Out of a Labyrinth

by Lawrence L. Lynch

  CHAPTER VI.

  JIM LONG.

  "Trafton?" said Jim Long, more familiarly known as Long Jim, scratchinghis head reflectively, "can't remember just how long I _did_ live inTrafton; good sight longer'n I'll live in it any more, I calklate;green, oh, dretful green, when I come here; in fact mem'ry hadn'tde-welluped; wasn't peart then like I am now. But I ain't got nothin' tosay agin' Trafton, _I_ ain't, tho' there _be_ some folks as has. Thar'sKurnel Brookhouse, now, _he's_ bin scalped severial times; thenthar's--hello!"

  Jim brought his rhetoric up standing, and lowered one leg hastily offthe fence, where he had been balancing like a Chinese juggler.

  At the same moment a fine chestnut horse dashed around a curve of theroad, bearing a woman, who rode with a free rein, and sat as if born tothe saddle. She favored Jim with a friendly nod as she flew past, andthat worthy responded with a delighted grin and no other sign ofrecognition.

  When she had disappeared among the trees, and the horse's hoofs couldscarcely be heard on the hard dry road, Jim drew up his leg, resumed hisformer balance, and went on as if nothing had happened.

  "There was Kurnel Brookhouse and--"

  "The mischief fly away wid old Brookhouse," broke in Carnes, giving thefence a shake that nearly unseated our juggler. "Who's the purty girl asbowed till yee's? That's the question on board now."

  "Look here, Mr. Ireland," expostulated Jim, getting slowly off the fencebackward, and affecting great timidity in so doing, "ye shouldn't shakea chap that way when he's practisin' jimnasti--what's its name? It'sawful unsafe."

  "Look here, Mr. Ireland," expostulated Jim, "ye shouldn'tshake a chap that way."--page 59.]

  And he assured himself that his two feet were actually on _terra firma_before he relinquished his hold upon the top rail of the fence. Thenturning toward Carnes he asked, with a most insinuating smile:

  "Wasn't you askin' something?"

  "That's jist what I was, by the powers," cried Carnes, as if his fatehung upon the answer. "Who is the leddy? be dacent, now."

  We had been some two weeks in Trafton when this dialogue occurred, andJim Long was one of our first acquaintances. Carnes had picked him upsomewhere about town; and the two had grown quite friendly and intimate.

  Long was a character in the eyes of Carnes, and was graduallydeveloping into a genius in mine. Jim was, to all outward appearances,the personification of laziness, candor, good nature, and a species ofblundering waggishness; but as I grew to know him better, I learned torespect the irony under his innocent looks and boorish speeches, and Isoon found that he possessed a faculty, and a fondness, for baffling andannoying Carnes, that delighted me; for Carnes was, like mostindefatigible jokers, rather nonplussed at having the tables turned.

  Jim never did anything for a livelihood that could be discovered, but hecalled himself a "Hoss Fysician," and indeed it was said that he couldalways be trusted with a horse, if he could be induced to look at one.But he had his likes and dislikes, so he said, and he would obstinatelyrefuse to treat a horse toward which he had what he called "onfriendlyfeelin's."

  Jim could tell us all there was to tell concerning the town of Trafton.It was only necessary to set him going; and no story lost anything ofspirit through being told by him.

  He was an oracle on the subjects of fishing and hunting; indeed, he wasusually to be found in the companionship of gun or fishing rod.

  Fortunately for us, Trafton had rare facilities for sports of theaforementioned sort, and we gathered up many small items while, in thesociety of Long Jim, we scrambled through copses, gun in hand, orwhipped the streams, and listened to the heterogenous mass ofinformation that flowed from his ready tongue.

  But the spirit of gossip was not always present with Jim. Sometimes hewas in an argumentative mood, and then would ensue the most astoundingdiscussions between himself and Carnes. Sometimes he was full oftheology, and then his discourse would have enraptured Swing, andout-Heroded Ingersoll, for his theology varied with his moods. Sometimeshe was given to moralizing, and then Carnes was in despair.

  Jim lived alone in a little house, or more properly, "cabin," somethingmore than a mile from town. He had a small piece of ground which hecalled his "farm," and all his slight amount of industry was expended onthis.

  "Who is the leddy, I tell yee's?" roared Carnes, who, I may as wellstate here, had introduced himself to the Traftonites as Barney Cooley."Bedad, a body would think she was your first shwateheart by thedumbness av yee's!"

  "And so she air," retorted Jim with much solemnity. "Don't _you_ go terpresoomin', Mr. Ireland. That are Miss Manvers, as lives in the housethat's just a notch bigger'n Kurnel Brookhouse's; and her father wasCaptain Manvers, as went down in the good ship _Amy Audrey_, and lefthis darter that big house, and a bigger fortune dug out 'en atreasure-ship on the coast uv--"

  "Stop a bit, long legs," interposed Carnes, or Barney, as we had bettercall him, "was it a threasure-ship yee's wur hatchin' when it tuck yee'sso long to shun out yer little sthory?"

