Short Fiction Kate Chopin (best e reader for android .txt) đ
- Author: Kate Chopin
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Gilma could think of nothing better to do than to mount his horse and ride awayâ âanywhere. The horse was a spirited animal of great value. Monsieur Gamiche had named him âJupiterâ on account of his proud bearing, and Gilma had nicknamed him âJupe,â which seemed to him more endearing and expressive of his great attachment to the fine creature. With the bitter resentment of youth, he felt that âJupeâ was the only friend remaining to him on earth.
He had thrust a few pieces of clothing in his saddlebags and had requested Maâme BrozĂ©, with assumed indifference, to put his remaining effects in a place of safety until he should be able to send for them.
As he rode around by the front of the house, Septime, who sat on the gallery all doubled up in his uncle Gamicheâs big chair, called out:
âHĂ©, Gilma! wâere you bounâ foâ?â
âIâm goinâ away,â replied Gilma, curtly, reining his horse.
âThatâs all right; but I reckon you might jusâ as well leave that hoss behine you.â
âThe hoss is mine,â returned Gilma, as quickly as he would have returned a blow.
âWeâll see âbout that liâle later, my frienâ. I reckon you jusâ well turn âim loose.â
Gilma had no more intention of giving up his horse than he had of parting with bis own right hand. But Monsieur Gamiche had taught him prudence and respect for the law. He did not wish to invite disagreeable complications. So, controlling his temper by a supreme effort, Gilma dismounted, unsaddled the horse then and there, and led it back to the stable. But as he started to leave the place on foot, he stopped to say to Septime:
âYou know, Mr. Septime, that hoss is mine; I can collecâ a hundred affâdavits to prove it. Iâll bring them yere in a few days with a statement fâom a lawyer; anâ Iâll expecâ the hoss anâ saddle to be turned over to me in good condition.â
âThatâs all right. Weâll see âbout that. Wonât you stay foâ dinna?â
âNo, I thank you, sah; Maâme BrozĂ© already askâ me.â And Gilma strode away, down the beaten footpath that led across the sloping grassplot toward the outer road.
A definite destination and a settled purpose ahead of him seemed to have revived his flagging energies of an hour before. It was with no trace of fatigue that he stepped out bravely along the wagon-road that skirted the bayou.
It was early spring, and the cotton had already a good stand. In some places the negroes were hoeing. Gilma stopped alongside the rail fence and called to an old negress who was plying her hoe at no great distance.
âHello, Aunt Halâfax! see yere.â
She turned, and immediately quitted her work to go and join him, bringing her hoe with her across her shoulder. She was large-boned and very black. She was dressed in the deshabille of the field.
âI wish youâd come up to yoâ cabin with me a minute, Aunt Hally,â he said; âI want to get an affâdavit fâom you.â
She understood, after a fashion, what an affidavit was; but she couldnât see the good of it.
âI ainât got no affâdavis, boy; you gâlong anâ donâ pesta me.â
âââTwonât take you any time, Aunt Halâfax. I jusâ want you to put yoâ mark to a statement Iâm goinâ to write to the effecâ that my hoss, Jupe, is my own propâty; that you know it, anâ willinâ to swear to it.â
âWho say Jupe donâ bâlong to you?â she questioned cautiously, leaning on her hoe.
He motioned toward the house.
âWho? Mista Septime and them?â
âYes.â
âWell, I reckon!â she exclaimed, sympathetically.
âThatâs it,â Gilma went on; âanâ nexâ thing theyâll be sayinâ yoâ ole mule, Policy, donât bâlong to you.â
She started violently.
âWho say so?â
âNobody. But I say, nexâ thing, thatâ wâat theyâll be sayinâ.â
She began to move along the inside of the fence, and he turned to keep pace with her, walking on the grassy edge of the road.
âIâll jusâ write the affidavit, Aunt Hally, anâ all you got to doââ â
âYou know des well as me dat mule mine. I done paid ole Mista Gamiche foâ âim in good cotton; dat year you falled outen de puckhorn tree; anâ he write it down hisseâf in his âcount book.â
Gilma did not linger a moment after obtaining the desired statement from Aunt Halifax. With the first of those âhundred affidavitsâ that he hoped to secure, safe in his pocket, he struck out across the country, seeking the shortest way to town.
Aunt Halifax stayed in the cabin door.
âââRelius,â she shouted to a little black boy out in the road, âdoes you see Polâcy anywhar? Gâlong, see ef he ârounâ de benâ. Wouldnâ sâprise me ef he broke de fence anâ got in yoâ paâs corn agâin.â And, shading her eyes to scan the surrounding country, she muttered, uneasily: âWhar dat mule?â
The following morning Gilma entered town and proceeded at once to Lawyer Paxtonâs office. He had had no difficulty in obtaining the testimony of blacks and whites regarding his ownership of the horse; but he wanted to make his claim as secure as possible by consulting the lawyer and returning to the plantation armed with unassailable evidence.
The lawyerâs office was a plain little room opening upon the street. Nobody was there, but the door was open; and Gilma entered and took a seat at the bare round table and waited. It was not long before the lawyer came in; he had been in conversation with someone across the street.
âGood morning, Mr. Paxâon,â said Gilma, rising.
The lawyer knew his face well enough, but could not place him, and only returned: âGood morning, sirâ âgood morning.â
âI come to see you,â began Gilma plunging at once into business, and drawing his handful of nondescript affidavits from his pocket, âabout a matter of property, about
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