The Ancient Law Part 16

"You've been very kind to me," he said, as he put his gla.s.s and plate down, and turned toward the door. "Whatever happens I shall always remember you and the children with pleasure."

She choked violently, and looking back at the gasping sound, he saw that her eyes had filled suddenly with tears. Lifting a corner of her blue gingham ap.r.o.n, she mopped her face in a furious effort to conceal the cause of her unaccustomed emotion.

"I declar' I'm all het up;" she remarked in an indignant voice, "but if you should ever need a friend in sickness, Mr. Smith," she added, after a moment in which she choked and coughed under the shelter of her ap.r.o.n, "you jest send for me an' I'll drop every thing I've got an' go. I'll leave husband an' children without a thought, suh, an' thar's nothin' I won't do for you with pleasure, from makin' a mustard plaster to layin'

out yo' corpse. When I'm a friend, I'm a friend, if I do say it, an'

you've had a way with me from the very first minute that I clapped eyes upon you. 'He may not have sech calves as you've got,' was what I said to Bill, 'but he's got a manner of his own, an' I reckon it's the manner an' not the calves that is the man.' Not that I'm meaning any slur on yo' shape, suh," she hastened to explain.

"Well, I'll come to see you now and then," said Ordway, smiling, "and I shan't forget to take the children for a picnic as I promised." But with the words he remembered Gus Wherry, as he had seen him standing in the centre of Baxter's warehouse, and it seemed to him that even his promise to the children was rendered vain and worthless.

The next day was Sunday, and immediately after dinner he walked over to Baxter's house, where he learned that Mrs. Brooke had expressed her willingness to receive him upon the following afternoon.

"We had to talk Mr. Beverly over," said Baxter, chuckling. "At first he didn't like the idea because of some notion he'd got out of his great-grandfather's head about the sacredness of the family circle.

However, he's all right now, though if you take my advice, Smith, you'll play a game of dominoes with him occasionally just to keep him kind of soft. The chief thing he has against you is your preachin' in the fields, for he told me he could never bring himself to countenance religion out of doors. He seems to think that it ought to be kept shut up tight."

"Well, I'm glad he doesn't have to listen to me," responded Ordway. "By the way, you know I'm speaking in Catlett's grove of pines now. It's pleasanter away from the glare of the sun." Then as Baxter pressed him to come back to supper, he declined the oppressive hospitality and went back to Mrs. Twine's.

That afternoon at five o'clock he went out to the grove of pines on the Southern edge of the town, to find his congregation gathered ahead of him on the rude plank benches which had been placed among the trees.

The suns.h.i.+ne fell in drops through the tent of boughs overhead, and from the southwest a pleasant breeze had sprung up, blowing the pine needles in eddies about his feet. At sight of the friendly faces gathered so closely around him, he felt his foreboding depart as if it had been blown from him by the pure breeze; and beginning his simple discourse, he found himself absorbed presently in the religious significance of his subject, which chanced to be an interpretation of the parable of the prodigal son. Not until he was midway of his last sentence did he discover that Gus Wherry was standing just beyond the little wildrose thicket on the edge of the grove.

In the instant of recognition the words upon his lips sounded strangely hollow and meaningless in his ears, and he felt again that the appearance of the man had given the lie, not only to his ident.i.ty, but to his life. He knew himself at the instant to have changed from Daniel Smith to Daniel Ordway, and the name that he had worn honestly in Tappahannock showed to him suddenly as a falsehood and a cheat. Even his inward motive was contemptible in his eyes, and he felt himself dragged back in a single minute to the level upon which Wherry stood. As he appeared to Wherry, so he saw himself now by some distorted power of vision, and even his religion seemed but a convenient mask which he had picked up and used. When he went on a moment later with his closing words, he felt that the mockery of his speech must be evident to the ears of the congregation that knew and loved him.

The gathering broke up slowly, but after speaking to several men who stood near him, Ordway turned away and went out into the road which led from Tappahannock in the direction of Cedar Hill. Only after he had walked rapidly for a mile, did the sound of footsteps, following close behind him, cause him to wheel round abruptly with an impatient exclamation. As he did so, he saw that Wherry had stopped short in the road before him.

"I wanted to tell you how much obliged I am for your talk, Mr. Smith,"

he said, with a smile which appeared to flash at the same instant from his eyes and his teeth. "I declare you came pretty near converting me--by Jove, you did. It wouldn't be convenient to listen to you too often."

Whatever might be said of the effusive manner of his compliments, his good humour was so evident in his voice, in his laugh, and even in his conspicuously flas.h.i.+ng teeth, that Ordway, who had been prepared for a quarrel, was rendered almost helpless by so peaceable an encounter.

Turning out of the road, he stepped back among the tall weeds growing in the corner of the old "worm" fence, and rested his tightly clinched hand on the topmost rail.