  "Well, then, Erin, tell your own stories, that's all. If yer wan't terkick over one uv the institooshuns uv Trafton, why, wade in."

  But Carnes only shook his head, and lying at full length upon the groundfeigning great pain, groaned at intervals:

  "Oh! h! h! threasure-ship!"

  "But, Long," I interposed, "does this young lady, this Miss Manvers,sanction the story of a treasure from the deep, or is it only a flyingrumor?"

  "It's flyin' enough," retorted Jim, soberly. "It's in everybody'smouth; that is, everybody as has an appetite for flyin' rumors. And Inever knew of the lady contradictin' it, nuther. The facks is jestthese, boss. There's Miss Manvers, and there's the big house, and theblooded horses, an' all the other fine things that I couldn't begin tointerduce by their right names. They're facks, as anybody can see. Thereseems to be plenty o' money backin' the big house an' other big fixins,an' _I_ ain't agoin' to be oudacious enough ter say there ain't a bigtreasure-ship backin' up the whole business. Now, I ain't never seen'em, an' I ain't never seen anyone as has, not bein' much of a societyman; but folks _say_ as Miss Manvers has got the most wonderfullestthings dug out o' that ship; old coins, heaps of 'em; jewels an'_aunteeks_, as they call 'em, that don't hardly ever see daylight. Onething's certain: old Manvers come here most six years ago; he dressed,looked, and talked like a sailor; he bought the big house, fitted it up,an' left his daughter in it. Then he went away and got drowned. They sayhe made his fortune at sea, and it's pretty sartin that he brought somewonderful things home from the briny. Mebbe you had better go up to theHill, that's Miss Manvers' place, and interduce yourself, and ask forthe family history, Mr. 'Exile of Erin,'" concluded Jim, with a grinintended to be sarcastic, as he seated himself on a half decayed stump,and prepared to fill his pipe.

  "Bedad, an' so I will, Long Jim," cried Barney, springing up withalacrity. "An' thank ye kindly for mintionin' it. When will I find theleddy at home, then?"

  Partly to avert the tournament which I saw was about to break out afreshbetween the two, and partly through interest in the fair owner of thetreasure-ship spoils, I interposed once more.

  "Miss Manvers must be a fair target for fortune-hunters, Long; are thereany such in Trafton?"

  "Wall, now, that's what _some_ folks says, tho' I ain't goin' ter laymyself liable ter an action fer slander. There's _lovers_ enough; itain't easy tellin' jest what they _air_ after. There's young Mr.Brookhouse; now, _his_ pa's rich enough; _he_ ain't no call to go fortinhuntin'. There's a lawyer from G----, too, and a young 'Piscopal parson;then there's our new young doctor. I ain't hearn anyone say anythin'about him; but _I've_ seen 'em together, and I makebold ter say thathe's anuther on 'em. Seen the young doctor, ain't ye?" turning to mesuddenly with the last question.

  "Yes," I replied, carelessly; "he dines at the hotel."

  "Just so, and keeps his own lodgin' house in that little smit on acottage across the creek on the Brookhouse farm road."

  "Oh, does he?"

  "Yes. Quee
r place for a doctor, some think, but bless you, it's ascentral as any, when you come ter look. Trafton ain't got any _heart_,like most towns; you can't tell where the middle of it is. It's ascrookid as--its reputation."

  Not desiring to appear over anxious concerning the reputation ofTrafton, I continued my queries about the doctor.

  "He's new to Trafton, I think you said?"

  "Yes, bran new; _too_ new. We don't like new things, we don't; have tolearn 'em afore we like 'em. We don't like the new doctor like weorter."

  "_We_, Long? Don't you like Dr. Bethel?"

  "Well, speakin' as an individual, I like him fust rate. _I_ wuz speakin'as a good citizen, ye see; kind o' identifyin' myself with the commonpulse," with an oratorical flourish.

  "Oh, I do see," I responded, laughingly.

  "Yis, we see!" broke in Barney, who had bridled his tongue all too longfor his own comfort. "He's runnin' fur office, is Jim; he's aftherwantin' to be alderman."

  "Ireland," retorted Long, in a tone of lofty admonition, "we're talkin'sense, wot nobody expects ye to understand. Hold yer gab, won't yer?"

  Thus admonished, Barney relapsed into silence, and Jim, who was nowfairly launched, resumed:

  "Firstly," said he, "the doctor's a leetle too good lookin', don't youthink so?"

  "Why, he is handsome, certainly, but it's in a massive way; he is noteffeminate enough to be _too_ handsome."

  "That's it," replied Long, disparagingly; "he ain't our style. _Our_style is curled locks, cunnin' little moustachys, little hands and feet,and slim waists. Our style is more ruffles to the square fut of shirtfront, and more chains and rings than this interlopin' doctor wears."

