In the Midst of Alarms - Robert Barr 6 стр.

Thats all right, but we are men of the world. We know.

Young Hirams devotion to the Goddess Nicotine had never reached the altitude of a cigar. He had surreptitiously smoked a pipe in a secluded corner behind the barn in days when his father was away. He feared both his father and his mother, and so was in an even more embarrassing situation than old Hiram himself. He had worked gradually up to tobacco by smoking cigarettes of cane made from abandoned hoop-skirts. Crinoline was fashionable, even in the country, in those days, and ribs of cane were used before the metallic distenders of dresses came in. One hoop-skirt, whose usefulness as an article of adornment was gone, would furnish delight and smoking material for a company of boys for a month. The cane smoke made the tongue rather raw, but the wickedness was undeniable. Yates wink seemed to recognize young Hiram as a comrade worthy to offer incense at the shrine, and the boy was a firm friend of Yates from the moment the eyelid of the latter drooped.

The tea things having been cleared away, Yates got no more glimpses of the girl through the open door. He rose from his lowly seat and strolled toward the gate, with his hands in his pockets. He remembered that he had forgotten something, and cudgeled his brains to make out what it was. He gazed down the road at the house of the Howards, which naturally brought to his recollection his meeting with the young girl on the road. There was a pang of discomfiture in this thought when he remembered the accomplishments attributed to her by Mrs. Bartlett. He recalled his condescending tone to her, and recollected his anxiety about the jar. The jar! That was what he had forgotten. He flashed a glance at old Hiram, and noted that the farmer was looking at him with something like reproach in his eyes. Yates moved his head almost imperceptibly toward the barn, and the farmers eyes dropped to the floor of the veranda. The young man nonchalantly strolled past the end of the house.

I guess Ill go to look after the horses, said the farmer, rising.

The horses are all right, father. I saw to them, put in his son, but the old man frowned him down, and slouched around the corner of the house. Mrs. Bartlett was too busy talking to the professor to notice. So good a listener did not fall to her lot every day.

Heres looking at you, said Yates, strolling into the barn, taking a telescopic metal cup from his pocket, and clinking it into receptive shape by a jerk of the hand. He offered the now elongated cup to Hiram, who declined any such modern improvement.

Help yourself in that thing. The jugs good enough for me.

Three fingers of the liquid gurgled out into the patented vessel, and the farmer took the jar, after a furtive look over his shoulder.

Well, heres luck. The newspaper man tossed off the potion with the facility of long experience, shutting up the dish with his thumb and finger, as if it were a metallic opera hat.

The farmer drank silently from the jar itself. Then he smote in the cork with his open palm.

Better bury it in the wheat bin, he said morosely. The boy might find it if you put it among the oatsfeedin the horses, ye know.

Mighty good place, assented Yates, as the golden grain flowed in a wave over the submerged jar. I say, old man, you know the spot; youve been here before.

Bartletts lowering countenance indicated resentment at the imputation, but he neither affirmed nor denied. Yates strolled out of the barn, while the farmer went through a small doorway that led to the stable. A moment later he heard Hiram calling loudly to his son to bring the pails and water the horses.

Evidently preparing an alibi, said Yates, smiling to himself, as he sauntered toward the gate.

CHAPTER V

Whats up? whats up? cried Yates drowsily next morning, as a prolonged hammering at his door awakened him.

Well, youre not, anyhow. He recognized the voice of young Hiram. I say, breakfasts ready. The professor has been up an hour.

All right; Ill be down shortly, said Yates, yawning, adding to himself: Hang the professor! The sun was streaming in through the east window, but Yates never before remembered seeing it such a short distance above the horizon in the morning. He pulled his watch from the pocket of his vest, hanging on the bedpost. It was not yet seven oclock. He placed it to his ear, thinking it had stopped, but found himself mistaken.

What an unearthly hour, he said, unable to check the yawns. Yates years on a morning newspaper had made seven oclock something like midnight to him. He had been unable to sleep until after two oclock, his usual time of turning in, and now this rude wakening seemed thoughtless cruelty. However, he dressed, and yawned himself downstairs.

They were all seated at breakfast when Yates entered the apartment, which was at once dining room and parlor.

