Part 13 (1/2)

After Nort's exciting visit he crossed over and borrowed a somewhat sticky copy which Nathan Collins, the baker, was saving to wrap bread in, and glancing over the Poems of Hempfield, discovered that Addison Bird of Hawleyville had written one of them, a poem ent.i.tled ”Just Plant One Tree, Boys,” which he had once read at the Grange.

Joe bought hay of Ad, and the idea that Ad was a poet struck Joe as being an irresistible piece of humour. He told everybody who came in during the day, and even called Ad on the telephone to joke him about it. Ad had not heard of it yet, and immediately hitched up and drove into town, not knowing whether to be pleased or angry. He met Nort at the gate of the printing-office, and was received by that young editor with a warm handshake and congratulations upon appearing in what was undoubtedly the most interesting issue of a newspaper ever published in Westmoreland County. The upshot of it was that Ad paid up his long delinquent subscription, and went away with quite a bundle of extra copies.

It is a strange thing in this world how few people recognize a thing as wonderful or beautiful until some poet or prophet comes along to tell them that it is wonderful or beautiful.

”Behold that sunset!” cries the poet, quite beside himself with excitement, and the world, which has been accustomed to having sunsets every evening for supper, and thinks nothing of them, suddenly looks up and discovers unknown splendours.

”Behold the _Star_,” cried Nort, rus.h.i.+ng wildly about Hempfield. ”See what we've got in the _Star_”--and it spread through the town that something unusual, wonderful, was happening in the hitherto humdrum office in the little old building back from the street.

People did not know quite what to make of the publication of the poetry, it was so unprecedented, and the result was that we soon found the whole town discussing the _Star_. The interest cropped up in the most unexpected places, and developed a number of very amusing incidents. We had lifted a little new corner of the veil of life in Hempfield, and we had Nort to tell us how wonderful and amusing it was. Not everybody liked it--for life, everywhere and always, arouses opposition as well as approval--and one man even came in to cancel his subscription because he thought he found unfavourable references to himself in one of the poems; but, on the whole, people were interested and amused.

With all his enthusiasm, Nort got no more satisfaction out of the events of the week than the old Captain. On Sat.u.r.day afternoons, when the farmers came to town, the Captain loved to stroll up the street in a leisurely way, pa.s.s a word here and there with his neighbours, and generally enjoy himself. I always loved to see him on such occasions--his fine old face, his long rusty coat, the cane which was at once the sceptre of his dominion and the support of his age.

Upon this particular afternoon he had the consciousness of having written a truly scorching editorial on William J. Bryan, as trenchant a thing--the Captain loved ”trenchant”--as ever he wrote in his life, and when people began to speak to him about that week's issue of the _Star_, it pleased him greatly. It _was_ a great issue!

Mr. Tole, the druggist, for example, who was secretly much gratified with the publication of his favourite poem, which he shrewdly considered excellent free advertising, remarked:

”Had a great paper this week, Cap'n.”

The old Captain responded with dignity:

”The _Star_, Mr. Tole, is looking up.”

How sweet was all this to the old Captain. For so long the current had been setting against him, there had been so little of the feeling of success and power, which he loved. We could distinguish the triumphant notes in the Captain's voice when he returned to the office. He sat down in the editorial chair with a special air of confidence.

”Anthy,” he said, clearing his throat.

”Yes, Uncle Newt.”

”Anthy, I have hopes of Hempfield. Even in these days, when the people seem to be going off after false G.o.ds, the truth will prevail.”

He paused.

”We are beginning to hear from our editorial on William J. Bryan.”

I recall yet Anthy's laugh--the amus.e.m.e.nt of it, and yet the deep sympathy.

The Captain's eye fell upon Nort. He looked him over affectionately.

”Nort, my boy,” he said, ”we're printing a newspaper.”

”We are, Cap'n,” responded Nort heartily, but with a glint in his eyes.

I saw the swift, grateful look that Anthy gave him.

But the old Captain's mood suddenly changed. It is in the time of triumph that we sometimes find our sorrows most poignant. He began to shake his big s.h.a.ggy head.

”Ah, Nort,” said he, ”one thing only takes the heart out of me.”

”What's that, Cap'n?” asked Nort, though we all knew well enough.