Part 28 (1/2)

Mr. Britt did not look around to note the effect of that piece of news.

He gazed complacently up into the suns.h.i.+ne.

He made quite a figure--for Egypt--as he stood there. Mr. Britt had ”togged out.” His toupee, when he first flashed it, had signified much.

But the manner in which he had garbed himself for summer was little less than hardihood, considering the sort of a community in which he lived. He was ”a native.” The style of his attire declared that he was completely indifferent to any comments by his townsmen--and such a trait exposed in a New England village revealed more fully than his usurious habits the real callousness of the Britt nature. There was not a man in sight who did not have patches either fore or aft, or both! Mr. Britt wore a light, checked suit with a fitted waist, garishly yellow shoes, a puff tie of light blue, and a sailor straw with a sash band. He was a peac.o.c.k in a yard full of brown Leghorns. But n.o.body laughed at Mr.

Britt. n.o.body in Egypt felt like laughing at anything, any more. They were accepting Britt, in his gorgeous plumage, as merely another strange item in the list of the signs and wonders that marked the latter days in Egypt.

More tawdry than ever appeared Prophet Elias's robe in that suns.h.i.+ne, though his umbrella did seem to comport better with the season. He stood in front of Usial's home. For a long time he had been keeping his tongue off the magnate of the town. For some weeks he had been away somewhere.

To those who indulgently asked where he had been he replied tartly that he had volunteered as a scapegoat for the woes and sins of Egypt, had gone in search of a wilderness, and had come back because all other wildernesses were only second-rate affairs compared with the town from which he had started.

The Prophet seemed to feel that the appearance of Mr. Britt required comment. He raised his voice and made that comment:

”'And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.'”

The Prophet bestowed a momentary benefit on gloomy Egypt--the listeners did manage to crease their countenances with grins; Britt surveyed those grins before he turned his attention to Elias. But all he did turn was his attention--silent, bodeful, malicious scrutiny. The onlookers were considerably surprised by Britt's silence; they wondered what controlled his tongue; but they were not in doubt on one point--every man of them knew that when Tasper Britt wore that expression it meant that he had settled upon the method of his revenge in the case of one who had offended him.

After a few moments Britt turned from his stare at the Prophet and dropped what was nigh to being a bombsh.e.l.l; it was more effective because it had nothing to do with the matter in hand.

”Listen, fellow townsmen! We all know that we ought to put our shoulders to the wheel and do something for poor Egypt. I propose to start off.”

He pointed to the old Britt mansion. ”I'm going to tear down my house.”

The men of Egypt goggled at him.

”Aye! And start off with it?” queried the Prophet. ”Good riddance!”

But Mr. Britt was not troubling himself about the mouthings of Elias.

”I shall put a crew on it to-morrow. A city contractor will arrive here this afternoon with equipment and men. But he can also use all the local men who want to work. All who will pitch in can hire with him at the regular scale of wages. As soon as the site is cleared I shall start work on a new house. The plans are drawn. I have them here.”

He snapped the rubber bands off a roll which he carried under his arm.

He exhibited a watercolor facade elevation, stretching his arms wide and holding the paper in front of his face. The men came crowding around.

They saw the drawing of a pretentious structure with towers and porticoes. Britt, holding the architect's broad sheet so that his features were hidden, explained the details of his project in regard to rooms and grounds. There was a hateful expression on the hidden face; it was the face of a man who hoped he was stirring jealous envy in those whom he wished to punish.

”It will be a mansion to the queen's taste, when you get it done,”

observed one man; he took advantage of the fact that Britt could not see him and winked at a neighbor. But if the man hoped to get a rise out of the builder in regard to a possible queen, he was disappointed.

Another citizen was more venturesome: ”I'm taking it for granted that you don't intend to keep old-bach hall in a house like that, Tasper!”

Britt took down the s.h.i.+eld. He displayed a countenance of bland satisfaction. ”I don't think I'll be allowed to do it,” he retorted, answering jest with jest. ”You know what women are when they see a good-looking house needing a mistress.” He rolled the paper up carefully. ”And now, talking of something sensible, I hope you're going to turn out in good numbers when that contractor begins to hire. And pa.s.s the word!”

n.o.body showed much enthusiasm. One man with a querulous mouth suggested: ”It will seem like helping waste money, tearing down a stand of buildings that ain't in any ways due to be sc.r.a.pped; I ain't sure but what it will seem like a worse waste of money, building a palace in a town like this. Don't you expect to be taxed like Sancho?”

”Until we get some kind of legislation or court action to make our town acts legal, the taxation question isn't worrying me much,” said Britt, grimly. ”I'll take my chances along with the rest of you on getting an act allowing us to compound with creditors.”

”Probably can be arranged,” said a man with the malice against the usurer that prevailed in the oppressed town. ”We're sending a good man to the next legislature.”

But Britt, in that new mood of his, was refusing to be baited. He began to look about. ”Where is that person who calls himself a Prophet?”