by E. W. Howe
CHAPTER XIX.
MR. WHITTLE MAKES A CONFESSION.
The first rays of the bad morning, as it looked in at Mr. Whittle'swindow, found that worthy busily engaged in cleaning and scouring hisgun. It was not yet his bedtime, for of late he spent all of everynight, instead of part of it, in prowling about--bent on mischief, _he_said, but Silas Davy knew that Tug had a fierce desire to protect AllanDorris, for whom he had taken such a strange fancy, from harm; and thatnight after night, whether the weather was good or bad, his friend keptwatch around The Locks, carrying his gun in readiness for instant use.Silas usually kept him company until he became sleepy, and knew that hemust return in order to keep awake and attend to his work the next day;but Tug, who slept during the day, seldom deserted his post. He may haveleft his beat occasionally for an hour or two, but only to creepcarefully up into the hills back of the house, where he crouched andlistened beside the paths, and then crept back again.
A good many times he walked down to the hotel, always choosing an hourwhen he knew Silas would be alone in the kitchen, on which occasions henever failed to take a shot with his eyes up the alleys, and into allthe dark places; but he did not remain long, so that almost every night,when Silas went to bed, he had the satisfaction of knowing that if theshadow should attempt to harm Allan Dorris, there would be an explosionloud enough to alarm the town.
Silas, who had been out on the bottoms the day before, came in late inthe evening, and, throwing himself on the bed, he slept so soundly thatwhen Tug appeared, late in the morning, from one of his vagrant tramps,he was not aroused. And there he lay now, in his clothes, sound asleep,his face as innocent as a child's, as his mind was.
As Tug scoured away on the gun, rubbing off the rust and dirt, heoccasionally looked at Silas, and the thought no doubt occurred to him,that if there ever was a thoroughly unselfish, incapable, kind-heartedfellow, there he was, on the bed, asleep, and resting well.
"He'll soon be awake, though," Tug said aloud, looking up at the window,and noting the increasing light. "He can't sleep when it's light enoughfor him to work. He has been driven to it by his hard masters until heknows nothing else, and he has a habit of getting up at daylight whichhe can never overcome. Silas was ruined by too much work; I was ruinedby too little of it, I suppose. Anyway, I'm ruined; nobody disputesthat. I am so ornery that I am becoming ashamed of myself."
Mr. Whittle meditated a moment, and then putting down his gun he walkedover to a piece of looking-glass, which was tacked against the wall, andtook a long look at himself. The inspection was apparentlyunsatisfactory, for he shook his fist at the reflection, made a face atit, and muttered ill-humoredly as he walked back to his chair.
"If Davy didn't forget so easy," Mr. Whittle said aloud again, rubbingaway on the gun-barrel, "what a fine man he would be! If he could makemoney as easily as he is good-natured, he would be a fine fellow; butthey say he works to no purpose, and must have somebody to watch him,though he means well,--everybody says that. If Davy should be told toturn a crank, he would do it better than anybody, and keep at it longer;but the men who make money not only work hard, but use judgment, andDavy lacks judgment, poor fellow; they all say that. If the hotel shouldketch afire he wouldn't put it out unless somebody told him to; hewouldn't think of it. But he means as well as any man in America; I cancheerfully say that for him. An ordinary man never opens his mouthwithout saying something mean; but if ever I heard Davy say a meanthing, or knew him to do a mean thing, may I become a preacher. Well,the talents must be divided, I suppose; for no person seems to combineany two of them. _I_ know enough, but somebody else has the honesty, theindustry, the decency, etc., which I lack. Unfortunately, it does notfollow that a sensible man is a square man or a good man. I'd rathertrust a fool for honesty than a man with a big head, any day. The worstcrimes I have ever heard of were the work of men cursed with more brainsthan conscience. I thought he couldn't sleep long after the sun was up."
