Eliph' Hewlitt, when he reached the large, yellow house, found the door open. The sale was well over. The gingham aprons and the cat-stitched dusting cloths were all sold, and only a few crocheted slipper-bags and similar luxuries remained, and these were being offered at greatly reduced prices, much to the chagrin of the ladies who had contributed them. The cashiers were counting the results of the evening's business, and the other ladies were grouped about the minister, who stood in the middle of the parlor, laughingly explaining the merits of a plush-covered rolling-pin he had purchased in a moment of folly.
Eliph' Hewlitt tapped on the door to call attention to his presence, and walked into the parlor. Mrs. Doctor Weaver came forward, a shade of anxiety on her face.
“Mrs. Doctor Weaver, I suppose,” said Eliph' Hewlitt. “Well, my name is Hewlitt, Eliph' Hewlitt, and I heard of this sale at the hotel. The landlord said strangers were welcome——”
“Of course they are!” exclaimed Mrs. Doctor Weaver. “I'm afraid all the best things are gone, they went off so quickly to-night; but you're just as welcome, I'm sure, an' mebby you'll find something you'd like, though I suppose you're a travelin' man, an' I don't see what you'd do with a knit tidy, or a rickrack pin cushion, unless you've got a sister or a wife to send it to. But mebby you ain't a drummer after all?”
“Well, yes, I'm a sort of a drummer,” said Eliph', tapping his parcel. “Book agent, you know. That the minister?”
Mrs. Weaver drew back when Eliph' mentioned his occupation. She did not consider a book agent any less worthy than another man, but she had been obliged to miss the last payment on Sir Walter Scott, and she had an ill-defined feeling of guilt. To miss a payment was almost as hideous in her eyes as to neglect to put a dime in the contribution plate each Sunday would have been. Her first thought was that Eliph' had come to rudely bear away the ten volumes of Sir Walter before the eyes of all the women of Kilo, and she gladly grasped at his last words.
“Yes,” she said quickly, “that's him. Let me introduce you. He—he likes books.”
“I'm not selling books to-night,” explained Eliph' Hewlitt, for her words seemed one form of the usual reception of a book agent, and to indicate a desire to be rid of him as quickly as possible; “but I don't mind meeting him.”
As Mrs. Weaver led the way to the center of the group, Eliph' Hewlitt followed her, but his eyes quickly made a circle of the room, and rested a moment on Sally Briggs, who was one of the cashiers.
She saw him and caught her breath, as if the sight had frightened her, but when he nodded she could not refuse to return the salutation. She nodded as coldly as she knew how, and hurried to the most distant corner of the room. Eliph' was well enough pleased with this reception, for he would hardly have known what to do with a warmer one; in many years he had received only the book agent's usual greeting, which is far from cordial. She had nodded to him, at any rate, and he felt a glow of satisfaction.
When Mrs. Weaver introduced him to the minister she added that he was a book agent. She may have done this as an explanation, for Kilo, and even Kilo's minister, craved details, or she may have done it to give fair warning to all concerned. The effect was instantaneous, and the smiles of welcome faded. The minister shook hands gravely, and the ladies who had run forward with shoe bags and tidies turned and walked coldly away.
Eliph' Hewlitt smiled.
“Funny how that name makes a man unpopular, ain't it?” he said, addressing the minister. “But I ain't going to talk books in Kilo. The landlord down at the hotel told me it was a bad time, so I'm going to pass it by. Well, I guess we deserve all the blame we get. Some of us do pester the life out of people—don't know when to stop. Now, when I see a man don't want my book, or when I see a town ain't ready for it, I drop books and go off, and leave them alone. I could have stayed down there at the hotel and bothered the landlord into taking my book. He'd have too it, because everybody that sees this book, and understands it, does take it; but I said, 'Why bullyrag the life out of the poor man when there's a missionary sale going on in town, and he don't want a book, and I do want to see the sale? I am interested in missions.”
“It's a great field,” said the minister, with a sigh of relief; for, as the literary head of Kilo, he was always the first and most strongly contested goal of the book agents. The subscription list that did not bear his name at the head bore few others, and he appreciated the self denial of Eliph' Hewlitt in passing such a good opportunity to talk business.
“Are you deeply interested in the field?” he inquired graciously.
“Well, you se,” said Eliph' Hewlitt, “I was cast away on one of those desert islands myself once, and I know what those poor heathen must suffer for lack of churches and civilization, and good books to read. I can feel for them.”
