The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks

C >> Charles Felton Pidgin >> The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks

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There was a scene of wild excitement when young Quincy paid his first
visit to the old Pettingill place where his mother was born. It was
still the home of Hiram Maxwell and his wife, formerly Mandy Skinner.
The two boys, Abraham Mason Maxwell and Obadiah Strout Maxwell had
been told often the story of Mr. Sawyer's visit to Eastborough, and
how he boarded in that house, and little Mandy was glad to see
"Kirwinzee."

The old dog, Swiss, had, with difficulty, been dragged from the grave
of his former master, Uncle Ike, but no force, or persuasion, could
induce him to leave the old house. Probably the name "Quincy" had a
familiar sound and he wagged his tail slowly as an evidence of
recognition and welcome.

The most explosive greeting came from Mrs. Crowley.

"An' it's the foine young man he is, the picter of his feyther." She
would have taken him in her arms and hugged him but for the presence
of others, but, afterwards, when alone with him she patted his curly
head and told him that he would have to be a fine man to be as good
as his father. Everywhere he went his father was talked about and
praised, and his mother had taught him to love his father's memory.
Thus early the ambition to be like his father was instilled in the
boy's mind. Confident as Alice was that her husband was still living,
Aunt Ella had protested effectually against her implanting any such
hope in the child's mind, and he had been brought up with the belief
that his father had died before he was born. There was one place
where his father's praises were faint, and that was at the grocery
store.

[ILLUSTRATION: "'I S'POSE ONE OF THESE DAYS YOU'LL BE WEIGHIN' SUGAR
AND DRAWIN' 'LASSES.'"]

"Ah, my young man," said Mr. Obadiah Strout, on his first visit,
"your father's money started this business, but I've worked mighty
hard to build it up to what it is now. I s'pose one of these days
you'll be weighin' sugar and drawin' 'lasses."

"I guess not," exclaimed Hiram. "Rich men's sons don't us'ally take
to their father's business."

"You're right for once, Hiram," Mr. Strout acknowledged. "They uzally
run through the money, bust the biz'ness and bring up in jail."

"Well, this young fellow won't," cried Hiram, hotly. "He's goin' to
be a great man like his father, won't you, Bub?"

"Bub" took a handful of raisins from an open box, and eyed his
questioner wonderingly.

"There's many a slip 'twixt the cow and the churn," said Mr. Strout
as he took a ten cent cigar from the case and lighted it. Perhaps the
sight of the son recalled a scene in the same shop many years before
on Quincy's first visit to Mason's Corner when a box of cigars had
been the subject of an animated discussion between the boy's father
and himself, followed by a passage-at-arms--or, more correctly
speaking--fists. We humans are only veneered with politeness or good
nature; underneath, man's revengeful nature lies dormant--but not
dead.

Mrs. Hawkins was delighted to see him. "Olive, don't you think he's
the likeness of his father?"

Olive agreed, because she had found that agreement with her
employer's opinions made life pleasant, and also led to many
desirable additions to her wardrobe.

Mrs. Hawkins surveyed him again. "I'll never forget what a poor
appetite his father had when he boarded here. He never came to his
meals reg'lar. But he was in love, head over heels an' an extry dip,--
an' I don't blame him, for 'Zeke Pettingill's sister was good enough
for any man, even if he did git to be guv'nor. Have a cookey?" and
Quincy's pockets were filled with cakes that contained raisins and
citron.

"Them's seedless raisins, Quincy. I had a boarder once, a reg'lar
hayseed who came down here from Montrose to work hayin' time, an' he
asked me how I got the stuns out of the raisins. Jes' to fool him, I
said I bit 'em out, an' do you know, that old fool never teched
another bit o' cake while he stopped here."

Mr. Jonas Hawkins took him out to see the hens and chickens, and told
him that he "kalkilated that mos' on 'em eggs that was bein' sot on
would hatch out." Quincy's great delight was going with Hiram in the
grocery wagon. One day they went over the same road from the
Pettingill farm to Eastborough Centre that his father had travelled
so many times.

