The Calico Cat, Page 3

  Cat sitting on post looking forward.]

  III

  Immediately after breakfast on Monday morning Mr. Peaslee, in a moodof desperate self-sacrifice, started up-town to buy a knife--forJim!

  All day long on Sunday, when he had nothing to do but think, he hadstruggled between his fear of exposure and his sorrow for the boy.The upshot was a determination to "make it up to him" by giving hima knife. He had in his mind's eye a marvel--stag-horn handle, fourblades, saw, awl, file, hoof-hook, corkscrew! Such a knife as that,he felt, would console any boy for being arrested. "Most likely 'twill end right there," he said to himself.

  "I guess I'd better go to Farley's," he thought, as he walked along."Farley owes money to the bank. He won't dare to stick it on likethe rest."

  But when he entered the store and looked about, his face fell. Mr.Farley was not there! Willie Potter, Farley's clerk, a young manpeculiarly distasteful to Solomon, lounged forward with a toothpickin his mouth. Mr. Peaslee had half a mind to go, but the thought ofpoor Jim held him back.

  "What will you have to-day, Mr. Peaslee?" inquired Willie, affably.He winked at young Dannie Snow, who sat grinning on a keg of nails,as much as to say, "Watch me have some fun with the old man."

  "I thought mebbe I'd look at some jack-knives," said Solomon, eyeingWillie distrustfully.

  "Yes, sir, I guess you want the best, regardless of expense," saidWillie, impudently. He well understood his customer's dislike forspending a penny. Stepping behind the counter, he drew from theshow-case and held up admiringly the most costly knife in the store.

  "Here, now, what do you say to this? Very superior article. Besthorn, ten blades, best razor steel. Three-fifty, and cheap at theprice. Can't be beat this side of Boston. Just the article for you,sir."

  And he winked again at Dannie Snow, who was pink with suppressedmerriment.

  "Well, now, well, now," said Solomon, taking the knife in his handand pretending to examine it closely. "That's a pretty knife, to besure,--to--be--sure. Real showy, ain't it? Looks as if 't was madeto sell--all outside and no money in the bank, like some youngfellers ye see."

  Dannie Snow giggling outright, Mr. Peaslee turned and gazed at himin mild inquiry. Young Potter turned a dull red. He was addicted toradiant cravats and gauzy silk handkerchiefs, and from his "salary"of eight dollars a week he did not save much.

  But just the same, Mr. Peaslee had been staggered at the price.Pretending still to examine the knife which Willie had given him, hesquinted past it at the contents of the glass show-case on which hiselbows rested. There all sorts of knives confronted him, each in itslittle box, in which was stuck a card stating the price,--$1.50,$1.25, 90c, 45c. The cheapest one would eat up the proceeds of threedozen eggs at fifteen cents a dozen--a good price for eggs! He hadforgotten that knives cost so much.

  "A good knife ain't any use to a boy," he reflected. "Break it in aday, lose it in a week. 'T wouldn't be any real kindness to him.Just wastin' money."

  He pointed finally to a stubby, wooden-handled knife with one bigblade, marked 25c.

  "There, now," said he, "that's what I call a knife. Good and strong,and no folderol. Guarantee the steel, don't ye?"

  He opened the blade and drew it speculatively across his callousedold thumb, while with his mild blue eyes, which his spectaclesenormously exaggerated, he fixed the humbled Willie.

  "That's a good knife for the money," said that young man."Hand-forged."

  "Sho now, ye don't say so," said Mr. Peaslee. "I guess ye give adiscount, don't ye? Farley always allows me a little suthin'."

  "You can have it for twenty-one cents," said Willie, much irritated."Charge it?"

  "Guess I better pay cash," Mr. Peaslee answered hastily. If it werecharged, his wife would question the item.

  Producing an enormous wallet--very worn and very flat--from hiscavernous pocket, he deliberately searched until he found aCanadian ten-cent piece, and adding to it enough to make up theprice, handed it to Potter, and left the store.

  Mr. Peaslee, who remembered no gift from his father other than avery occasional big copper cent, thought himself pretty generous.Had he not spent pretty nearly the price of two dozen eggs?

  But now a question occurred to him which he had not thought ofbefore. How was he to get the knife to Jim? A gift from him wouldexcite surprise, perhaps suspicion. It must not be known who hadsent it. Ah, there was the post office! Going in, he pushed thelittle box through the barred window.

  "Say, Cyrus," he said to the postmaster, "kinder weigh up thisconsignment for me, will ye?"

  The postmaster weighed the box.

  "That will cost you six cents," he said.

  "Thank ye," returned Mr. Peaslee, and dropping the box into his deeppocket, departed. Half a dozen eggs more to get it to his next-doorneighbor!

  "'T ain't right," he muttered, "'t ain't right."

  Uncertain what to do with his gift, but feeling, on the whole,pretty virtuous, Mr. Peaslee now started home. He thought thatJim would not be going to school, but would wait at home for thethreatened coming of the constable; but still he was not sure,and he wanted to keep the boy under his eye.