Someone pushed a chair gently against Eliph's legs, in gentle invitation for him to be seated, and he took the chair, and laid his package across his knees. Those who had drawn away from him now gathered closer, and all gazed at him with interest. Miss Sally alone remained at the other end of the room.
“Well, I never expected to live to see a man that had been shipwrecked,” said Mrs. Weaver, “let alone shipwrecked on a desert island—an' a book agent at that!”
Eliph' smiled indulgently.
“I wasn't a book agent in them days,” he said; “it was that made me a book agent. If I hadn't been shipwrecked on that island I wouldn't be here now with this book on my knees.”
Mrs. Weaver's face flushed.
“I'm sure I ask you to excuse me,” she exclaimed. “I don't know what I was thinkin' of not to ask to take your package. Let me put it aside for you. They ain't no use for you to be bothered with it.”
“Thank you, ma'm,” said Eliph', “but I'll just keep it. No offense, but I never let it go out of my hands, day or night. It saved my life, not once, but many times, this book did, and I keep it handy. But for this book that shipwreck would have been my last day.”
“Land sakes, now!” cried Mrs. Weaver, “won't you tell us about it?”
“Well, as I said, but for this book I'd be bones at the bottom of the sea. Yes, ladies and gents, bones, of which there is one hundred and ninety-eight in the full grown human skeleton, composed of four-fifths inorganic and one-fifth organic matter.”
“How dreadful!” exclaimed Mrs. Weaver, who, being a doctor's wife, had a particular dislike for bones, as for useless things that cluttered up the house, and were not ornamental. “But how come you to get wrecked?”
“Five years ago,” said Eliph' Hewlitt, “I was a confidence man in New York. New York is the largest city in the Western Hemisphere; population estimated over three million; located on the island of Manhattan, at the mouth of the Hudson River. And, if I do say it myself, I was a good confidence man. I was a success; I got rich. And what then? The police got after me, and I had to run away. Yes, ladies and gents, I had to fly from my native land. I took passage on a ship for Ceylon. Ceylon,” he added, “is an island southeast of India; population three millions; principal town, Colombo; English rule; products, tea, coffee, spices, and gems.
“We had a good trip until we almost got there, and then a big storm come up, and blew our ship about like it was a peanut shell, tossing it up and down on the mighty waves, and round and back; and the third day we bumped on a rock, and the ship began to sink. In the hurry I was left behind when the crew and passengers went off in the boats. Think of it, ladies and gents, not even a life preserver to save me, and the ship sinking a foot a minute.”
“Goodness me!” said Mrs. Weaver, “you wasn't drowned, was you?”
“No,” said Eliph' Hewlitt, “or I wouldn't be here to tell it. I rushed to the captain's cabin. I thought maybe I would find a life preserver there. Alas, no! But there, ladies and gents, I found something better. When I didn't find a life preserver I was stunned—yes, clean knocked out. I dropped into a chair and laid my head on the captain's table. I sat there several minutes, the ship sinking one foot per minute, and when I come to my senses, and raised my head, my hand was lying on this.”
Reverently he raised the volume from his knees and unwrapped it, and the Ladies' Foreign Mission Society leaned forward with one accord to catch a glimpse of the title. Eliph' Hewlitt opened the book and flipped over the pages rapidly with the moistened tip of his third finger.
“It was this book, ladies and gents, and it was open here, page 742. Without thinking, I read the first thing that hit my eye. 'How to Make a Life Preserver,' it said. 'Take the corks from a hundred champagne bottles; tie them tightly in a common shirt; then fasten the arms of the shirt about the body, with the corks resting on the chest. With this easily improvised life preserver drowning is impossible.' I done it. The captain of that ship was a high liver, and his room was chuck full of champagne bottles. I put in two extry corks for good measure, and when the ship went down, I floated off on the top of the ocean as easy as a duck takes to a pond.”
“My sakes!” exclaimed Mrs. Weaver, “that captain must have been an awful hard drinker!”
