“Well, I guess you’ll have to climb,” mused the pudgy man. “That’s the only way, and you can’t stay in there forever, you know.”
The little man made some efforts. There was a sound of rending clothes. Presently he ceased.
“It’s no go,” he announced.
The three men sat down and debated upon theories.
Finally the little man began to roar at them and kick his prison wall. “Think I wanta stay in here while you fellows hold arguments for a couple of hours? Why th’ thunder don’t you do something instead of talking so much? What do you think I am anyway?”
The pudgy man approached the tree. “You might as well keep quiet,” he said in a grim voice. “You’re in there and you might as well keep quiet—”
The little man began to swear.
“Stop your howling,” angrily cried the pudgy man. “There’s no use of howlin’.”
“I won’t! It’s your fault I’m in here. If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t’a climbed up.”
“Well, I didn’t make you fall down inside, anyway. You did that yourself.”
“I didn’t either. You made me tumble, old pudgkins. If you had minded your own business it would have been all right. It’s your stupidity that’s got me in here.”
“It was your own, you little fool. I—”
The little man began to rave and wriggle. The pudgy man went very near to the tree and stormed. They had a furious quarrel. The eloquence of the little man caused some tremors in the tree, and presently it began to sway gently.
Suddenly, the pudgy man screamed. “You’re pushin’ th’ tree over on me.” He started away. The trunk trembled, and tottered, and began to fall. It seemed like a mighty blow aimed by the wrathful little man at the head of the fleeing pudgy man.
The latter bounded, light as a puff ball, over the ground. His face was white with terror. He turned an agonized somersault into a thicket, as the tree, with a splintering cry, crashed near his heels. He lay in a bush and trembled.
The little man’s legs were wagging plaintively from the other end of the trunk. The two remaining men rushed forward with cries of alarm and began to tug at them. The little man came forth, finally. He was of deep bronze hue from a coating of wet dead wood. A soft bed of it came with him. They helped him to his feet. He felt his shoulders and legs with an air of anxiety. After a time, he rubbed the crumbles from his eyes and began to stagger and swear softly.
Suddenly, he perceived the pudgy man lying pale in the bush. He limped over to him.
The pudgy man was moaning. “Lord, it just missed me by ’bout an inch.”
The little man thoughtfully contemplated his companion. Presently, a smile was born at the corner of his mouth and grew until it wreathed his face. The pudgy man cursed in an unhappy vein as he was confronted by the little man’s grins.
The latter seemed about to deliver an oration, but, instead, he turned and, picking up his pail of milk, started away. He paused once and looked back. He pointed with his forefinger.
“There’s your eggs—under the tree,” he said.
He resumed his march down the forest pathway. His stride was that of a proud grenadier.
1892?
[The Golden Book Magazine, Vol. 19 (February, 1934), pp. 188–191.]
* The Sullivan County Sketches.
ACROSS THE COVERED PIT*
The Rev. C. H. Hoovey, D.C. of Connecticut, had the grave and reverent look which betokens his profession. To see the gentleman dressed in shining black in his pulpit on Sunday, one could never imagine that the devout preacher of the gospel was one of the most daring cave explorers in this country. Yet all the noted caverns of this country have been visited by him. No cavern looks so gloomy and forbidding but the doctor feels his boyish spirit of adventure seize him, and he longs to tread its dark mysteries and explore its unknown recesses. The unbroken region beyond the mouth of the Covered Pit in Manmoth Cave was a bugbear to him. To any one’s knowledge, the mass of tangled slippery slabs that was heaped over the mouth of the pit, had never been tread on. As authorities had forbidden any one to cross this dangerous place, its strength had never been tested. It might be strong enough to allow a train of cars to cross it, and again, the weight of a cat might cause the whole mass to tumble to the unknown depth. The doctor had been to the edge of the pit several times. He would look at the huge patches of darkness that showed between the slabs which seem to have been thrown loosely over the mouth of the whole by a giant hand, and then glance at the dim outline of a wide tunnel which led along from the other side of the pit.
