Teeftallow/Chapter 30

MR. JAMES SANDAGE, one-time overseer of the poor farm, now triumphantly elected trustee of Lane County by an overwhelming Republican majority, which the election returns invariably and uncritically present, was worried.

On this morning his daughter Beatrice Belle drove the new trustee from his new bungalow in Lanesburg to his office in the courthouse. As she manipulated the car she complained that there was a knock in the motor and begged her father in a discontented whine to buy a new automobile.

"I think we're lucky to have as fine a car as this, knock or no knock," said the new trustee absently.

"Makes me ashamed when I drive Adelaide Jones in it, havin' a knock. Now, lissen when I drive off."

Mr. Sandage's thoughts drifted in a slightly troubled, slightly disconnected fashion as his daughter drove away. . . . The car did have a knock. . . . Beatrice Belle certainly was getting grown. . . . When the railroad at Irontown paid its state and county taxes, he would have another seven thousand dollars with which he could assist his political godfather, Railroad Jones, in his new railway enterprise. Railroad paid him eight per cent. on these loans. . . . Eight per cent. on seven thousand . . . Sandage wondered if these investments were entirely safe?

He had heard a rumour that Perry Northcutt was beginning a suit to press Jones for the money the bank had lent him. He would ask Jones about that. The new trustee wanted to keep the county funds perfectly safe—also bearing eight per cent.—because that percentage was his own honorarium.

​Then Sandage recalled a disagreeable rumour that Abner Teeftallow had got into trouble with Perry Northcutt's daughter and that Perry had run Abner out of the county. This report disturbed Mr. Sandage. He had always been fond of his foster-son. He knew, of course, that young bucks would be young bucks, but it troubled him that his boy, Abner, had fallen into this ever-waiting pit. Cheek by jowl with this disapproval, Mr. Sandage was a little gratified that it was with the banker's daughter. Evidently Abner had been getting on in society . . . with a banker's daughter. Still, it was bad business, bad business. He should have warned Abner against it. Only it was impossible for a man to warn a lad against that sort of thing and keep his own face. The best any man could do was what he had done: pass over the topic in silence.

The county trustee walked through the main passage in the courthouse to one of the smaller rooms in the northeastern corner of the building. The place was empty and his steps echoed through the corridor. He produced a key, unlocked his door, and opened it, still thinking of Abner. He went around to hang his hat on a nail behind the door when he heard a noise. He glanced around and saw a tattered figure rise up from behind the trustee's desk.

A combative thrill went through the trustee. He thought of the money in his vault, a pistol in a drawer near the robber. He took a stride toward the fellow.

"What in the hell do you mean—"

"It's me, Jim," interrupted the figure in a low hurried tone. "I come to borry your gun!"

The trustee's advance was checked to an astonished staring. The face before heim seemed to change from that of a stranger to the strained worn countenance of Abner Teeftallow, the boy he had reared. The reappearance of this Abner in the place of the simple Abner he had known amazed the trustee. He could scarcely credit his eyes.

"Abner!" he ejaculated incredulously. "Is that you? How did you get in here?"

​"A feller showed me yore office. I prized open the winder an' got in last night."

"Why in the worl' didn't you come to my house?" cried Mr. Sandage, with outraged hospitality.

Abner's face twitched. "I didn't want nobody to see me; they"—he nodded in the direction of Irontown—"they think they run me out of the county—" his eyes narrowed vengefully—"but, by God, they ain't! I'm goin' to heel myse'f, slip back down there, and kill a lot o'them damn skunks, an' then I'll prove a alibi."

Mr. Sandage was horrified. "You don't mean that, Abner!"

"Yes, I do. I want you to len' me a couple o' guns. I lost mine the night they beat me up. But I'm goin' to slip back down there an' git that damn Perfesser Overall an' Tom Northcutt—I know a lot of 'em." Abner nodded grimly. "They're welcome to that skin they tuk off'n me, damn 'em!"

"But, look here, Abner, you kain't do that, my boy." cried Mr. Sandage. "My Lord, you don't want to be like old Rodman Sikes, who spent his whole life killin' off a gang of bushwhackers."

"Jim, you ain't never been beat up like I have," said the youth in a monotone.

Sandage began to realize that the boy he had known was indeed gone and he had a man to deal with, a vengeful, obstinate man, but still one with courage and fighting ability, and this aroused a certain admiration and satisfaction in him. He began arguing with the youth.

"Look here, Abner, whyn't you git the law on them fellers?"

"Law hell!"

The trustee knew that his foster-son was right on this point. He tried another tack.

"Now, look here, if you've been foolin' aroun' Perry Nothcutt's gal, didn't he have a kind of right to beat you up an' drive you out o' the county—now, man, to man, didn't he?"