“He was,” said Eliph' Hewlitt—“fearful. I was really shocked. But, there I was in the water, and not much better off for it, neither, for I couldn't swim a stroke, and as soon as I got through bobbing up and down like your cork when you've got a sunfish on your line, I stayed right still, just as if I'd been some bait-can a boy had thrown into an eddy, and I figgered like as not I'd stay there forever. Then I noticed I had this book in my hand, and I thought, 'While I'm staying here forever, I'll just take another peek at this book,' and I opened her. Page 781,” said Eliph', turning quickly to that page, “was where she opened. 'Swimming; How to Float, Swim, Dive, and Tread Water—Plain and Fancy Swimming, Shadow Swimming, High Diving,' et cetery. There she was, all as plain as pie, and when I read it I could swim as easy as an old hand. The direction all through this book is plain, practical, and easily followed.
“I at once swum off to the south, for there was no telling how long I'd have to swim, and as the water was sort of cool, I thought best to go south, because the further south you go the warmer the water gets. When I swum two days, and was plumb tuckered out, I come to an island. The waves was dashing on it fearful, and I knew if I tried to land I'd be dashed to flinders. It knocked all the hope out of me, and I made up my mind to take off my life preserver and dive to the bottom of the sea to knock my brains out on the rocks. But, ladies and gents, before I dived I had another look at my book, hoping to find something to comfort a dying man. I turned to page 201.”
Eliph' Hewlitt found the page, and pointed to the heading with his finger.
“'Five Hundred Ennobling Thoughts from the World's Greatest Authors, including the Prose and Poetical Gems of All ages,'” he read. “There they were-sixty-two solid pages of them, with vingetty portraits of the authors. I read No. 285:
“As Thou has made Thy world without, Make Thou more fair my world within,' et cetery.”
“Whittier, J. G., commonly called the poet of liberty, born 1807, died 1892'—with a complete sketch of his life, a list of his most popular pieces, and a history of his work on behalf of the slave.
“I was much comforted by this,” said Eliph' Hewlitt, “and I run over the pages this way, thinking of what I had read, when I hit on page 927: 'Geography of Land and Sea.' I skipped ten pages telling in an interesting manner of the five great continents, their political division, mountains, lakes, and plains, their vegetable inhabitants and animals, their ancient and modern history, et cetery, and I come to 'Islands, Common, Volcanic, and Coral'; and on page 940 I read that coral islands are often surrounded by a reef on which the waves dash, but that there is usually a quiet lagoon between the reef and the island, with somewhere an opening from the sea into the lagoon.
“When I read that,” said Eliph', closing the book, “I shut up my book and swum round until I come to the opening, which was there, just like the book said it would be, and I swum across the lagoon, and fell exhausted on the beach. I was played out, and I had swallered too much water. I would have died right there, but I thought of my book, and I turned to the index, where every subject known to the vast realm of knowledge is set down alphabetically, from 'A' to 'Z', twenty thousand references in all, dealing with every subject from the time of Adam to the present day, including, in the new and revised edition just from the press, a history of the war with Spain, with full page portraits of Dewey, Sampson, Cervera, and the boy king, and colored plates of the battles of Manila Bay and Santiago. I run my eye down the page till I came to 'Drowned, How to Revive the,' page 96; and what I read there saved my life.”
The ladies sighed with relief.
“What shall I say about my four long years on that island?” said Eliph'. “I was the only man on it. Oh, the pangs of solitude! Oh, the terrors of being alone! But, ladies and gents, I suffered none of them. I was not alone. He is never alone who has a copy of Jarby's 'Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science and Art,' published by Jarby & Goss, New York, and sold for the trifling sum of five dollars a volume, one dollar down and one dollar a month until paid, the book delivered when the first payment is made. And that, my friends, was the book I had, and the book you see before you.”
The minister put out his hand.
“May I look at the volume?” he asked, and Eliph' passed it to him with a nod.
“From the first the book was my friend, philosopher, and guide. I had no matches. Page 416, 'Fire, Its Traditions—How to Make a Fire Without Matches—Fire-fighting, Fire-extinguishers,' et cetery, taught me to make a fire by rubbing two sticks, as the savages do. I had no weapons to kill the fowls of the air. Page 425, 'Weapons, Ancient and Modern—Their History—How to Make and Use Them,' et cetery, told me how to twist the cocoanut bark into a cord, and to shape the limb of the gum-gum tree into a bow and arrow. Page 396, 'Birds, Tropical, Temperate, and Arctic—Song Birds, Edible Birds, and Birds of Plumage,' et cetery, with their Latin and common names, and over one thousand illustrations, told me which to kill, and which to eat. Page 100, 'The Complete Kitchen Guide,' being eight hundred tested recipes—roasts, fries, pastry, cakes, bread, puddings, entrées, soups, how to make candy, how to clean brass, copper, silver, tin, et cetery—told me how to prepare and cook them.
