him again."
"Oh, you are afraid he won't make you another promise. Well, that would be a terrible loss. Lyman, jest help yourself to that fried ham. Tilt up the dish, and dip out some of the gravy. Sorry we haven't got cakes and maple syrup; wish we had some angel's food. Rather a strange weddin' breakfast with the bride not present."
"Did—did Mrs. Lyman entirely recover before she was taken home?" Lyman asked.
Miss Annie looked up. "I think it was nearly all put on," she said.
"Why, Annie Milburn Staggs!" her mother exclaimed. "How can you say such a thing! I don't know what's come over you and your father. I'm getting so I'm afraid to hear you speak, you shock me so."
"That's right, Annie," said the old man. "Say exactly what you think. To tell the truth, I'm gettin' sorter tired of bein' trod under by the horse that McElwin rides. And if I was you, Lyman, I'd stand right up to him."
"That's about where you'll find me standing. I am sorry for the young woman, but—"
"Don't worry over her," Miss Annie spoke up. "I believe she's laughing alone right now over the absurdity of it. Why, anybody would, and she's no more than human."
"I suppose she denounced me," said Lyman.
"Yes, in a way. She had to keep time with her mother. But they are madder at Henry Bostic than at anyone else. And really, he's the only one that's guilty. But I don't blame him much. The McElwins have always made fun of him."
"What are you going to do, Lyman?" the old man asked.
"Nothing. I am satisfied."
"Don't say that, Mr. Lyman," the old woman pleaded. "Don't distress a proud family."
"Madam," Lyman replied, "I am ready to kneel and beg the pardon of a heart in distress, but senseless pride doesn't appeal to me. I can compare families with the McElwins when it comes to that, and putting my judgment aside, I can be as proud as they are. They have money, but that is all, and they would be but paupers compared with the really rich. There are no great names in their family, while from my family have sprung orators, novelists and poets."
"Good!" Miss Annie cried. "I like to look at you when you talk like that."
"I'll bet you ain't afraid of nobody," the old man declared. "I never saw an eye like yourn that was afraid, and a face, nuther. Oh, when it comes to looks, you are there all right. Well, sir," he added, "the town's stirred up. Old Ebenezer is all of a titter. Afraid to laugh out loud, but she's tickled all the same." The old man leaned back with a chuckle, and in his merriment he slowly clawed at the rim of gray whiskers that ran around under his chin. "I like to see a town tickled," he said.
"Never mind, Jasper," his wife spoke up, "your pride may be humbled one of these days."
"My pride," he laughed. "Why, bless you, I haven't any pride. Cousin McElwin knocked it all out of me when he said, and right to my face, that anybody could have arrested the man that choked the sheriff. I knowed then that something was going to happen to him. Knowed it as well as I knowed my name."
The old woman's hand shook and her cup rattled in the saucer as she put it down. "I hope the Lord will forgive you for bein' so revengeful," she said.
"Don't let that worry you, Tobitha," he replied, rubbing his rim of gray bristles. "The Lord takes care of his own, and I reckon your prayers have made me one of the elected."
"One of the elect, father," said Miss Annie.
"All the same," the old man replied. "Why, just look," he added, glancing through the window—"Just look at the folks out there gazin' at the house. Oh, we live in the center of this town, at present."
"Annie," said the old woman, "pull down the shade. The impudent things!"
"I don't believe I would," the old man tittered as his daughter arose to obey. "It ain't right to rob folks of a pleasure that don't cost us nothin'."
"There's that vicious Mrs. Potter," said Annie, and with a spiteful jerk she pulled down the shade. "We will shut off her malicious view."
"It is to be expected that a bridegroom should be an object of interest," Lyman remarked. "I awoke last night and thought that I heard sleet rattling at the window, but recalling the time of year I knew that it was rice thrown in showers by my friends."
The old lady looked at Lyman: "I am sorry that you're not more serious," she said.
"Serious," Lyman repeated with a twinkling glance at the old man. "I have done everything I can to prove that I am serious. I have just been married."
"Oh, you got it that time, Tobitha. Got it, and I knowed you would."
"Jasper, for goodness sake, hush. Annie, come away from there, a peepin' through at those good-for-nothin' people. They'd better be at work earnin' a livin' for their families, gracious knows. Are you going?" she asked as Lyman arose.
"Yes, to my office, to work for theSentinel. I am the editor, now."
"Why, you didn't tell us that," said Annie, turning from the window.