Waiting for you, said young Hiram humorously, that being one of a set of jokes which suited various occasions. Yates took his place near Miss Kitty, who looked as fresh and radiant as a spirit of the morning.

I hope I havent kept you waiting long. he said.

No fear, cried Mrs. Bartlett. If breakfasts a minute later than seven oclock, we soon hear of it from the men-folks. They get precious hungry by that time.

By that time? echoed Yates. Then do they get up before seven?

Laws! what a farmer you would make, Mr. Yates! exclaimed Mrs. Bartlett, laughing.

Why, everythings done about the house and barn; horses fed, cows milkedeverything. There never was a better motto made than the one you learned when you were a boy, and like as not have forgotten all about:

Im sorry you dont believe in it, Mr. Yates.

Oh, thats all right, said Yates with some loftiness; but Id like to see a man get out a morning paper on such a basis. Im healthy enough, quite as wealthy as the professor here, and everyone will admit that Im wiser than he is; yet I never go to bed until after two oclock, and rarely wake before noon.

Kitty laughed at this, and young Hiram looked admiringly at the New Yorker, wishing he was as clever.

For the lands sake! cried Mrs. Bartlett, with true feminine profanity, What do you do up so late as that?

Writing, writing, said Yates airily; articles that make dynasties tremble next morning, and which call forth apologies or libel suits afterward, as the case may be.

Young Hiram had no patience with ones profession as a topic of conversation. The tent and its future position was the burning question with him. He mumbled something about Yates having slept late in order to avoid the hearing of the words of thankfulness at the beginning of the meal. What his parents caught of this remark should have shown them how evil communications corrupt good manners; for, big as he was, the boy had never before ventured even to hint at ridicule on such a subject. He was darkly frowned upon by his silent father, and sharply reprimanded by his voluble mother. Kitty apparently thought it rather funny, and would like to have laughed. As it was, she contented herself with a sly glance at Yates, who, incredible as it may seem, actually blushed at young Hirams allusion to the confusing incident of the day before.

The professor, who was a kind-hearted man, drew a herring across the scent.

Mr. Bartlett has been good enough, said he, changing the subject, to say we may camp in the woods at the back of the farm. I have been out there this morning, and it certainly is a lovely spot.

Mr. Bartlett has been good enough, said he, changing the subject, to say we may camp in the woods at the back of the farm. I have been out there this morning, and it certainly is a lovely spot.

Were awfully obliged, Mr. Bartlett, said Yates. Of course Renmark went out there merely to show the difference between the ant and the butterfly. Youll find out what a humbug he is by and by, Mrs. Bartlett. He looks honest; but you wait.

I know just the spot for the tent, cried young Hiramdown in the hollow by the creek. Then you wont need to haul water.

Yes, and catch their deaths of fever and ague, said Mrs. Bartlett. Malaria had not then been invented. Take my advice, and put your tentif you will put it up at allon the highest ground you can find. Hauling water wont hurt you.

I agree with you, Mrs. Bartlett. It shall be so. My friend uses no wateryou ought to have seen his bill at the Buffalo hotel. I have it somewhere, and am going to pin it up on the outside of the tent as a warning to the youth of this neighborhoodand what water I need I can easily carry up from the creek.

The professor did not defend himself, and Mrs. Bartlett evidently took a large discount from all that Yates said. She was a shrewd woman.

After breakfast the men went out to the barn. The horses were hitched to the wagon, which still contained the tent and fittings. Young Hiram threw an ax and a spade among the canvas folds, mounted to his place, and drove up the lane leading to the forest, followed by Yates and Renmark on foot, leaving the farmer in his barnyard with a cheery good-by, which he did not see fit to return.

First, a field of wheat; next, an expanse of waving hay that soon would be ready for the scythe; then, a pasture field, in which some young horses galloped to the fence, gazing for a moment at the harnessed horses, whinnying sympathetically, off the next with flying heels wildly flung in the air, rejoicing in their own contrast of liberty, standing at the farther corner and snorting defiance to all the world; last, the cool shade of the woods into which the lane ran, losing its identity as a wagon road in diverging cow paths. Young Hiram knew the locality well, and drove direct to an ideal place for camping. Yates was enchanted. He included all that section of the country in a sweeping wave of his hand, and burst forth:

Shakespeare improved.

