J. Poindexter, Colored Part 12

CHAPTER XVII

_Sable Plots_

So I spreads out both my hands like as if I'm plumb cowed down and licked, and then I starts in handing out to her the yarn which I'd spent half the night before piecing it together in my mind. It's a mighty nice kind of romancing, if I do say so, and full of plausibleness, 'specially that part of it which is built up on what I remembers the old judge having told me about the curious case which come up that time in one of the adjoining counties. But the rest of it, including the most fanciest touches, such as Mr. Clarence and the old maiden-lady aunt and the two sets of triplets and all, has been made up to order right out of my own head, and I asks credit.

And now, whilst I'm setting there telling it to her and watching her close to see how she's taking it, I'm praying to the Good Lord, asking Him will He please, Master, forgive me for onloading such a monstrous pack of what-ain't-so on an onsuspecting and worked-up lady. And at the same time I'm hoping the spirit of Mr. Dallases' dear departed father, which he was one of the nicest, quietest old gentlemen that ever breathed, won't come ha'nting me for low-rating his memory so scandalous. I knows full well he must be turning over in the grave faster and faster every minute which pa.s.ses. I only can trust he don't see fit to rise from it.

"Miss DeWitt," I says, "lissen, please, an' you sh.e.l.l know all: You see, ma'am, ever'thin' in this connection dates back to the time w'en Mr.

Dallases' paw made his dyin' will some six or seven yeahs ago. 'Course, as you doubtless has learned befo' now, he lef' the bigges' part of the estate tied up."

"I don't know any such thing," she says, breaking in again and even more savage-like than before. "Do you mean to tell me Dallas is not the sole master of his own property?"

I sort of stammers and hesitates like I'm astonished that she don't know that part of it, neither. My hanging back only makes her yet more fierce to hear the rest.

"Wellum," I goes on to say when finally I sees she's liable to blow clean up if I delays further, "the real facts of the case is 'at he ain't actually got no property a-tall, ez you mout say. He only draws down one-ha'f the intrust frum it. He don't get nigh ez much income, neither, ez whut folkses mout think frum his free way of spendin' his money right an' lef'. Ez a matter of fact, an' in the strictes'

confidences, Miss DeWitt," I says, "he is mos' gin'elly alluz in debt to the trustees by reason of him bein' overdrawed. But, course," I says, "'at part of it ain't neither yere nor thar, is it? Ef Mr. Dallas wants to slather his money 'bout so fast that ever' dollar he spends looks to outsiders lak it's ten or twelve, tha's his bus'ness. Lemme git back on the main track. Le's see, now? I wuz specifyin' to you 'bout the will, wuzn' I?

"Well, it's lak this: W'en folkses down our way heared the terms of the will they wuz a heap of 'em said the old gen'elman's mind must a-went back on him in his last sickness fur him to be layin' down any sech curious 'quiremints ez them wuz. Ya.s.sum, some even went fu'ther 'en 'at.

Some went so fur ez to say it wuz the streak of onsanity w'ich runs in the Pulliam fambly croppin' out ag'in in a fresh place."

"Oh, so it's insanity now!" she says. "The longer you talk the more interesting things I learn. Go on--go on!"

"Ya.s.sum," I says, "I'm goin'. Ya.s.sum, they wuz quite a host of folkses w'ich come right out an' said Mr. Dallas an' Mr. Clarence, ary one or both of 'em, would be amply justified in contestin' the will on the grounds 'at the late lamentable wuz out of his haid at the time he drawed it up. But no, ma'am, not them two! I figgers they knowed they own dear paw well 'nuff to know the idee w'ich he toted in his mind.

'Sides w'ich, all the members of that fambly is sort of techy on the subjec' of the lil' trickle of onsanity 'at flows in the blood, w'ich, I reckin, they natch.e.l.ly is to be 'scused fur that. An' ef one or the other of 'em went to the big cotehouse tryin' to bust up the will on the claim 'at the ole gen'elman didn't rightly know whut he wuz doin'

to'des the last, it'd only quicken up the talk 'bout the craziness strain. An' so, on 'count of the Pulliam pride an' all, they jes' lef'

it stand lak it wuz. An' 'en, on top of 'at, Mr. Clarence he turned sort of onsatisfactory in the haid an' he strayed off an' wuzn' heared of ag'in till yere recently. An' 'en, soon ez Mr. Clarence wuz found, Mr.

Dallas he come on up yere an' you an' him met an'----"

"In Heaven's name, quit drooling and get somewhere," she says, making her words pop like one of these here whip-lashes. "What did the will say?"

"Ya.s.sum," I says, "ya.s.sum, I jest is reached 'at p'int, now. The will say 'at the estate is to be helt in trust fur the time bein' an' 'en w'en the two sons comes of age they is free to marry, only they is both bound to marry somebody or other befo' they reaches they twenty-fif'

birthday. An' the one w'ich has the most chillen to his credit at the end of five yeahs frum his weddin' day, he gits the main chunk of the prop'ty, whilst the other is cut down to jest----"

"The most children?" she says; only by now she's saying it so savigrous that she practically is yelling it. "The most----?"

