Every Man for Himself Part 14

"Then know this," said Khalil Khayyat, abruptly, "the song he could not utter he sings in gentle deeds. It is a great song; it is too great for singing-it must be lived. This Salim," he added, "is the greatest poet that ever lived. He expresses his sublime and perfect compositions in dear deeds. He is, indeed, a great poet."

Nageeb Fiani thought it great argument for poetry; so, too, Khalil Khayyat.

IV-THE SQUALL

TUMM of the _Good Samaritan_ kicked the cabin stove into a sputter and roar of flame so l.u.s.ty that the black weather of Jump Harbor was instantly reduced from arrogant and disquieting menace to an impression of contrast grateful to the heart. "Not bein' a parson," said he, roused now from a brooding silence by this radiant inspiration, "I isn't much of a hand at accountin' for the mysteries o' G.o.d; an' never havin' made a world, I isn't no critic o' creation. Still an' all," he persisted, in a flash of complaint, "it did seem t' me, somehow, accordin' t' my lights, which wasn't trimmed at no theological college, that the Maker o' Archibald Shott o' Jump Harbor hadn't been quite kind t' Arch." The man s.h.i.+fted his feet in impatient disdain, then laughed-a gently contemptuous shaft, directed at his insolence: perhaps, too, at his ignorance. It fell to a sigh, however, which continued expression, presently, in a glance of poignant bewilderment. "Take un by an' all,"

he pursued, "I was wonderful sorry for Arch. Seemed t' me, sir, though he bore the sign o' the Lord's own hand, as do us all, that he'd but a mean lookout for gracious livin', after all.

"Poor Archibald Shott!

"'Arch, b'y,' says I, 'you got the disposition of a snake.'

"'Is I?' says he. 'Maybe you're right, Tumm. I never knowed a snake in a intimate way.'

"'You got the soul,' said I, 'of a ill-born squid.'

"'Don't know,' said he; 'never _seed_ a squid's soul.'

"'Your tongue,' says I, 'is a flame o' fire; 'tis a wonder t' me she haven't blistered your lips long afore this.'

"'Isn't _my_ fault,' says he.

"'No?' says I. 'Then who's t' blame?'

"'Well,' says he, 'G.o.d made me.'

"'Anyhow,' said I, 'you've took t' the devil's alterations an'

improvements like a imp t' h.e.l.l fire.'"

Tumm dropped into an angry muse....

We had put in from the sea off the Harborless Sh.o.r.e, balked by a screaming Newfoundland northwester, allied with fog and falling night, from rounding Taunt Head, beyond which lay the snug harbor and waiting fish of Candlestick Cove. It had been labor enough, enough of cold, of sleety wind and anxious watching, to send the crew to berth in sleepy confusion when the teacups were emptied. Tumm and I sat in the companionable seclusion of the trader's cabin, the schooner lying at ease in the shelter of Jump Harbor. In the pause, led by the wind from this warmth and peace and light to the reaches of frothy coast, I recalled the cliffs of Black Bight, upon which, as I had been told in the gray gale of that day, the inevitable had overtaken Archibald Shott.

They sprang clear from the breakers, an expanse of black rock, barren as a bone, as it seemed in the sullen light, rising to a veil of fog, which, floating higher than our foremast, kept their topmost places in forbidding mystery. We had come about within stone's-throw, so that the bleak walls, echoing upon us, doubled the thunder of the sea. They inclined from the water: I bore this impression away as the schooner darted from their proximity-an impression, too, of ledges, crevices, broken surfaces. In that tumultuous commotion, perhaps, flung then against my senses, I had small power to observe; but I fancied, I recall, that a nimble man, pursued by fear, might scale the Black Bight cliffs. There was imperative need, however, of knowing the way, else there might be neither advance nor turning back....

"Seemed t' be made jus' o' leavin's, Arch did," Tumm resumed, with a little twitch of scorn: "jus' knocked t'gether," said he, "with sc.r.a.ps an' odds an' ends from the loft an' floor. But whatever, an a man had no harsh feelin' again' a body patched up out o' the shavin's o' bigger folk, a lean, long-legged, rickety sort o' carca.s.s, like t' break in the grip of a real man," he continued, "nor bore no grudge again' high cheek-bones, skimped lips, a ape's forehead, an' pale-green eyes, sot close to a nose like a axe an' pushed a bit too far back, why, then," he concluded, with a largely generous wave, "they wasn't a deal o' fault t'

be found with the looks o' Archibald Shott. Wasn't no reason ever _I_ seed why Arch shouldn't o' wed any maid o' nineteen harbors an' lived a sober, righteous, an' fatherly life till the sea cotched un. But it seemed, somehow, that Arch must fall in love with the maid o' Jump Harbor that was promised t' Slow Jim Tool-a lovely la.s.s, sir, believe _me_: a dimpled, rosy, towheaded, ripplin' sort o' maid, as soft as feathers an' as plump as a oyster, with a disposition like suns.h.i.+ne an'-an'-well, _flowers_. She was a wonderful dear an' tender la.s.s, quick t' smile, sir, quick as the sea in a sunlit southerly wind, an' quick t'

cry, too, G.o.d bless her! in sympathy with the woes o' folk.

"'Arch,' says I, wind-bound in the _Curly Head_ at Jump Harbor, 'don't you _do_ it.'

"'Love,' says he, 'is queer.'

