Part 7 (1/2)

Everybody was happy, n.o.body was starving; everlasting duties were tended to with a complete lack of reluctance. If every place in the world had been like Danville, old Herac.l.i.tus wouldn't have been given a second thought. It hadn't had so much as a drunken brawl since 1800.

So I figured it all out that night. I'd take the sheets of paper in front of me and pitch them into the waste basket. Within an hour I'd call up everyone who worked with me, including the delivery boys, and tell them that the _Danville Daily Courier_ had seen its day. Those people with subscriptions, I thought, would have to try to find me. I had about ten dollars left and owed twenty times that in rent and credit.

I suppose you just don't decide to close up business and actually close it up--right down to firing all the help--in an hour's time. But that's what I was going to do. I didn't take anything into consideration except the fact that I had to go somewhere and get a job quick, or I'd end being the first person in Danville's history to die of starvation. So I figured to lock up the office, go home and get my things together and leave the next afternoon for some nearby city.

I knew that if I didn't act that fast, if I stayed and tried to sell the office and the house, I'd never get out of Danville. You don't carry out flash decisions if you wait around to weigh their consequences.

You've got to act. So that's what I started to do.

But I didn't get far. About the time I had it all nicely resolved and justified, I was scared out of my shoes by a polite sort of cough, right next to me. It was after midnight and subconsciously I realized that this was neither the time nor the place for polite coughs--at least ones I didn't make. Especially since I hadn't heard anyone come in.

An old boy who must have been crowding ninety stood in front of the desk, staring at me. And I stared right back. He was dressed in the sporty style of the eighteen nineties, with whiskers all over his face and a little black derby which canted jauntily over his left eye.

”Mr. Lewis?” he said, hopping on the side of the desk and taking off his white gloves, finger by finger. ”Mr. Richard Lewis?”

”Yes, that's right” is what I said.

”The son of Elmer Lewis?”

I nodded, and I'll bet my mouth was wide open. He took out a big cigar and lit it.

”If I may be so rude,” I finally managed to get out, ”who the h.e.l.l are you and how did you get inhere?”

His eyes twinkled and immediately I was sorry for having been so abrupt. I don't know why, but I added, ”After all, y'know, it's pretty late.”

The old geezer just sat there smiling and puffing smoke into the air.

”Did you want to see me about something, Mr.--”

”Call me Jones, my boy, call me Jones. Yes, as a matter of fact, I do have some business with you. Y'see, I knew your father quite well once upon a time--might say he and I were very close friends.

Business partners too, you might say. Yes. Business partners. Tell me, Richard, did you ever know your father to be unhappy?”

It was an odd conversation, but Mr. Jones was far too friendly and ingratiating to get anything but courtesy out of me. I answered him honestly.

”No, Dad was always about the happiest person I've ever seen. Except when Mother died, of course.”

Jones s.h.i.+fted and waved his cane in the air.

”Of course, of course. But aside from that. Did he have any grievances about life, any particular concern over the fact that his newspaper was never very, shall we say, successful? In a word, Richard, was your father content to the day he died?”

”Yes, I'd say he was. At least I never heard him complain. Dad never wanted anything but a chance to putter around the office, write his column and collect bugs.”

At this he whacked the desk and grinned until all I could see was teeth. ”Ah, that's very good, m'boy, very good. Times haven't been like they were in the old days. I'd begun to wonder if I was as good as I made out to be. Why, do you know that Elmer was my first customer since that time Dan'l Webster made such a fool of me! Oh, that was rich. You've got to hand it to those New Hamps.h.i.+re lawyers, you've just got to hand it to them.”

He sat chuckling and puffing out smoke, and, looking squarely at the situation, I began to get a very uncomfortable sensation along the back of my spine.

”Your dad wasn't any slouch, though, let me tell you, d.i.c.k. That part of the deal is over. He got what he wanted out his life on Earth and now he's--what's that wonderful little expression somebody started a few centuries ago?--oh yes, he's paying the fiddler. But things were almost as bad then as they are now, I mean as far as signed, paid-up contracts go. Oh, I tell you, you humans are getting altogether too shrewd for your own good. What with wars and crime and politicians and the like, I scarcely have anything to do these days. No fun in merely shoveling 'em in.”

