A Young Man in a Hurry, and Other Short Stories

The hand which supported her weight was clinched; she was not looking at the man beside her, but his eyes never left hers.

“You talk angrily of market hunting, and the law forbids it. You say you can respect a poacher who shoots for the love of it, but you have only contempt for the market hunter. And you are right sometimes – ” She looked him in the eyes. “Old Santry’s little girl is bedridden. Santry shot and sold a deer – and bought his child a patent bed. She sleeps almost a whole hour now without much pain.”

Burleson, eyes fixed on her, did not stir. The fire-warden leaned forward, picked up the belt, and read the name scratched with a hunting-knife on the brass buckle.

“Before Grier came,” she said, thoughtfully, “there was misery enough here – cold, hunger, disease – oh, plenty of disease always. Their starved lands of sand and rock gave them a little return for heart-breaking labor, but not enough. Their rifles helped them to keep alive; timber was free; they existed. Then suddenly forest, game, vlaie, and lake were taken from them – fenced off, closed to these people whose fathers’ fathers had established free thoroughfare where posted warnings and shot-gun patrols now block every trodden trail! What is the sure result? – and Grier was brutal! What could be expected? Why, Mr. Burleson, these people are Americans! – dwarfed mentally, stunted morally, year by year reverting to primal type – yet the fire in their blood set their grandfathers marching on Saratoga! – marching to accomplish the destruction of all kings! And Grier drove down here with a coachman and footman in livery and furs, and summoned the constable from Brier Bridge, and arrested old man Santry at his child’s bedside – the new bed paid for with Grier’s buck…”

She paused; then, with a long breath, she straightened up and leaned back once more against the tree.

“They are not born criminals,” she said. “See what you can do with them – see what you can do for them, Mr. Burleson. The relative values of a deer and a man have changed since they hanged poachers in England.”

They sat silent for a while, watching the men below.

“Miss Elliott,” he said, impulsively, “may I not know your father?”

She flushed and turned towards him as though unpleasantly startled. That was only instinct, for almost at the same moment she leaned back quietly against the tree.

“I think my father would like to know you,” she said. “He seldom sees men – men like himself.”

“Perhaps you would let me smoke a cigarette, Miss Elliott?” he ventured.

“You were very silly not to ask me before,” she said, unconsciously falling into his commonplace vein of easy deference.

“I wonder,” he went on, lazily, “what that débris is on the land which runs back from the store at Fox Cross-roads. It can’t be that anybody was simple enough to go boring for oil.”

She winced; but the smile remained on her face, and she met his eyes quite calmly.

“That pile of débris,” she said, “is, I fancy, the wreck of the house of Elliott. My father did bore for oil and found it – about a pint, I believe.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” cried Burleson, red as a pippin.

“I am not a bit sensitive,” she said. Her mouth, the white, heavy lids of her eyes, contradicted her.

“There was a very dreadful smash-up of the house of Elliott, Mr. Burleson. If you feel a bit friendly towards that house, you will advise me how I may sell ‘The Witch.’ I don’t mind telling you why. My father has simply got to go to some place where rheumatism can be helped – be made bearable. I know that I could easily dispose of the mare if I were in a civilized region; even Grier offered half her value. If you know of any people who care for that sort of horse, I’ll be delighted to enter into brisk correspondence with them.”

“I know a man,” observed Burleson, deliberately, “who would buy that mare in about nine-tenths of a second.”

“Oh, I’ll concede him the other tenth!” cried the girl, laughing. It was the first clear, care-free laugh he had heard from her – and so fascinating, so delicious, that he sat there silent in entranced surprise.

“About the value of the mare,” she suggested, diffidently, “you may tell your friend that she is only worth what father paid for her – ”

“Good Lord!” he said, “that’s not the way to sell a horse!”

“Why not? Isn’t she worth that much?”

“What did your father pay for her?”

The girl named the sum a trifle anxiously. “It’s a great deal, I know – ”

“It’s about a third what she’s worth,” announced Burleson. “If I were you, I’d add seventy-five per cent., and hold out like – like a demon for it.”

“But I cannot ask more than we paid – ”

“Why not?”

“I – don’t know. Is it honorable?”

They looked at each other for a moment, then he began to laugh. To her surprise, she felt neither resentment nor chagrin, although he was plainly laughing at her. So presently she laughed, too, a trifle uncertainly, shy eyes avoiding his, yet always returning curiously. She did not know just why; she was scarcely aware that she took pleasure in this lean-faced young horseman’s company.

“I have always believed,” she began, “that to sell anything for more than its value was something as horrid as – as usury.”

“Such a transaction resembles usury as closely as it does the theory of Pythagoras,” he explained; and presently their laughter aroused the workmen, who looked up, leaning on spade and pick.

“I cannot understand,” she said, “why you make such silly remarks or why I laugh at them. A boy once affected me in the same way – years ago.”

She sat up straight, a faint smile touching her mouth and eyes. “I think that my work is about ended here, Mr. Burleson. Do you know that my pupils are enjoying a holiday – because you choose to indulge in a forest-fire?”

He strove to look remorseful, but he only grinned.

“I did not suppose you cared,” she said, severely, but made no motion to rise.

Presently he mentioned the mare again, asking if she really desired to sell her; and she said that she did.

“Then I’ll wire to-night,” he rejoined. “There should be a check for you day after to-morrow.”

“But suppose the man did not wish to buy her?”

“No chance of that. If you say so, the mare is sold from this moment.”

“I do say so,” she answered, in a low voice, “and thank you, Mr. Burleson. You do not realize how astonished I am – how fortunate – how deeply happy – ”

“I can only realize it by comparison,” he said.

What, exactly, did he mean by that? She looked around at him; he was absorbed in scooping a hole in the pine-needles with his riding-crop.

She made up her mind that his speech did not always express his thoughts; that it was very pleasant to listen to, but rather vague than precise.

“It is quite necessary,” he mused aloud, “that I meet your father – ”

She looked up quickly. “Oh! have you business with him?”

“Not at all,” said Burleson.

This time the silence was strained; Miss Elliott remained very still and thoughtful.

“I think,” he said, “that this country is only matched in paradise. It is the most beautiful place on earth!”

To this astonishing statement she prepared no answer. The forest was attractive, the sun perhaps brighter than usual – or was it only her imagination due to her own happiness in selling The Witch?