Part 13 (1/2)

”No,” answered he, ”strange as it may seem, ma's kinder stuck on comin'

to town to live. How she'll feel after she's tried it fer a month 'r so, with no chickens 'r turkeys 'r milk to look after, I'm dubious; but jest now she seems to be all right.”

”Well, what's the matter then?” said I.

”Wal, it's Josie, to tell the truth,” said he. ”She's sort o' hangin'

back. An' it's for her sake that I want to make the deal! I've told her an' told her that there's no dum sense in raisin' corn on thousand-dollar land; but it's no use, so fur; an' here's the only chanst I'll ever hev, mebbe, a-slippin' by. She ortn't to live her life out on a farm, educated as she is. W'y, did you ever hear how she's been educated?”

I told him that in a general way I knew, but not in detail.

”W'l, I want yeh to know all about it, so's yeh c'n see this movin'

business as it is,” said he. ”You know I was allus a rough cuss. Herded cattle over there by yer father's south place, an' never went to school.

Ma, Josie's ma, y' know, kep' the Greenwood school, an' crossed the prairie there where I was a-herdin', an' I used to look at her mighty longin' as she went by, when the cattle happened to be clost along the track, which they right often done. You know how them things go. An'

fin'ly one morning a blue racer chased her, as the little whelps will, an' got his dummed little teeth fastened in her dress, an' she a-hyperin' around haff crazy, and a-screamin' every jump, so's't I hed to just grab her, an' hold her till I could get the blasted snake off,--harmless, y' know, but got hooked teeth, an' not a lick o'

sense,--an' he kinder quirled around my arm, an' I nacherally tore him to ribbins a-gittin' of him off. An' then she sort o' dropped off, an'

when she come to, I was a-rubbin' her hands an' temples. Wa'n't that a funny interduction?”

”It's very interesting,” said I; ”go on.”

”W'l you remember ol' Doc Maxfield?” said Bill, well started on a reminiscence. ”Wal, he come along, an' said it was the worst case of collapse, whatever that means, that he ever see--her lips an' hands an'

chin all a-tremblin', an' flighty as a loon. Wal, after that I used to take her around some, an' her folks objected becuz I was ignorant, an'

she learnt me some things, an' bein' strong an' a good dancer an' purty good-lookin' she kind o' forgot about my failin's, an' we was married.

Her folks said she'd throwed herself away; but I could buy an' sell the hull set of 'em now!”

This seemed conclusive as to the merits of the case, and I told him as much.

”W'l Josie was born an' growed up,” continued Bill, ”an' it's her I started to tell about, wa'n't it? She was allus a cute little thing, an'

early she got this art business in her head. She'd read about fellers that had got to be great by paintin' an' carvin', an' it made her wild to do the same thing. Wa'n't there a feller that pulled hair outer the cat to paint Injuns with? Yes, I thought they was; I allus thought they could paint theirselves good enough; but that story an' some others she read an' read when she was a little gal, an' she was allus a-paintin'

an' makin' things with clay. She took a prize at the county fair when she was fourteen, with a picter of Was.h.i.+n'ton crossin' the Delaware--three dollars, by gum! An' then we hed to give her lessons; an' they wasn't any one thet knew anything around here, she said, an'

she went to Chicago. An' I went in to visit her when she hedn't ben there more'n six weeks, on an excursion one convention time, an' I found her all tore up, a good deal as her ma was with the blue racer,--I don't think she's ever ben the same light-hearted little gal sence,--an' from there I took her to New York; an' there she fell in with a nice woman that was awful good to her, an' they went to Europe, an' it cost a heap.

An' you may've noticed thet Josie knows a pile more'n the other women here?”

I admitted that this had occurred to me.

”W'l, she was allus apt to take her head with her,” said Bill, ”but this travelin' has fixed her like a hoss thet's ben druv in Chicago: nothin'

feazes her, street-cars, bra.s.s bands, circuses, overhead trains--it's all the same to her, she's seen 'em all. Sometimes I git the notion that she'd enjoy things more if she hadn't seen so dum many of 'em an' so much better ones, y' know! Wal, after she'd ben over there a long time, she wrote she was a-comin' home; an' we was tickled to death. Only I was surprised by her writin' that she wanted us to take all them old picters of hern, and put 'em out of sight! An' if you'll b'lieve it, she won't talk picters nor make any sence she got back--only, jest after she got back, she said she didn't see any use o' her goin' on dobbin' good canvas up with good paint, an' makin' nothin' but poor picters; an' she cried some.... I thought it was sing'lar that this art business that she thought was the only thing thet'd ever make her happy was the only thing I ever see her cry about.”

”It's the way,” said I, ”with a great many of our cherished hopes.”

”W'l, anyhow, you can see thet it's the wrong thing to put as much time an' money into fixin' a child up f'r a different kind o' life as we hev, an' then keep her on a farm out here. An' thet's why I want you to help this sale through, an' bring influence to bear on her. I give up; I'm all in.”

To me Bill seemed entirely in the right. The new era made it absurd for the Trescotts to use their land longer as a farm. Lattimore was changing daily. The streets were gashed with trenches for gas- and water-mains; piled-up materials for curbing, paving, office buildings, new hotels, and all sorts of erections made locomotion a peril; but we were happy.