"My mind has been engaged with more important matters," he replied, with his hands on the back of the chair, smiling at her. "It was only yesterday that Warren offered to join his misfortune with mine."
The old woman sighed: "I hope you'll be careful not to say things in the street to stir up strife," she said.
"Strife," the old man repeated with a laugh.
"Yes, strife," she insisted. "There are any number of men that would like to get him into trouble, just to please Cousin McElwin."
"I think I can take care of myself," said Lyman, putting on his hat.
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Lyman found Warren almost in hysterical glee, treading air up and down the office. "Ho!" he cried, as the bridegroom entered the office. "Let me get hold of you. Ho!" he shouted louder as he shook Lyman's hand. "Maybe we haven't got the situation by the forelock. Who ever heard of such a thing! Shake again. I didn't hear about it till awhile ago, and then I took a fit and caught another one from it. Glad I held the paper in line with the Grangers."
"Let me sit down," said Lyman.
"That's exactly what you must do, and write like a horse trotting. I've left two columns open, and I want you to spread yourself."
"Something important?" Lyman asked, sitting down.
"Now, what do you want to talk that way for? It's a world beater."
"What do you mean?"
"The marriage, don't you understand? Make two columns out of it and I'll get fifty subscribers before night. Hurry up, I've got a tramp printer waiting for the copy."
"Nonsense," said Lyman, lighting a cigar. "You wouldn't expect a man to write up his own marriage, any more than you would his own funeral."
"If his funeral was as extraordinary as this marriage I would. Finest piece of news I ever heard of. Never heard of anything to beat it; and we'll make the hair rise up in this community like bristles on a dog. Go ahead with it. The tramp's waiting and I am paying him time."
"Sit down," said Lyman. Warren did so reluctantly. Lyman put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "My dear boy," said he, "don't you know it would be very indelicate, not to say vulgar, for us to print a sensational account of that marriage? For a day it might be a news victory, but afterwards it would be a humiliating defeat. To tell you the truth, I am about ready to confess my regret that it happened." He was silent for a moment, as if to take note of Warren's hard breathing. "And if McElwin had come to me more as a man and less like a mad bull I would have agreed to sign the divorce petition. But I don't like to be driven. I am sorry to disappoint you; it is hard to throw cold water on your warm enthusiasm, but I won't write a word about the marriage."
Tears gathered in Warren's eyes. "This life's not worth living," he said. "Nothing but disappointment all the time. No hope; everything dead."
"But you shouldn't hang a hope on a poisonous weed, my boy."
"No matter where I hang one, it falls to the dust. But say, you are not going to sign that paper, are you?"
"Not at present. I am man enough to be stubborn."
"Good!" Warren cried, his wonted enthusiasm beginning to rise. "Don't sign it at all. You've got him on the hip, and you can throw him where you please. I've been waiting two years to get even with him. He stopped his paper because I printed a communication from a farmer denouncing money sharks. All right," he said, getting up, "we can make the paper go anyway. I'll put that tramp on another job."
He went out with a rush and the high spirits of glorious and thoughtless youth. Lyman went to the window and gazed over at the bank. The place looked cool and dignified, the province of a bank when other places of business have been forced to an early opening. Lyman smiled at the reflection that there was no crape on the door, as if he had half expected to find it there. "He couldn't let me have a hundred dollars when I offered to give him a mortgage on the library," he mused. "Said he couldn't, but he was willing enough to offer the money in exchange for another sort of mortgage. I suppose he thinks it strange that I was not bought upon the instant."
"Well," said Warren, entering the room, "I paid the tramp thirty cents for his time and he has gone away happier than if he had been put to work. What are you doing? Looking at dad's temple? Fine prospect."
"Yes, for dad."
"But don't you let him browbeat you out of your rights."
"I won't. The son-in-law has rights which the father-in-law ought to respect. What sort of a fellow is Zeb Sawyer?"
"Good deal of a bully," Warren answered, standing beside Lyman and looking through the window as if to keep company with the survey of the bank. "He managed by industry and close attention to shoot a man, I understand, and that gave him a kind of pull with society, although the fellow didn't die. He's a hustler and makes money, and of course has a firm grip on McElwin's heart. There are worse fellows, although he didn't renew his subscription when the time ran out."
While they were looking the porter opened the door of the bank.
"They are going to transact business just the same," said Lyman.
"Yes, they've got to pull teeth, no matter what has happened. Do you know that there are lots of fellows around town that would like to come up here and congratulate you, but they are afraid of McElwin."
"I wonder Caruthers hasn't come," said Lyman.