A wistful look would come into his eyes, as he would wonder about that unknown land. He would speculate for a while on the length and number of caverns and passages contained and then return to his hotel and dream of a large interrogation point framed in the mouth of the dark tunnel. It finally became too much for the doctor, and he attempted to bribe the guides by offering sums which came little short of being fabulous. Not one of them, however, would go with him.
At last, William, the famous colored guide, showed signs of his love of money predominating over his love of life, and the doctor worried the poor darkey until he won his reluctant consent to accompany him. The two provided themselves with the necessary articles and, one day, made their way stealthily along the passages toward the Covered Pit.
The uniqueness of the doctor’s scheme is apparent at once. As the authorities had forbidden it, they must steal into the cave without their knowledge and consequently their fate would be unknown. No one would ever know what became of Dr. Hoovey and William. The Covered Pit would withhold its story of the tragedy until the Resurrection Morn. A few pleasant thoughts like these crowded into the doctor’s brain as he made his way along the cavern. He was half constrained to turn back and, at least, leave a letter telling where he had gone. He was half minded to turn back, anyhow. But there was William trudging stolidly along ahead of him and the doctor settled his nerves and pushed on.
They arrived at the edge of the pit and stood together trying to pierce the gloom in the openings between the slabs.
“It will make a right big grave,” said William contemplating the pit.
The doctor started but kept silent.
The two adventurers sat down on a boulder and made deliberate plans covering any casualty that might occur. It was also decided with no indecent haggling whatever that William should go first.
The guide tightened everything about him, and placed his torch in his hat that he might have both hands free.
Getting down on his hands and knees, he commenced to make his way like a cat on very tender ice. It was a moment of supreme suspense to both. The guide’s labored breathing was plainly audible as he slowly moved along. The doctor shut his eyes at times and waited with almost a desire, the tension was so terrible, for the sudden grinding noise; then, the awful roar that would announce to him that the covering had fallen. But William’s light gleamed on the other side and he was safe. It was now the doctor’s turn. William shouted a few directions about the bad places. Then the doctor started. On his hands and knees as the guide had been, the doctor would thrust one hand forward, and finding a firm place, would bring the other one forward. Some of the slabs slanted frightfully and were damp and slippery. The doctor’s life depended on the grip of his fingers.
When about halfway across, the doctor’s hand loosened a slab ahead of him which had no connection with the structure of the cover but simply lay on one of the others.
With an awful sound the stone slid off the lower slab and plunged down into the pit. The explorer gave himself up for lost. As the movement of the stone was communicated to the slab on which he crouched, he thought he was gone. A second later when the sounds ceased he could hardly believe that he was still on the cover.
The sensations of the poor guide can only be imagined. Let alone the depressing effects on one’s spirits that the horrible death of a companion in the bowels of the earth would have, the guide would be in a
sorry plight, indeed. With the doctor and the cover at the bottom of the pit, he was alive in his tomb.
His bridge was burned behind him. His only known means of exit was across the covering to the pit, and if the cover broke, William was in a bad way. The darkey’s teeth chattered as he heard the sound of the falling slab.
But the torch still flickered out over the pit and began to come nearer and nearer. A few more minutes of suspense and the doctor of divinity and the ignorant guide clutched each other’s hands in the most affectionate manner possible.
The explorers proceeded along the tunnel. They were then on ground trod by no man before and the doctor was in his glory. They spent two days in the new regions and had some startling adventures but returned safely across the Covered Pit. When the sunlight beamed on their delighted visions, they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. Then the doctor remarked that he guessed he wouldn’t explore any more caves for a while and William said he reckoned he needed a vacation, too.
1892?
[Bulletin of the New York Public Library,
Vol. 61 (January, 1957), pp. 39–41.]
* By permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Hitherto unpublished in book form. Part of The Sullivan County Sketches.
WHY DID THE YOUNG CLERK SWEAR?
OR, THE UNSATISFACTORY FRENCH
All was silent in the little gents’ furnishing store. A lonely clerk with a blond mustache and a red necktie raised a languid hand to his brow and brushed back a dangling lock. He yawned and gazed gloomily at the blurred panes of the windows.