  Suddenly he straightened. There was Judge Ames walking up thestreet, valise in hand, just from the early morning train. He hadcome a few days before the opening of court. Mr. Peaslee knew himslightly, and stood much in awe of him. He was greatly pleased whenthe judge stopped and shook hands with him.

  "I am glad to hear, Mr. Peaslee," said the judge, in his precise,lawyer-like utterance, "that you are to be on the grand jury. Weneed men like you there."

  "Thank ye, judge, thank ye," said Mr. Peaslee, overcome. And hewalked on home, quite convinced that a person of his importance inthe community should not be sacrificed to the comfort of any smallboy.

  "And I've done right by the little feller, I've done right," heassured himself, feeling the knife.

  As he turned into his own yard, he cast an anxious eye over tothe Edwards house. There sat Jim, elbows on knees, chin on hands,staring into space. Jim was thinking that his father, had he beena pirate chief, would not have wiped a filial tear from his eyewhenever he thought of his mother; and the boy's face showed it.The spectacle greatly depressed Mr. Peaslee. The smallest, faintestquestion entered his mind whether a twenty-five-cent knife wouldconsole such melancholy.

  To give himself a countenance while he watched events, Solomon got arake and began gathering together the few autumn leaves which hadfluttered down in his front yard. It was not useless labor, forthey would "come in handy" later in "banking up" the house.

  And so, presently, he saw Sam Barton, the constable, his bigshoulders rolling as he walked, advancing down the street. Mr.Peaslee expected him; nevertheless his appearance gave him adisagreeable shock. Suppose the constable had been coming for him!

  "Ain't arrestin' anybody down this way, be ye?" he called, with afeeble attempt at jocularity. Perhaps, after all--

  "Looks like it," said Barton, succinctly.

  Mr. Peaslee stepped to the fence. "'T aint likely they'll do muchto a leetle feller like that, I guess," he said, searching theconstable's face.

  "Dunno," said Barton, passing on.

  Solomon, much concerned, leaned on his rake and watched him enterthe Edwards house. Jim had disappeared; there was some delay.

  Mrs. Peaslee came to the door.

  "Arrestin' that Ed'ards boy, be they, Solomon?" she said. "Well,serve him right, _I_ say, shootin' guns off so. Like father, likeson. _I_ dunno as _'t was_ the son. I'd as soon believe it of thefather. Everybody knows Lamoury and he's been mixed up together.Some of his smugglin' tricks, prob'ly."

  Mrs. Peaslee had taken a violent dislike to her taciturn neighbor,and she did not care who knew it. Her shrill voice seemed to herhusband painfully loud, and, indeed, it was beginning to attract theattention of the group of children who had gathered about theEdwards gate.

  "Sh!" hissed Solomon. "Ed'ards might hear ye. 'T would hurt us if heshould take his account out of the bank
."

  "Humph!" exclaimed Mrs. Peaslee. "Well," she added, "you go to thehearin'. Justice is suthin', I guess."

  But she said no more, and with her husband and the children awaitedevents--a silent group in the silent street before the silent house.The children's eyes grew bigger and bigger with excitement. Was notJimmy Edwards going to be arrested for mur-r-rder? the horridwhisper ran. One small boy, beginning to whimper, asked if Jimmy was"going to be hung."

  The occasion was solemn even to the older eyes of Mr. Peaslee."S'posin' it was me," he said to himself.

  Presently Mr. Edwards, Jim, and the constable emerged from thehouse. Jim looked white and frightened, but was bravely trying tobear himself like a man. Mr. Edwards, his long, shaven upper lipstiff as a board, looked stern and uncompromising. Barton was as bigand good-humored as ever.

  He turned upon the little boys and girls, and, waving his arm,cried, "Scat!" They fell back--about ten feet. Thus the processionformed: Barton and Jim, then Mr. Edwards, and--at a barelyrespectful distance--the crowd of youngsters.

  Mr. Peaslee, much moved, but trying hard not to show it, thrust hisrake under the veranda with a great show of care, and joined Mr.Edwards--much to that gentleman's surprise. Solomon's heart wasthrobbing with a great resolution.

  "I always aim to be neighborly," said he, nervously lowering hisvoice, for he was conscious of his wife, still standing on theveranda. "Thought I'd just step along, too. I cal'late mebbe you'dlike comp'ny on his bail bond," and he jerked his thumb toward Jim.

  It was out; he was committed, and Solomon heaved a great sigh, heknew not whether of relief or dismay. There was not indeed any riskin signing with Edwards, who was "good" for any bail that thejustice was likely to require; but what would Mrs. Peaslee say ifshe knew! He glanced apprehensively toward the house.

  His wife had gone in; but, evil omen! there, sitting on afence-post, was the Calico Cat. She was placidly washing her face;and as her paw twinkled past the big black spot round her right eye,she appeared, at that distance, to be greeting him with a derisivewink.

  Mr. Edwards, although his mouth shut tighter than ever at themention of bail, was surprised and touched. "Thank you," he said."It's kind of you to think of it."