The old sign board "Three Miles to Mason's Corner" was still there,
but how changed the other conditions. No consumptive uncle in the
Poor House, no philosophical Uncle Ike living in a chicken coop, no
inquisitive Mrs. Putnam, no mysterious Lindy, no battle royal with
the music teacher, no town meeting to engineer, no grocery store to
buy, no Deacon's daughter to go driving with, no singing school, no
surprise party, no blind girl to comfort and aid--and finally marry.

There were none of the incidents that had made his father's life at
Mason's Corner so exciting and interesting. Now, there was only a
little boy riding in a red wagon with yellow wheels, inhaling the
pure air and sweetness of the wild flowers, listening to the songs of
birds, and wishing that Uncle Hiram would make the horse go faster.

It is safe to leave him with his father's friends, for surely his
lines had fallen in a pleasant place.

CHAPTER XVIII

AN OLD STRIFE RENEWED

It was February and the air was stinging cold. It was one of those
nights such as Lowell wrote about in "The Courtin'."

"God makes sech nights, all white an' still
Fur'z you can look or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill,
All silence an' all glisten."

In the store of the Strout and Maxwell Company quite a number of the
town's people were gathered about the big air-tight stove which was
kept stuffed full of wood by willing hands and from which came great
waves of almost scorching heat.

Such congregations of villagers are often said to be composed of
loafers and loungers, but it was not so at Fernborough. The men who
represented the brains and marrow of the town met there. It was the
home of the town debating society and supplied a free forum for the
discussion of public questions. If the advanced ideas in
statesmanship and social economy incubated there could have become
the property of the nation, our country would have grown wiser and
better.

But for the intense cold the company gathered there on the evening in
question would have been much larger. Benoni Hill, the former
proprietor of the store and the richest man in town, did not think
his wealth was any reason why he should hold aloof or consider
himself above his neighbours, whose patronage had been the foundation
of his fortune. He was given an old arm-chair while the others sat
upon soap-boxes and nail-kegs. Cobb's Twins, William and James, were
there, Emmanuel Howe, the minister's son, and Bob Wood who still sang
bass in the village church choir.

The store door was opened letting in a gust of cold air which made
all draw nearer to the red-hot stove. The newcomer was Samuel Hill,
Benoni's son.

A chorus of voices cried: "Hello, Sam!" and a place was made for him
so he could thaw out his almost frozen fingers.

"It's mighty cold, ain't it?" said his father.

"Well, I should smile," replied Sam. This expression he had heard the
last time he was in the city, and he derived great pleasure from its
repetition.

"How's Tilly?" asked Bob Wood.

"Able to be up and have her bed made."

All laughed at the rejoinder. Smiles and laughter are easily evoked
in a village grocery.

Mr. Obadiah Strout and Mr. Hiram Maxwell, general partners, were in
the private office, a small room adjoining the post-office. Mr.
Strout was smoking a cigar and reading a letter between the puffs.
Hiram, with his chair tilted back against the wall, was smoking his
after-supper pipe, for it was after seven o'clock in the evening.

"Mr. Maxwell," said Obadiah, laying down the letter he had been
reading, "this is from the trustees of the estate of the Honourable
Quincy Adams Sawyer, formerly our special partner, and the ex-
Governor of this Commonwealth. I mention the fact of him being our
former special partner first, before I said anything about his
political elevation, for I don't believe, Mr. Maxwell, that he would
ever have been Governor if he hadn't jined in with us."

Mr. Strout always called Hiram "Mr. Maxwell," when they talked over
business affairs.

Hiram blew a cloud from his pipe. "Wall, I guess they're putty well
satisfied with what we've been doin', ain't they?"

Mr. Strout leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied look on his
face.