“Yes, my friends, I went to that island an ignorant, unbelieving man, and I came away educated and reformed. For my idle hours there was the 'Complete Mathematician,' showing how to figger the most difficult problems easily, how to measure corn in the drib, water in the well, figger interest, et cetery, by which I become posted on all kinds of arithmetic. There was the 'Complete Letter Writer, or a Guide to Polite and Correct Correspondence,' the 'Dictionary of Legal Terms, or Every Man His Own Lawyer,' the 'Modern Penman,' the 'Eureka Shorthand System'—in fact, all the knowledge in the world, condensed into one thousand and four pages, for the small sum of five dollars. Who can afford to be without this book, which will pay for itself twice over every week of the year?
“I was picked up, ladies and gents,” continued Eliph' Hewlitt, “by a passing ship, and I decided to devote my life to a great work—to circulating this wonderful book in my native land. I wept when I thought of the millions that had not seen it—millions that were living poor, starved lives because they didn't have a copy of Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science and Art, and I gave myself to the cause.”
The minister handed the book back to Eliph' Hewlitt, and cleared his throat.
“It seems to be all you claim for it,” he said; “but I fear the landlord of the Kilo House was right. We are not, many of us, ready for more books at present. If you return in a year or eight months——”
Eliph' Hewlitt smiled, and put his hand gently no the glossy black knee of the minister's best trousers.
“True,” he said, “true! Kilo has books. Kilo knows the civilizing and Christianizing influence of books. But,” he exclaimed, “think of the poor heathen! Think of the poor missionaries fighting to bring civilization to those dark-hued brothers! Shall it be said that every home in Kilo has a set of Sir Walter Scott, ten volumes with gilt edges, while the minds of the heathen dry up and rot for want of the vast treasures contained in Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science and Art? Here in this book is the wisdom of the whole world, and will you selfishly withhold it form those who need it so badly? If I know Kilo, I think not. If what is said in Jefferson regarding the unselfishness and liberality of Kilo is true, I think not. I know what you will say. You will say, 'Here, take this money we have collected this evening and give to the thirsting heathen as many volumes of Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science and Art, as it will buy at five dollars a volume.'”
He glanced around the circle of faces.
“That is what you will say,” he said; “But Eliph' Hewlitt will beg a chance to do his little for the noble work. He will, seeing the good cause, make the price four seventy-five per volume, and throw in one volume from for the Kilo Sunday School library, where one and all can have reference to its helpful and civilizing pages.”
In Eliph' Hewlitt's eyes glowed the fire of conquest that always shone in them when he was “talking book,” a glitter such as shines in the eyes of the enthusiast, and they fell upon Miss Sally Briggs, who had been drawn by his eloquence to the edge of the ring of ladies. As he paused, she recognized the moment as that when the victim is supposed to utter the words, “Well, I guess I'll take a copy,” but she missed the direct appeal, and its absence confused her, and she was still wondering whether it was now time to say she would take a copy, or whether she had better wait for the formal appeal, when Mrs. Doc Weaver spoke for the Ladies' Mission Circle.
When Eliph' Hewlitt left the house, half an hour later with his order signed, Miss Sally had disappeared, and, although he peeked eagerly into both the side rooms as he passed through the hall, he could see nothing of her. He was disappointed.
When he returned to the hotel the landlord was asleep in the chair before the door. He arose with a yawn, rubbed his eyes, and led the way into the office where a dingy kerosene lamp was burning dimly. He stretched his arms as he looked at the clock that stood above the dusty pigeon holes back of the desk.
“'Leven o'clock!” he yawned. “I must have been asleep two hours. Guess you'll want to get right up to bed, won't you? I reckon you found out Kilo don't want no books this trip, Sammy; an' if you want to git an early start from town you'll need all the sleep you can get.”
Eliph' tossed his package on the desk carelessly.
“Why, yes, Jim, I wish you WOULD call me early,” he said. “I'll be ready for bed in half an hour or so. I done a little business up yonder, and I want to mail my report to New York. But you needn't hitch up my horse in the morning.”
“No?” asked the landlord sleepily.
“No,” said Eliph', “and if any feller comes this way selling books in the next month or so, just tell him there ain't no use for a raw hand to waste time in this town. Tell him Eliph' Hewlitt has settled down to live here.”