  In the village, Sam ushered them into the musty law office of SquireTucker, justice of the peace. The squire was a large, fat man,clothed in rusty black, with a carelessly knotted string tie pendentbeneath a rumpled turn-down collar. He had a smooth-shaven, fatface, lighted by shrewd and kindly eyes, which gleamed at you nowthrough, now over, his glasses. When the party entered he waswriting, and merely looked up under his big eyebrows long enough towave them all to chairs.

  Jim sat down, with the constable behind him and his father at hisleft, and studied the man in whose hands he thought that his faterested. He watched the squire's pen go from paper to ink, ink topaper, and listened to its scratch, scratch, and to the buzz of abig fly against the dirty window-pane. Ashamed to look at any one,he looked at the lawyer's big ink-well--a great, circular affair ofmottled brown wood. It had several openings, each one with its ownlittle cork attached with a short string to the side of the stand.He had never seen one like it before.

  Then some one entered the room. Jim, looking sidewise, recognizedJake Hibbard, and began covertly to study his face. He knew thatthis flabby-faced, dirty man, with the little screwed-up eyes, andthe big screwed-up mouth, stained brown at the corners with tobacco,was Pete Lamoury's lawyer. Familiar for many years to hiscontemptuous young eyes, Jake now looked sinister and dangerous.What were these men going to do to him?

  Amid his fluttering emotions and rushing thoughts one thing onlystood fixed and clear: he would not tell on his father. Some day,when all trouble was past, he would let his father know that he knewall the time. Then he guessed his father would be sorry and ashamed.Now, since his father would not take him into his confidence, hewould not pretend he did the shooting. That would be his onlyrevenge.

  Finally, Squire Tucker, pushing his writing aside, ran his fingersthrough the great mass of his tumbled gray hair, and lookedquizzically at Jim over his glasses. "So this," he said, "is thehardened ruffian of whom our esteemed fellow citizen, Mr. Lamoury,complains?"

  And indeed Jim, although stubborn, did not seem very dangerous.

  The squire looked about the room.

  "Is he represented by counsel?" he asked.

  "No, I represent him," said Mr. Edwards.

  "The charge against him is assault with intent to kill, I believe?"and he looked with demure inquiry at Jake Hibbard, who nodded with awrath-clouded face. Tucker was not taking the case seriously.

  "Well, young man," said the justice to Jim, "what's yourexplanation of this?"

  "We'll waive examination," said Mr. Edwards, briefly.

  The squire leaned back in his chair. "I suppose," he said, withevident reluctance, "I shall have to hold him for the grand jury.But I guess the safety of the community won't be greatly threatenedif I let him out on bail. I should think a couple of hundred woulddo. I suppose there'll be no difficulty about the bond?"

  The tone of the proceedings suited Mr. Peaslee well. In hisnervousness and abstraction he had backed up to the rusty, emptyiron stove at the end of the room, and stood there, with spreadcoat-tails, listening intently. On hearing the amount of bail, hegave a sigh of relief. His incautious offer had brought him nodangerous risk.

  Mr. Edwards, however, did not answer. Instead, consulting thejustice with a look, he turned and beckoned Jim to follow him intothe hall.

  "James," he said, "this is the last chance I shall give you. If youconfess to me, I will see that you have proper bail. If you do not,I shall let the law take its course. You may choose."

  Jim was exasperated. If his father wished to be mean, let him _be_mean; at least he might drop this farce, this irritating pretense.He lost his temper.

  "I don't care what you do!" he said fiercely. "Send me to jail ifyou want to. I guess I can stand it!"

  "Is that all you have to say?"

  Jim replied with a rebellious glance.

  "Very well," said his father. "Then we will go back." Once in theroom, he stepped to the squire's desk, and talked with him in lowtones.

  Then the justice turned to Jim again, a new gravity in his jollyface.

  "Your father," he said, "refuses to go on your bond. Have you anysureties of your own to offer?"

  "No, sir," said Jim.

  Mr. Peaslee was outraged. What kind of a father was this! He halfstarted forward to offer to be one of the two sureties which the lawrequired, but--no, he dare not. The second surety might prove to beany sort of worthless fellow. But Jim in jail! He had not for amoment dreamed of that. He was very indignant with Mr. Edwards.

  Meanwhile, Jake Hibbard was studying Mr. Edwards's face with puzzledattention. He had supposed that the lumber dealer, whom he knew tobe well-to-do, would have paid anything, signed any bond, to protecthis boy from jail. He was disconcerted. He drew his one hand acrosshis mouth nervously.

  "Well, Mr. Barton," said Squire Tucker, "I don't see but what you'llhave to take this young man over to Hotel Calkins."

  "Hotel Calkins" was the name which local wit gave to the countyjail. The words sent a cold shiver down Mr. Peaslee's back. Theystung him into generosity. As Barton and his prisoner, followed byMr. Edwards and Jake, brushed by him on their way to the door, heslipped the knife into Jim's hand. When the boy, trying to keep backthe tears, looked up inquiringly, he murmured, in agitation:--

  "Don't ye care, sonny! Now don't ye care!"

  He was greatly stirred--or he would not have been so incautious asto make his present in person and in public.