"Wall, they must be a pretty near set if they expect more'n twelve
per cent, on the capital. No, they're all right, 'though one of 'em,
that Mr. Merry, is mighty inquisitive 'bout small things. Marryin'
inter the Sawyer family 'counts for it, I s'pose."

Hiram was used to hearing covert slurs and open flings at the Sawyer
family, but had found replies only provocative of attacks upon
himself, so he listened in silence. Mr. Strout took up the letter. "I
wrote 'em 'bout startin' that new branch over to Westvale, and
although they answered in a kinder top-lofty style--I reckon that
young Merry writ the letter--I 'magine they're in for it, horse,
foot, and dragoons. They'll put up the money. An' the question now is
who'll go over and take charge of it."

Hiram put his pipe on the table. "There's two folks that don't want
to go, an' that's Mandy an' me. I don't s'pose the children would
find any fault, but they're not old enough to vote on the question."

Hiram knew that his partner was anxious to get him out of the
Fernborough store, and so he filed his objections at once.

"Oh," said Strout, "of course I didn't have no sech idee as askin'
you to go, even if you did know who was the best man for the job. The
snail thinks he's travelled a long ways when he goes a foot, an' some
men are jus' like him."

Hiram ignored the personal application.

"Well, bein's you didn't want me to go, I s'pose you've somebody in
mind. Suit yourself, as us'al."

"Well, I've thought it all over, an' I think Billy Ricker's our man.
He'll be over from Montrose to-morrow an' I'll talk it over with him.
We've got that Montrose trade so solid he can be spared from there
now. Guess there ain't any trade tonight or Bob would have called us
in afore this."

"Ef we sold cord wood we might be doin' somethin'," and, laughing in
his old way at his own joke, Hiram started to follow his partner into
the store.

"Say, Hiram," called out Strout in a loud voice, "bring in them two
chairs--everything's occupied out here 'cept the counter."

As the proprietors took their seats, the store door was opened again,
this time admitting Mr. Abner Stiles. His teeth were chattering, and
he stamped his feet upon the floor, and beat his hands against his
shoulders in old-fashioned country style.

"Moses Williams!" he cried. "I kinder think the North Pole must have
slid down an' come to stop in this 'ere town. I say, Strout, if that
organ of yourn was pumped to-night you'd have to play 'From
Greenland's Icy Mountains,' or some sech tune."

"Where have you been?" asked Mr. Strout.

"Hain't been nowhere. Jes' came from the Pettingill house. Young
Master Sawyer wants some brown sugar to make some candy. Give me five
pounds."

"So it's Master Sawyer, is it?" said Strout as he weighed the
saccharine substance. "I thought it was Mister before a man was a
Master."

"I ain't a talkin' about men--he's only a boy, and a mighty smart boy
too."

"I'm tired hearing about him," said Strout. "Can't you give us
something new?"

"Yes, I kin," said Abner. "Boys, I've got something funny to tell
you. I went to Cottonton this afternoon and I'd jest got back when
they sent me for the sugar."

"What ye doin' over there?" asked Benoni.

Abner scratched his head then winked at Benoni.

"I went to buy somethin' for an individual who shall be nameless out
of respect--"

"Go on with your story," shouted Strout. "You'd better hurry home
with that sugar or the 'Master' may make it hot for you."

This remark caused a laugh at Abner's expense.

"Jes' go ahead, Abner," said Benoni, "we're all a-waitin'."

"Well, I met a feller on the train and he buzzed me all the way here.
He wanted to know where I lived, an' when I told him I lived in
Fernborough, that used to be a part of Eastborough, he jest piled me
full of questions. I told him all I knew--"

"An' added a little something" broke in Strout.

"No, I jest stuck close to the truth. He wanted to know about Mr.
Quincy Adams Sawyer. I told him he was dead, but he said he wanted to
know about him when he lived here. Then I told him there was a man in
town who could tell him more'n I could about that, an' I jest giv'
him your name, Obadiah."

