CHAPTER XIX

JERRY, ME PARDNER

It was late when Abner awoke the next morning. This was a most unusual thing for him, and he felt annoyed at himself as he hurriedly dressed and hastened downstairs. The house seemed to be deserted. He glanced at the clock, and was surprised to find that it was a quarter to nine. His breakfast was all ready on the table, but no one was to be seen. A copy of The Live Wire lying by his plate arrested his attention.

"Some class to this," he remarked, half aloud, as he unfolded the paper. "Jist like a hotel; breakfast waitin', an' the mornin' paper right at hand. Reg'lar Waldorf-Astoria style. Hello! what in time——!"

His eyes had caught sight of the big headlines, and he saw his own name prominently displayed along with Joe Preston's. It was a great write-up, and Abner read it through to the bitter end. It told of his savage attack upon the editor, how he looked and acted, and of his arrest and confinement in jail. Then followed a description of his life's history, which ended by saying that he had been looked upon as dangerous for some time. It was really believed by many that, owing to his peculiar actions, he was not altogether in his right mind. The incident of his offering one thousand dollars toward the Orphanage was mentioned, and how he did not have enough money to pay even five dollars, let alone the whole amount. Not a word was said in his favor. He was painted in the darkest colors, and it was suggested that he should either be placed in the Asylum as a lunatic, or in the Penitentiary as a most dangerous character.

A peculiar expression overspread Abner's face as he finished reading. He laid the paper aside and began his breakfast. When he was through, he filled his pipe and walked out of the house. The rain had ceased in the night, but the air was damp and heavy. It was a gloomy morning, and accorded perfectly with the state of his mind. He heard the voices of the children in the barn and knew that the girls were with them. It was the best place to play on a day such as this. He had no mind to join them, as he wished to be alone in order to think.

He stood for a few minutes near the woodshed, looking down upon the river, over which drifted a heavy mist. He longed to be out there in the Flying Scud, away from all land-lubbers. It was the life to which he was especially fitted. Picking up his axe, which was lying by the chopping-block, he threw it over his shoulder and walked rapidly toward the shore. There was considerable drift-wood to be gathered, and he generally spent wet days at this work. He needed something to do, and in wrestling with the roots, logs, and blocks he could give physical vent to his pent-up feelings.

His row-boat was pulled up on the beach, and his small canoe, used for muskrat and duck shooting, was lying bottom up among the bushes. He was tempted to launch the latter, cross to the island and spend the day there. Any place was preferable to remaining near home where he knew that ere long he must submit to a regular bombardment of questions. He wondered what had become of his wife. It was a most unusual thing for her to be absent from home at this time of the morning. He could see the house plainly from where he stood on the shore, and he occasionally turned and looked in that direction. Abner was well aware that he should go to town for Jerry, but he was in no mood for the long walk over the muddy roads. He would need the horse for haying as soon as the weather cleared.

"Confound it all!" he growled. "I don't want to see that town agin fer a long time. I'm sick of it. Why can't people leave me alone, anyway? They'll all read that piece in the paper, an' they'll think I'm the biggest villain on the face of the hull earth. I wonder how Zeb would act if he'd been rubbed the wrong way most of his life sich as I have. Peaceful ancestors, be blowed!"

In order to express his feelings he started to work, and every blow of the axe was not only upon log or block, but upon his enemies. This violent exercise did him a great deal of good, and he mentally compared the joy of being in the fresh air with the stuffy and unsavory jail.

After an hour of such work he felt in a better frame of mind. He had put all of his enemies to flight and was the victor. There was joy in the feeling, and his face wore a more benign expression when he at length paused, seated himself upon a log, and began to re-fill his pipe. He thus sat looking out over the water, thinking of his previous day's experiences, and of what Zeb had to say about his peaceful ancestors. At times he felt that his neighbor was right, but the spirits of his war-like ancestors had been with him for so long that he found it most difficult to rid himself of their influence.

"It's a darn hard thing to shake off old friends," he muttered. "It's 'specially hard when ye'r in sympathy with 'em, an' want to do jist as they did. They've stood by me fer many a year now, an' their words an' actions have allus jibed with mine. I wonder if me peaceful ancestors will see eye to eye with me. That's the pint Zeb didn't take into consideration. If I've got to trim me sails to their gentle actions I'm afraid I'll land in the lunatic asylum fer sure."

He was aroused from his meditation by a step behind him, and looking quickly around, he saw a man approaching but a few yards away. The presence of this stranger annoyed Abner. What right had anyone to creep upon him that way? he asked himself.