When Eliph' Hewlitt stepped out of the hotel the next morning, after he had eaten his breakfast, and stood, with a wooden toothpick between his lips, looking up and down the street, he felt a sense of exultation. If he had been a victorious general, and Kilo a captured city of great importance, he would have had a similar feeling. Already he felt that, if he was not the captor of the town, he was one of its important citizens, and practically the husband of an attractive woman whose father owned sufficient property to be one of those who grumble about taxes.
To a man who had been a wanderer all his life it was pleasant to feel that he was soon to be kin to all the things he saw on Main Street, brother to the town-pump and cousin to the flag pole, and to consider that even the well-gnawed hitching rails were to be part of his future years. He nodded across the street to Billings, the grocer and general store man, as if he was an old acquaintance, and he watched Skinner, the butcher, sweeping the walk, with a pleasant smile, for he saw in him a future friend. He loved Kilo, and he was ready to like everything, from the post office to the creamery. His whole future seemed destined to be simple and pleasant, for he was resolved to do his best to make the town like him, and there seemed little opportunity for complications in a town that could all be seen at one glance.
Strangers think all small towns simple. The few stores are all plainly labeled, the streets run at right angles, and the houses are set well apart, like big letters in a primer. A small town looks like a story without a plot, like: “See the cat. Does the cat see me? The cat sees the dog;” beside which a city is as unfathomable as a Henry James paragraph. To the stranger each man and woman he meets is a complete individual, each standing alone, like letters on an alphabet block, and not easily to be confused, one with the other. But these letters of the small town's alphabet are often tangled into as long and complex words as those of the greatest city; it takes but twenty-six letters to spell all the passions. The letter A, that looked so distinctly separate, is soon found to be connected with C and T in Cat, and with W and R in War, as well as cross-connected with the C and W in Caw, and with T and R in Tar; while the houses that stood so seemingly alone are all connected and criss-crossed by lines of love and hate, of petty policy and revenge and pride, quite as are nations or people who live in labyrinths, or in a metropolis.
It was still too early in the morning for Eliph' Hewlitt to call on Miss Sally, and there was no haste; the day was long. He even doubted whether it would be good policy to call on her in the morning; he might find her busy with household cares. Probably it would be best to wait for the afternoon, when she would be at leisure. This, he decided would be best. He would arrive in her presence at two o'clock, and four hours of conversation would carry them to the point of being well acquainted, as advised by Jarby's Encyclopedia. The next day he could enter the second stage of the directions, and call with a book, present it; call after dinner with a box of candy, present it; call after supper, and propose a walk, visit the ice cream parlor, and on the way home offer his hand, and be accepted. The chapter on “Courtship—How to Win the Affections” advised against haste, and Eliph' did not wish to be hasty. To a man of his spirit two days seemed rather long to devote to so simple a matter—a real waste of time—but he was willing to take longer than necessary, in order to follow the directions in spirit, as well as in letter.
Eliph' settled himself into one of the chairs before the hotel and opened his copy of Jarby's Encyclopedia at the chapter on “Courtship—How to Win the Affections.” He was deep in it when the landlord strolled around from the livery stable and sank into a chair by his side.
“So you made up your mind to stay here, Sammy?” he asked. “I guess the town'll be glad enough to have you. All this town needs to be a big place is inhabitants. What you ought to do now it to settle down for good, an' get married. There's some purty fine women in this town that ain't picked up yet, but they won't last long, they way they're goin'. Somebody gets married every couple of months.”
Eliph' looked up with a smile. Jim Wilkins did not know he had advised the very thing he meant to do.
“I've thought some about it,” said Eliph', “'most everybody's getting married now-a-days.”
“It's the popular thing 'round here,” said Jim. “Look across the street, yonder. See that feller just goin' up to the lawyer's office? He's one that's in the marry class, just now. That's Colonel Guthrie. He lives out on the first farm beyond Main Street, and he's goin' to marry Sally Briggs, daughter of old Pap Briggs, that we was talkin' to last night, here.”
Eliph' Hewlitt stared at the Colonel, but he said nothing. He blamed himself; he had wasted his opportunity. This was what came of being slow! He should have completed his courtship at the picnic, or last night at the sale. Jim Wilkins interrupted the thought.