This sally turned the laugh on Strout who was about to make a sharp
rejoinder, when the store door opened and a strong current of cold
air caused all to turn.

"Shut the door!" cried Bob Wood in his gruff voice.

"I beg your pardon," said the man, as he complied.

He was very tall,--more than six feet in height. He was dressed in a
suit of shiny black; his coat was buttoned tightly and the collar was
turned up. The most noticeable part of his costume was a broad-
brimmed straw hat. He wore no overcoat and his hands were ungloved.

"Gentlemen, I must beg pardon for this intrusion, but I used to live
in these parts many years ago, and I am here to inquire whether any
of my family are awaiting the return of a long-lost relative."

Abner nudged Mr. Strout and said in a whisper: "That's the feller."

"What might your name be?" asked Mr. Benoni Hill in his genial
manner.

"I have occupied many stations in life, and whether high or low have
always assumed a cognomen to match my position."

"A cog what?" asked Bill Cobb in a voice so low that he thought only
his brother Jim could hear; but his question reached the stranger's
ear.

"By cognomen I mean a desirable _alias_ or a characteristic
appellation."

This explanation gave rise to a chorus of "Oh's."

"Kerzactly," remarked Benoni, and then all laughed.

"When I left this town thirty years ago, my name was Richard Ricker.
On returning to those paths which my childish feet so often trod--I
have just come from the West Indies where the climate is hotter than
that stove--it seems appropriate that I should assume my family name.
It is done. I am now Richard Ricker."

Abner nudged Strout again, who resented it, but Mr. Stiles remarked
in a whisper: "He's crazy--mad as a March hare."

Mr. Ricker did not hear his opinion of his sanity.

"My father's name was Benjamin, Martha was my mother, and I had a
brother William--that is, I had them all when I ran away to sea at
the age of seventeen years, ten months, and fifteen days. I always
remember my exact age for I wished to know just how long I had been
gone when I got back."

The villagers looked at the stranger with marked variations in
expression, but no one spoke until Abner remarked:

"I guess you've struck the right place. There's a young feller named
Billy Ricker that works for Mr. Strout here," and he pointed to that
gentleman. "Billy's father was named Bill, but he's dead; so's Ben
and Marthy. I know'd 'em all."

"I am glad to learn that I have a nephew in the land of the living.
Where is he?"

"He lives in Montrose, the next town north of us," said Mr. Strout.
"We have a branch store there an' Billy has charge of it."

"If he had some capital, I suppose he could become a partner,"
remarked Mr. Ricker.

"Not much," said Strout. "We have all the money we need, and know
where to get more. What we want is men, an' we have a good one in
Billy."

Mr. Ricker removed his unseasonable headgear and moved nearer to the
stove.

"I have heard of the late Mr. Sawyer and was sorry to hear of his
early demise." He looked at Abner, then at Mr. Strout.

"Your friend here has told me about his wonderful exploits--how he
thrashed the town bully, and beat the singing-master at his own
game."

Bob Wood and Strout glared at Abner.

"But his experiences, which I have been told have appeared in print,"
the stranger continued, "are trifling compared with the perils and
adventures which have fallen to my lot. I could make your blood run
cold."

"Ef we open the front door, I guess the weather will do that," said
Hiram, and it was the general opinion, though not verbally expressed,
that Hiram had got one on the stranger.

Mr. Emmanuel Howe, the clergyman's son, was noted for his extreme
politeness. He had attended one term at a divinity school before he
met Miss Dixie Schaffer. He arose from the nail-keg upon which he had
been sitting, and motioned for the stranger to take his place.

As he accepted the mute invitation, Mr. Ricker turned to the company
and said: "Gentlemen, shall I intrude upon your time if I relate just
one of my adventures?"

"Oh, go ahead," said Strout. "It's our rule to let a man talk until
we get enough, and then--"

He raised his right foot, suddenly.