​The younger man straightened indignantly.

"Perry Northcutt's gal!"

"That's what I heard."

"Why, he ain't got no gal!"

"He ain't!"

"Naw, if he has I never saw her in my life."

"Then what the hell did Perry mean by runnin' you out o' the county!" cried Mr. Sandage.

"I didn't know he done it!" cried Abner, growing bewildered himself.

"Well, he done it all right!" declared the trustee, waggling a finger in the air. "He done it shore as God made little apples. Now we got the straight o' that!"

"What made him?" cried Abner, losing his anger in his amazement.

"Wasn't he kin to yore gal a-tall—didn't he collugue with her kin folks?"

"Hell, no!" shouted Abner. "I tell you they wasn't none of her kinfolks in the gang that beat me up! They was jest outsiders who had no rights whatsoever. I was goin' back down there to marry the damn gal on my own account, an' they grabbed me an' beat me like a dawg!" Tears of rage filled Abner's eyes; the muscles in his square brown jaws worked as he clenched his teeth.

"Well, by God," cried Sandage, catching his passion, "that's a hell of a way to treat a honest boy. Damn little 'Parson's Delight' of a town. Ought to be wiped out! Ab, my gun's right here in this drawer"—he thumped on his desk—"I don't say git it, but damn it, I ain't goin' to stan' here guardin' it for ever—an' they's a box of ca'tridges right by it, too!"

There was a pause in which Abner and his foster-father slew crowds of imaginary whitecaps. At last Mr. Sandage said with a little more composure, "What I don't understan' is how Perry Northcutt come into this? Did you have any business dealin's with Perry?"

"Nope, in fack, I refused to trade with him a-tall."

​"Uh-huh. . . . Suppose we step over to Railroad Jones's office an' ast him about this little matter. I got some business with him, an' he's a mighty level-headed feller anyway. What he don't know usually ain't happened yet, an' ain't a-goin' to happen."

Mr. Sandage turned behind the door for his hat while Abner watched him uneasily. When the trustee was ready to start, the younger man said in an embarrassed tone, "Jim, I—I kain't go out in the street with ye."

"Why kain't ye—what's the matter with ye?"

Abner flushed under his tan, but for answer turned his back. His coat was stained and stiffened and made of shreds patched together. The garment might have been run through a mangling machine. The county trustee stared at his boy, astounded.

"You don't mean them God-damned scoundrels . . ."

"That's what they done all right," Abner relapsed into his savage undertone, "an' my back was the same way. It was two weeks before I could walk!"

"Where you been all this time?"

"Some niggers took care of me. A old nigger woman patched up my coat so it would hold. They wouldn't git me no gun for fear of gittin' into trouble theirse'ves, damn 'em!"

"That's like a nigger!" sneered the trustee. He thought a moment, went behind the door, and brought out another coat. "Pull that off an' use this'n—doggone my skin, I b'l'eve you're bigger'n I am."

As Abner gingerly permitted the new coat to be slipped on him, the trustee asked, "If it ain't givin' away no secrets, Ab, I'd like to know what actually went with the gal yo' knowed in Arntown?"

"She married a damn infidel," stated Abner briefly.

"The hell she did!"

"Yep."

The two turned out of the trustee's office side by side for an interview with Railroad Jones.

When the two men reached Railroad Jones's office they ​found the magnate overflowing his office chair as he pressed against his flat table thumbing through a stack of papers and making some sort of calculation. For while the fat man could neither read nor write, he had worked out for himself some sort of mathematical system by which he computed his problems with accuracy.

The financier looked up abstractedly as Sandage entered, his little burnt-out eyes blinking in his yellow expanse of face.

"Mr. Jones, this here is Abner Teeftaller."

The railroad builder became aware of Abner. "Yes, I know Abner, worked for me—mighty good han' too."

The trustee cleared his throat. "Well, now, Abner—er—got in a little trouble over in Arntown, Mr. Jones."

"Yes," nodded the magnate benevolently, "I believe I heard it mentioned."

"So we come to see you about it. I been listenin' to what Abner says, an' it looks to me like there had been some sculduggery worked on the boy."

The fat man became attentive. "You think they might be somethin' behin' them fellers chasin' Abner out o' Arntown?"

"Yes, I do," nodded the trustee, using the hard tone of resentment. "It ain't usual for men to git drummed out of town for what Abner was drummed out for; if they did, most of the towns here in Lane County would be empty."

"Of course, they is usually politics behin' ever'thing," generalized the magnate, "but jest answerin' you by an' large, I shouldn't be supprised at nothin'."