"No you don't. You've got no use for him and have told him so. Helloa, yonder comes McElwin and Sawyer. They are crossing the street. By George, I believe they are coming here."
"All right. Let's step back and stand at ease ready to receive them."
"Say, I believe there's going to be trouble here," said Warren. "And if there is you wouldn't mind writing it up, would you?"
"No, I wouldn't mind. Ordinary trouble is not quite so personally embarrassing as a marriage."
"Shall I keep the columns open?" Warren asked, his eyes dancing.
"No, not on an uncertainty."
"But it is not an uncertainty. They are coming up the stairs."
"Let us sit down," said Lyman.
McElwin and Sawyer entered the long composing room, looked about and then walked slowly toward the law office.
"Come in," said Lyman, as they approached the open door.
"You are not alone," McElwin remarked, as he stepped in, followed by Sawyer.
"Neither are you," said Lyman. "Sit down."
"We have not come to sit down, sir."
"Then you must pardon my not rising. This languid spring air makes me tired."
"Sir, we wish to see you in your private office."
"And that is where you find me. This was my public law office, but now it is my private editorial room."
"But your privacy is invaded," said the banker, glancing at Warren.
"So I have observed," Lyman replied, looking at Sawyer.
"Ah, but enough of this. Can we see you alone."
"I don't believe I'd waste any more time beating the bush," said Sawyer. "Let's come to the point."
"That's not a bad suggestion," Lyman replied. "We have about thrashed all the leaves off the bush."
The banker cleared his throat: "Mr. Lyman, even after a night of worried reflection, I am even now hardly able to realize the monstrous outrage that has been committed at the instance of a theologic imbecile, helped by a travesty on law enacted by a general assembly of ditch diggers and plowmen."
"That is a very good speech, Mr. McElwin. But I don't know that any outrage has been committed. Let us call it an irregularity."
"We'll call it an infernal shame," Sawyer declared, swelling.
"No," Warren struck in, "call it a great piece of news gone wrong. If I had my way it would be creeping down between column rules right now."
"Infamous!" cried the banker. "Don't you dare to print a word of it."
"Oh, I'd dare all right enough, if Lyman's modesty didn't forbid it."
"Then, sir, I must condemn your impudence, and commend Mr. Lyman's consideration."
"We are still beating the bush," Sawyer broke in.
"And no scared rabbit has run out," said Lyman.
"We might be after a wolf instead of a rabbit," Sawyer replied. The banker gave him a look of warning.
"Yes," said Lyman, "you might hunt a wolf and find a panther."
"I take that as a threat," the banker spoke up.
"Oh, not at all," Lyman replied. "It was merely to help carry out a figure of speech."
"Let's get to business," said Sawyer.
"All right," Lyman agreed. "But you don't expect me to state the object of your visit."
"No, sir. We can do that easy enough," said McElwin. Then he thrust his hand into his pocket and drew forth a paper. "Mr. Lyman, we have here a petition to the Chancery Court, asking for the setting aside of a ridiculous marriage, the laughing-stock of all matrimonial ceremonies. The entrapped lady's name has been affixed, and we now ask, sir, that you append your signature."
He stepped forward to the table near which Lyman was sitting, and spread out the paper. Lyman smiled and shook his head. "This is so sudden," he remarked, and Warren tittered.
"Sudden, sir?"
"Yes, not unexpected, but sudden. I must have time to think."
"To think? How long, sir?"
"Well, say about six months."
"There's no use wasting words with this fellow," said Sawyer. "We'll make him sign it."
Lyman looked at him. "I understand that you are a buyer and seller of mules," he remarked. "That may account for your impulsiveness. But at present you are not in the mule market, that is, not as a buyer."
"Come," said McElwin, "we don't want any trouble."
"But if we have it," Lyman replied, "let it come on before it is time to go to press. Warren wants news."
McElwin bit his brown lip, and Sawyer fumed.
"Don't put it off too long," said Warren. "I've hired a negro to turn the press."
"This is infamous!" the banker shouted, stamping the floor. "It is beyond belief." Then he strove to calm himself. "Mr. Lyman, I ask you, as a man, to sign this petition."
"The interview has wrought upon my nerves, Mr. McElwin, and if I should sign it now the Court might look upon my signature as obtained under coercion."
"Ridiculous, sir. I never saw a man more quiet."
"That is the mistake of your agitated eye. My nerves are in a tangle."
"Let me fix it," said Sawyer, swelling toward Lyman.