"If you have anything to say to me, you will do me a favour by getting it over as soon as possible," he rejoined shortly.

Wherry had taken off his hat and the red disc of the setting sun made an appropriate frame for his handsome head, upon which his fair hair grew, Ordway noticed, in the peculiar waving circle which is found on the heads of ancient statues.

"Well, I can't say that I've anything to remark except that I congratulate you on your eloquence," he replied, with a kind of infernal amiability. "If this is your little game, you are doing it with a success which I envy from my boots up."

"Since this is your business with me, there is no need for us to discuss it further," returned Ordway, at white heat.

"Oh, but I say, don't hurry--what's the use? You're afraid I'm going to squeeze you, now, isn't that it?"

"You'll get nothing out of me if you try."

"That's as much as I want, I guess. Have I asked you for as much as a darned cent? Haven't I played the gentleman from the first minute that I spotted you?"

Ordway nodded. "Yes, I suppose you've been as fair as you knew how," he answered, "I'll do you the justice to admit that."

"Well, I tell you now," said Wherry, growing confidential as he approached, "my object isn't blackmail, it's human intercourse. I want a decent word or two, that's all, on my honour."

"But I won't talk to you. I've nothing further to say, that's to be understood."

"You're a confounded bully, that's what you are," observed Wherry, in the playful tones which he might have used to a child or an animal.

"Now, I don't want a blooming cent out of you, that's flat--all I ask for is a pleasant word or two just as from man to man."

"Then why did you follow me? And what are you after in Tappahannock?"

Wherry laughed hilariously, while his remarkably fine teeth became the most prominent feature in his face.

"The reply to your question, Smith," he answered pleasantly, "is that I followed you to say that you're an all-fired, first rate sort of a preacher--there's not harm in that much, is there? If you don't want me to chaff you about it, I'll swear to be as dead serious on the subject as if it were my wife's funeral. What I want is your hand down, I say--no matter what is trumps!"

"My hand down for what?" demanded Ordway.

"Just for plain decency, nothing more, I swear. You've started on your road, and I've started on mine, and the square thing is to live and let live, that's as I see it. Leave room for honest repentance to go to work, but don't begin to pull back before it's had a chance to begin.

Ain't we all prodigals, when it comes to that, and the only difference is that some of us don't get a bite at the fatted calf."

For a moment Ordway stared in silence to where the other stood with his face turned toward the red light of the sunset.

"We're all prodigals," repeated Wherry, as if impressed by the ethical problem he had uttered unawares, "you and me and the President and every man. We've all fallen from grace, ain't we?--and it's neither here nor there that you and I have got the swine husks while the President has stuffed and eaten the fatted calf."

"If you've honestly meant to begin again, I have certainly no wish to interfere," remarked Ordway, ignoring the other's excursion into the field of philosophy. As he spoke, however, it occurred to him that Wherry's reformation might have had better chance of success if it had been a.s.sociated with fewer physical advantages.

"Well, I'm much obliged to you," said Wherry, "and I'll say the same by you, here's my hand on it. Rise or fall, we'll play fair."

"You haven't told me yet why you came to Tappahannock," rejoined Ordway, shortly.

"Oh, a little matter of business. Are you settled here now?"

"At the moment you can answer that question better than I."

"You mean when I come, you quit?"

Ordway nodded. "That's something like it."

"Well, I shan't drive you out if I can help it--I hate to play the sneak. The truth is if you'd only get to believe it, there's not a more peaceable fellow alive if I don't get backed up into a place where there's no way out. When it comes to that I like the clean, straight road best, and I always have. From first to last, though, it's the women that have been dead against me, and I may say that a woman--one or more of 'em--has been back of every single sc.r.a.pe I ever got into in my life. If I'd had ten thousand a year and a fine looking wife, I'd have been a pillar in the Church and the father of a family. My tastes all lean that way," he added sentimentally. "I've always had a weakness for babies, and I've got it to this day."

As he could think of nothing to reply to this touching confession, Ordway picked up a bit of wood from the ground, and taking out his knife, began whittling carelessly while he waited.

"I suppose you think I want to work you for that fat old codger in the warehouse," observed Wherry suddenly, pa.s.sing lightly from the pathetic to the facetious point of view, "but I'll give you my word I haven't thought of it a minute."

"I'm glad you haven't," returned Ordway, quietly, "for you would be disappointed."

"You mean you wouldn't trust me?"

"I mean there's no place there. Whether I trust you or not is another question--and I don't."

"Do you think I'd turn sneak?"

"I think if you stay in Tappahannock that I'll clear out."

"Well, you're a darn disagreeable chap," said Wherry, indignantly, "particularly after all you've had to say about the prodigal. But, all the same," he added, as his natural amiability got the better of his temper, "it isn't likely that I'll pitch my tent here, so you needn't begin to pack for a day or two at least."