“Leastways,” he said, “HE'LL get her if Skinner don't. It's a close run between him an' Skinner. Skinner ain't so good lookin' as the Colonel, but he's better fixed. It's Skinner owns our butcher-shop, an' it's Skinner is buildin' our Opery House Block. Some say Skinner'll get Pap Briggs' money, an' some says the Colonel will.”
“Are there any others?” asked Eliph', looking down the street to where the raw brick of the opera house glowed in the sun.
“After Sally?” asked Jim Wilkins. “Well, there's sev'ral would like to get her, I dare say. Sally Briggs is a pretty fine sort of woman, an' Pap Briggs has quite considerable money, but the Colonel an' Skinner has the inside track. No one else has a chance.”
Eliph' stroked his whiskers softly and coughed gently behind his hand.
“Briggs, did you say the name was?” he asked. “Seems to me I met a lady at a picnic up Clarence way that had that name. You said the name was Sally Briggs?”
“That's her,” said Wilkins. “Sally Ann Briggs. She's been visitin' up there in Clarence.”
Eliph' nodded his head slowly.
“I seem to recollect her, since you mention it,” he said indifferently, and then he added, “She spoke as if she might buy a copy of Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Compendium of Literature, Science and Art when I saw her at that picnic. I guess I'll drop 'round and see if she's ready to buy. If she' goin' to be married she ought to have a copy.”
As Eliph' walked briskly toward Miss Sally's house the Colonel was having an interesting conversation with Attorney Toole, in the attorney's office over the Kilo Savings Bank.
Attorney Toole had been a lawyer at Franklin, and he had come down to Kilo because he preferred a being a big toad in a small puddle, rather than a little toad in a middle-sized one. This was one of his reasons, but another was that he had complete and full faith in Richard Toole, and intended to be a political power in the land. He could not be much of anything in Franklin, for that town was hard and fast Democratic, and Toole was a Republican. The first step to political preferment is to be elected to something or other, it does not make much difference what, and to rise from that to greater things, but a Republican had no chance in Franklin; couldn't even get an appointment as dog police or wharfmaster; couldn't get elected to any office at all.
So Toole packed up his law books and moved to Kilo, where he was in a Republican town, a Republican county, and a Republican congressional district, in a Republican State that formed part of a Republican nation. He selected Kilo, after considering other good little Republican towns, because the Republicans of Kilo needed aid and assistance; they were out of office; kicked out.
Every so often the small town of the West turns the regular party out of office and puts in a Citizens' ticket, just to show that the people still rule, and to let the greedy officeholders, some of whom get as much as one hundred dollars a year in salary, know that their offices are not life positions. When Attorney Toole descended on Kilo, the Citizens' Party was “in,” and the Republicans were “out,” and the attorney saw an opportunity of making himself valuable to his party by working to put the party “in” again.
Never before had the Colonel climbed his stairs, and Toole smiled like an Irish sphinx when the Colonel entered his office. He smiled most of the time, not because he thought a smile becoming to his freckled face, but because he found things so eternally amusing. In law a man is considered innocent until he has been proved guilty; in Kilo Attorney Toole considered everything amusing until it had been proved serious, and he considered the Colonel and Skinner, and the whole Citizens' Party they had been instrumental in organizing, as parts of the same joke. They would stand until he was ready to lazily push out his hand and topple them over. It was almost time to topple them, now, and he was glad to see the Colonel; he motioned him to a seat, and smiled.
The Colonel took his hat from his mat of coarse iron-gray hair, and laid it carefully on the floor. Out of his small sharp eyes ignorance and cunning peered, and the mass of beard that hid the greater part of his face could not hide the hard line of his mouth.
“I jest dropped up,” he explained, after he had acknowledged the attorney's cheerful greeting with a gruff “mornin',” “I jest dropped up, sort of friendly-like, thinkin' you might have nothin' to do, an' might like to sit an' chin a while. You don't charge nothin' for sittin' an' chinnin' do ye?”
Toole said he did not.
“I didn't figger you did,” said the Colonel. “If I'd thought you did I wouldn't have dropped up, for I ain't got no money to spend on lawyers. I'd sooner throw money away than spend it at law. But I figgered you was young at the law yet, and didn't have much to do at it, and I sort of run across a case I thought might amuse you, like, when you ain't got nothin' to do. Folks don't seem to have much faith in young lawyers, and you can't blame 'em; old ones don't know much. All any of 'em care for is to get people into trouble so they can charge 'em fees to get 'em out of it. So I thought mebby you'd like to hear of this case so you could kind of mull it over in your mind whilst you're loafin' up here.”
