Part 13 (2/2)

”I'd better flag you down,” she replied, swinging the red lantern before his face.

Milford and the Professor walked off together along the road running through the grove. ”Professor, you seemed to be happy to-night.”

”My dear fellow, I am the most miserable man alive--just at this time.”

”What's the trouble?”

”Life insurance. It will be due on the ninth of this present month, three days from now, ninety-seven dollars and forty cents, and how I am to raise it the Lord only knows. I have been carrying it for seven years, a galling burden, s.h.i.+fted from shoulder to shoulder, with but a moment of relief between the s.h.i.+fts. Many a time as the day approached have I wished that the lightning might strike me. And I pledge you my word that I would rather die any sort of death than to have it lapse.

It has been a hard fight, a fight that my wife and daughter, as intelligent as they are, could not fully understand. They argue sometimes that the money thus invested would make them comfortable, with better clothes and more furniture in the house. They cannot comprehend that I am making this great sacrifice for a rainy day, a day when I shall be out in the rain and they in a better house.”

”Well, I want to tell you that it's n.o.ble in you.”

”No, I don't look at it that way. It is a self-defense, an easing of my conscience for not providing better for them. But I must manage to raise it somehow, and I have an idea. I have been sounding Mrs. Goodwin. She has faith in my ability. I am going to write something and upon it borrow enough money from her to pay my installment. Her husband can send the paper to a medical review with his name signed to it. Some sanitary measures that I have long pondered shall be set forth. Result, notoriety for the doctor and his wife and a moment of ease between the s.h.i.+fts for me. Would you resort to anything like that?”

”Would I? Well, I should think so. Do you know what I'd do? If I had--had some one dependent upon me and had my life insured, I'd go out on the highway and hold up a chosen servant of the Lord before I'd let it lapse.”

”My dear boy, I am delighted to know that you understand how I feel. I don't want to be a rascal; I would like to be honest. But I tell you that I have resorted to many a piece of trickery--almost treachery--to pay my premiums. I could tell you something, but you would hate me for it.”

”No, I wouldn't.”

”Well, I would better not tell it. What a charming young woman!”

”Yes. Blakemore calls her a 'peach.'”

”A vulgarism not altogether unbefitting,” said the Professor, stumbling along in the dark. ”She has not the dash of the American girl, perhaps, but I rather admire her for the lack of it. Well, our roads part here.

From now until morning I must work on my medical paper.”

CHAPTER X.

HIS NICKNAME.

The hot weather fled before a cool mist that came floating over from Lake Michigan. A cold rain began to fall. Cows lowed, and dogs, soonest of all creatures to feel a change in the atmosphere, crouched s.h.i.+vering in the doorways. Milford worked in the barn till there was nothing more to do, and then he went to the house and sat down with a newspaper. But he could not find interest in it. He threw down the paper and from his bag he took out a worn copy of Whittier. It was a day when we like to read the old things which long ago we committed to memory. We know the word before we reach it, but reaching it, we find it full of a new meaning. But the hours are long when the heart is restless. Out in the woods the mist hung in the tree-tops as if vapor were the world's slow-moving time, balking among the dripping leaves. From a longing Milford's desire to go over to Mrs. Stuvic's became a feverish throb.

But the old woman's grin and the red lantern waved in his face constantly arose before him. He strove to recall what the girl had said.

He could not find the words that she had spoken, but he remembered that he had felt an encouragement. He went out in the drizzle, to the knoll in the oat field, and stood there, gazing toward the house. He cursed himself for a fool and returned to his cheerless shelter. The hired man sat at the dining-room table, playing solitaire with a pack of greasy cards.

”I worked this thing the other day, but it won't come now,” he said.

”But what have you done when you do it?”

”Well, not much of anything, but you're on top. Heigho! I'd almost rather work than to sit around such a day as this. I don't believe we can do anything in the field to-day. Think so?”

”No. Thinking about going somewhere?”

”Not exactly. Didn't know but I might go over to see my girl. Told me the other day she was lonesome without me. And when you get a woman so she's lonesome without you, why, you've got her foul. Haven't changed your mind about not wantin' her here, have you?”

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