Looking over at his sleeping partner, he saw that he was becominguneasy, and soon he sat up on the edge of the bed, and looked around inbewilderment as he rubbed his eyes.
"Well, rogue, how do you feel?" Tug inquired, stopping his scouring.
"What time is it?" Davy inquired, with a show of excitement, and gettingon his feet without answering the question.
"I should say it was five o'clock, Wednesday morning," Tug replied,looking out at the window, and then back at his companion, as ifwondering at his nervousness. "Why?"
"I meant to remain awake to tell you of it last night," Silas repliedhurriedly; "but I was so tired, from rowing all day, that I dropped offto sleep soon after I came in. I have seen the shadow!"
Tug sprang up from the low chair in which he had been sitting, and beganto nervously fumble through his pockets, as if looking for ammunition.
"I was out in the bottoms with Armsby, yesterday," Davy continued, "andtwice we passed a man rowing about alone. We were not very close to him,but I am sure it was the shadow, and that he meant mischief. Each timewhen we encountered him he rowed away rapidly, and when Armsby hailedhim he paid no attention."
Tug was much concerned over this news, for, after finding hisammunition, he went to loading his gun with great vigor.
"Could you see his short ear?" he stopped to inquire, after ramming downa great quantity of powder.
"No, his left side was from me, but I am sure it was the same man. And Iam sure that the boat in which he rowed was the same one you took thelittle woman out of. I hurried here as fast as I could to tell you, butwhen I lay down on the bed to wait for you, I fell asleep. Armsby mademe row all day while he kept a look-out for ducks. I am sorry I fellasleep."
Silas rubbed his sore arms, and looked very meek, but Tug was too busymaking arrangements to go out to notice him.
"The impudence of the scoundrel," he said, as he poured in the shot. "Inever thought to look for him in daylight. Which way did he go?"
Tug peered into the tube of the gun with his big eye, before capping it,as if expecting to find his enemy crouching down in the powder, butfinding that the powder primed, he put on a cap, and stood ready to goout.
"Into the woods," Silas answered. "When we first met him, he was rowingtoward town, but on seeing us he turned the other way. That was aboutnoon, and just before night we saw him again, coming toward town asbefore, but he pulled off to the right when he met us, and disappearedunder the trees. I expected you in every moment when I fell asleep, or Iwould have gone up to The Locks, and told Allan Dorris. We ought to tellhim about this man, Tug. His appearance here so regularly means trouble.Within a year we have seen him a dozen times, and each time he has beenlurking around Allan Dorris. We really ought to do something."
In the emergency Silas did what he had done a hundred times in otheremergencies--he said that something should be done, and folded hishands.
"Ain't I _trying_ to do something?" his companion answered testily."Haven't I tried my best to shoot him? What more can I do? But he hasonly been here seven times. Here is the record."
He handed the gun over to Silas, who saw for the first time that therewere seven notches cut in the stock, the particularly long onerepresenting the time that Tug had shot at the shadow, and missed.
