He Fell In Love With His Wife by Edward Payson Roe (best books to read for students TXT) 📖

Here’s the money

I agreed to pay. I’ll give it to Mrs. Mumpson when she has signed this paper,

and you’ve signed as witness of her signature. Otherwise, it’s law. Now

decide quick, I’m in a hurry.”

 

Objections were interposed, and Holcroft, returning the money to his pocket,

started for his team, without a word. “Oh, well!” said Weeks in strong

irritation, “I haven’t time for a lawsuit at this season of the year. You

are both cranks, and I suppose it would be best for me and my folks to be rid

of you both. It’s a pity, though, you couldn’t be married and left to fight

it out.”

 

Holcroft took the whip from his wagon and said quietly, “If you speak another

insulting word, I’ll horsewhip you and take my chances.”

 

Something in the man’s look prevented Weeks from uttering another unnecessary

remark. The business was soon transacted, accompanied with Mrs. Mumpson’s

venomous words, for she had discovered that she could stigmatize Holcroft with

impunity. He went to Jane and shook her hand as he said goodby. “I am sorry

for you, and I won’t forget my promise;” then drove rapidly away.

 

“Cousin Lemuel,” said Mrs. Mumpson plaintively, “won’t you have Timothy take

my trunk to our room?”

 

“No, I won’t,” he snapped. “You’ve had your chance and have fooled it away. I

was just going to town, and you and Jane will go along with me,” and he put

the widow’s trunk into his wagon.

 

Mrs. Weeks came out and wiped her eyes ostentatiously with her apron as she

whispered, “I can’t help it, Cynthy. When Lemuel goes off the handle in this

way, it’s no use for me to say anything.”

 

Mrs. Mumpson wept hysterically as she was driven away. Jane’s sullen and

apathetic aspect had passed away in part for Holcroft’s words had kindled

something like hope.

 

Chapter XVII. A Momentous Decision

 

It must be admitted that Holcroft enjoyed his triumph over Lemuel Weeks very

much after the fashion of the aboriginal man. Indeed, he was almost sorry he

had not been given a little more provocation, knowing well that, had this been

true, his neighbor would have received a fuller return for his interested

efforts. As he saw his farmhouse in the shimmering April sunlight, as the old

churning dog came forward, wagging his tail, the farmer said, “This is the

only place which can ever be home to me. Well, well! It’s queer about

people. Some, when they go, leave you desolate; others make you happy by

their absence. I never dreamed that silly Mumpson could make me happy, but

she has. Blessed if I don’t feel happy! The first time in a year or more!”

And he began to whistle old “Coronation” in the most lively fashion as he

unharnessed his horses.

 

A little later, he prepared himself a good dinner and ate it in leisurely

enjoyment, sharing a morsel now and then with the old dog. “You’re a plaguey

sight better company than she was,” he mused. “That poor little stray cat of a

Jane! What will become of her? Well, well! Soon as she’s old enough to cut

loose from her mother, I’ll try to give her a chance, if it’s a possible

thing.”

 

After dinner, he made a rough draught of an auction bill, offering his cows

for sale, muttering as he did so, “Tom Watterly’ll help me put it in better

shape.” Then he drove a mile away to see old Mr. And Mrs. Johnson. The

former agreed for a small sum to mount guard with his dog during the farmer’s

occasional absences, and the latter readily consented to do the washing and

mending.

 

“What do I want of any more ‘peculiar females,’ as that daft widow called

‘em?” he chuckled on his return. “Blames if she wasn’t the most peculiar of

the lot. Think of me marrying her!” and the hillside echoed to his derisive

laugh. “As I feel today, there’s a better chance of my being struck by

lightning than marrying, and I don’t think any woman could do it in spite of

me. I’ll run the ranch alone.”

 

That evening he smoked his pipe cheerfully beside the kitchen fire, the dog

sleeping at his feet. “I declare,” he said smilingly, “I feel quite at home.”

 

In the morning, after attending to his work, he went for old Jonathan Johnson

and installed him in charge of the premises; then drove to the almshouse with

all the surplus butter and eggs on hand. Tom Watterly arrived at the door

with his fast-trotting horse at the same time, and cried, “Hello, Jim! Just

in time. I’m a sort of grass widower today—been taking my wife out to see

her sister. Come in and take pot luck with me and keep up my spirits.”

 

“Well, now, Tom,” said Holcroft, shaking hands, “I’m glad, not that your

wife’s away, although it does make me downhearted to contrast your lot and

mine, but I’m glad you can give me a little time, for I want to use that

practical head of yours—some advice, you know.”

 

“All right. Nothing to do for an hour or two but eat dinner and smoke my pipe

with you. Here, Bill! Take this team and feed ‘em.”

 

“Hold on,” said Holcroft, “I’m not going to sponge on you. I’ve got some

favors to ask, and I want you to take in return some butter half spoiled in

the making and this basket of eggs. They’re all right.”

