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The Associate Hermits, a novel by Frank R Stockton |
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Chapter 21. The Individuality Of Peter Sadler |
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_ CHAPTER XXI. THE INDIVIDUALITY OF PETER SADLER "Martin," said Matlack, sharply, before the young man had reached him, "it seems to me that you think that you have been engaged here as lady's-maid, but there's other things to do besides teaching young women about trees and fishes. If you think," continued Matlack, when the two had reached the woodland kitchen, "that your bein' a hermit is goin' to let you throw all the work on me, you're mistaken. There's a lot of potatoes that's got to be peeled for dinner." Without a word Martin sat down on the ground with a pan of potatoes in front of him and began to work. Had he been a proud crusader setting forth to fight the Saracens his blood could not have coursed with greater warmth and force, his soul could not have more truly spurned the earth and all the common things upon it. What he had said to Margery had made him feel ennobled. If Raybold had that instant appeared before him with some jeering insult, Martin would have pardoned him with lofty scorn; and yet he peeled potatoes, and did it well. But his thoughts were not upon his work; they were upon the future which, if he proved himself to be the man he thought himself to be, might open before him. When he had finished the potatoes he put the pan upon a table and stood near by, deep in thought. "Yes," said he to himself, "I should go now. After what I have said to her I cannot stay here and live this life before her. I would wait on her with bended knee at every step, but with love for her in my soul I cannot wash dishes for other people. I have spoken, and now I must act; and the quicker the better. If all goes well I may be here again, but I shall not come back as a guide." Then a thought of Raybold crossed his mind, but he put it aside. Even if he stayed here he could not protect her, for she had shown that she did not wish him to do it in the only way he could do it, and he felt sure, too, that any further annoyance would result in an appeal to Mr. Archibald. "Well," said Matlack, sharply, "what's the matter with you? Don't you intend to move?" "Yes," said Martin, turning quickly, "I do intend to move. I am going to leave this camp just as soon as I can pack my things." "And where in the name of thunder are you goin' to?" "I'm going to Sadler's," said Martin. "What for?" "On my own business," was the reply. Matlack looked at him for a moment suspiciously. "Have you got any complaints to make of me?" he said. "No," said Martin, promptly, "not one; but I have affairs on hand which will take me off immediately." "Before dinner?" asked Matlack. "Yes," said the other, "before dinner; now." "Go ahead then," said Matlack, putting some sticks of wood into the stove; "and tell Sadler that if he don't send me somebody before supper-time to help about this camp, he'll see me. I'll be hanged," he said to himself, as he closed the door of the stove, "if this isn't hermitism with a vengeance. I wonder who'll be the next one to cut and run; most likely it will be Mrs. Perkenpine." Early in the afternoon, warm and dusty, Martin presented himself before Peter Sadler, who was smoking his pipe on the little shaded piazza at the back of the house. "Oh, ho!" said Peter. "How in the name of common-sense did you happen to turn up at this minute? This is about as queer a thing as I've known of lately. What did you come for? Sit down." "Mr. Sadler," said Martin, "I have come here on most important business." "Lake dry?" asked Peter. "It is a matter," said Martin, "which concerns myself; and if all the lakes in the world were dry, I would not be able to think about them, so full is my soul of one thing." "By the Lord Harry," said Peter, "let's have it, quick!" In a straightforward manner, but with an ardent vehemence which he could not repress, Martin stated his business with Peter Sadler. He told him how he loved Margery, what he had said to her, and what she had said to him. "And now," said the young man, "I have come to ask your permission to address her; but whether you give it or not I shall go to her mother and speak to her. I know her address, and I intend to do everything in an honorable way." Peter Sadler put down his pipe and looked steadfastly at the young man. "I wish to Heaven," said he, "that there was a war goin' on! I'd write a letter to the commander-in-chief and let you take it to him, and I'd tell him you was the bravest man between Hudson Bay and Patagonia. By George! I can't understand it! I can't understand how you could have the cheek, the unutterable brass, to come here and ask me--me, Peter Sadler--to let you court one of the ladies in a campin'-party of mine. And, what's more, I can't understand how I can sit here and hear you tell me that tale without picking up a chair and knocking you down with it." "Mr. Sadler," said Martin, rising, "I have spoken to you fairly and squarely, and if that's all you've got to say, I will go." "Sit down!" roared Peter, bringing his hand upon the table as if he would drive it's legs through the floor. "Sit down, and listen to what I have to say to you. It's the strangest thing that ever happened to me that I am not more angry with you than I am; but I can't understand it, and I pass it by. Now that you are seated again, I will make some remarks on my side. Do you see that?" said he, picking up a letter on the table. "Do you see who it is addressed to?" "To me!" exclaimed Martin, in surprise. "Yes, it's to you," said Peter, "and I wrote it, and I intended to send it by Bill Hammond this afternoon. That's the reason I was surprised when I saw you here. But I'm not goin' to give it to you; I'd rather tell you what's in it, now you are here. Before I knew you were the abject ninnyhammer that you have just told me you are I