"I understand," said Mr. Ricker. "When I was about twenty-two years
old our vessel was wrecked and I, the only one saved, was cast ashore
on a cannibal island--or, to be more correct ethnologically, an
island inhabited by cannibals. I was a handsome young fellow, and it
is not at all surprising that the Queen, who was young, unmarried,
and, fortunately, very pretty, fell in love with me and wished to
become my wife.

"But the Prime Minister, or Great Panjandrum, as he was called,
wished his son to marry the Queen and become King, so he, and his
minions planned to get rid of me.

"Lola-Akwa, that was the Queen's name, discovered the plot, and
resolved to save me.

"You all read your Bibles, and you will remember that in the olden
days there were places that were called 'Cities of Refuge.' On that
island there was a Tree of Refuge. It was at least one hundred feet
high and for two hundred feet from it, in every direction, not a tree
or shrub could be found. This open space gave the pursuers a fine
chance for an arrow shot before the refugee reached the tree.

"Lola-Akwa told me to climb to the top of that tree and stay there
until she sent word for me to come down.

"But the Great Panjandrum discovered my hiding place. The Queen
declared that I was protected by all that was sacred in their
religion, but the Great Panjandrum proved by the cannibal Bible that
only cannibals were entitled to its protection. He said they would
roast a man, and if I would eat him and pick his bones I might go
free. I declined, for I am rather particular about my diet.

"Then the Great Panjandrum seized an axe and struck at the foot of
the tree. Others followed his wicked example and it soon began to
totter. They next tied a rope about the trunk of the tree. The
plotters were sixteen in number--I counted them. They stood in line,
tugging at the rope.

"Lola-Akwa stood far back awaiting the terrible moment of my death. I
could see that her eyes were filled with tears. The tree fell, and I
went flying through the air--to certain death!

"When I came to, I found myself clasped in Lola-Akwa's arms. 'Where
am I?' I asked. 'Look' she said. I did, and learned the wonderful
truth.

"The Great Tree had fallen upon the Great Panjandrum and his fifteen
conspirators and killed them all."

For a moment there was silence, then a chorus of voices exclaimed:
"Did you marry the Queen?"

The stranger pressed his hand upon his forehead.

"No. If I remember correctly some one held an ace and took my Queen."

He rose from the nail-keg.

"I'm hungry. I would like some supper and a bed for the night. To-
morrow I will embrace my only living relative. Is there a boarding
house in town?"

"Somethin' better'n that," said Abner. "We've got a Hotel--the
Hawkins House. Mrs. Hawkins keeps it. I'm going along that way and
I'll interduce you. She's a pretty good talker herself," and Abner
winked with both eyes as they went out.

"Well," said Benoni, as the door closed after them. "The Bible says
Ananias was a pretty good story teller, but that gentleman seems to
have added some modern improvements."

"He's a cussed liar," said Bob Wood.

"And if Mrs. Hawkins is smart she'll make him pay in advance."

The door was thrown open full width and two men rushed in.

"Have you seen him?" cried one.

"Seen who?" asked Strout.

"He's tall--black clothes--had on a straw hat--"

"Who in thunder is he?" cried Strout.

"He's a lunatic--just escaped from the asylum. We tracked him to this
town--"

"He's gone to the hotel," said Bob Wood. "You can nab him easy there.
I'll show you the way."

The men started on the run, led by Bob Wood, and followed by all who
had been enjoying the hospitality afforded by the soap-boxes, nail-
kegs, and the red-hot stove.

"What beats me," said Hiram, "is how he knew all about the Ricker
family."

"Simple enough," said Strout with a sneer, "That ass Abner told him
the whole business. He never could keep his mouth shet. That's the
reason I wouldn't give him a job in this store."

Mr. Strout extinguished some of the lights, locked the door, and
resumed his seat by the stove.

"Ain't you going home?" asked Hiram.

"Not jest yet; I've some thinkin' to do. I don't take much stock in
fightin' but I'd like to punch Abner Stiles' head."

"What's he been doing?"

