The Law of the Land by Emerson Hough (the reader ebook .TXT) 📕

if it wasn’t that I have to be right busy here for a while. Good-by, Mrs. Wilson, good-by, madam. Good-by to you all. I am glad you all came in. Good-by, little folks; here’s something;” and each, small hand received a silver piece from the claim agent.

Mrs. Wilson passed out with a puzzled expression on her face. On the stairway she sighed. “Well, he is a nice man, anyhow,” said she, to her companion.

This little party had scarce disappeared before there came another visitor, this time a fat colored woman of middle age, who labored up the stair and halted at the door.

“Come in, auntie,” called the claim agent, from Ms desk, “what’s the matter?”

“You know whut’s the matter, Mr. Edd’ron,” said the caller. “You ‘membehs me?”

“Yes,” said the claim agent, “you had a baby run down at the street crossing yesterday. We sent it to the hospital. How is it getting along?”

“Hit’s daid, Mr. Edd’ron. Yas sah, my lil’ Gawge is daid.”

“What? Oh, pshaw!”

“Yas sah, lil’ Gawge done die six o’clock dis maw-nin’.” She shook with sobs. The claim agent dropped his own face into his hands. The weary look came back again into his eyes. At last he turned and went up to the black woman where she stood sobbing, and extended his hand.

“There, there, auntie,” he said, “I’m sorry, mighty sorry. Now, listen. I can’t settle this thing this morning. Here is ten dollars of my own money to help bury the boy decently. As soon as I can, I will take up the matter, and I will settle it the best I can for you. Now, go away; please, go away.”

The negro woman ceased her sobbing as she took the bill.

“Ten dollahs,” said she, “ten dollahs for dat baby! Dat’ll buhy him right fine, it sho’ will, Mr. Edd’ron. You’se a fine man, Mr. Edd’ron, ‘deed you is.”

Eddring smiled bitterly. He paced up and down the room, his head bent down. Presently he turned to his assistant.

“Go on over to the depot,” said he, “and see if there is any more mail. I don’t think I will do any letters just now.”

Left alone, he continued to pace up and down, until at length he heard steps and again a knock at the door, after the custom in business in that region. This time there entered the tall form of his whilom friend, Colonel Calvin Blount, from his plantation down the road. Him he saluted right gladly and asked eagerly regarding his health.

“I am well, right well,” said Blount, “Just came up to see about a little cotton. It looks like twelve cents before long.”

“Well, with cotton at twelve cents you ought not to have any quarrel with the world, Colonel Blount.”

“Well, now,” replied Blount, “I need about everything I can get to put my place in order again. It’s some months now since we had our little war down there, and I haven’t got together half the hands I need yet. Some of my people cleaned out and we never did hear anything more of them. We’ve got plenty of niggers in jail down there yet; but that ain’t the way we want it. We want ‘em to get out of jail and into the fields at work. They’d rather stay in jail. They get as much to eat, and more time to rest.”

“Well, they did raise trouble that time, didn’t they?” said Eddring. “What do you suppose started them, Colonel? Who was it put them up to do it?” Blount shook his head.

“That’s the puzzle,” said he. “It was some one with brains; and not the kind of brains that grows under kinky hair, either.”

The two men sat silent for a time. “Oh, by the way,” said Blount, at length, “I was just going to say I brought up Mrs. Ellison and Miss Lady with me this morning. I left them over at the hotel right now. Do you know, Eddring, that girl has grown up to be a plumb beauty! She’s handsome enough to just scare you. Why, I never did know there was so many young men in this whole town before that were acquainted with me. Looks like she was a public menace to business on the streets. Pine girl. And just as good as she’s handsome!”

Eddring felt the blood surge up into his face, but he made no comment. He knew that the one unsafe thing for him to do was to see again this same Miss Lady, and yet against this decision all the riotous blood of his heart surged out in protest. He took a swift turn to the window.

“By Jove, Colonel,” he cried, “out there goes that fellow Jim Hargis, from over near Jewelville. He’s got that brag dog of his along.”

“Dog? What dog?” cried Blount.

“There, that’s the one,” said Eddring, pointing out a man passing by, who was accompanied by a pepper-and-salt foxhound. “Do you see that dog? Well, Jim Hargis says that’s the coldest-nosed hound ever run a trail, and he’s got five hundred dollars to bet his equal don’t live in the South.”

“Humph,” sneered Blount, “I reckon he never did see my old Hec.”

“Hec! Why, he says he’d make Hec look like a pot-licker if he ever got mixed up with his dog.”

“What! My old Hec! Five hundred dollars! Say, you just holler to him, while I run down stairs.” And away went the irate Colonel, his hands fumbling in his pockets.

Eddring did not stay to see the result of his stratagem. Instead, as he found himself alone, he walked up in front of the little mirror which hung upon the wall. He gazed straight into it, examining with frowning face the reflection which he witnessed. He ran a hand across the gray-tinged hair, turned up a corner of the mustache with a reflective finger, man-fashion, and looked eagerly, searchingly, at the face which confronted him. It was a face slightly lined, a trifle tired. He stood there thinking, questioning this image. As he turned away he sighed.