The men had talked of warning Dorris a great many times before, but Tughad always argued that it was unnecessary; that it would only render himnervous and suspicious, whereas he was now contented, and very useful tothe townspeople and his young wife. Silas had always been in favor ofputting his friend on his guard against an enemy who seemed to come andgo with the night, but Tug had stubbornly held out against it, andperhaps this was the reason he guarded The Locks so faithfully.Sometimes he would only hear a noise in the underbrush; at other timeshe saw a crouching figure, but before deciding to fire at it, it woulddisappear, but there was always something to convince him that his oldenemy was still occasionally lurking about the town. A few times he hadseen him openly, as has been narrated, but there was always something inthe way of the acco
mplishment of the purpose nearest his heart; the onlypurpose of his life. He did not know himself why he had taken such aninterest in Dorris, nor had he ever attempted to explain it to Silas,but he admired the man, and the only ambition he had ever acknowledgedwas connected with the safety of the person he admired, according to hisown confession, next to Rum and Devilishness, for not even Davyout-ranked the owner of The Locks in Tug's callous heart. And Dorrishimself was not more pleased when his wife was praised than was therusty old lawyer, and at her suggestion he had worked whenever he couldget it to do during the winter which had just passed; at copying,drawing legal papers, and at keeping books, for he was competent at anyof these occupations. It is probable that had she asked him to go towork as a day laborer he would have consented, for she was kind to himin a great many ways, and often invited him to visit The Locks, when heappeared looking very much like a scarecrow, the result of his attemptsat fixing up, and using his great eye, after arriving, to look aroundfor refreshments, for he was always hungry. Being a noted character,when it became known that he had "reformed," and that he was patronizedby the Dorrises, a great many others took pains to patronize him, andgive him work of the kind he was willing to do, for he was still veryparticular in this respect. When at The Locks, if he threatened to drinktoo much, Mrs. Dorris took his glass and kept it, although her husbandwas usually in favor of "turning him on," as Tug expressed it, for hewas very amusing when a little tipsy, and kept them in continuedlaughter by his dignified oddity.
"I will tell him to-day," Tug said, taking the gun into his own handsagain. "He must not go into the bottoms unless accompanied by a party,and as he hasn't been over yet, he may take it into his head to goto-day. I will tell him in an hour; he won't be up before that time."
"Do you know, Tug," Silas said, "what I think of you?"
"Well, out with it. Let's have it."
"I think you are a better man than you pretend."
"It's a lie!" his companion replied fiercely, hitting the table a hardblow with his clenched fist. "It's a lie!"
"I have often thought it was very much to your credit that you took suchan interest in a hunted man," Davy said, "who is shadowed by a cowardlyenemy, but perhaps I am mistaken--I usually am; it's not important."
Tug hung his head in mortification at this suggestion, and for once inhis life neglected to be indifferent and dignified at the same time,which was possible with him, if with no one else.
"Whoever accuses me of being a good man," he said finally, "wrongs me.When I made the discovery a good many years ago that I could never hopeto become anything, I made up my mind to distinguish myself forshiftlessness. I despise a common man, therefore I am an uncommonlyproficient loafer. I am better known in this town than some of yourrespectable men, and I don't have to work so hard. There are men here,and plenty of them, who have worked all their lives, and who have nomore than I have, which is nothing. They expect that there is a greatdeal in the future for them, but I have sense enough to know there isnothing very great in the future for any of us, therefore I live as myfancy dictates. I am a natural-born vagrant; most of us are, but most ofus do not say so. I despise five-cent respectability, therefore I am adollar vagrant, and will pass for that anywhere. I had enough of goodpeople when I was married to one of them; my wife was a _Good Woman_."
"I hope I haven't offended you," the meek little man said, looking athis fierce companion in alarm. "I didn't mean any disrespect."
"Oh, you needn't take it back," Tug retorted. "You've gone too far. It'sall right; but let me tell you the truth for once in my life--I believeI never did before. I expect it will set me to coughing, but I will tryit. My wife hasn't a relative in the world that I know of; certainly Inever met any of them. The only objection I have to her is that she is_Good_. She is so _Good_ that she is a bore; goodness is a fault, and agrave one with her. She couldn't possibly be more disagreeable than sheis, and her fault is, she is _Good_. When there is a dry spell, shewants to get up a rain, and whether it rains or not, you are expected togive her credit for philanthropy. When it is too cold, she moans aboutthe poor people who are suffering, and those who are around her mustaccept this as noble, or be called wicked, or heartless, or somethingelse. She even has a _Good_ way of gossiping about people, and I despiseher for no other reason than that she is _Good_. I can't tolerate her;she makes my feet cold."
Tug had uttered the word _good_ in each instance like an oath, and Davycowered under his cold stare as though fearing _he_ might be _good_, andwas about to be accused of it.