"Why, didn't you hear what he said he said to that crazy fellow about
Sawyer getting the best of me at my own game?"

"Wall, he told the truth, didn't he, Strout?"

"Look here, Mr. Hiram Maxwell, I want you to understand that if we
are to continue together as partners in this 'ere grocery business,
there must be mutual respect atween us."

"Wall," said Hiram, "I s'pose you mean by that, that ef I ain't what
you consider respec'ful to you, you'll get out and leave me the
business. You see, Obadiah, it's not for you or me to say who'll stay
in--that's for the trustees. So, I wouldn't lay down the law too
fine, Obadiah."

"Wall, I hoped," said Strout, "that when that Sawyer married 'Zeke
Pettingill's sister and left this town that we'd be able to have a
little peace round here and run things our own way. Course, I don't
want any man to get drowned, but it wasn't my fault that the ship he
was on ran into another. He was allus runnin' into somethin' that
didn't concern him. But bein' he's gone, and no blame can be laid at
my door, I thought we'd heard the last of him, but since he's died
the air's fuller of Sawyer than it was afore. It makes me sick the
way everybody tumbles over themselves to make of that boy of his'n. I
don't think there's much to him."

"He's got a big head, an' he's a mighty bright little fellow," said
Hiram.

"Wall, then he resembles his father in one respect--_he_ had a big
head."

"I'm surprised, Obadiah, to hear you talk the way you do. I ain't
forgot that meetin' in the Town Hall where you got up and owned up
that he was 'bout right, and thet you'd been mean as dirt, but he
shook hands with you, and forgave you like a gentleman as he was, and
I thought you were good friends."

"I'm good friends with anybody that keeps out of my way," said
Strout. "But that Sawyer was like that _malary_ that the boys got off
to war. It gets into your blood and you can't get it out. Why, he
snubbed 'Zeke Pettingill jest the same as he did me when they had
that sleigh ride, and he didn't have spunk enough to hit back. If
'Zeke had jined in with me we'd had him out o' town lively. And then
the way he butted in at my concert and turned a high-class musical
entertainment inter a nigger minstrel show by whistling a tune vas
enough to make anybody mad clean through."

"Wall, you got mad, didn't you?" said Hiram. "What good did it do
yer?"

Mr. Strout's newly aroused wrath was not appeased.

"Then again, the way he squeezed himself in at that surprise party.
Since I married Bessie Chisholm, I've talked to her a good many times
'bout the way she danced with him that night."

"Come now, Strout, what did she say? She wasn't engaged to you then.
What did she say? Now be honest."

Mr. Strout could not restrain a grim smile.

"Wall, to tell the truth, Hiram, she told me it was none of my
business, an' when I came to think it over I didn't believe it was--
but it would be now."

Mr. Strout's vials of wrath had not all been emptied. He seemed to be
enjoying a rehearsal of all his past troubles and grievances.

"I guess that if the folks had known at first that the Jim Sawyer who
died in the Poor House was his uncle, they wouldn't have considered
him such great shucks after all. An' the way he tried to get Huldy
Mason to marry him and throw over 'Zeke Pettingill, who had loved her
ever since she was a baby, was a mighty mean piece of business in my
opinion."

This remark gave Hiram an opportunity which he was not slow in
improving.

"I heerd as how there was another feller in town who tried to get
Huldy to marry him and throw poor 'Zeke over."

Mr. Strout puckered up his mouth and there was a strained look on his
face which indicated that the shot had gone home. But his verbal
ammunition was not all expended.

"You can tell me what you've a mind to, but I know that he tried
mighty hard to get Lindy Putnam to marry him, an' I don't imagine
he'd have taken up with a blind girl if he hadn't heard that Heppy
Putnam was going to leave her all her money. I had him looked up by
some friends of mine in the city. They said he didn't have much
himself, but his father paid his bills. His father jest gave him to
understand that if he didn't marry the right girl, with plenty of
dough, he wouldn't get much from him."

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