3stalwarts (95 page)

“Yeanh.”

“How are you fixed for horses?”

“There’s a pair on the boat, bays— six and eight, I’d judge. They’re good walkers, but kind of light to suit me. I don’t think they’re a lot over twenty-three hundred.”

“Well, you won’t have much more hauling to do this fall. But next spring you’ll need a second pair.”

“Yeanh, I’d thought so.”

“There’s going to be a fair on the second of November at Whitesboro. Horses will be cheap in the fall. If I were you, I’d buy them and hire them out during the winter. I send grain and supplies in to the Goldbrook camps in winter. I’d be glad to hire a couple of teams and a pair of drivers. You could tie up at Utica for the winter.”

“That would be fine,” Dan said.

“All right, then. I’ll see to changing the Sal’s registration at the Rome lock tonight. How about a driver?”

“I hadn’t thought to get one this fall. I’ve got a cook with me; she’s sort of a nice girl,” Dan said shyly.

Mr. Butterfield looked at him a moment as if he were about to say something, but evidently changed his mind.

“If she’s young and strong she can help you out. I won’t ask any rush hauling from you this fall.”

“She’s real willing to help out.”

“That’s a good sign. Now let’s see your bill of lading.”

Dan handed it across.

“I’ll have it checked tomorrow morning when we unload. But I know it’s all right, so I’ll pay you now— Weaver’s terms, naturally.”

“They suit me,” Dan said. “They’ll suit me right along.”

“All right.”

Mr. Butterfield went to a door in the wall, unlocked it, and with a second key unlocked the safe inside.

“Eighty-five dollars?”

“That’s right,” said Dan.

“Here’s the receipt,” said Mr. Butterfield, handing him a pen.

Dan signed.

Mr. Butterfield held out his hand.

“You’ve made a lucky beginning, Harrow. I’m glad of it. I think you deserve it.”

He shook hands. Dan went out of the office and crossed the wharf.

The Sarsey Sal lay squat and heavy on its brown reflection. Boats passed just beyond it, but Dan had eyes only for its brown hulk. It was his boat.

5

THE CLOSING SEASON

Fortune Friendly

When he boarded the Sarsey Sal, Dan found it empty. For an instant a fear that Molly might have cleared out gnawed at his insides. Her hat and red dress were gone, and her narrow shoes. It was only when he noticed her comb and brush sticking out from behind the mirror that he took comfort. She wouldn’t have gone off without them, he told himself; her hair gave her too much bother for her to leave them behind.

So he went up on deck and sat down to wait for her. He listened to the horses munching forward with a sense of pleasure; they were his horses. But he was anxious for the time when he could get the team he wanted. Maybe he could pick them up singly; match up a team, and save money that way. If he bought at all, he would buy good ones.

The long basin was a-crawl with boats. Round from the Boonville feeder a chain of them came one after another, stacked high with firewood— twelve-inch lengths for stoves. It was the first tangible sign of winter. There were times when the canal froze early in December— two years ago it had frozen in the first week, catching many boats. Dan was anxious to get going. The Carthage trip would take better than a week. A great flock of crows which flapped across the valley sounded as if they were talking snow.

Clerks were coming out of the warehouses at the end of the day’s work. The docks were crowded. Men from the granaries moved past him, spanking the flour mist from their trouser legs with whitened hands.

A man was standing opposite the bow of the old boat. He wore a wide grey felt hat and a black coat, and his narrow trousers were strapped under his shoes. There was something familiar to Dan in his attitude, and when he pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket to read the time, Dan recognized the flaming red front. At the same moment the man looked up and met his eye.

“Why, hello, young man,” he said, coming forward with a grin wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Weren’t you on Julius Wilson’s boat that I went to Utica on after preaching a sermon at them hellions in Maynar’s Corners?”

“Yeanh,” said Dan. “You’re Mr. Friendly, ain’t you?”

“I am, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

“I’m Dan Harrow.”

“Harrow! That’s right. How’s Wilson and that old Jew? Have they learned to play pinochle any better?”

“I don’t know,” said Dan. “Won’t you come aboard?”

Mr. Friendly glanced again at his watch.

“I don’t know but what I might as well. Thank you.”

“We’ll step down in the cabin,” said Dan, very much tickled at the presence of his first guest.

He poked up the fire and motioned the ex-preacher to the rocking-chair.