"'Maybe,' says I; 'but keep off. You go,' says I, 'an' get a maid o'

your own.'

"'_Wonderful_ queer,' says he. ''Twouldn't s'prise me, Tumm,' says he, 'if a man failed in love with a fish-hook.'

"'Well,' says I, ''Lizabeth All isn't no fish-hook. She've red cheeks an' blue eyes an' as soft an' round a body as a man ever clapped eyes on. Her hair,' says I, 'is a glory; an', Arch,' says I, 'why, she _pities_!'

"'True,' says he; 'but it falls far short.'

"'How far?' says I.

"'Well,' says he, 'you left out her muscles.'

"'Look you, Arch!' says I; 'you isn't nothin' but a mean man. They isn't nothin' that's low an' cruel an' irreligious that you can't be comfortable s.h.i.+pmates with. Understand me? They isn't nothin' that can't be spoke of in the presence o' women an' children that isn't as good as a Sunday-school treat t' you. It doesn't scare you t' know that the things o' your delight would ruin G.o.d's own world an they had their way.

Understand me?' says I, bein' bound, now, to make it plain. 'An' now,'

says I, 'what you got t' give, anyhow, for the heart an' sweet looks o'

this maid? Is you thinkin',' says I, 'that she've a hankerin' after your dried beef body an' pill of a soul?'

"'Never you mind,' says he.

"'Speak up!' says I. 'What you got t' _trade_?'

"'Well,' says he, 'I'm clever.'

"''Tis small cleverness t' think,' says I, 'that in these parts a ounce o' brains is as good as a hundredweight o' chest an' shoulders.'

"'You jus' wait an' see,' says he.

"Seems that Jim Tool was a big man with a curly head an' a maid's gray eyes. He was wonderful solemn an' soft an' slow-so slow, believe _me_, sir, that he wouldn't quite know till to-morrow what he found out yesterday. If you spat in his face to-day, sir, he might drop in any time toward the end o' next week an' knock you down; but if he put it off for a fortnight, why, 'twouldn't be so wonderful s'prisin'. I 'low he was troubled a deal by the world. 'Twas all a mystery to un. He went about, sir, with his brows drawed down an' a look o' wonder an' s'prise an' pity on his big, kind, pink-an'-white face. He was _always_ s'prised; never seemed t' _expect_ nothin'-never seemed t' be ready. I 'low it shocked un t' pull a fish over the side. 'Dear man!' says he.

'Well, well!' What he done when 'Lizabeth All first kissed un 'tis past me t' tell. I 'low that shootin' wouldn't o' shocked un more. An' how long it took un t' wake up an' really feel that kiss-how many days o'

wonder an' s'prise an' doubt-'twould take a parson t' reckon. Anyhow, she loved un: I knows she did-she loved un, sir, because he was big an'

kind an' curly-headed, which was enough for 'Lizabeth All, I 'low, an'

might be enough for any likely maid o' Newf'un'land."

I dropped a birch billet in the stove.

"Anyhow," said Tumm, moodily, "it didn't last long."

The fire crackled a genial accompaniment to the tale of Slow Jim Tool....

"Well, now," Tumm continued, "Slow Jim Tool an' Archibald Shott o' Jump Harbor was cast away in the _Dimple_ at Creep Head o' the Labrador.

Bein' wrecked seamen, they come up in the mail-boat; an' it so happened, sir, that 'long about Run-by-Guess, with the fog thick, an' dusk near come, Archibald Short managed t' steal a Yankee's gold watch an' sink un in the pocket o' Slow Jim Tool. 'Twas s'prisin' t' Jim. Fact is, when they cotched un with the prope'ty, sir, Jim 'lowed he never knowed when he done it-never knowed he _could_ do it. 'Ecod!' says he; 'now that s'prises _me_. I mus' o' stole that there watch in my sleep. Well, well!' S'prised un a deal more, they says, when a bra.s.s-b.u.t.toned constable come aboard at Tilt Cove' an' took un in charge in the Queen's name. '_In the Queen's name!_' says Jim. 'What's that? In the Queen's name? Dear man!' says he; 'but this is awful! An' I never knows when I done it!' 'Twas more s'prisin' still when they haled un past Jump Harbor. 'Why,' says he, 'I wants t' go home an' see 'Lizabeth All. Why,'

says he, 'I got t' talk it over with 'Lizabeth!' 'You can't,' says the constable. 'But,' says Jim, 'I _got_ t'. Why,' says he, 'I always _have_.' 'Now,' says the constable, 'don't you make no trouble.' So Jim was s'prised again; but when the judge give un a year t' repent an' make brooms in chokee t' St. John's he was _so_ s'prised, they says, that he never come to his senses till he landed back at Jump Harbor an' was kissed seven times by 'Lizabeth All in the sight o' the folk o' that place. An' even after that, I'm told-ay, through a season's fis.h.i.+n'-he pondered a deal more'n was good for un. Ash.o.r.e an' afloat, 'twas all the same. 'Well, well!' says he. 'Dear man! I wonders how I done it. Arch,'

says he, 'you was aboard; can't _you_ throw no light?' Arch 'lowed he might an he but tried, but wouldn't. 'Might interfere,' says he, 'atween you an' 'Lizabeth.' 'But,' says Jim, 'as a friend?'

"'Well,' says Arch, ''riginal sin.'

"''Riginal sin!' says Jim. 'Dear man! but I mus' have got my share!'