A First Family of Tasaa | Page 5

looked
sorter wild, and shut up. He didn't suicide much. No, sir! He didn't kill
himself,--not he. Why, old Bixby--and he's a deacon in good
standin'--allowed, in 'Lige's hearin' and for 'Lige's benefit, that
self-destruction was better nor bad example, and proved it by Scripture
too. And yet 'Lige did nothin'! Desp'rit! He's only desp'rit to laze
around and fish all day off a log in the tules, and soak up with whiskey,
until, betwixt fever an' ague and the jumps, he kinder shakes hisself
free o' responsibility."
A long silence followed; it was somehow felt that the subject was
incongruously exciting; Billings allowed himself to lapse again behind
the back of his chair. Meantime it had grown so dark that the dull glow
of the stove was beginning to outline a faint halo on the ceiling even
while it plunged the further lines of shelves behind the counter into
greater obscurity.
"Time to light up, Harkutt, ain't it?" said Wingate, tentatively.
"Well, I was reckoning ez it's such a wild night there wouldn't be any
use keepin' open, and when you fellows left I'd just shut up for good

and make things fast," said Harkutt, dubiously. Before his guests had
time to fully weigh this delicate hint, another gust of wind shook the
tenement, and even forced the unbolted upper part of the door to yield
far enough to admit an eager current of humid air that seemed to justify
the wisdom of Harkutt's suggestion. Billings slowly and with a sigh
assumed a sitting posture in the chair. The biscuit-nibbler selected a
fresh dainty from the counter, and Wingate abstractedly walked to the
window and rubbed the glass. Sky and water had already disappeared
behind a curtain of darkness that was illuminated by a single point of
light--the lamp in the window of some invisible but nearer
house--which threw its rays across the glistening shallows in the road.
"Well," said Wingate, buttoning up his coat in slow dejection, "I reckon
I oughter be travelin' to help the old woman do the chores before
supper." He had just recognized the light in his own dining-room, and
knew by that sign that his long-waiting helpmeet had finally done the
chores herself.
"Some folks have it mighty easy," said Billings, with long-drawn
discontent, as he struggled to his feet. "You've only a step to go, and
yer's me and Peters there"--indicating the biscuit-nibbler, who was
beginning to show alarming signs of returning to the barrel again--"hev
got to trapse five times that distance."
"More'n half a mile, if it comes to that," said Peters, gloomily. He
paused in putting on his overcoat as if thinking better of it, while even
the more fortunate and contiguous Wingate languidly lapsed against the
counter again.
The moment was a critical one. Billings was evidently also regretfully
eying the chair he had just quitted. Harkutt resolved on a heroic effort.
"Come, boys," he said, with brisk conviviality, "take a parting drink
with me before you go." Producing a black bottle from some obscurity
beneath the counter that smelt strongly of india-rubber boots, he placed
it with four glasses before his guests. Each made a feint of holding his
glass against the opaque window while filling it, although nothing
could be seen. A sudden tumult of wind and rain again shook the
building, but even after it had passed the glass door still rattled

violently.
"Just see what's loose, Peters," said Billings; "you're nearest it."
Peters, still holding the undrained glass in his hand, walked slowly
towards it.
"It's suthin'--or somebody outside," he said, hesitatingly.
The three others came eagerly to his side. Through the glass, clouded
from within by their breath, and filmed from without by the rain, some
vague object was moving, and what seemed to be a mop of tangled hair
was apparently brushing against the pane. The door shook again, but
less strongly. Billings pressed his face against the glass. "Hol' on," he
said in a quick whisper,--"it's 'Lige!" But it was too late. Harkutt had
already drawn the lower bolt, and a man stumbled from the outer
obscurity into the darker room.
The inmates drew away as he leaned back for a moment against the
door that closed behind him. Then dimly, but instinctively, discerning
the glass of liquor which Wingate still mechanically held in his hand,
he reached forward eagerly, took it from Wingate's surprised and
unresisting fingers, and drained it at a gulp. The four men laughed
vaguely, but not as cheerfully as they might.
"I was just shutting up," began Harkutt, dubiously.
"I won't keep you a minit," said the intruder, nervously fumbling in the
breast pocket of his hickory shirt. "It's a matter of
business--Harkutt--I"-- But he was obliged to stop here to wipe his face
and forehead with the