Without, the wind and rain came swirling round the brick buildings and went sweeping over the streets. A horse-car rumbled stolidly by. In the mud on the pavements, a few pedestrians struggled with excited umbrellas.
“The deuce!” remarked the clerk. “I’d give ten dollars if somebody would come in and buy something, if ’twere only cotton socks.”
He waited amid the shadows of the gray afternoon. No customers came. He heaved a long sigh and sat down on a high stool. From beneath a stack of unlaundered shirts he drew a French novel with a picture on the cover. He yawned again, glanced lazily toward the street, and settled himself as comfortable as the gods would let him upon the high stool.
He opened the book and began to read. Soon it could have been noticed that his blond mustache took on a curl of enthusiasm, and the refractory locks on his brow showed symptoms of soft agitation.
“Silvere did not see the young girl for some days,” read the clerk. “He was miserable. He seemed always to inhale that subtle perfume from her hair. At night he saw her eyes in the stars.
“His dreams were troubled. He watched the house. Heloise did not appear. One day he met Vibert. Vibert wore a black frock coat. There were wine stains on the right breast. His collar was soiled. He had not shaved.
“Silvere burst into tears. ‘I love her! I love her! I shall die!’ Vibert laughed scornfully. His necktie was second-hand. Idiotic, this boy in love. Fool! Simpleton! But at last he pitied him. ‘She goes to the music teacher’s every morning, silly.’ Silvere embraced him.
“The next day Silvere waited at the street corner. A vendor was selling chestnuts. Two gamins were fighting in an alley. A woman was scrubbing some steps. This great Paris throbbed with life.
“Heloise came. She did not perceive Silvere. She passed with a happy smile on her face. She looked fresh, fair, innocent. Silvere felt himself swooning. ‘Ah, my God!’
“She crossed the street. The young man received a shock that sent the warm blood to his brain. It had been raining. There was mud. With one slender hand Heloise lifted her skirts. Silvere, leaning forward, saw her—”
A young man in a wet mackintosh came into the little gents’ furnishing store.
“Ah, beg pardon,” said he to the clerk, “but do you have an agency for a steam laundry here? I have been patronizing a Chinaman down th’ avenue for some time, but he—what? No? You have none here? Well, why don’t you start one, anyhow? It’d be a good thing in this neighborhood. I live just ’round the corner, and it’d be a great thing for me. I know lots of people who would—what? Oh, you don’t? Oh!”
As the young man in the wet mackintosh retreated, the clerk with a blond mustache made a hungry grab at the novel. He continued to read: “Handkerchief fall in a puddle. Silvere sprang forward. He picked up the handkerchief. Their eyes met. As he returned the handkerchief, their hands touched. The young girl smiled. Silvere was in ecstasies. ‘Ah, my God!’
“A baker opposite was quarreling over two sous with an old woman. A gray-haired veteran with a medal upon his breast and a butcher’s boy were watching a dogfight. The smell of dead animals came from adjacent slaughterhouses. The letters on the sign over the tinsmith’s shop on the corner shone redly like great clots of blood. It was hell on roller skates.”
Here the clerk skipped some seventeen chapters descriptive of a number of intricate money transactions, the moles on the neck of a Parisian dress-maker, the process of making brandy, the milk-leg of Silvere’s aunt, life in the coalpits, and scenes in the Chamber of Deputies. In these chapters the reputation of the architect of Charlemagne’s palace was vindicated, and it was explained why Heloise’s grandmother didn’t keep her stockings pulled up.
Then he proceeded: “Heloise went to the country. The next day Silvere followed. They met in the fields. The young girl had donned the garb of the peasants. She blushed. She looked fresh, fair, innocent. Silvere felt faint with rapture. ‘Ah, my God!’
“She had been running. Out of breath, she sank down in the hay. She held out her hand. ‘I am so glad to see you.’ Silvere was enchanted at this vision. He bent toward her. Suddenly he burst into tears. ‘I love you! I love you! I love you!’ he stammered.