had a good opinion of you, and thought that you were cut out to make a first-class traveller and explorer--the sort of a fellow who could lead a surveying expedition through the wilderness, or work up new countries and find out what they are made of and what's in them. Only yesterday I heard of a chance that ought to make you jump, and this morning I wrote to you about it. A friend of mine, who's roughed it with me for many a day, is goin' to take an expedition down into New Mexico in the interests of a railroad and minin' company. They want to know everything about the country--the game, fish, trees, and plants, as well as the minerals--and it struck me that if you are not just the kind of man they want you could make yourself so in a very short time. They'd pay you well enough, and you'd have a chance to dip into natural history, and all that sort of thing, that you had no reason to expect for a dozen years to come, if it ever came. If such a chance had been offered to me at your age I wouldn't have changed lots with a king. All you've got to do is to pack up and be off. The party starts from New York in just three days; I'll give you a letter to Joe Hendricks, and that'll be all you want. He knows me well enough to take you without a word. If you haven't got money enough saved to fit yourself out for the trip I'll lend you some, and you can pay me back when they pay you. You can take the train this afternoon and maybe you can see Hendricks to-night. So pack up what you want and leave what you don't want, and I'll take care of it. I'll write to Hendricks now." Many times did the face of Martin flush and pale as he listened. A vision of Paradise had been opened before him, but he felt that he must shut his eyes. "Mr. Sadler," he said, "you are very kind. You offer me a great thing--a thing which two weeks ago I should have accepted in the twinkling of an eye, and would have thanked you for all the rest of my life; but I cannot take it now. With all my heart I love a woman; I have told her so, and I am now going on the path she told me to take. I cannot turn aside from that for any prospects in the world." Peter Sadler's face grew red, and then it grew black, and then it turned red again, and finally resumed its ordinary brown. "Martin Sanders," said he, speaking quietly, but with one hand fastened upon the arm of his chair with a grasp which a horse could not have loosened, "if you are cowardly enough and small enough and paltry enough to go to a girl who is living in peace and comfort and ask her to marry you, when you know perfectly well that for years to come you could not give her a decent roof over her head, and that if her family wanted her to live like a Christian they would have to give her the money to do it with; and if you are fool enough not to know that when she sent you first to me and then to her mother she was tryin' to get rid of you without hurtin' your feelin's, why, then, I want you to get out of my sight, and the quicker the better. But if you are not so low down as that, go to your room and pack up your bag. The coach will start for the train at three o'clock, and it is now nearly half-past two; that will just give me time to write to Hendricks. Go!" Martin rose. Whatever happened afterwards, he must go now. It seemed to him as if the whole world had suddenly grown colder; as if he had been floating in a fog and had neared an iceberg. Could it be possible that she had spoken, as she had spoken, simply to get rid of him? He could not believe it. No one with such honest eyes could speak in that way; and yet he did not know what to believe. In any case, he would go away in the coach. He had spoken to Sadler, and now, whether he spoke to any one else or not, the sooner he left the better. When he came to take the coach, Peter Sadler, who had rolled himself to the front of the house, handed him the letter he had written. "I believe you are made of the right kind of stuff," he said, "although you've got a little mouldy by bein' lazy out there in the woods, but you're all right now; and what you've got to do is to go ahead with a will, and, take my word for it, you'll come out on top. Do you want any money? No? Very well, then, goodbye. You needn't trouble yourself to write to me, I'll hear about you from Hendricks; and I'd rather know what he thinks about you than what you think about yourself." "How little you know," thought Martin, as he entered the coach, "what I am or what I think about myself. As if my purpose could be changed by words of yours!" And he smiled a smile which would have done justice to Arthur Raybold. The chill had gone out of him; he was warm again. On the train he read the letter to Hendricks which Peter Sadler had given to him unsealed. It was a long letter, and he read it twice. Then he sat and gazed out of the window at the flying scenery for nearly half an hour, after which he read the letter again. Then he folded it up and put it into his pocket. "If she had given me the slightest reason to hope," he said to himself, "how easy it would be to tear this letter into scraps." Now an idea came into his mind. If he could see her mother quickly, and if she should ignore his honorable intentions and refuse to give him the opportunity to prove that he was worthy of a thought from her and her daughter, then it might not be too late to fall back on Peter Sadler's letter. But he shook his head; that would be dishonorable and unworthy of him. He shut his eyes; he could not bear to look at the brightness of the world outside the window of the car. Under his closed lids there came to him visions, sometimes of Margery and sometimes of the forests of New Mexico. Sometimes the visions were wavering, uncertain, and transitory, and again they were strong and vivid--so plain to him that he could almost hear the leaves rustle as some wild creature turned a startled look upon him. That night he delivered his letter to Mr. Hendricks. _ |
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