“That was kind of you,” said Toole.
“I always like to do a good turn when I can,” said the Colonel, “when it don't cost nothin'. An' this case I was tellin' you about is a mighty good one for a young lawyer to study over. Soon as I heard of it I says to myself 'I'll tell this case to Attorney Toole, an' he'll be grateful to hear of it.'”
The country client usually begins in some such way as this, anxious to get all the advice he can without having to pay for it, and Toole merely smiled.
“Mebby you know,” said the Colonel, “that there was a feller took board of Sally Briggs a while back; feller by the name of William Rossiter, that come through here peddlin' lightnin' rods and pain killer and land knows what all. Well, he was a rascal. He took board off of Sally Briggs four weeks, and then he cleared out, and she nor no one else has seen hide nor hair of him since, and he never paid her one cent. All he ever let on was to leave this letter stickin' on the pin cushion in his bedroom.”
The Colonel dug the letter out of his vest pocket, and Toole read it. It was short:
Dear Miss Briggs: I'm off. Good-by. Business in Kilo is no good. Sorry I can't square up, but I leave you the box in my room in part payment. W. R.
“Prosecution's exhibit No. 1,” said the attorney.
“Jest what I was tellin' Miss Sally,” said the Colonel. “I says to her to keep that paper, and it might come handy. Mebby you heard that me and Miss Sally was what you might call keepin' company?”
“That's interesting,” said Toole. “Been keeping it long?”
“Quite some consid'able time,” said the Colonel. “Long enough, land knows, and we'd a-been done with it by this time and married, if that Skinner hadn't come crowdin' in where he wasn't wanted. What right has a man like him to come pushin' in like that? His wife ain't been dead twelve months yet. It ain't decent of him, is it?”
“Do you want a legal opinion?” asked Toole, reaching for a large law book that lay on the table.
“No, I don't!” cried the Colonel in alarm; “I don't want to run up no charges. I don't care whether it's legal or not, it ain't friendly, after him and me has worked together buildin' up this Citizens' Party, and all. What does he mean, sendin' Miss Sally porterhouses, when she only orders flank steak, like he was wrappin' up love and affection into every steak? He's got mighty proud since he set out to build that there Kilo Opery House of his. He's a fool to spend money on an opery house in this town. He's a beefy, puffy old money bag, he is. He needn't tell ME he expects to get even on what he spent on that Opery House Block out of what he'll make on it; he just built it to make a show, so some dumb idiot like Sally Briggs would think he amounted to more than others, and marry him.”
The Colonel brought down his hand with a bang on the attorney's table.
“What kind of an idiot did you call Miss Briggs?” asked Toole pleasantly.
“I didn't call her no kind!” declared the Colonel. “All I say is, I've been married once already, and I know how women are. And I know Skinner. He's lookin' for to pay for that opery house with Pap Brigg's money that he'll git if he marries Sally. But he won't git it! I'm a-goin' to——” He was going to say he was going to get it, but he caught himself in time, and substituted “I'm a-goin' to see to that.”
“I see,” said Toole, “and you want to retain me as your attorney in case you have to sue for breach of promise?”
The Colonel scowled.
“I don't want to retain, and I don't want to sue, and I don't want no fees to pay. You get that clear in your mind. If I did, I'd go to a lawyer that had some experience. I jest dropped up——”
“Well, any time you wish, you can just drop down again, Colonel,” said Toole, but not ill-naturedly.
“Now, don't git that way,” said the Colonel. “I jest dropped up to do you a favor, and you git mad about it! I don't call that friendly. If you was to do me a favor I wouldn't git mad.”
“Go ahead with the favor, then,” said Toole, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet on his table.
“Miss Sally,” said the Colonel, “she told me all about this feller Rossiter, an' what he said, an' what she said, an' how he come to go to her house for board, an' how he skipped off, an' she showed me the note he left on the pin cushion, an' then she come down to business. 'Colonel,' she says, 'have I a right to take an' keep that box? Have I a right to open it? Is it mine by law? If I open it can he come back an' sue me, or anything?'
“'Can he?' says I. 'That's the question. Can he?'
“'It's a large box,' says Miss Sally.
