Part 4 (1/2)

I staggered to my feet and wabbled to my partner in the dance, holding out my hand. ”Much obliged to you, Mick,” says I.

He leaned back and laughed, till I joined, as well as I could, for crying. He grabbed my hand and shook it. ”Yer all right,” says he.

”Sorry I am I said a word to ye. An' yer th' h--- of a red-headed bye to fight. I've enough.”

Whilst I was a simple lad, I wasn't a fool. For me to hold that two-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound rough-and-tumble fighter even, was impossible. He was ashamed of the whole thing. As soon as his ugly temper had the edge knocked off it, he took that way of closing the deal. No bad man at all, old Mick.

”You say that to save my feelings,” I said.

”What's that?” says he, rough and hard. ”Off with ye!” He wouldn't admit being decent for a farm. He swung away. Then I got another jar. A voice called me and I swung around.

V

”ON MY BUREAU WAS A KNIFE--”

My father stood behind me, such a picture it chills me to think of him.

All of his face was chalk-white; his hands shook like palsy. I reckon I can slide over the next little while. You guess what a crazy-mad man, who's fed his mind on darkness for years, would be likely to do. I never raised a hand in defense--took it. At the same time I made my mind up to end this business, quick and strong. I had enough.

Of course, from father's point of view, something could be said. Had I been drunk and fighting at the tavern, as my nice, gentlemanly little friend, Algy Anker, ran and told him, n.o.body'd blamed him for getting orry-eyed. But he might have asked me what I had to say--a woman-killer gets that show. He used me bad enough, so Eli interfered. ”I don't care if I never sell another thing to you,” says he; ”but, neighbor, you sha'n't hit thet boy ag'in--no, now! There's no use to squirm--you sha'n't do it, and that's all. You run along, Bill.”

When mother saw me, she cried out. I was a sight, for sure. Ought to have washed up a bit, and not give her such a shock, but my head was sizzing like a pin-wheel. Only one idea stuck.

”I'm not hurt much, mother,” I says. ”I want to speak to you.”

Mother was quick-witted and hardy-witted, too. She knew there was no boy foolishness in this, so she choked down her feelings, got a basin, clean water, and a towel, and said, ”Tell me while I bathe your face.”

I told her. It was queer how quiet I felt. I don't know but what it's always that way, though, when a man has made his mind up tight. We seemed almost of an age, mother and me, that little while.

She pleaded with me. ”Don't leave your home, Will. I have been wrong; I should have done more; I didn't, thinking things would right themselves; but now I'll promise to stand between.”

”And what will your life be like?” I asked her. I grew old pretty fast, under pressure.

”Never mind that!” she cried. ”My boy, to have you with me--”

”s.h.!.+” I says. ”How could I help minding it?”

She was still.

”And worse might come,” I went on. ”I don't like to say it, yet every time I couldn't promise to be.... There'd come a day too often ... I'm strong, and if I should--” She put her hand on my lips.

”Go to your room, Will; and let me think alone for a while,” she said.

She caught me and held me close, with never a tear, but a look worse than an ocean of tears. I couldn't have stood it, if I hadn't known I was doing the right thing. To a dead certainty, there would be no peace with me in the house. Any doubts anybody might have had was removed when father come in. He went straight to mother's room. I heard him shouting; talking so fast his words were broken; stamping around; quoting Scripture one minute, crying threats and slaughter the next. It was pitiful. I hustled, getting things ready; I knew, a little more of listening, and I'd have nothing but contempt for my father. Then mother's voice rung out, telling him to leave until he could talk like a man. Usually, she could force him, when she wished, hers being so much bigger a mind, but this time the littler soul was beyond itself with fury. ”Don't take that tone with me!” he roared. ”I won't stand it! And as for the lies that boy told you, I'll have them out of his back!”

Their door slammed open, and he fairly ran toward mine. I jumped and locked it. Mother was close after him. ”You shall _not_!” she said.

”Listen to reason! You've done enough harm--Oh!” she cried, in pain. I thought he hit her.

What I feared boiled up in me. On my bureau was a knife; a big, heavy knife, that got into my hand somehow. It was me and the devil for that round. How long I stood with the knife raised, I don't know. Then mother spoke calmly. ”You hurt my arm, holding it so tight,” she said. ”That certainly isn't necessary.” He had grace enough to beg her pardon.