At this vague statement, Sandage turned to the young man. "I told you so, Abner." Then he continued to the financier.

"Now, Mr. Jones, you're a better lawyer than half the bar here in Lanesburg, what do you think of Abner's chanst of makin' Perry Northcutt an' them whitecaps pay damnages?"

"Knowin' Perry as I do, I shouldn't say he had much chanst."

​"Well, he's been damaged!" cried the trustee. "They ain't done him right down there, an' somebody ort to pay him fur it."

"Well, Jim, you know the criminal law very seldom applies to individuals an' never does apply to crowds. Abner there will find out if he wants to do business in a big way he'd better keep his private affairs straight an' above board; otherwise some competitor will bushwhack him an' claim he done it for private reasons. That's what morality is, Jim, livin' so if anybody bushwhacks you, ever'body will know it was fur business reasons."

During an impressive pause, Mr. Sandage would have been more than a human father had he not turned on his foster-son and sought to impress this great and valuable moral.

"Now, you hear what Mr. Jones says, Abner. It shore is worth while listenin' to a man who has made a success like he has—live so when you git killed ever'body will know it was a business deal. Well, we're much obliged for your advice."

"Not a-tall," nodded the magnate solemnly.

"An' by the way, Mr. Jones, may I ast one more question? I've been hearin' that Perry Northcutt is goin' to sue you on some loans he made you."

The magnate nodded. "I don't want it talked, but I b'l'eve he is."

"In that case—now I hope you won't take no offence, but—er—it makes me a little juberous about the county funds I loaned you."

"You needn't be a-tall uneasy, Jim," soothed the magnate with a gesture, "he's suin' merely because I overdrawed the security I give him."

"Yeh," agreed the trustee vaguely.

"Well, if a careful financial institution like the bank thinks they can make their debt by a suit outside the mortgages I give 'em, that shows I must have a lot of resources, don't it? It shows I'm solid, all right."

"Well—yeh, I reckon it does," admitted Sandage, who did not follow this very clearly.

​"An' besides that, you know nobody ever has got a court judgment off'n me, an' Perry Northcutt ain't got no better show than nobody else; so, since he kain't collect his debt till I'm good an' ready to pay it, it simply shows I'm one of the solidest institutions in Lane County, don't it?"

"Well, ye-es," dragged out Sandage, "it does look that way. So you don't consider your business the least bit shaky?"

"Firm as a rock, Jim, firm as a rock! An' if you want yore money back, jest ast for it. You can git it right now or any other time. I wouldn't give you a uneasy minute." Here Mr. Jones reached, one might say boisterously, after a pad of checks, got out a fountain pen, and pushed them toward the trustee. "Jest write out what I owe you an' I'll jest pay you off now!"

The trustee retreated from this sudden threat of payment.

"Oh, no, no, Mr. Jones, I jest wanted to talk it over with you! Lord knows, I kain't put my money out at eight per cent. with nobody but you. I want you to keep it!"

"Well, all right, but I don't want you to be uneasy about it."

"No, I won't be, an' much obliged for your advice, Mr. Jones."

"Not a-tall, Jim, not a-tall, an' Jess come to me any time an' spit yore mind right out if you want to know anything."

"I shore am much obliged," repeated the trustee.

At that moment the door was darkened and Abner turned to see Mr. Ditmas, the engineer, standing in the entrance. The Northern man glanced at Abner in surprise, and then at Railroad Jones.

"Why, you did find him for me after all, Mr. Jones!" he cried.

"Yes, yes," nodded the magnate. "I got him to the office for you."

"That's fine—Abner, I've been combing three counties looking for you."

The youth stared at the engineer blankly. "What for?"

​"It concerns a little timber deal between me and Mr. Jones. I've been investigating the records, and it seems, Abner, that you have to sign the deed before I can get title to some timber on one of Mr. Jones's farm."

"What have I got to sign it for?" cried Abner in astonishment.

"Because your grandfather, old Judge Coltrane, owned it years ago. After his death it was sold for taxes, but your mother, being of unsound mind, held a right of redemption, the statutes did not run against her during her life. When she died you were a minor heir, so the limitation did not operate against you. You still hold a right of redemption at any time you see fit to redeem. That's why you have to sign the deed to conclude the sale."

By this time the trustee was staring at the engineer.

"Look here, is that so about any of old Judge Coltrane's land?"

"I suppose so."

"Then, holy smokes, Abner, if that is so, you own nearly all the north end of the county. Why, I shouldn't be surprised if you wasn't the richest man in Lanesburg to-day."

"Where is it all?" cried Abner, looking about as if he expected his acres to appear in the magnate's office.