Lyman smiled at him: "You are pretty heavy in the shoulders, Mr. Sawyer, but you slope down too fast. I don't believe your legs are very good. You might say that I don't slope enough, or not at all, but I'm wire, Yale-drawn. You are meaty, vealy, the boys would say, but if you think that you'd feel healthier and more contented toward the world after a closer association with me—"
"Come, none of that," the banker interrupted. And then to Lyman he added: "I appeal to your reason, sir."
"A bad thing to appeal to when it sits against you. It is like appealing to a wind blowing toward you. But before I forget it I should like to ask what this man Sawyer has to do with it?"
"He and my daughter are engaged, sir."
"Well," said Lyman, "that might have been, but they are not now. Let me ask you an impertinent question: Does she love him?"
Sawyer started. The banker shifted his position. "I told you that they were engaged," said McElwin.
"I know you did, and that is the reason I asked you if she loves him. Let me ask another impertinent question: Didn't you appeal to her to marry him?"
"Who suggested that—that impudence, sir?"
"You did. Didn't you tell her that he was the most promising young man in the neighborhood and that she must marry him? Hold on a moment. And didn't your wife take the young woman's part, declaring that she looked higher, and wasn't she finally compelled to yield?"
"I will not answer such shameless questions."
"Well, then, I must bid you good day."
"Without signing this petition?"
"Without so much as reading it. But I will agree to do this. When your daughter comes to me and tells me that she loves Mr. Sawyer, that her happiness depends upon him, then I will sign it. At present I am her protector."
The banker snorted, but calmed himself. "You a protector—a mediator! Sir, you continue to insult me."
"He ought to be kicked out of his own office," Sawyer swore.
"Yes, but it would take a mule, rather than a mule driver. But I don't want anything more to say to you. I know your history; you wouldn't hesitate to shoot a man in the back, but when it comes to a face to face fight, you are a coward. Shut up. Not a word out of you. Mr. McElwin, I sympathize with your wife and your daughter, but I am not at all sorry for you. Good morning."
The angry visitors strode out, with many a gesture of unspeakable anger. "Well," said Warren, "that beats anything I ever saw. How did you learn so much about his family affairs? Who told you?"
"You told me Sawyer's history, and I made a bold guess at the rest."
"And you nailed him. Well, I'll swear if it ain't a jubilee. But there's no news in it for me."
"There may be some day," Lyman replied.
Top
On the following Sunday, which in fact was the day after the scene in the office, Lyman went to church. There were several churches in Old Ebenezer, but he chose the one which was the religious affiliation of the banker's family. A number of clean looking young fellows stood outside to gaze at the girls going in, and they nudged one another and giggled as they saw Lyman approaching. He pretended not to notice them, going straightway into the church. Most of the pews were free, and he sat down about the middle of the house and began carefully to look about over the congregation. A strange feeling possessed him, and he looked back with a thrill when he heard the rustle of skirts in the doorway. At last he saw her and he thought that Zeb Sawyer came with her to the door. The banker and his stately wife came in, but Lyman had no eye for them. He sat almost in a trance, gazing at the young woman as she walked slowly down the opposite aisle. She reminded him of a peach tree blooming in the early spring, there was so much pink and the rich color of cream about her. She sat down not far from him and he gazed at the silk-brown hair on the back of her neck. Once she looked around but her eye did not rest on him. She sang with the congregation, and he selected a sweet tone for her voice, and smiled afterward to discover that it was in the voice of a plain woman seated near her. Some one sat down beside him, and he was surprised to find Caruthers.
The lawyer was surprised too, and he made a motion as if to move away.
"Never mind," whispered Lyman, "stay where you are."
"Thank you," Caruthers whispered in turn. "I didn't know but that fog was still between us."
"It is, and that's the reason we didn't recognize each other sooner."
"Then I'd better move."
"It is not necessary. I can stand it if you can."
"All right. Deuce of an affair you've got into."
"Yes, rather out of the ordinary."
"Has the old man offered you money to turn loose?"
"He offered to lend me a small sum."
"Why don't you make him give you a big sum?"
"Because I am not a scoundrel."
"No. Because you are weak. I would."
"Yes," Lyman whispered. "Because you are a scoundrel."
"Don't say that to me."
"Sit over there," said Lyman.
Caruthers moved away, and Lyman sat gazing at the young woman. "I am going to be of service to her," he mused. "And one of these days when she finds herself really in love she will thank me. She is dazzling, but I don't believe I could love her. I don't believe she has very much sense. She looks like a painting. I'd like to see her in an empire gown. I wonder what she thinks of me. Perhaps she doesn't." He smiled at himself, and then became aware that the preacher was in the heated midst of his sermon.
