Part 17 (2/2)
A twinge of jealousy seized Bud. Cash was going ahead a little too confidently in his plans for the kid. He did not want to hurt old Cash's feelings, and of course he needed Cash's a.s.sistance if he kept Lovin Child for his own. But Cash needn't think he was going to claim the kid himself.
”All right--put it that way. Only, when you're writing it down, you make it read 'child of Bud Moore' or something like that. You can will him the moon, if you want, and you can have your name sandwiched in between his and mine. But get this, and get it right. He's mine, and if we ever split up, the kid goes with me. I'll tell the world right now that this kid belongs to me, and where I go he goes. You got that?”
”You don't have to beller at the top of your voice, do yuh?” snapped Cash, prying the cork out of the ink bottle with his jackknife. ”Here's another pen point. Tie it onto a stick or something and git to work before you git to putting it off.”
Leaning over the table facing each other, they wrote steadily for a few minutes. Then Bud began to flag, and finally he stopped and crumpled the sheet of tablet paper into a ball. Cash looked up, lifted his eyebrows irritatedly, and went on with his composition.
Bud sat nibbling the end of his makes.h.i.+ft penholder. The obstacle that had loomed in Cash's way and had constrained him to reveal the closed pages of his life, loomed large in Bud's way also. Lovin Child was a near and a very dear factor in his life--but when it came to sitting down calmly and setting his affairs in order for those who might be left behind, Lovin Child was not the only person he must think of. What of his own man-child? What of Marie?
He looked across at Cash writing steadily in his precise way, duly bequeathing his worldly goods to Lovin; owning, too, his responsibilities in another direction, but still making Lovin Child his chief heir so far as he knew. On the spur of the moment Bud had thought to do the same thing. But could he do it?
He seemed to see his own baby standing wistfully aloof, pushed out of his life that this baby he had no right to keep might have all of his affections, all of his poor estate. And Marie, whose face was always in the back of his memory, a tearful, accusing vision that would not let him be--he saw Marie working in some office, earning the money to feed and clothe their child. And Lovin Child romping up and down the cabin, cuddled and scolded and cared for as best an awkward man may care for a baby--a small, innocent usurper.
Bud dropped his face in his palms and tried to think the thing out coldly, clearly, as Cash had stated his own case. Cash did not know where his own child was, and he did not seem to care greatly. He was glad to salve his conscience with a small bequest, keeping the bulk--if so tenuous a thing as Cash's fortune may be said to have bulk--for this baby they two were hiding away from its lawful parents. Cash could do it; why couldn't be? He raised his head and looked over at Lovin Child, asleep in his new and rumpled little finery. Why did his own baby come between them now, and withhold his hand from doing the same?
Cash finished, glanced curiously across at Bud, looked down at what he had written, and slid the sheet of paper across.
”You sign it, and then if you don't know just how to word yours, you can use this for a pattern. I've read law books enough to know this will get by, all right. It's plain, and it tells what I want, and that's sufficient to hold in court.”
Bud read it over apathetically, signed his name as witness, and pushed the paper back.
”That's all right for you,” he said heavily. ”Your kid is grown up now, and besides, you've got other property to give her. But--it's different with me. I want this baby, and I can't do without him. But I can't give him my share in the claims, Cash. I--there's others that's got to be thought of first.”
CHAPTER TWENTY. LOVIN CHILD STRIKES IT RICH
It was only the next day that Bud was the means of helping Lovin Child find a fortune for himself; which eased Bud's mind considerably, and balanced better his half of the responsibility. Cutting out the dramatic frills, then, this is what happened to Lovin Child and Bud:
They were romping around the cabin, like two puppies that had a surplus of energy to work off. Part of the time Lovin Child was a bear, chasing Bud up and down the dead line, which was getting pretty well worn out in places. After that, Bud was a bear and chased Lovin. And when Lovin Child got so tickled he was perfectly helpless in the corner where he had sought refuge, Bud caught him and swung him up to his shoulder and let him grab handfuls of dirt out of the roof.
Lovin Child liked that better than being a bear, and sifted Bud's hair full of dried mud, and threw the rest on the floor, and frequently cried ”Tell a worl'!” which he had learned from Bud and could say with the uncanny pertinency of a parrot.
He had signified a desire to have Bud carry him along the wall, where some lovely lumps of dirt protruded temptingly over a bulging log. Then he leaned and grabbed with his two fat hands at a particularly big, hard lump. It came away in his hands and fell plump on the blankets of the bunk, half blinding Bud with the dust that came with it.
”Hey! You'll have all the c.h.i.n.kin' out of the dang shack, if you let him keep that lick up, Bud,” Cash grumbled, lifting his eyebrows at the mess.
”Tell a worl'!” Lovin Child retorted over his shoulder, and made another grab.
This time the thing he held resisted his baby strength. He pulled and he grunted, he kicked Bud in the chest and grabbed again. Bud was patient, and let him fuss--though in self-defense he kept his head down and his eyes away from the expected dust bath.
”Stay with it, Boy; pull the darn roof down, if yuh want. Cash'll get out and c.h.i.n.k 'er up again.”
”Yeah. Cash will not,” the disapproving one amended the statement gruffly. ”He's trying to get the log outa the wall, Bud.”
”Well, let him try, doggone it. Shows he's a stayer. I wouldn't have any use for him if he didn't have gumption enough to tackle things too big for him, and you wouldn't either. Stay with 'er, Lovins! Doggone it, can't yuh git that log outa there nohow? Uh-h! A big old grunt and a big old heave--uh-h! I'll tell the world in words uh one syllable, he's some stayer.”
”Tell a worl'!” chuckled Lovin Child, and pulled harder at the thing he wanted.
”Hey! The kid's got hold of a piece of gunny sack or something. You look out, Bud, or he'll have all that c.h.i.n.kin' out. There's no sense in lettin' him tear the whole blame shack to pieces, is there?”
”Can if he wants to. It's his shack as much as it's anybody's.” Bud s.h.i.+fted Lovin Child more comfortably on his shoulder and looked up, squinting his eyes half shut for fear of dirt in them.
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