V
THE LOSS OF HIS BEST FRIEND
At the click of Laine's latch-key Moses started from the doze intowhich he had fallen and jumped to his feet. "Lord, sir, I sure isglad you've come," he said, following Laine into the library."Gineral's been mighty bad off since you went away, and one time Ithought he was plumb gone. He done had what you might call afaintin' fit if'n he was a person."
"Where is he?" Laine's voice was quick, and his eyes swept the room."What have you done for him?"
"He laid himself on the rug in your room, sir, and I give him alittle brandy and water. Most in general that will hit the spotand--" But Laine was in his room, and Moses, following, saw him onhis knees by the rug, his right arm under the dog's head, his left onthe heart which was barely beating, and softly he tiptoed out again.
For an hour or so he stayed away, wandering between his room and thekitchen, the kitchen and the dining-room, and back again to his room,talking to himself in an undertone; and presently he sat down by atable and began to turn the pages of a family Bible which adorned it,and which he had presented to himself the Christmas before.
"It do beat all how he love that dog," he said, as if to some one athis side, "and it's a-goin' to make a hole in his heart when he'sgone. I never seen anybody set such store on a thing what ain't ahuman being as he do on Gineral, and as for Gineral--if a dog coulddo what you call worship, he sure do worship Mr. Laine. They waspartners, them two, and it will be a quiet place when Gineral ain'there any more."
Slowly he turned page after page of the big-printed Bible, with itsilluminated text; but presently he closed it. "I've read right muchof it, and I've heard a heap of it expounded, but I haven't got norecollections of any references to the passing of dogs in it," hecontinued, taking out a plug of tobacco and cutting off a good-sizedpiece. "I wish there was. When something you love is leavin' you,you have a mighty sinkin' feeling in the pit of your stomach, and aterrible understandin' of the unableness of man. And then it is youfeel a reachin' out after something what ain't man. Mr. Laine ismighty learned, but learnin' ain't no cure for loneliness, andGineral is all he's got. And I tell you now, this comin' home toempty rooms is cold comin'."
Moses was speaking to the wall opposite, but the wall not replying hegot up and tip-toed to Laine's bedroom. Looking up, Laine saw himand called him in.
"Go to bed, Moses," he said, and his voice was very tired. "There isnothing you can do. If I need you I will let you know."
Moses shook his head. "I ain't a-goin' to bed, Mr. Laine. You canmake me go out if you want to, but if I ain't intrudin' I would liketo stay."
Slowly the hours passed. From the street occasional stirringsreached them faintly; but in the room only short breathing broke thesilence. As day dawned Moses, from his seat near the door, spoke:
"Mr. Laine?"
"Well." Laine did not look up.
"When dogs die do they live again?"
"I don't know."
"I don't reckon anybody knows. But that don't mean they don't. If Iwas as certain I was fixed for heaven as I know Gineral is a-goin' tobe waitin' for you somewhere, I'd feel more reconcilement to death.Some things can die and some things can't. There ain't no time limitto love, Mr. Laine. I think"--Moses got up--"I think Gineral istrying to make you understand something, sir."
Half an hour later Laine called Moses back into the room, gave a feworders, changed his clothes, and without waiting for breakfast wentout, and not until dark did he come in again.
Dinner was a pretense, and presently he pushed his coffee aside,lighted a cigar, and took up the evening paper. The headlines wereglaring, but he passed them quickly. Telegraphic news was skimmed,stock reports and weather conditions glimpsed unheedingly, and theeditorial page ignored, and, finally, with a gesture of weariness, hethrew the paper on the floor and went into the library.
It was, as Moses had said, a very spacious room, and its furnishingswere distinctive; but, though warm and brightly lighted, to stay init to-night was impossible, and, ringing for his coat and hat, hemade ready to go out.
At the table he lingered a moment and glanced at some letters uponit. Mechanically he took one up, looked at the writing of his name,and wondered indifferently who it was from. Breaking it open, heread the few words it contained, and at them his face colored and hebit his lips to hide their twitching. He read:
DEAR MR. LAINE,--Dorothea has just told me. I am so sorry. CLAUDIA KEITH.
With a sudden surrender to something stubbornly withheld, he sat downin the chair near the table, leaned back in it, and closed his eyesto keep back that which stung and blinded them. To most of hisfriends the going of General would be but the going of a dog, andbarely a passing thought would be its portion when they heard, butshe must understand. He got up. No. There was no one who couldreally understand.
The Man in Lonely Land Page 5