A Young Man in a Hurry, and Other Short Stories Part 13

"Is that all?" asked Lansing, laughing.

"Wait!" growled the Major.

"Waal," continued old Peter, "the s.h.i.+nin' stuff on them night-gounds was that bright that I seen the fishes swimmin' round kinder dazed like.

'Gos.h.!.+' sez I to m'self, it's like a Jack a-drawnin' them trout--yaas'r.

So I hollers out, 'Here! You s.h.i.+nin' Band folk, you air a-drawin' the trout. Quit it!' sez I, ha'sh an' pert-like. Then that there Munn, the Prophet, he up an' hollers, 'Hark how the heathen rage!' he hollers. An'

with that, blamed if he didn't sling a big net into the river, an' all them s.h.i.+nin' Banders ketched holt an' they drawed it clean up-stream.

'Quit that!' I hollers, 'it's agin the game laws!' But the Prophet he hollers back, 'Hark how the heathen rage!' Then they drawed that there net out, an' it were full o' trout, big an' little--"

"Great Heaven!" roared the Major, black in the face.

"I think," said Lansing, quietly, "that I'll walk down to O'Hara's and reason with our friend Munn. Sprowl may want a man to help him in this matter."

III

When Sprowl galloped his sorrel mare across the bridge and up to the O'Hara house, he saw a man and a young girl seated on the gra.s.s of the river-bank, under the shade of an enormous elm.

Sprowl dismounted heavily, and led his horse towards the couple under the elm. He recognized Munn in the thin, long-haired, full-bearded man who rose to face him; and he dropped the bridle from his hand, freeing the sorrel mare.

The two men regarded each other in silence; the mare strayed leisurely up-stream, cropping the fresh gra.s.s; the young girl turned her head towards Sprowl with a curious movement, as though listening, rather than looking.

"Mr. Munn, I believe," said Sprowl, in a low voice.

"The Reverend Amasa Munn," corrected the Prophet, quietly. "You are Peyster Sprowl."

Sprowl turned and looked full at the girl on the gra.s.s. The shadow of her big straw hat fell across her eyes; she faced him intently.

Sprowl glanced at his mare, whistled, and turned squarely on his heel, walking slowly along the river-bank. The sorrel followed like a dog; presently Munn stood up and deliberately stalked off after Sprowl, rejoining that gentleman a few rods down the river-bank.

"Well," said Sprowl, turning suddenly on Munn, "what are you doing here?"

From his lank height Munn's eyes were nevertheless scarcely level with the eyes of the burly president.

"I'm here," said Munn, "to sell the land."

"I thought so," said Sprowl, curtly. "How much?"

Munn picked a b.u.t.tercup and bit off the stem. With the blossom between his teeth he surveyed the sky, the river, the forest, and then the features of Sprowl.

"How much?" asked Sprowl, impatiently.

Munn named a sum that staggered Sprowl, but Munn could perceive no tremor in the fat, blank face before him.

"And if we refuse?" suggested Sprowl.

Munn only looked at him.

Sprowl repeated the question.

"Well," observed Munn, stroking his beard reflectively, "there's that matter of the t.i.tle."

This time Sprowl went white to his fat ears. Munn merely glanced at him, then looked at the river.

"I will buy the t.i.tle this time," said Sprowl, hoa.r.s.ely.

"You can't," said Munn.

A terrible shock struck through Sprowl; he saw through a mist; he laid his hand on a tree-trunk for support, mechanically facing Munn all the while.

"Can't!" he repeated, with dry lips.

"No, you can't buy it."

"Why?"

"O'Hara's daughter has it."

"But--she will sell! Won't she sell? Where is she?" burst out Sprowl.

"She won't sell," said Munn, studying the ghastly face of the president.

"You can make her sell," said Sprowl. "What is your price?"

"I can't make her sell the t.i.tle to your club property," said Munn.

"She'll sell this land here. Take it or leave it."

"If I take it--will _you_ leave?" asked Sprowl, hoa.r.s.ely.

Munn smiled, then nodded.

"And will that shut your mouth, you dirty scoundrel?" said Sprowl, gripping his riding-crop till his fat fingernails turned white.

"It will shut _my_ mouth," said Munn, still with his fixed smile.

"How much extra to keep this matter of the t.i.tle quiet--as long as I live?"

"As long as you live?" repeated Munn, surprised.

"Yes, I don't care a d.a.m.n what they say of me after I'm dead," snarled Sprowl.

Munn watched him for a moment, plucked another b.u.t.tercup, pondered, smoothed out his rich, brown, silky beard, and finally mentioned a second sum.

Sprowl drew a check-book from the breast-pocket of his coat, and filled in two checks with a fountain pen. These he held up before Munn's snapping, yellowish eyes.

"This blackmail," said Sprowl, thickly, "is paid now for the last time.

If you come after me again you come to your death, for I'll smash your skull in with one blow, and take my chances to prove insanity. And I've enough money to prove it."

Munn waited.