“Who’s the boater?” Fortune asked.

“Me,” said Dan.

“You?”

“Yeanh. Boater, owner, driver, the hull works, all but the cook. Want a job?” he asked, making a poke at a joke.

Fortune laughed; then he sobered down, and a frown appeared on his smooth, child’s forehead.

“Serious?”

“It’s a gospel fact,” said Dan. “This boat’s mine and I’m going to haul for Butterfield.”

“Where’s your next haul?”

“Carthage.”

“When you hauling?”

“Tomorrow morning first thing.”

“Got a cook?”

“A-l.”

“Sold!” said Fortune, holding out his hand. “It’s the first time I ever hired on to a regular job. What am I going to do?”

“Drive and steer.”

“How much do I get?”

Dan scratched the back of his head and looked serious. He began to realize that the ex-preacher was not joking. He would have to be careful now, and hire the man on as cheap as he could.

“You ain’t done any driving before, have you?”

“Not to speak of,” said Fortune.

“Well, a driver-boy ought to get ten a month, by rights, but I’ll give you eleven. How’d that be?”

“Surely. That’d be all right with me, Dan.”

The old man hooked his feet in the rungs of the chair and rocked comfortably.

“I don’t mind telling you, Dan, I was broke again. Busted bare. It wasn’t my fault. I’d done a good haul on the Rome sheriff playing euchre. There was a lot he didn’t know about that game. So when he was cleaned out he got sore, took my money and his’n, and said I was cheating and if I was in town next morning he’d lock me up for a public nuisance. You’d think I’m old enough to’ve known better than play cards with a sheriff.”

“Was you cheating?” Dan asked.

“It depends how you look at it, Dan.”

The ex-preacher ran his hand down over his smooth face. “How’d you come to get the boat, Dan?”

Dan told him the story. When he had finished Samson Weaver’s death, Fortune Friendly clucked his tongue.

“Poor devil.”

“He was scared all right,” said Dan, and he told about the undertaker and his interview with Mr. Butterfield. Friendly snorted.

“Undertakers! I’d call ‘em overtakers. They’ve got everybody buttoned right into their gloves, and they know there’s nobody dares say no to ‘em. And when the time comes to themselves, they get a good discount for a trade courtesy!”

“I believe it,” said Dan.

“Who’s your cook?”

“Why, I got her in Utica. She ought to be back pretty quick.”

Dan lifted his head.

“That’s her coming along the dock. I can tell her walk. She’s kind of a pretty nice girl.”

Molly Larkins came into the cabin, carrying a market basket and several packages.

“Hello, Dan. I didn’t expect to be so long.”

“That’s all right, Molly. This here’s a driver coming along with us. Mr. Fortune Friendly.”

Molly poked her head over a bunch of carrot greens and gave him a bright smile.

“Why, Mr. Friendly. When did you go in for boating?”

“Just fifteen minutes ago, Molly. Lord, girl, you look pretty! What’s come over you?”

Her color deepened, and Friendly drew in his breath.

“Well, I don’t rightly wonder,” he said softly, his black eyes moving from one to the other. “I knew I was going to like driving for this boat, even if it was steady work for a man like me, but I didn’t know how much.”

He settled back in the chair and smiled happily.

“I’ll be a sort of unhindering pa,” he said. “So I’m going to say right off I’m hungry for my dinner.”

Molly laid down her purchases.

“I’ve bought a regular outfit of food. Turnips, ‘tatoes, eggs, butter, and lard. We didn’t need sugar and salt and pepper. And I’ve got the dandiest pork chops you’ve ever seen.”

She went into the sleeping cuddy.

“Dan, haven’t you brought in those blankets?”

“No.”

“Maybe you and Fortune’d better get ‘em right away. They’ll get damped out in the dew.”

“I’ll get them,” said Fortune.

Molly poked her head through the curtains while she buttoned on a work dress.

“What did Mr. Butterfield say?”

“He said the boat was mine. I’m to haul for him. We’ll make the Watertown haul tomorrow morning early.”

“It’s our boat,” she said.

“Yeanh.”

“Dan, I’ve got you a kind of a present.”

She held out a clay pipe. Dan took it and slowly turned it over.

“Thanks,” he said; but there was tremor in his voice. He felt all at once very kind toward her.

“There’s some tobacco in the basket,” she said shyly. “I thought maybe you’d like it.”