"Ya.s.sum," I says, "tha's it--the most chillen. You see, ma'am, they seems to run to chillen, someway, the Pulliamses does. When a Pulliam gits married, look out fur baby-carriages, tha's all. They don't seem to have chillen by driblets, neither, lak some people does. They is more apt to have 'em by triplets. They is two complete sets of triplets on record in times gone past, an' ever' generation kin be depended on to perduce at leas' one set of twins.

"Or even more! Now, f'rinstances, you tek Mr. Dallas an' Mr.

Clarence--both twins. Tek they father befo' 'em an' they maiden aunt, Miss Sarah Pulliam, deceasted--twins some mo'. Only, you never heared much 'bout Miss Sarah in her lifetime owin' to her bein' kep' onder lock an' key fur spasms of a kind of wildness comin' over her now an'

then. Then ag'in, amongst Mr. Dallases' own brothers an' sisters, tek his two lil' twin sisters, not to mention the four or five singles w'ich come 'long right stiddy an' reg'lar. Ya.s.sum, it's been 'at way in the famby fur ez fur back ez the oldest inhabitant kin remember.

"But the gineration w'ich Mr. Dallas belongs to, it turned out sickly fur the most part, an' so, by the time the ole gen'elman come to die, all his chillen had died off on him, 'scusin' Mr. Dallas an' Mr.

Clarence, w'ich them two wuz all they wuz left out of a big swarm. Oh, I jedges the paw knowed whut he wuz 'bout! I reckin he craved 'at his breed should once more multiply freely an' replenish the earth wid a whole mult.i.tude of lil' Pulliamses. An' so he purvided fur a healthy compet.i.tion betwixt his two sons to see----"

"Wait!" she says. "Let me see if I understand you? You say that by the terms of that old maniac's will the bulk of his estate was tied up so to go eventually to the son who had the most children five years after marriage. Well, then, what does the remaining son--the loser--get?"

"He gits a hund'ed an' fifty dollars a month fur life--I think tha's whut it come to," I says. "Mebbe it mout be a hund'ed an' sebenty-five, I won't be sh.o.r.e. An' he also draws down fifty dollars a month extry fur each chile he's got livin'. But tha's all. The home place an' the tobacco bus'ness an' the money in the bank an' all else, they goes to the winner, onlessen each one, at the end of them five yeahs is got a ek'el number of chillen in w'ich case the estate is divided even-stephen betwixt 'em. Ya.s.sum!"

"Then why didn't both brothers marry as soon as they came of age?" she asks me, sort of suspicious. But I was expecting that very question to come forth sooner or later, and I was prepared beforehand for it.

"Wellum," I says, "you see, I reckin Mr. Dallas figgered they wuzn' no need to be in a rush seein' 'at Mr. Clarence wuz so kind of ondependable. Ef the truth must be knowed, Mr. Clarence wuz downright flighty. He had spells w'en he'd furgit his own name an' go wanderin'.

Ya.s.sum! An' right after he come of age he took a 'specially severe spell an' he sauntered so fur away they plum' lost track of him. It wasn't 'twell last July 'at he wuz located ag'in. It seems lak he'd been detained somewhars out West in a sort of a home whar they keeps folks w'ich is liable to fits of chronic oneasiness in the haid. But now, suddenly, his refreshed memory had come back to him an' the doctors pernounced him cured an' turned him loose ag'in; an' the latest word wuz 'at he wuz thinkin' 'bout gittin married down in Texas or one of 'em other distant places, out yonderways. So Mr. Dallas must a-realized 'at 'twuz up to him to stir his stumps an' git hisse'f married off, too; 'specially ez he had done pa.s.sed his twenty-fo'th birthday the month befo'. Well, seemed lak, he couldn't find no young lady down home w'ich wuz suitable to his fancies, although some folks did say, quiet-lak, 'at they wuz a local prejudice springin' up on the part of parents ag'inst havin' they daughters marryin' him. But betwixt you an' me, ma'am, I never tuk no stock in 'at, 'cause most of the time Mr. Dallas is jest ez rationable ez whut you an' me is. It's only w'en he gits excited 'at he behaves a lil' peculiar-lak. Well, anyways, Mr. Dallas he come on up yere an' he met you. So now it looks lak ever'thing is goin' turn out all right, an' mebbe we'll beat out Mr. Clarence after all, in w'ich case Mr. Dallas won't have to be worryin' at the end of five yeahs 'bout whar he's gain' to rake up the cash to pay back the money w'ich he's overdrawed out of the estate, nur nuthin'. So that's how come me to mention chillen w'en I fust come in, ma'am. An' I trusts you understan's?"

And with that I smiles at her like I'm expecting that now, seeing she knows all the tidings, she'll be jubilated over the prospects, too.