A long, ga.s.sy sigh.

”Yes sir, Elmer was on to me all right. He played his cards mighty clever. Included you, d.i.c.k m'boy. So all I have to do is make you happy and, well then, the deal's closed.”

By this time I felt pretty much like jumping out the window, but shot nerves or not, I was able to say: ”Look, Grandpa, I don't know what in h.e.l.l you're talking about. I'm in no mood for this sort of thing and don't particularly care to be. If you were a friend of Pop's I'm glad to see you and all that, but if you came here for hospitality I'm afraid you're out of luck. I'm leaving town tomorrow. If you'd like, I'll walk you to a nice clean hotel.”

”Ah,” he said, pus.h.i.+ng me back into my chair with his cane, ”you don't understand. Lad, I've not had much practice lately and may be a trifle on the rusty side, but you must give me my dues. Let me see--if I remember correctely, the monthly cash stipend was not included and therefore was not pa.s.sed on to you.”

”Look--”

”The hundred and fifty a month your father got, I mean. I see you know nothing of it. Cautious one, Elmer. Take it easy, son, take it easy. Your troubles are over.”

This was too much. I got up and almost shouted at him.

”I've got enough troubles already, without a loony old bird like you busting in on me. Do we take you to a hotel, or do you start traveling?”He just sat there and laughed like a jacka.s.s, poking me with his cane and flicking cigar ashes all over the floor.

”d.i.c.k m'boy, it's a pity you don't want out of life what your father did. In a way, that would have simplified things. As it is, I'm going to have to get out the old bag of tricks and go to work. Answer one more question and you may go your way.”

I said, ”All right, make it snappy, Pop. I'm getting tired of this game.”

”Am I right in a.s.suming that your princ.i.p.al unhappiness lies in the fact that your newspaper is not selling as you would like it to, and that this is due to the categorical fact that nothing newsworthy ever takes place in this town?”

”Yeah, that's right on the b.u.t.ton. Now--”

”Very well, d.i.c.k. That's what I wanted to know. I advise you to go home now and get a good night's sleep.”

”Exactly what I plan to do. It's been charming, Mr. Jones. I don't mind saying I think you're a nosy galoot with squirrels in the head. Anyway, do you want to go to a hotel?”

He jumped down off the desk and started to walk with me toward the front door.

”No thank you, Richard lad; I have much work to do. I tell you, stop worrying. Things are going to be rosy for you and, if you watch your step, you'll have no fiddler to pay. And now, good night.”

Jones then dug me in the ribs with his cane and strode off, whistling ”There'll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.”

He was headed straight for the Little Creek bridge, which gradually opened off into flap pastures and a few farm houses. Nothing lay beyond that except the graveyard.

I suppose he didn't know where he was going, but I was too confused and tired to care much.

When I looked again there wasn't hide nor hair of Mr. Jones.

He was promptly forgotten. Almost, anyway. When you're broke and owe everybody in town, you're able to forget just about anything. Except, of course, that you're broke and owe everybody in town.

I locked up the office and started for home. The fire and fury were gone: I couldn't get up the gall to phone everyone and do all the things I'd planned to do.

So, miserable as a wet dog, I trudged a few blocks to the house, smoked a half dozen cigarettes and went to bed, hoping I'd have the guts to get on the train the next day.

I woke up early feeling like a fish left out in the sun too long. It was six o'clock and, like always at this time, I wished that I had a wife or a mistress to get me a big breakfast. Instead I hobbled downstairs and knew exactly what Mother Hubbard felt like. I fixed a lousy cup of coffee and sat down to a glorious dish of corn flakes. I knew that train was mighty far away and that in a little while I'd go to the office, reach in the filler box and help set up another stinking issue of the _Daily Courier_. Then would come the creditors and the long line of bushwa. Even the corn flakes tasted rancid.

Then I heard a distinct thud against the front door. It struck me as being odd, because there had never before been any thuds at that particular front door, which made precisely that sound.

I opened it, looked around and finally at my feet. There, folded magnificently and encircled with a piece of string, was a newspaper.