"Look here," interrupted Railroad Jones, "when Lydy Coltrane married Linsey Teeftaller, didn't the time limit begin to run against her then? Her husband wasn't crazy."

"No, Judge Coltrane left his will to prevent Linsey Teeftallow from having any control over the property."

"What can I do to get this property?" inquired Abner in a maze.

Mr. Ditmas laughed. "All you have to do is sign my deed and I'll pay you eight hundred dollars now. I think your equity against my timber is worth about that."

"I take you!" cried Abner, shaken by such a sum.

"You—you better see the place first," advised Sandage in an unsteady voice

​"Yes, that's a good idea," agreed Ditmas. "We'll look at it and then go over my figures together."

"An' I own the whole north en' of the county!" cried Abner in a daze. "Who's got it now?"

"Oh, different persons," answered the trustee cheerfully, "but their claims ain't good."

Railroad Jones spoke up from where he had been sitting motionless at his table during this colloquy.

"It may happen, Abner, that I own one or two little pieces of yore land, but of course we can make any little adjustment that's right."

Abner was further amazed that he should have a claim on any of the magnate's land, but Mr. Jones said this so amiably that the youth nodded, "Sure, sure, I want to do what's right. Now, Mr. Ditmas, if we could look at that tract you're offering me eight hundred dollars for . . ."

The three men turned out into the cheerful sunshine, when, coming around the court square, the trustee saw his motor driven by Beatrice Belle. He immediately shouted to his daughter in his big out-of-doors voice and waved his hat at her. Beatrice had a companion with her, and as the two girls drove up they shot lively glances at Abner. When Beatrice Belle recognized the youth, she flung up her hands and almost lost control of the machine.

"If it ain't Abner Teeftaller!" she cried in amazement.

"Beatrice!" laughed the other girl, catching the wheel. "Don't smash me up just because you see a man!"

The two girls, by jointly kicking the clutch and the brake, stopped the car. Beatrice slammed open the door, leaped out, rushed up to Abner, seized him around the neck and kissed him.

"How glad I am to see you!" she cried. "Goodness, I didn't know it was you! Abner, how you have growed! When did you come back? Here, let me introduce you to Adelaide Jones. Adelaide, this is Abner Teeftaller, the boy I've told you so much about!"

Miss Jones leaned forward with a fluttery movement.

​"If you're half as wonderful as Beatrice says, Mr. Teeftallow, this is my lucky day."

"He's a sort of brother of mine," beamed Beatrice.

"I hope so," laughed Adelaide.

"But he's wonderful, just the same!"

"All men are wonderful, dear, and the bigger they are the more wonderful they become." Her glance complimented Abner's size.

Beatrice tipped her head at her companion. "Now, you aren't going to vamp him under my nose, Adelaide."

"As if I could! Do get in here between us, Mr. Teeftallow"—she moved to make room—"we're just going out for a drive."

Abner, who had received his introduction, compliment, and invitation to ride without the chance to say a word, now mumbled out an awkward "Much obliged," and got into the front seat by Miss Jones. He was at once enveloped in an atmosphere of perfume. Beatrice Belle took the wheel again and was about to start when her father called, "B'atrice Belle, I want you to take us out to the old Coltrane place."

"All right, Dad, anywhere," and then she added cheerfully, "I hope I can knock the old machine to pieces so I'll get a new one."

"If she does," stipulated Miss Jones in a low tone to Abner, "you must hold me in. I'm so little I'll bounce out."

"I—I will," agreed Abner, with awkward seriousness.

The motor moved eastward with a faint knocking in the purr of its engine. The girls continued their chatter and laughter. Beatrice Belle asked Abner a dozen questions without giving him time to answer one. Now and then she would call absently over her shoulder, "Is this the right road, Pappy?" and then would not wait for a reply.

Miss Jones was explaining with vehemence how she adored literature, especially Poe. She said she was a regular Poe fan, and her teacher in the girls' seminary in Nashville where she had been to school was as nutty over Poe as she was. ​"You ought to hear her read 'Ulalume,' Mr. Teeftallow, it's just wonderful—is this boring you?"

"No-o," said Abner, bewildered but not bored.

"Miss Stebbins was so brilliant. She knew everything. Beatrice, don't you think Mr. Teeftallow looks a little bit like Poe's picture?—the same mane of black hair and the same sad, suffering face."

Beatrice said she didn't know how Poe looked.

"Well, let's run around to my house and look at it."

When they veered from their course to see Poe's picture, Mr. Sandage objected, but he was not heard. Miss Jones was saying of her idol, and to her conquest,

". . . to think he died of a hopeless love. I wonder, Mr. Teeftallow, did you ever almost die of a hopeless love? Somehow, you look as if you had. . . ."