Part 12 (1/2)

Old Jerry drove that scant mile or two this night under the spur of his one greatest inspiration; and while he drove he talked aloud to himself.

”And I was a-goin' to fix it for him,” he muttered once, ”I was a-goin' to fix that old busted jug in the morning. G.o.dfrey, I must 'a' been fl.u.s.tered!” He shrilled in uncontrollable glee at the recollection. And then again, later and far more gravely:

”I'm a-gittin' more religious every livin' day. I'm gittin' more religious jest from standin' around and kinda watchin' how things is made to work out right, jest when you've about decided that the Lord ain't payin' as much attention to details as he might.”

He knew that there had to be a light in the windows of the Tavern office; he knew that he had to be in time. That was the finger of a Something behind the whole day's developments which was directing it all so masterfully. And because he was so certain of it all--because he was positive that he was the agent who had been selected to mete out justice at last--he found himself possessed of a greater courage than he had ever known before as he clambered down from his seat and mounted the worn steps.

A rush of chill air swept the group about the sprawling stove as he opened the door and made each member lift his head, each after a fas.h.i.+on that was startlingly indicative of the man himself. For Judge Maynard wheeled sharply as the cold blast struck him--wheeled with head flung back challengingly, and a harsh rebuke in every feature--while old Dave Shepard turned and merely s.h.i.+vered. He just s.h.i.+vered and flinched a little from the draft, appealingly. The rest registered an ascending scale of emotions betwixt and between.

Just as he knew he would find them they sat. Judge Maynard had the floor; and it was an easy thing to read that he had all but reached the crisis of his recital. Any man could have read that merely from the protest in the faces of the rest. And yet Old Jerry simply stood there and swept the group with serene and dangerous geniality.

”Evenin', folks,” he saluted them mildly.

His mildness was like a match to the fuse. Judge Maynard pounded his fat knee with a fatter fist, and exploded thunderously:

”Shut that door!” he roared. ”Shut that door!”

Old Jerry complied with amazing alacrity. The very panels s.h.i.+vered with the force of the swing that slammed it close. The Judge should have known right there--he should have read the writing on the wall--and yet he failed to do that thing. Instead, he turned back once more to his audience--back to his interrupted tale, and left Old Jerry standing there before the door, ignored.

”As I was sayin'.” He cleared his throat. ”As I was sayin' when this unnecessary interruption occurred, I realized right from the moment when I opened the door and saw him standing there in front of me, grinning, and his chin cut wide open, that there was something wrong.

I am a discerning man--and I knew! And it didn't take me long to convince him--not very long!--that there were other communities which would find him more welcome than this one. Maybe I was harsh--maybe I was--but harsh cases require harsh remedies. And because he didn't have the money, I offered to let him have enough to carry him out of town, and something to keep him about as long as he'll last now, I'm thinking, although that place of his isn't worth as much as the paper to write the mortgage on.

”I knew it had come at last--but, at that, I didn't get anything that I wanted to call real proof until after we'd drawn up the papers and signed 'em, and were about ready to start back. Then, when we were coming down the steps of the clerk's office, I got all the proof I wanted, and a little more than that. He--he stumbled just about then, and would have gone down on his face if I hadn't held him up. And he was laughing out loud to himself, chuckling, with one fist full of money fit to draw a crowd. And he pulled away from me just when I was trying to force him into the buggy--pulled away and sort of leered up at me, waving that handful of bills right under my nose.

”'Oh, come now, Judge,' he sort of hiccoughed, 'this ain't the way for two old friends to part. This ain't the way for me to treat an old friend who's given me this. I want to buy you something--I want to buy you at least one drink--before I go. Come on, now, Judge. What'll you have?' says he.”

They had all forgotten Old Jerry's interruption; they had forgotten everything else but the Judge's recital, that was climbing to its climax. That room was very quiet when the speaker paused and waited for his words to sink in--very quiet until a half-smothered giggle broke the stillness.

There was an unholy glee in that mirth--a mocking, lilting note of actual joy which rang almost profane at such a moment. Man for man it brought that circle erect in the chairs; man for man they sat and stared at the grotesque figure which was rocking now in a paroxysm of laughter too real for simulation. In a breathless hush they turned from the offender back to the judge, waiting, appalled, for the storm to break.

Judge Maynard's round moon-face went purple. Twice he tried to speak before he sat silent, annihilation in his eyes, until Jerry's outbreak had subsided. Then he lifted one forefinger and pointed, with all the majesty such a gesture could ever convey, to the empty chair--the chair which Old Jerry should have been occupying in becoming silence at that moment.

”Have you gone crazy?” he thundered. ”Have you--or are you just naturally witless? Or was there something you wanted to say? If there isn't--if you've no questions to ask--you get over to that chair and sit down where you belong!”

It was then that the rest of the circle realized that something had gone wrong--most mightily wrong! According to all precedent, the little, white-haired man should have shrunk back and cowered beneath that verbal lash, and obeyed without a glance. They all realized that there was imminent a climax unforeseen by all--all but the Judge; and he was too blind with rage to see.

Very meekly Old Jerry bore his thundered rebuke--too meekly. But after the judge had finished he failed to move; he merely stood there, facing the town's great man. And in his att.i.tude there was something of infantile, derisive, sparrowlike impudence as he peered back into the Judge's face--something that was very like the att.i.tude of an outraged, ruffled old reprobate of a parrot rearing himself erect.

Old Jerry made no haste. It was a thing which required a nice deliberation. And so he waited--waited and prolonged the moment to its last, sweetest second. Once more he chuckled, to himself this time--just once, before he began to speak. That old Tavern office had never been so deathly still before.

”A question?” he echoed at last, thoughtfully. ”A question? Well, Jedge, there was one thing I was a-goin' to ask you. Jest one triflin'

thing I was kinda curious to know. Why, I was a-goin' to ask you, back a spell--What did you hev? It kinda interested me, wonderin' about it.

But now--now that I've heard your story in full, I reckon I'll hev to change that question a mite. I reckon they ain't nothin' left but to ask you--How many did you hev? How many, Jedge? For, Jedge, you're talkin' most mighty wild tonight!”

And that silence endured--endured even after the huge man had half-risen, purple features gone white, and then dropped heavily back into his chair before that rigid figure in its sodden garments which had turned from him toward the rest of the circle of regulars.

Old Jerry made his formal exit that night--he knew that he was resigning his chair--but the thing was very cheap at the price.