While the congregation was moving out, with greetings in low voices, and with many a smiling nod, the banker caught sight of Lyman, and made a noise as if puffing out a mouthful of smoke. His wife, who was slightly in front, glanced back at him.
"That wretched Lyman," he said, leaning toward her.
"Where?" she asked.
"Over at the right, but don't look at him. Everybody is staring at us."
"Where is Eva?"
"You ought to know," he answered.
"She is coming, just behind us."
They passed out. Lyman saw Zeb Sawyer standing at the door. He bowed to Mr. and Mrs. McElwin and continued to stand there, waiting for the young woman. She came out. She said something, and catching the expression of her face Lyman thought she must have remonstrated with him. But she permitted him to join her, and they walked away slowly. Lyman overtook them.
"Pardon me," he said to her, paying no attention to Sawyer, "but do you realize the scandalous absurdity of your action at his moment?"
"Sir!" Her graceful neck stiffened as she looked at him.
outside the church
"Don't you know that it is not in good form to receive the attentions of an old lover so soon after marriage?"
She stopped, jabbed the ground with her parasol and laughed. But in a moment she had repented of her merriment. "I wish you would go away," she said. "You have already caused me tears enough."
"What, so soon? The beautific smile, rather than the tear should be the emblem of the honeymoon. But this is not what I approached you to say. I wish to ask when I may expect a visit from you."
"I, visit you!"
"Yes. To ask me to sign the petition to the Court."
"I ask you now, sir."
"There!" said Sawyer, walking close beside the young woman.
"In the name of the love you bear this man?"
She looked at him with a blush. "In the name of my father, my mother and myself," she said.
"Oh," said he, "you are not the simple-minded beauty I expected to find. I suspect that your flatterers have not given you a fair chance. It is difficult to look through the dazzle and estimate the intelligence of a queen."
"Really! You come with a new flattery. My father's money—"
"Miss, or madam, your father is a pauper in comparison with the man who loves nature. He is a slave, living the life of a slave-driver. He is proud of you, not because you are a woman, but because you are, to him, a picture in a gilt frame."
"I just know everybody is looking at us," she said.
"You mean that you are afraid some of them may not be looking."
"Really! You are impudent, Mr.——"
"Have you forgotten your own name? Oh, by the way, your maiden name was McElwin, I believe."
She halted again to laugh. "Oh, this is too funny for anything," she said. "Isn't it, Zeb?"
"It won't be if your father looks around."
"He is too near the bank to look around now," Lyman replied. "He must keep his eyes on the temple."
"Zeb," she said, "why do you let this man talk that way? I thought you had more spirit."
"He has the spirit of anger, but not of courage," Lyman remarked.
"Eva," said Sawyer, "out in the Fox Grove neighborhood this man is known as a desperado."
"That phase of character was forced upon me, madam," Lyman replied, "and I had to accept it. Just as this man has been compelled to accept the name of notorious bully and coward, which was forced upon him. He gained some little prestige by shooting an unarmed man, and has been afraid to meet him since. The people have found this out, and hence his name of coward."
"It's a—" Sawyer hesitated.
"It's a what?" Lyman asked.
"A mistake."
"A soft word," said the young woman.
"A gentleman uses soft words in the presence of ladies," Sawyer replied.
"And a weak man uses a weak word in apology for a weak character," Lyman spoke up.
"Oh, I never heard anything like this before," the young woman declared. "I didn't know that men could be so entertaining."
"The potted plant astonished at the virility of the weed," said Lyman. "But I must leave you here. My office is up there. Mr. Sawyer knows where it is. His name appears on my list of callers. No, thank you, I cannot dine with you today."
"Oh, how impertinent," she laughed. "Nobody asked you, sir."
"No, but I'll ask you. My partner is up there now, with his oil stove lighted and the coffee hot. We have some broken dishes, and some cups that are cracked with age. Won't you come up and dine with us?"
"Why, I thought you boarded with Cousin Jasper Staggs. And ain't he the funniest thing? I like him ever so much."
"I do board with him, but I often dine out. Won't you come up and have a box of sardines?"
"No, I thank you. Wait a moment. When are you going to sign that petition for father?"
"When am I going to sign it for you?"
"Why, as soon as you can."
"No. But as soon as you comply with all the requirements of sentimental rather than of statute law."