Hepsey Burke Part 24

"But," he stuttered, "Mr. Bascom is the richest man in the parish, and his influence is strong. You will find that everyone defers to his judgment as a matter of course."

"All right; then let me add, for your own information, that I can earn my living honestly in this town and take care of myself without Mr.

Bascom's a.s.sistance, if necessary; and do my parish work at the same time. I have two muscular arms, and if it comes down to earning a livelihood, independent of my salary, I can work on the state road hauling stone. Williamson told me yesterday he was looking for men."

"I can scarcely think that the paris.h.i.+oners would hold with their rector working like a common laborer, Mr. Maxwell," admonished Nelson.

"We are all 'common,' in the right sense, Mr. Nelson. My view is that work of any kind is always honorable when necessary, except in the eyes of the ignorant. If Mr. Bascom is mortified to have me earn my living by manual labor, when he is not ashamed to repudiate a contract, and try to force me out of the parish by a process of slow starvation, his sense of fitness equals his standard of honor."

"Well, I am sure that I do not know what I can do."

"Do you want me to tell you?"

"If it will relieve your feelings," Nelson drawled insolently.

"Then get out of this place and stay out. If you return again for any purpose whatever I am afraid it is I who will have to eject you. We will not argue the matter again."

"Well, I regret this unfortunate encounter, and to have been forced to listen to the unguarded vituperation of my rector." With which retort he departed.

Soon after Nelson had left, Mrs. Burke called in, and Betty gave her a highly amusing and somewhat colored version of the interview.

"You know, I think that our theological seminaries don't teach budding parsons all they ought to, by any means," she concluded.

"I quite agree with you, Betty dear; and I thank my stars for college athletics," laughed Maxwell, squaring up to the tent-pole.

"What did I tell you," reminded Hepsey, "when you had all those books up in your room at my place. It's just as important for a country parson to know how to make a wiped-joint or run a chicken farm or pull teeth, as it is to study church history and theology. A parson's got to live somehow, and a trade school ought to be attached to every seminary, according to my way of thinking! St. Paul made tents, and wasn't a bit ashamed of it. Well I'm mighty glad that Bascom has got come up with for once. Don't you give in, and it will be my turn to make the next move, if this don't bring him to his senses. You just wait and see."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XIX

COULEUR de ROSE

Hepsey had been so busy with helping the Maxwells that for some time no opportunity had occurred for Jonathan to press his ardent suit.

Since his first attempt and its abrupt termination, he had been somewhat bewildered; he had failed to decide whether he was an engaged man open to congratulations, or a rejected suitor to be condoled with.

He tried to recall exactly what she had said. As near as he could recollect, it was: "I'll think it over, and perhaps some day--" Then he had committed the indiscretion of grasping her hand, causing her to drop her st.i.tches before she had ended what she was going to say.

He could have sworn at himself to think that it was all his fault that she had stopped just at the critical moment, when she might have committed herself and given him some real encouragement. But he consoled himself by the thought that she had evidently taken him seriously at last; and so to the "perhaps some day" he added, in imagination, the words "I will take you"; and this seemed reasonable.

The matter was more difficult from the very fact that they had been on such intimate terms for such a long time, and she had never hitherto given him any reason to think that she cared for him other than as a good neighbor and a friend. Ever since the death of his wife, she seemed to feel that he had been left an orphan in a cold and unsympathetic world, and that it was her duty to look after him much as she would a child. She was in the habit of walking over whenever she pleased and giving directions to Mary McGuire in regard to matters which she thought needed attention in his house. And all this had been done in the most open and matter-of-fact way, so that the most accomplished gossip in Durford never accused her of making matrimonial advances to the lonesome widower. Even Jonathan himself had been clever enough to see that she regarded him much as she would an overgrown boy, and had always accepted her many attentions without misinterpreting them. She was a born manager, and she managed him; that was all. Nothing could be more unsentimental than the way in which she would make him take off his coat during a friendly call, and let her sponge and press it for him; or the imperative fas.h.i.+on in which she sent him to the barber's to have his beard trimmed. How could a man make love to a woman after she had acted like this?

But he reminded himself that if he was ever to win her he must begin to carry out the advice outlined by Mrs. Betty; and so the apparently unsuspecting Hepsey would find on her side porch in the morning some specially fine corn which had been placed there after dark without the name of the donor. Once a fine melon was accompanied by a bottle of perfumery; and again a basket of peaches had secreted in its center a package of toilet soap "strong enough to kill the gra.s.s," as Hepsey remarked as she sniffed at it. Finally matters reached a climax when a bushel of potatoes arrived on the scene in the early dawn, and with it a canary bird in a tin cage. When Hepsey saw Jonathan later, she remarked casually that she "guessed she'd keep the potatoes; but she didn't need a canary bird any more than a turtle needs a tooth-pick; and he had better take it away and get his money back."

However, Jonathan never allowed her occasional rebuffs to discourage him or stop his attentions. He kept a close watch on all Hepsey's domestic interests, and if there were any small repairs to be made at Thunder Cliff, a hole in the roof to be mended, or the bricks on the top of the chimney to be relaid, or the conductor pipe to be readjusted, Jonathan was on the spot. Then Jonathan would receive in return a layer cake with chopped walnuts in the filling, and would accept it in the same matter-of-fact way in which Hepsey permitted his services as general caretaker.