“A row of red and white shirts hung on a line some distance away. The third shirt from the left had a button off the neck. A cat on the rear steps of a cottage near the shirts was drinking milk from a platter. The northeast portion of the platter had a crack in it.
“ ‘Heloise!’ Silvere was murmuring hoarsely. He leaned toward her until his warm breath moved the curls on her neck. ‘Heloise!’ murmured Jean.”
“Young man,” said an elderly gentleman with a dripping umbrella to the clerk with a blond mustache, “have you any nightshirts open front and back? Eh? Nightshirts open front and back, I said. D’you hear, eh? Nightshirts open front and back! Well, then, why didn’t you say so? It would pay you to be a trifle more polite, young man. When you get as old as I am, you will find out that it pays to—what? I didn’t see you adding any column of figures. In that case I’m sorry. You have no nightshirts open front and back, eh? Well, good day.”
As the elderly gentleman vanished, the clerk with a blond mustache grasped the novel like some famished animal. He read on: “A peasant stood before the two children. He wrung his hands. ‘Have you seen a stray cow?’ ‘No,’ cried the children in the same breath. The peasant wept. He wrung his hands. It was a supreme moment.
“ ‘She loves me!’ cried Silvere to himself, as he changed his clothes for dinner.
“It was evening. The children sat by the fireplace. Heloise wore a gown of clinging white. She looked fresh, fair, innocent. Silvere was in raptures. ‘Ah, my God!’
“Old Jean, the peasant, saw nothing. He was mending harness. The fire crackled in the fireplace. The children loved each other. Through the open door to the kitchen came the sound of old Marie shrilly cursing the geese who wished to enter. In front of the window, two pigs were quarreling over a vegetable. Cattle were lowing in a distant field. A hay wagon creaked slowly past. Thirty-two chickens were asleep in the branches of a tree. This subtle atmosphere had a mighty effect upon Heloise. It was beating down her self-control. She felt herself going. She was choking.
“The young girl made an effort. She stood up. ‘Good night, I must go.’ Silvere took her hand. ‘Heloise,’ he murmured. Outside, the two pigs were fighting.
“A warm blush overspread the young gir
l’s face. She turned wet eyes toward her lover. She looked fresh, fair, innocent. Silvere was maddened. ‘Ah, my God!’
“Suddenly the young girl began to tremble. She tried vainly to withdraw her hand. But her knee—”
“I wish to get my husband some shirts,” said a shopping woman with six bundles. The clerk with a blond mustache made a private gesture of despair, and rapidly spread a score of differently patterned shirts upon the counter. “He’s very particular about his shirts,” said the shopping woman. “Oh, I don’t think any of these will do. Don’t you keep the Invincible brand? He only wears that kind. He says they fit him better. And he’s very particular about his shirts. What? You don’t keep them? No? Well, how much do you think they would come at? Haven’t the slightest idea? Well, I suppose I must go somewhere else, then. Um—good day.”
The clerk with the blond mustache was about to make further private gestures of despair, when the shopping woman with six bundles turned and went out. His fingers instantly closed nervously over the book. He drew it from its hiding place, and opened it at the place where he had ceased. His hungry eyes seemed to eat the words upon the page. He continued: “—struck cruelly against a chair. It seemed to awaken her. She started. She burst from the young man’s arms. Outside, the two pigs were grunting amiably.
“Silvere took his candle. He went toward his room. He was in despair. ‘Ah, my God!’
“He met the young girl on the stairs. He took her hand. Tears were raining down his face. ‘Heloise!’ he murmured.
“The young girl shivered. As Silvere put his arms about her, she faintly resisted. This embrace seemed to sap her life. She wished to die. Her thoughts flew back to the old well and the broken hayrakes at Plassans.
“The young girl looked fresh, fair, innocent. ‘Heloise!’ murmured Silvere. The children exchanged a long, clinging kiss. It seemed to unite their souls.
The Complete Short Stories and Sketches of Stephen Crane Page 14