The wind rustled the dingy curtains at the dingy window, as he flung himself discontentedly into a chair, A bar of sunlight lay across the floor; at the window there came the sound of a song bird from a near-by tree; but these signs and sounds of an outdoor world John Eddring did not note. He felt nothing but the grim imprisonment of these dusty walls. In his soul was revolt, rebellion. He smote his hand hard upon the papers which, lay before him on the desk.

“This, this,” he exclaimed aloud, “this is all my life! Good God! it is to buy life, human life, human sufferings, and to buy them cheap! I swear, I can see blood on every voucher that I sign! That’s my business. I must buy these things cheap; and they say I don’t buy them cheap enough—they want me to put in my whole heart, and honor, and principles. Here is my salary for the month.” Pie drew the slip of paper toward him and sat looking at it. “And here is the last correspondence from the superintendent. Complaints, all of it. Once I thought I should succeed. Success-yes, I have succeeded—in being absolutely wretched every day of my life. God! God! Is this all?”

He pushed the papers from him and half rose, leaning over the desk, resting on his hands.

“Success,” he muttered again to himself. “What is it? I gave up the law and I took the salary.” He paused and sighed. “At any rate,” he resumed, musing still aloud, “my old mother has had a roof over her head, and has had three meals a day. Well, it’s made me old. I suppose I oughtn’t to mind, but oh, damn everything! Damn everything, I say!” He scattered the papers with a blow of his hand, and whirling, stood once more before the mirror, which seemed to have some unusual interest for him. He did not at first hear the step of the visitor who now entered the door and came gently up behind him.

“Confound you!” cried he, suddenly, as at length he caught the footfall. “What do you mean by coming in like that?”

The frail and gray-haired lady who halted at this salutation was as much startled as himself. “Why, John!” said she. “Why, John!”

Turning, Eddring caught her by the hand, his face flushed.

“Mother!” he cried, “I thought it was the clerk.”

“Why, John,” repeated Mrs. Eddring, “I didn’t know that you ever swore.”

“I don’t, mother, except sometimes. The fact is—well, today I just had to.”

“You were thinking of something else.”

“Well, yes. I beg your pardon. I was just feeling pretty good over the way business matters were going, and—well, the truth is, I was just a little—well, a little exuberant, you know.”

Mrs. Eddring seated herself and looked about her at the dingy little office, which ever seemed to her poor housing for one who, in her belief, was the greatest man in all the world.

“I beg your pardon, John,” said she, “for intruding in your business hours, but I was down-town to-day, and I thought I would just drop in to see you.” She gazed at him keenly, noting with a mother’s eye the worn look on his face.

“I don’t think you’ve been looking well lately, John,” said she. “Does your arm still trouble you?”

“Why, of course not, it’s all well. Why, I’m feeling fine, fine! You and I ought to be feeling well these days, for you know we have just finished paying for our house, and everything is looking perfectly splendid all around. You didn’t know I had a raise in my salary last month, did you?” He turned his back, as he said this last, that his mother might not discover on his face so palpable a falsehood.

“Is that so, John?” she said. “Why, I’m so glad!” A faint spot of color came into the faded cheeks, and the old eyes brightened. “Well, I’m sure you deserved it. They couldn’t pay you more than you’re worth.”

“No,” said Eddring, grimly, “they are not apt to.” His mother caught no hidden meaning, but went on.

“You’re a good business man, John, I know,” said she, “and I know you have always been a gentleman in your work.” Here spoke the old South, its pride visible in the lift of the white crowned head, and the flash of an eye not yet dimmed in spite of the gentleness of the pale, thin face.

Eddring gulped a bit. “Well, you know, in business,” said he, “a fellow pretty near has to choose—”

“And you have always chosen to be a gentleman.”

“As near as I could, mother,” said he, gravely. “I have just done the best I could. Now, as I was saying, I am feeling mighty fine to-day. Everything coming out so well—the truth is—”

“John,” said his mother, sharply, “why do you say ‘the fact is,’ and ‘the truth is’? You don’t usually do that.”

He did not answer, and there went on the subtle self-communings of the mother-brain, exceedingly difficult to lead astray. For the time she did not voice her thought, but approaching him, placed a hand upon his shoulder, and brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead.

“Pretty gray, isn’t it, mother?” said he, smiling at her.

“Nonsense! Is that what you were thinking about?”

“Well, you see, I’m getting—”

“No, you’re not! You don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

“That’s right. That’s right,” said he, blithely. “I am twenty-five, exactly twenty-five; and they’re raising my salary right along. What’ll it be when I’m fifty?”

“You ought to have a new necktie, John,” said his mother, smoothing down the lapel of his coat. “A rising man, like you, my