"Everything she does is right; everything you do is wrong,--there youhave the old women in a mouthful," the outraged husband continued. "Sheis always jumping on you for not being _Good_, and for your refusal tosee goodness in her; and no one around her sees a moment's peace, forshe badgers them to death for their neglect to rid the earth of sin, orsome other trifling matter like that. She neglects herself in the mostshameful manner to moan about Rampant Rum, or the Vitality of Vice, forI never saw her ears clean, and if ever you find her with cleanfinger-nails, look out for the pigs, for they will fly. If she is a_Good Woman_, then hurrah for the devil. The fat, the lean, the long,the short, the ugly; _they_ go into the _Good_ business, for I neverknew anyone who could attract attention in the ordinary way to engage init, and when a woman becomes too fat for society, or too plain to beadmired, she goes to yelling that she is better than anybody else, andwants everybody to behave, although they may be behaving all rightalready. The good-looking and amiable ones remain at home, where theybelong, and I admire them for it. Had I been a rich man, the old womenwould have remained with me, and called _that_ good, but since I was afriendless devil, and a worthless vagabond, she left me, and called_that_ good; I hope she is the only woman of that kind in the world.Look how she treats little Ben! Does she act like a mother toward him?Don't I have to take all the care of him, and look after him, and attendto his bringing up? Is it common for mothers to neglect their own raggedchildren, and weep over fat and contented people? That's what she does;therefore, if you are a friend of mine, don't call me _Good_."
Silas was not taking as much interest in the recital as he would havedone under other circumstances, for he was thinking of Allan Dorris; butTug was determined to talk about the "old womern."
"When we were first married," he continued, "I told her some sort of alie about myself; a simple sort of a yarn about nothing, and onlyintended to earn cheap glory for myself. In some way she found me out,for she is always poking her nose around smelling for sin; and, until Icould stand it no longer and finally left her, she was continuallyasking me for additional particulars of the fictitious incident I hadrelated. I say she found me out; I don't know it, but I always believedshe did, and that she only asked these questions to hear me lie, andgloat over her own virtue. The story I told her was about saving a man'slife, and as he afterwards came to Davy's Bend, and knew the old womern,I felt sure that she had found me out. After that she asked me athousand questions about it, and every time I invented a new lie to gowith the first one. Did she do this because she was _Good_? You bet shedidn't; she did it to convince herself that she was _Good_, and that Iwas _Bad_; but I tell you that, average me up, I am as good as she is,and I am perfectly worthless."
Picking up a rickety chair which stood neat him, Mr. Whittle smashed itto pieces on the floor, after a tremendous pounding and racket, whichwas one of his ways of expressing anger.
Silas was very much impressed by this ferocious proceeding, and lookedon in meek astonishment until his companion was seated again.
"Isn't it time for you to go to The Locks?" he asked.
"Sure enough," Tug said. "I am going up there this morning. I'll gonow."
Without further words, he picked up his gun, and started out, going overthe hills to avoid the frequented streets. He had made up his mind tomake a full breast of the story, so he walked along leisurely, thinkingthat he had a genuine surprise in store for his friend.
Arriving at The Locks' gate, he blew the w
histle, which was alwayslooking out into Dorris' room like an eye, and waited for an answer. Itcame soon after; the cheerful voice of Annie Dorris, inquiring what waswanted.
"It's me,--Tug," he answered, "I want to see Dr. Dorris."
"He left an hour ago, to go over into the bottoms," was the reply."Anything urgent?"
"Oh, no," the man replied, as he swallowed a great lump which came upinto his throat. "Nothing urgent; I only wanted him to pull a tooth."
With long strides at first, Tug started for the river, but after he wasout of sight from The Locks, he ran like a man pursued, and arriving atthe place where the ferry was tied up, making steam for the day's work,he seized the first boat within his reach, and pushed off into thestream. The owner of it called to him to come back, as he wanted theboat himself; but Tug paid no attention, except to row the harder, andsoon disappeared under the trees.