  "Our sthyle! Och, murther, hear him!" groaned Carnes, in a stage aside.

  "His manners ain't our style, nuther," went on Long, lugubriously."_We_ always has a bow and a smile fur all, rich an poor alike,exceptin' now and then a no count person what there's no need uv wastin'politeness on. _He_ goes along head up, independenter nor Fouth o' July.He don't make no distincshun between folks an' folks, like a man orter.I've seen him bow jist the same bow to old Granny Sanders, as lives downat the poor farm, and to Parson Radcliffe, our biggest preachin' gun.Now, _that's_ no way fer a man ter do as wants ter live happy inTrafton; it ain't _our_ way."

  A mighty groan from Barney.

  "He's got a practice, though," went on Jim, utterly ignoring theapparent misery of his would-be tormentor. "Somehow he manages to curefolks as some of our old doctors can't. I reckon a change o' physic'sgood fer folks, same's a change o' diet--"

  "Or a clane shirt," broke in Carnes, with an insinuating glance in thedirection of Jim's rather dingy linen.

  "Eggsackly," retorted Long, turning back his cuffs with great care andglancing menacingly at his enemy--"er a thrashin'."

  "Gentlemen," I interposed, "let us have peace. And tell me, Jim, wheremay we find your model Traftonite, your hero of the curls, moustaches,dainty hands, and discriminating politeness? I have not seen him."

  "Whar?" retorted Long, in an aggrieved tone, "look here, boss, you don'tthink _I_ ever mean anythin' personal by my remarks? I'd sworn it wereall that way when you come ter notice. The average Traftonite's thesleekest, pertiest chap on earth. We wuz born so."

  Some more demonstrations in pantomime from Carnes, and silence fellupon us. I knew from the way Long smoked at his pipe and glowered atCarnes that nothing more in the way of information need be expected fromhim. He had said enough, or too much, or something he had not intendedto say; he looked dissatisfied, and soon we separated, Long repairing tohis farm, and Carnes and I to our hotel, all in search of dinner.

  "We won't have much trouble in finding the 'Average Traftonite,' oldman," I said, as we sauntered back to town.

  No answer; Carnes was smoking a huge black pipe and gazing thoughtfullyon the ground.

  "I wonder if any attempt has been made to rob Miss Manvers of thosetreasure-ship jewels," I ventured next.

  "Umph!"

  "Or of her blooded horses. Carnes, what's your opinion of Long?"

  Carnes took his pipe from his mouth and turned upon me two serious eyes.When I saw the expression in them I knew he was ready to talk business.

  "Honor bright?" he queried, without a trace of his Irish accent.

  "Honor bright."

  "Well," restoring his pipe and puffing out a black cloud, "he's an oddfish!"

  "Bad?"

  "He's a fraud!"

  "As how?"

  "Cute, keen, has played the fool so long he sometimes believes himselfone. Did you notice any little discrepancies in his speech?

  "Well, rather."

  "Nobody else ever would, I'll be bound; not the 'Average Traftonite,' atleast. That man has not always been at odds with the English grammar,mark me. What do you think, Bathurst?"

  "I think," responded I, soberly, "that we shall find in him an ally oran enemy."

  We had been sauntering "across lots," over some of the Brookhouse acres,and we now struck into a path leading down to the highway, that broughtus out just opposite the cottage occupied by Dr. Bethel.

  As we approached, the doctor was leaning over the gate in conversationwith a gentleman seated in a light road wagon, whose face was turnedaway from us.

  As we came near he turned his head, favoring us with a careless glance,and, as I saw his face, I recognized him as the handsome young gallantwho had attended the friend of Miss Grace Ballou, on the occasion ofthat friend's visit to the Ballou farm, and who had bidden the ladiessuch an impressive good-bye as I drove them away from the villagestation.

  Contrary to my first intention I approached the gate, and as I drewnear, the young man gathered up his reins and nodding to the doctordrove away.

  Dr. Bethel and myself had exchanged civilities at our hotel, and Iaddressed him in a careless way as I paused at the gate.

  "That's a fine stepping horse, doctor," nodding after the recedingturnout; "is it owned in the town?"

  "Yes," replied the doctor; "that is young Brookhouse, or rather one ofthem. There are two or three sons; they all drive fine stock."

  I was passing in the town for a well-to-do city young man with sportingpropensities, and as the doctor swung open the gate and strode beside metoward the hotel, Carnes trudging on in advance, the talk turned quitenaturally upon horses, and horse owners.

  That night I wrote to Mrs. Ballou, stating that I had nothing of muchmoment to impart, but desired that she would notify me several days inadvance of her proposed visit to the city, as I wished to meet her. Thisletter I sent to our office to be forwarded to Groveland from thence.