Part 48 (1/2)
”Eh? Oh, that's just his to-day's name. I called him Isaiah just now 'cause that was the first of the prophet names I could think of. Next time he's just as liable to be Hosea or Ezekiel or Samuel or Jeremiah. He prophesies just as well under any one of 'em, don't seem to be particular.”
Charles smiled slightly--he did not appear to be in a laughing mood--and then asked: ”You say he settles questions for you? How?”
”How? . . . Oh. . . Well, you notice one end of that whirligig arm he's got is smudged with black?”
”Yes.”
”That's Hosea's indicator. Suppose I've got somethin' on--on what complimentary folks like you would call my mind. Suppose, same as 'twas yesterday mornin', I was tryin' to decide whether or not I'd have a piece of steak for supper. I gave--er--Elisha's whirlagig here a spin and when the black end stopped 'twas p'intin' straight up. That meant yes. If it had p'inted down, 'twould have meant no.”
”Suppose it had pointed across--half way between yes and no?”
”That would have meant that--er--what's-his-name--er--Deuteronomy there didn't know any more than I did about it.”
This time Phillips did laugh. ”So you had the steak,” he observed.
Jed's lip twitched. ”I bought it,” he drawled. ”I got so far all accordin' to prophecy. And I put it on a plate out in the back room where 'twas cold, intendin' to cook it when supper time came.”
”Well, didn't you?”
”No-o; you see, 'twas otherwise provided. That everlastin' Cherub tomcat of Taylor's must have sneaked in with the boy when he brought the order from the store. When I shut the steak up in the back room I--er--er--hum. . . .”
”You did what?”
”Eh? . . . Oh, I shut the cat up with it. I guess likely that's the end of the yarn, ain't it?”
”Pretty nearly, I should say. What did you do to the cat?”
”Hum. . . . Why, I let him go. He's a good enough cat, 'cordin' to his lights, I guess. It must have been a treat to him; I doubt if he gets much steak at home. . . . Well, do you want to give Isaiah a whirl on that decision you say you've got to make?”
Charles gave him a quick glance. ”I didn't say I had one to make,”
he replied. ”I asked how you settled such a question, that's all.”
”Um. . . . I see. . . . I see. Well, the prophet's at your disposal. Help yourself.”
The young fellow shook his head. ”I'm afraid it wouldn't be very satisfactory,” he said. ”He might say no when I wanted him to say yes, you see.”
”Um-hm. . . . He's liable to do that. When he does it to me I keep on spinnin' him till we agree, that's all.”
Phillips made no comment on this illuminating statement and there was another interval of silence, broken only by the hum and rasp of the turning lathe. Then he spoke again.
”Jed,” he said, ”seriously now, when a big question comes up to you, and you've got to answer it one way or the other, how do you settle with yourself which way to answer?”
Jed sighed. ”That's easy, Charlie,” he declared. ”There don't any big questions ever come up to me. I ain't the kind of feller the big things come to.”
Charles grunted, impatiently. ”Oh, well, admitting all that,” he said, ”you must have to face questions that are big to you, that seem big, anyhow.”
Jed could not help wincing, just a little. The matter-of-fact way in which his companion accepted the estimate of his insignificance was humiliating. Jed did not blame him, it was true, of course, but the truth hurt--a little. He was ashamed of himself for feeling the hurt.
”Oh,” he drawled, ”I do have some things--little no-account things-- to decide every once in a while. Sometimes they bother me, too-- although they probably wouldn't anybody with a head instead of a Hubbard squash on his shoulders. The only way I can decide 'em is to set down and open court, put 'em on trial, as you might say.”