Part 44 (2/2)

meanwhile, as fur 's things between you an' me air, they're to go on jest the same, an' more 'n that, do you think you'll remember him some?'

I says.

”'As long as I live,' she says, 'jest like my own.'

”'Wa'al,' I says, 'long 's you remember him, he'll be, in a way, livin'

to ye, an' as long 's that I allow to pay fer his keep an' tendin' jest the same as I have, _an'_,' I says, 'if you don't let me you ain't no friend o' mine, an' you _ben_ a _good_ one.' Wa'al, she squimmidged some, but I wouldn't let her say 'No.' 'I've 'ranged it all with my pardner an' other ways,' I says, 'an' more 'n that, if you git into any kind of a sc.r.a.pe an' I don't happen to be got at, you go to him an' git what you want.'”

”I hope she lived and prospered,” said John fervently.

”She lived twenty year,” said David, ”an' I wish she was livin' now. I never drawed a check on her account without feelin' 't I was doin'

somethin' for my little boy.

”The's a good many diff'rent sorts an' kinds o' sorro',” he said, after a moment, ”that's in some ways kind o' kin to each other, but I guess losin' a child 's a specie by itself. Of course I pa.s.sed the achin', smartin' point years ago, but it's somethin' you can't fergit--that is, you can't help feelin' about it, because it ain't only what the child _was_ to you, but what you keep thinkin' he'd 'a' ben growin' more an'

more to _be_ to you. When I lost my little boy I didn't only lose him as he was, but I ben losin' him over an' agin all these years. What he'd 'a' ben when he was _so_ old; an' what when he'd got to be a big boy; an' what he'd 'a' ben when he went mebbe to collidge; an' what he'd 'a'

ben afterward, an' up to _now_. Of course the times when a man stuffs his face down into the pillers nights, pa.s.ses, after a while; but while the's some sorro's that the happenin' o' things helps ye to fergit, I guess the's some that the happenin' o' things keeps ye rememberin', an'

losin' a child 's one on 'em.”

CHAPTER XLI.

It was the latter part of John's fifth winter in Homeville. The business of the office had largely increased. The new manufactories which had been established did their banking with Mr. Harum, and the older concerns, including nearly all the merchants in the village, had transferred their accounts from Syrchester banks to David's. The callow Hopkins had fledged and developed into a competent all-'round man, able to do anything in the office, and there was a new ”skeezicks”

discharging Peleg's former functions. Considerable impetus had been given to the business of the town by the new road whose rails had been laid the previous summer. There had been a strong and acrimonious controversy over the route which the road should take into and through the village. There was the party of the ”nabobs” (as they were characterized by Mr. Harum) and their following, and the party of the ”village people,” and the former had carried their point; but now the road was an accomplished fact, and most of the bitterness which had been engendered had died away. Yet the struggle was still matter for talk.

”Did I ever tell you,” said David, as he and his cas.h.i.+er were sitting in the rear room of the bank, ”how Lawyer Staples come to switch round in that there railroad jangle last spring?”

”I remember,” said John, ”that you told me he had deserted his party, and you laughed a little at the time, but you did not tell me how it came about.”

”I kind o' thought I told ye,” said David.

”No,” said John, ”I am quite sure you did not.”

”Wa'al,” said Mr. Harum, ”the' was, as you know, the Tenaker-Rogers crowd wantin' one thing, an' the Purse-Babbit lot bound to have the other, an' run the road under the other fellers' noses. Staples was workin' tooth an' nail fer the Purse crowd, an' bein' a good deal of a politician, he was helpin' 'em a good deal. In fact, he was about their best card. I wa'n't takin' much hand in the matter either way, though my feelin's was with the Tenaker party. I know 't would come to a point where some money 'd prob'ly have to be used, an' I made up my mind I wouldn't do much drivin' myself unless I had to, an' not then till the last quarter of the heat. Wa'al, it got to lookin' like a putty even thing. What little show I had made was if anythin' on the Purse side.

One day Tenaker come in to see me an' wanted to know flat-footed which side the fence I was on. 'Wa'al,' I says, 'I've ben settin' up fer shapes to be kind o' on the fence, but I don't mind sayin', betwixt you an' me, that the bulk o' my heft is a-saggin' your way; but I hain't took no active part, an' Purse an' them thinks I'm goin' to be on their side when it comes to a pinch.'

”'Wa'al,' he says, 'it's goin' to be a putty close thing, an' we're goin' to need all the help we c'n git.'

”'Wa'al,' I says, 'I guess that's so, but fer the present I reckon I c'n do ye more good by keepin' in the shade. Are you folks prepared to spend a little money?' I says.

”'Yes,' he says, 'if it comes to that.'

”'Wa'al,' I says, 'it putty most gen'ally does come to that, don't it?

Now, the's one feller that's doin' ye more harm than some others.'

”'You mean Staples?' he says.

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