 

“Go to thunder, Holcroft! What do you take me for? When you’ve filled your

pipe after dinner will you pull an egg out of your pocket and say, ‘That’s for

a smoke?’ No, no, I don’t sell any advice to old friends like you. I’ll buy

your butter and eggs at what they’re worth and have done with ‘em. Business

is one thing, and sitting down and talking over an old crony’s troubles is

another. I’m not a saint, Jim, as you know—a man in politics can’t be—but I

remember when we were boys together, and somehow thinking of those old days

always fetches me. Come in, for dinner is awaiting, I guess.”

 

“Well, Tom, saint or no saint, I’d like to vote for you for gov’nor.”

 

“This aint an electioneering trick, as you know. I can play them off as well

as the next feller when there’s need, kiss the babies and all that.”

 

Dinner was placed on the table immediately, and in a few moments the friends

were left alone. Then Holcroft related in a half comic, half serious manner

his tribulations with the help. Tom sat back in his chair and roared at the

account of the pitched battle between the two widows and the final smoking out

of Mrs. Mumpson, but he reproached his friend for not having horsewhipped

Lemuel Weeks. “Don’t you remember, Jim, he was a sneaking, tricky chap when we

were at school together? I licked him once, and it always does me good to

think of it.”

 

“I own it takes considerable to rile me to the point of striking a man,

especially on his own land. His wife was looking out the window, too. If

we’d been out in the road or anywhere else—but what’s the use? I’m glad now

it turned out as it has for I’ve too much on my mind for lawsuits, and the

less one has to do with such cattle as Weeks the better. Well, you see I’m

alone again, and I’m going to go it alone. I’m going to sell my cows and give

up the dairy, and the thing I wanted help in most is the putting this auction

bill in shape; also advice as to whether I had better try to sell here in town

or up at the farm.”

 

Tom shook his head dubiously and scarcely glanced at the paper. “Your scheme

don’t look practical to me,” he said. “I don’t believe you can run that farm

alone without losing money. You’ll just keep on going behind till the first

thing you know you’ll clap a mortgage on it. Then you’ll soon be done for.

What’s more, you’ll break down if you try to do both outdoor and indoor work.

Busy times will soon come, and you won’t get your meals regularly; you’ll be

living on coffee and anything that comes handiest; your house will grow untidy

and not fit to live in. If you should be taken sick, there’d be no one to do

for you. Lumbermen, hunters, and such fellows can rough it alone awhile, but

I never heard of a farm being run by man-power alone. Now as to selling out

your stock, look at it. Grazing is what your farm’s good for mostly. It’s a

pity you’re so bent on staying there. Even if you didn’t get very much for

the place, from sale or rent, you’d have something that was sure. A strong,

capable man like you could find something to turn your hand to. Then you

could board in some respectable family, and not have to live like Robinson

Crusoe. I’ve thought it over since we talked last, and if I was you I’d sell

or rent.”

 

“It’s too late in the season to do either,” said Holcroft dejectedly. “What’s

more, I don’t want to, at least not this year. I’ve settled that, Tom. I’m

going to have one more summer on the old place, anyway, if I have to live on

bread and milk.”

 

“You can’t make bread.”

 

“I’ll have it brought from town on the stage.”

 

“Well, it’s a pity some good, decent woman—There, how should I come to forget

all about HER till this minute? I don’t know whether it would work. Perhaps

it would. There’s a woman here out of the common run. She has quite a story,

which I’ll tell you in confidence. Then you can say whether you’d like to

employ her or not. If you WILL stay on the farm, my advice is that you have a

woman to do the housework, and me and Angy must try to find you one, if the

one I have in mind won’t answer. The trouble is, Holcroft, to get the right

kind of a woman to live there alone with you, unless you married her. Nice

women don’t like to be talked about, and I don’t blame ‘em. The one that’s

here, though, is so friendless and alone in the world that she might be glad

enough to get a home almost anywheres.”

 

“Well, well! Tell me about her,” said Holcroft gloomily. “But I’m about

discouraged in the line of women help.”

 

Watterly told Alida’s story with a certain rude pathos which touched the

farmer’s naturally kind heart, and he quite forgot his own need in indignation

at the poor woman’s wrongs. “It’s a **** shame!” he said excitedly, pacing the

room. “I say, Tom, all the law in the land wouldn’t keep me from giving that

fellow a whipping or worse.”

 

“Well, she won’t prosecute; she won’t face the public; she just wants to go to

some quiet place and work for her bread. She don’t seem to have any friends,

or else she’s too ashamed to let them know.”

 

“Why, of course I’d give such a woman a refuge till she could do better. What

man wouldn’t?”

 

“A good many wouldn’t. What’s more, if she went with you her story might get

out, and you’d both be talked about.”

 

“I don’t care that for gossip,” with a snap of his fingers. “You know I’d

treat her with respect.”

 

“What I know, and what other people would say, are two very different things.

Neither you nor anyone else can go too strongly against public opinion.