Every Man for Himself Part 37

The wind had freshened. The look and smell of the world foreboded a gale. Overhead the sky turned gray. There came a shadow on the sea, sullen and ominous. Gusts of wind ran offsh.o.r.e and went hissing out to sea; and they left the waters rippling black and flecked with froth wherever they touched. In the west the sky, far away, changed from gray to deepest black and purple; and high up, midway, ma.s.ses of cloud, with torn and streaming edges, rose swiftly toward the zenith. It turned cold. A great flake of snow fell on Jehoshaphat's cheek, and melted; but Jehoshaphat was pondering upon justice. He wiped the drop of water away with the back of his hand, because it tickled him, but gave the sign no heed.

"I 'low, Mister Wull," said he, doggedly, "that you better give Timothy Yule back his father's meadow. For n.o.body knows, sir," he argued, "why Timothy Yule's father went an' signed his name t' that there writin'

just afore he died. 'Twasn't right. He didn't ought t' sign it. An' you got t' give the meadow back."

John Wull was unmoved.

"An', look you! Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat continued, pulling closer to the pan, addressing the bowed back of the trader, "you better not press young Isaac Lower for that cod-trap money. He've too much trouble with that wife o' his t' be bothered by debt. Anyhow, you ought t' give un a chance. An', look you! you better let ol' Misses Jowl have back her garden t' Green Cove. The way you got that, Mister Wull, is queer. I don't know, but I 'low you better give it back, anyhow. You _got_ to, Mister Wull; an', ecod! you got t' give the ol' woman a pound o' cheese an' five cents' worth-no, ten-ten cents' worth o' sweets t' make her feel good. She _likes_ cheese. She 'lows she never could get _enough_ o'

cheese. She 'lows she _wished_ she could have her fill afore she dies.

An' you got t' give her a whole pound for herself."

They were drifting over the Tombstone grounds.

"Whenever you makes up your mind," Jehoshaphat suggested, diffidently, "you lift your little finger-jus' your little finger."

There was no response.

"Your little finger," Jehoshaphat repeated. "Jus' your little finger-on'y that."

Wull faced about. "Jehoshaphat," said he, with a grin, "you wouldn't leave me."

"Jus' wouldn't I!"

"You wouldn't."

"You jus' wait and see."

"You wouldn't leave me," said Wull, "because you couldn't. I knows you, Jehoshaphat-I knows you."

"You better look out."

"Come, now, Jehoshaphat, is you goin' t' leave an old man drift out t'

sea an' die?"

Jehoshaphat was embarra.s.sed.

"Eh, Jehoshaphat?"

"Well, no," Jehoshaphat admitted, frankly. "I isn't; leastways, not alone."

"Not alone?" anxiously.

"No; not alone. I'll go with you, Mister Wull, if you're lonesome, an'

wants company. You sees, sir, I can't give in. I jus' _can't_! I'm here, Mister Wull, in this here cranky rodney, beyond the Tombstone grounds, with a dirty gale from a point or two south o' west about t' break, because I'm the public o' Satan's Trap. I can die, sir, t' save gossip; but I sim-plee jus' isn't able t' give in. 'Twouldn't be _right_."

"Well, _I_ won't give in."

"Nor I, sir. So here we is-out here beyond the Tombstone grounds, you on a pan an' me in a rodney. An' the weather isn't-well-not quite _kind_."

It was not. The black clouds, torn, streaming, had possessed the sky, and the night was near come. Haul-Away Head and Daddy Tool's Point had melted with the black line of coast. Return-safe pa.s.sage through the narrows to the quiet water and warm lights of Satan's Trap-was almost beyond the most courageous hope. The wind broke from the sh.o.r.e in straight lines-a stout, agile wind, loosed for riot upon the sea. The sea was black, with a wind-lop upon the grave swell-a black-and-white sea, with spume in the gray air. The west was black, with no hint of other color-without the pity of purple or red. Roundabout the sea was breaking, troubled by the wind, indifferent to the white little rodney and the lives o' men.

"You better give in," old John Wull warned.

"No," Jehoshaphat answered; "no; oh no! I won't give in. Not _in_."

A gust turned the black sea white.

"_You_ better give in," said Jehoshaphat.

John Wull shrugged his shoulders and turned his back.

"Now, Mister Wull," said Jehoshaphat, firmly, "I 'low I can't stand this much longer. I 'low we can't be fools much longer an' get back t'

Satan's Trap. I got a sail, here, Mister Wull; but, ecod! the beat t'

harbor isn't pleasant t' _think_ about."

"You better go home," sneered old John Wull.

"I 'low I _will_," Jehoshaphat declared.

Old John Wull came to the windward edge of the ice, and there stood frowning, with his feet submerged. "What was you sayin'?" he asked.

"That you'd go home?"

Jehoshaphat looked away.

"An' leave me?" demanded John Wull. "Leave _me? Me?_"

"I got t' think o' my kids."

"An' you'd leave me t' _die?_"

"Well," Jehoshaphat complained, "'tis long past supper-time. You better give in."

"I won't!"

The coast was hard to distinguish from the black sky in the west. It began to snow. Snow and night, allied, would bring Jehoshaphat Rudd and old John Wull to cold death.

"Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat objected, "'tis long past supper-time, an' I wants t' go home."

"Go-an' be d.a.m.ned!"

"I'll count ten," Jehoshaphat threatened.

"You da.s.sn't!"

"I don't know whether I'll _go_ or not," said Jehoshaphat. "Maybe not.

Anyhow, I'll count ten, an' see what happens. Is you ready?"

Wull sat down on the tarpaulin.