“'A large box, hey?' says I. 'Of course if it was a small box, Miss Sally—but it is a large box! How large?'
“'Quite large,' she says. 'About medium large. Not too large. Besides anything very large it would be small, but beside anything very small it would be large.'
“I nodded my head to her, to let her see I knew what she was tryin' to say. 'Medium large,' I says, 'yes, I know just about how big you mean, but what I'd like to know is, is it heavy?'
“'Medium,' she says, 'just medium heavy.'
“Well, there she was! A medium heavy, medium-sized box. If it had been a little bit of a light-weight box I'd 'a' told her to open it and keep it, for there couldn't have been much in it; and if it had been a big heavy box I'd have told her she'd better leave it alone; for there wouldn't be any tellin' whether she had any right to open a box like that one might have turned out to be. I didn't know how the law stood on that kind of a box. But it was medium-sized, and I didn't know WHAT to say.
“'Miss Sally,' I says, 'I'd like to help you out on this. Any time I can give you any advice on anything, I'm glad to, but I don't know what to say about a box that is medium size and medium heavy. You'd ought to get the law on that subject before you touch that box. Don't you touch that box. Don't you open it unless there's a law officer standin' by to see you do it.'
“She seen that was good advice,” continued the Colonel, “and I sat there right in her parlor and thought it over. 'Miss Sally,' I says, after I had thought all I could about it, 'I believe Attorney Toole would tell you what to do about that box. There ain't nothin' a lawyer needs more than to be popular, and there ain't no way to git popular quicker than by doin' little favors, an' he ought to be glad to do a favor for you, for you're almost an orphan. Your ma's dead, an' Pap Briggs ain't overly strong, an' you're liable to be an orphan almost any minute. I can tell by the looks of Attorney Toole,' I says, 'that he's got a good heart, and if you say the word I'll ask him what he says to do about that box.' She seemed sort of put out at what I'd said about orphans, but I seen she was willing to have me ask you about that box, and I seen it would be doin' you a favor, too, to tell you about it, so you could sort of exercise your mind on it, so I jest dropped up——”
“Colonel,” said Toole, “this is a very serious case.” He put his hand over his mouth to hide the smile he could not prevent from coming to his lips.
“You don't mean to tell me!” exclaimed the Colonel. “I was afraid there might be somethin' wrong about it somewheres. But I ain't goin' to go to no expense about it. It ain't my box——”
“I would not take a case like this for money,” said the attorney, turning suddenly and facing the Colonel with a seriousness that frightened that cautious soul. “I would not take a case involving a medium-sized, medium-heavy box; a box left for board by a man from parts unknown, now departed to parts unknown; a box that may contain stolen property; I would not take such a case for money, Colonel. But I'll undertake it for friendship. For friendship only. You ARE my friend, aren't you, Colonel?”
“Surely! Surely!” exclaimed the Colonel eagerly.
“A medium-sized box,” said Toole, turning his head to hide his smile, “should be opened only in the presence of an attorney-at-law. That is legal advice and worth five dollars, but I charge you nothing for it, you being my friend. Consider it a gift from me to you.”
“I'm much obliged,” said the Colonel gruffly.
“And now,” said the attorney briskly, “for the MODUS OPERANDI, as we lawyers say. Has the client, the lady in the case, a hatchet?”
The Colonel thought.
“I ain't right sure,” he said at length, after he had searched his brain; “seems like she ought to have, but I've got one, an' I'll loan it to her.”
“Good!” exclaimed Toole briskly. “That is better yet. A medium-sized box left by a transient in payment of default of a board bill should always be opened, if possible, with a hatchet not the property of the plaintiff. Chitty says that. It was so ruled in the case of MUGGINS vs. MUGGINS.”
He took from his desk a bulky volume, and ran over the pages rapidly.
“Box,” he said, “small box-medium box. Here it is. Humph!”
The Colonel leaned over the book, but the attorney closed it quickly.
“Bring an ax,” he said. “A hatchet would do, but an ax is more legal. Hatchets for small boxes, axes for medium boxes. There is a later case than MUGGINS vs. MUGGINS.”
“I'll fetch the ax,” agreed the Colonel.
“Can you be at the house in half an hour?” asked the attorney.
The Colonel could.
“You're right sure there ain't goin' to be no charges to this?” he asked anxiously, and when the attorney had once more assured him there would be none, he picked his hat from the floor and shuffled into the hall and down the stairs.