This give-and-take business went on for some time. At last it occurred to him that Mrs. Burke's front porch ought to be painted, and he conceived the notion of doing the work without her knowledge, as a pleasant surprise to her. He waited a long time for some day when she should be going over to shop at Martin's Junction,--when Nickey usually managed to be taken along,--so that he could do the work un.o.bserved. Meantime, he collected from the hardware store various cards with samples of different colors on them. These he would combine and re-combine at his leisure, in the effort to decide just what colors would harmonize. He finally decided that a rather dark blue for the body work would go quite well, with a bright magenta for the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and laid in a stock of paint and brushes, and possessed his soul in patience.

So one afternoon, arriving home burdened with the spoils of Martin's Junction, great was Mrs. Burke's astonishment and wrath when she discovered the porch resplendent in dark blue and magenta.

"Sakes alive! Have I got to live inside of that," she snorted. "Why, it's the worst lookin' thing I ever saw. If I don't settle _him_," she added, "--paintin' my porch as if it belonged to him--and me as well,"

she added ambiguously. And, catching up her sun-bonnet, she hastened over to her neighbor's and inquired for Jonathan. "Sure, he's gone to Martin's Junction to see his brother, Mrs. Burke. He said he'd stay over night, and I needn't come in again till to-morrow dinner-time,"

Mary McGuire replied.

Hepsey hastened home, and gathering all the rags she could find, she summoned Nickey and Mullen, one of the men from the farm, and they worked with turpentine for nearly two hours, cleaning off the fresh paint from the porch. Then she sent Nickey down to the hardware store for some light gray paint and some vivid scarlet paint, and a bit of dryer. It did not take very long to repaint her porch gray--every trace of the blue and the magenta having been removed by the vigorous efforts of the three.

When it was finished, she opened the can of scarlet, and pouring in a large quant.i.ty of dryer she sent Nickey over to see if Mary McGuire had gone home. All three set to work that evening to paint the porch in front of Jonathan's house. At first Mullen protested anxiously that it was none of his business to be painting another man's porch, but Mrs. Burke gave him a look which changed his convictions; so he and Nickey proceeded gleefully to fulfill their appointed task, while she got supper.

When the work was quite finished. Hepsey went over to inspect it, and remarked thoughtfully to herself: "I should think that a half pint of dryer might be able to get in considerable work before to-morrow noon.

I hope Jonathan'll like scarlet. To be sure it does look rather strikin' on a white house; but then variety helps to relieve the monotony of a dead alive town like Durford; and if he don't like it plain, he can trim it green. I'll teach him to come paintin' my house without so much as a by-your-leave, or with-your-leave, lettin' the whole place think things."

As it happened, Jonathan returned late that night to Durford--quite too late to see the transformation of his own front porch, and since he entered by the side door as usual, he did not even smell the new paint. The next morning he sauntered over to Thunder Cliff, all agog for his reward, and Mrs. Burke greeted him at her side door, smiling sweetly.

"Good mornin', Jonathan. It was awful good of you to paint my front porch. It _has_ needed paintin' for some time now, but I never seemed to get around to it."

"Don't mention it, Hepsey," Jonathan replied affably. "Don't mention it. You're always doin' somethin' for me, and it's a pity if I can't do a little thing like that for you once in a while."

Hepsey had strolled round to the front, as if to admire his work, Jonathan following. Suddenly he came to a halt; his jaw dropped, and he stared as if he had gone out of his senses.

"Such a lovely color; gray just suits the house, you know," Mrs. Burke observed. "You certainly ought to have been an artist, Jonathan. Any man with such an eye for color ought not to be wastin' his time on a farm."

Jonathan still gazed at the porch in amazement, blinked hard, wiped his eyes and his gla.s.ses with his handkerchief, and looked again.

"What's the matter with you? Have you a headache?" Hepsey inquired solicitously.

"No, I haven't got no headache; but when I left that porch yesterday noon it was blue, and now I'm blamed if it don't seem gray. Does it look gray-like to you, Hepsey?"

"Why certainly! What's that you say? Do you say you painted it blue?

That certainly's mighty queer. But then you know some kinds of paint fade--some kinds do!" She nodded, looking suspiciously at the work.

"Fade!" Jonathan sneered. "Paints don't fade by moonlight in one night. That isn't no faded blue. It's just plain gray. I must be goin'

color blind, or something."

"It looks gray to me, and I'm glad it is gray, so don't you worry about it, Jonathan. Blue would be somethin' awful on the front of a white house, you know."

"Well," continued the bewildered Junior Warden, "I'm blessed if this isn't the queerest thing I ever see in all my born days. If I catch the fellow that sold me that paint, I'll make it lively for him or my name isn't Jackson."

"Oh, I wouldn't do anything like that! What difference does it make, so long as I like the color myself; it's my house. I should have been very much put out if you'd painted it blue; yes, I should."

"But I don't like to be cheated down at the store; and I won't, by gum! They said it was best quality paint! I'll go down to Crosscut's and see about this business, right now. I've traded with him nigh on twenty years, and he don't bamboozle me that way."

Hepsey turned away choking with laughter, and retreated to her kitchen.

Jonathan started back towards his house to get his hat and coat, and then for the first time he caught sight of his own porch, done in flaming scarlet, which fairly seemed to radiate heat in the brilliant sunlight. He stood motionless for nearly a minute, paralyzed. Then the color began to rise in his neck and face as he muttered under his breath:

"Hm! I'm on to the whole business now. I ought to have known that Hepsey would get the best of me. I guess I won't go down to Crosscut's after all."