But she ain't smiling--I lay she ain't got a smile left in her entire system. She's mighty nigh choking, but it ain't no happy emotion that she's choked up with; if you was a blind man you could a-told that much from the sounds she's making. She's saying things fast and furious.

Remarks is just foaming from her; but the trouble is she keeps on getting her statements all jumbled up together so they don't make good sense. And yet, notwithstanding, I still can follow her thoughts. I catches the words: "_most_ children"--she duplicates that several times--and "twins" and "triplets" and "insanity" and "one hundred and fifty dollars a month." And all mixed in with this is loose odds and ends of language which seems to indicate she thinks somebody has been withholding something back on her or trying to take an unfair advantage of her, or something. She certainly is in a swivit. A little more and she'd be delirious--she would so!

All of a sudden she flings herself out of the room, with her necklaces and things clas.h.i.+ng till she sounds like a runaway milk-wagon, and she makes for the telephone in the hall, and I can hear her trying very frantic to get our number rung up. For a minute my heart swarms up in my throat; anyhow, some of my organs swarms up there where I can taste 'em. I'm so afraid Mr. Dallas may forget his promise to me and come to the 'phone! If he does, the whole transaction is liable to be busted up just when I've strove so hard to fix everything nice and lovely. That's why my heart climbs up in my windpipes. But after a little bit I can breathe easy some more because it's plain, from what I overhears, that Central tells her she can't get no responsives from the other end of the wire. So then, after one or two more tries, she gives up trying and she comes back into the setting-room, still spilling mumbling words, but "children" continues to be the one she seems to favor the most, and she says to me that she has a message to send to Mr. Dallas, which she wants me for to take it to him.

Still playing my part, I says to her I truly hopes there ain't going to be nothing in the message which will put Mr. Dallas in a bad humor with me. But she don't appear to hear my pleading voice. She's already set down over at a little writing-desk in the corner, and she's got a pen in her hand and she's writing away like a house on fire. The pen is squeaking the same as if it was in torment, and them five or six bracelets on her arm is clinking sweet music to my ear. I ain't no seventh son of a seventh gun, which they tells me they has the gift of prophecy laid upon them at birth, nor yet I ain't no mind-reader, but, even so, I says to myself that I don't need but one guess at the true nature of what 'tis she's writing.

She gets through quite soon--there's only just one single sheet of paper, and she folds it up and creases it hard like she's trying to mash it in two, and she jams it in an enveloper and seals the enveloper and shoves it into my waiting hand, and she says to me:

"There! Now you take this note to the man you work for, immediately!"

"Ya.s.sum," I says; "is they any answer to come back?"

"Answer?" she says, "No--no--_no_--NO!"

So I goes right out, leaving her still saying it at the top of her voice. It seems to me it's high time to go, if not higher. Besides, it's mighty hard trying to carry on a conversation with an overwrought-up lady which she has only got one word left in stock, which that one is a little short word like "No."

So I takes my foot in my hand and I marvils thence from there fast as ever my willing legs can take me. And as I goes along on my way, speeding 'cross-town bound for our quarters, I'm trying to think of a stylish word which in times gone by I has heard some of the white folks use as a pet name for a note from one loving soul to another. Pretty soon it comes to me--_billet doux_!

I stops right still where I is at:

"Bill-Lee do, huh?" I says to myself. "Yas, sometimes Bill-Lee do. But this time--glory, hallelujah, amen!--Bill-Lee do not!"

CHAPTER XVIII

_White Hopes_

When you is engaged in going to and fro in the world doing good deeds you certainly can cover a surpa.s.sing lot of ground in a short time. It's striking ten when I knocks at the lady's door; it ain't eleven yet, by the lacking of a few minutes, when I is home again and has handed over the note to Mr. Dallas and is watching his face whilst he reads it. He's got one of these here open faces, and I can tell, easy enough, exactly what thoughts goes through his mind. Mostly he's full of a great relief--that's plain to see--but mixed in with it is a faint kind of a lurking regretfulness that she should a-broke loose from him so abrupt this-a-way. If folks has got the least crumb of vanity in 'em it shows forth when a love affair is going to pieces on 'em. And Mr. Dallas is not no mite different in this matter from the run of creation. Even so, he's displayed more joysomeness than anything else when it comes to the end of what she's wrote him. He reaches out after my hand for to shake it good and hard and hearty.

"Jeff," he says, "my hat's off to you--you're the outstanding wonder of the century. I judge it's hardly necessary for me to tell you what's in this note?"

"I been able," I says, "to mek my own calculations, suh. I reckins ef I wuz put to it, I could guess."

"How did you ever succeed in doing it?" he says.

"Mr. Dallas," I says, "the main p'int is 'at it's done--ain't 'at so, suh?"

"Agreed," he says; "but there are hints here--hints is a mild word--at things I don't in the least understand. Now, for example----"