Friendly came bunting through the door, his arms stuffed full of blankets.

“Where’ll I put ‘em?”

Molly came out of the cuddy, flinging the curtain open.

“Stretch them on the bed,” she said.

It was grown dark. While the chops were sputtering in the pan and Molly was setting the table, Dan, with his pipe lighted, went forward to feed the horses and hang out the night lantern. The old ex-preacher, sitting in the rocker, watched Molly moving about, his nostrils widening now and then to the fry-smell.

“How did you come to hire on with him, Molly? Through Lucy Cashdollar’s?”

“No. I seen him first in Hennessy’s.”

“Oh, you did, eh?”

“Yes,” she said, with a little nod.

“You made up your mind right then, I guess.”

She nodded again, with a rather shy smile.

“Where’s Klore?”

“I left him,” she said, poking sharply at a chop. “I was sick of him.”

“Did he take it kind?”

“No. He gave me a licking first.”

“He’ll lay for Dan. Do you think it’s right by Dan?”

“He knows it,” she said, turning on him.

“Then they’ll have to fight it out,” Fortune said. “Is Dan afraid of him?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a small voice. “But he’s terrible strong.”

“It ought to be a dinger,” said the old man, his eyes gleaming.

“I hope Dan’ll lick him. He’s got the strength. I hope he’ll lick him down.”

The ex-preacher glanced at her sharply.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “it’s a good sign. Do you love him, Molly?”

She caught her breath, and made eyes at him without speaking.

“Lord,” he said, “you’ve got pretty, Molly. Lord! If Klore saw you now he’d go crazy.”

She smiled to herself.

“It generally happens once,” said the ex-preacher. “I guess it’s best for you both to go through with it this way; but the end of it’s likely to be hard for you both, Molly. I got to thinking a little while ago that Dan wouldn’t last on the canal. Getting this boat and all is good, but he don’t look like a boater; he don’t talk right; he’s half asleep, Molly.”

“Asleep!” she cried. “I know better!”

“He hasn’t found out who he is; he hasn’t shook hands with himself,” said the ex-preacher moodily.

Molly turned, her hand holding the fork on her hip, a loose strand of her hair caught in her white teeth.

“Look at me, Fortune. Do you think he’s going to go away without me?”

“No-hardly!”

“Well, then!”

The old man’s smooth face became sober and wise as he looked at her.

“That’s the hell of it— going in for it hard this way. It ain’t natural and proper for you and me, Molly. We’ve just gone along rubbing elbows with folks, the way boaters do, and seeing things, and learning things; and they’re so many they don’t matter. But when a man like Dan wakes up to what he wants it’s a hard thing. He’s got the whole of everything inside of him. He doesn’t move light enough to let them go out. That’s the hell of it, Molly. You’ll want to quit him.”

She laughed, throwing up her chin.

“Lord!” said the old man.

“Yeanh? You don’t know nothing, Fortune.”

“I know you, Molly. I’ve taught you a lot. I’ve taught you what I think. And now you’re busting right out against everything. But you’re built like me. There’s no profit doing things hard, Molly.”

“Go along with such talk.”

“You’re in for it now; you couldn’t get out if you tried. It’s bright all over you.”

“Why should I leave him?”

“I don’t know,” he said, feeling of his hands.

“He’s big and he’s strong, and sometimes he don’t seem only a baby to me; and then again he scares me, just setting there looking at the wall with them eyes of his.”

Fortune nodded his head.

“But he’s handsome!”

“Yes,” said Fortune. “He’s about as fine-looking as they come.”

She bent over and kissed him, and the loose strand of hair brushing along his cheek tickled him.

“Lord!”

“Fortune,” she said, seriously, “can’t you see I can’t leave him? I wouldn’t want to. Not him! Why I can’t get him out of my sight!”

“You mean you love him.”

“Yeanh. That’s why I couldn’t leave him. It wouldn’t be right!”

“Of course, you couldn’t,” he echoed her. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“That’s the hell of it,” he said to himself, as he heard Dan’s heavy tread on the deck above them.

A Mirror and a Pair of Shoes

“Are them the only shoes you’ve got?” Molly asked Fortune Friendly.

He was sitting facing the stove, his heels resting on the corner, his thin shanks sharply outlined through his trousers.

“They are. What’s the matter with them?”