I think you are mistaken, said Renmark.

Not a bit it. Couldnt be a better camping ground.

Yes; I know that. I picked it out two hours ago. But you were wrong in your quotation. It is not by Shakespeare and yourself, as you seem to think.

Isnt it? Some other fellow, eh? Well, if Shake is satisfied, I am. Do you know, Renny, I calculate that, line for line, Ive written about ten times as much as Shakespeare. Do the literati recognize that fact? Not a bit of it. This is an ungrateful world, Stilly.

It is, Dick. Now, what are you going to do toward putting up the tent?

Everything, my boy, everything. I know more about putting up tents than you do about science, or whatever you teach. Now, Hiram, my boy, you cut me some stakes about two feet longstout ones. Here, professor, throw off that coat and négligé manner, and grasp this spade. I want some trenches dug.

Yates certainly made good his words. He understood the putting up of tents, his experience in the army being not yet remote. Young Hiram gazed with growing admiration at Yates deftness and evident knowledge of what he was about, while his contempt for the professors futile struggle with a spade entangled in tree roots was hardly repressed.

Better give me that spade, he said at length; but there was an element of stubbornness in Renmarks character. He struggled on.

At last the work was completed, stakes driven, ropes tightened, trenches dug.

Yates danced, and gave the war whoop of the country.

Longfellow, old man, Longfellow. Bet you a dollar on it! And the frivolous Yates poked the professor in the ribs.

Richard, said the latter, I can stand only a certain amount of this sort of thing. I dont wish to call any man a fool, but you act remarkably like one.

Dont be mealy-mouthed, Renny; call a spade a spade. By George! young Hiram has gone off and forgotten hisAnd the ax, too! Perhaps theyre left for us. Hes a good fellow, is young Hiram. A fool? Of course Im a fool. Thats what I came for, and thats what Im going to be for the next two weeks. A foola fool, I met a fool i the forestjust the spot for him. Who could be wise here after years of brick and mortar?

Where are your eyes, Renny, he cried, that you dont grow wild when you look around you? See the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves; listen to the murmur of the wind in the branches; hear the trickle of the brook down there; notice the smooth bark of the beech and the rugged covering of the oak; smell the wholesome woodland scents. Renmark, you have no soul, or you could not be so unmoved. It is like paradise. It isSay, Renny, by Jove, Ive forgotten that jug at the barn!

It will be left there.

Will it? Oh, well, if you say so.

I do say so. I looked around for it this morning to smash it, but couldnt find it.

Why didnt you ask old Bartlett?

I did; but he didnt know where it was.

Yates threw himself down on the moss and laughed, flinging his arms and legs about with the joy of living.

Say, Culture, have you got any old disreputable clothes with you? Well, then, go into the tent and put them on; then come out and lie on your back and look up at the leaves. Youre a good fellow, Renny, but decent clothes spoil you. You wont know yourself when you get ancient duds on your back. Old clothes mean freedom, liberty, all that our ancestors fought for. When you come out, well settle whos to cook and who to wash dishes. Ive settled it already in my own mind, but I am not so selfish as to refuse to discuss the matter with you.

When the professor came out of the tent, Yates roared. Renmark himself smiled; he knew the effect would appeal to Yates.

By Jove! old man, I ought to have included a mirror in the outfit. The look of learned respectability, set off with the garments of a disreputable tramp, makes a combination that is simply killing. Well, you cant spoil that suit, anyhow. Now sprawl.

Im very comfortable standing up, thank you.

Get down on your back. You hear me?

Put me there.

You mean it? asked Yates, sitting up.

Certainly.

Say, Renny, beware. I dont want to hurt you.

Ill forgive you for once.

On your head be it.

On my back, you mean.

Thats not bad, Renny, cried Yates, springing to his feet. Now, it will hurt. You have fair warning. I have spoken.

The young men took sparring attitudes. Yates tried to do it gently at first, but, finding he could not touch his opponent, struck out more earnestly, again giving a friendly warning. This went on ineffectually for some time, when the professor, with a quick movement, swung around his foot with the airy grace of a dancing master, and caught Yates just behind the knee, at the same time giving him a slight tap on the breast. Yates was instantly on his back.