But the visitor was by no means daunted by Abner's surly expression. He came jauntily forward, and held out a big fat hand.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Andrews," he accosted. "Having a quiet time here all by yourself, I see. Beautiful spot, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Abner sullenly asked, as he viewed the man most carefully. He did not like his looks, and he believed him to be an agent, who wished to sell him apple-trees.

"It's the finest place I've seen in a long time," the man replied. "And look at that wood! I suppose you get your winter's supply here. You are fortunate. We in the city have to buy ours, while the Lord casts yours right at your door."

"You come from the city, eh?" Abner queried.

"Oh, yes. Have lived there all my life, though I do long to spend the rest of my days in the country, away from all bustle and confusion, and live the quiet life."

"To pile drift-wood and do sich jobs, I s'pose?"

"Yes, that would be a pleasure. Good for the appetite."

"Think ye'd make enough to eat on this place?" Abner asked.

"I'm sure I could. Why, all you farmers have to do is to go into the garden, for your supplies, and to the shore for your fuel, while we in the city have to pay for such things."

Abner felt like kicking this fellow and telling him in no uncertain language what a fool he was. But he thought of his peaceful ancestors and so changed his mind.

"Yes, ye'r quite right, Mister," he drawled. "We do have a great time here in the bush. Lots to eat in the summer time fer nuthin'. An' in the winter it's jist the same. We eat icicles fer breakfast, warmed-up snow fer dinner, an' fer supper we have a slice off one of them cedar blocks there. Ye see, them sticks have been floatin' so long in the river that they have a fishy smell, an' when a piece is fried in molasses, why, ye couldn't tell it from the finest lake trout. Did ye ever try one?"

"I certainly never did," the stranger smilingly replied. "It must be rather hard to digest, isn't it?"

"Oh, we don't use our digesters in the winter time. We lay 'em away in the cellar until spring. It's great how they work then, after a good long rest."

"I see you're quite a humorist, Mr. Andrews," and again the visitor smiled. "Life in the country is conducive to humor, I suppose?"

"Sure. It's the funniest place ye ever sot eyes on. It makes people roarin' funny all the time. Why, when we go to the city people jist stand and laff at us, an' the funny papers fill their pages with humor about the doin's of the bush. Everythin' is funny here. Even Abner Andrews is considered a humorous cuss, an' that's sayin' a good deal."

The visitor now realized that this quaint farmer was slyly poking fun at him, and he was anxious to change the subject.

"I've come to see you on an important matter, Mr. Andrews," he explained, "and as I am in a hurry, I shall come to business at once. I'm a real estate agent, with my office in the city, and I am anxious to make some enquiries about your farm. I have come in the interest of a man who is seeking for a suitable place to build a large summer hotel. Now, as you have such an excellent location here, I feel that this is just the right spot for the hotel. The view is excellent, the river is right near for boating and bathing, and from all accounts there are fine lakes and brooks back in the hills for trout fishing. Is not that so?"

"Ye'r sartinly right," Abner assented. "Ye couldn't find a nicer spot if ye hunted the hull province over."

"I'm very glad that you agree with me, Mr. Andrews," the visitor replied, somewhat surprised as he had been warned to beware of the farmer, as he was a most disagreeable man to deal with.

"Oh, I don't mind agreein' with sich things, Mister, 'specially so when they're correct."

"And you think it would be an excellent place for a summer hotel?"

"Sure, I do. Why, a man 'ud make his fortune in no time. It wouldn't cost him nuthin' to feed the people. They'd catch all the trout they could eat, an' when they didn't want fish they could jist set on the grass an' feed upon the beauties of Nature. It 'ud be cheap fer the people, too, 'cause they wouldn't have to bother with fine clothes. When they weren't fishin' they'd be in bathin', when they wouldn't need no clothes at all."

"Ha, ha, that certainly would be fine," the agent laughed. "Utopia, eh?"

"I'm not," Abner declared. "Don't ye say that agin."

"Say what?" the stranger asked in surprise.

"Ask me if I'm a toper. I never got real drunk in me life. I never took too much."

"You misunderstand me, Mr. Andrews," the agent explained, much amused. "I didn't say 'toper,' but 'Utopia,' which means a most delightful place, where people are all happy, and life is simple and free."

"Oh, that's what ye mean, is it? Well, fer heaven's sake, why didn't ye say so an' speak plain English instid of sich city jargon? I ain't got time to waste this mornin', if you have."

"Neither have I," the agent replied, looking at his watch. "My, I have to be in Glucom in half an hour! Look here, will you sell your place?"

"How are ye travellin'?" Abner asked.

"By auto. It's out there on the road."

"An' ye're goin' right straight to Glucom, eh?"

"Yes, as soon as I get through with this business. Will you sell, Mr. Andrews?"

For a few seconds Abner did not reply. He thought of his horse in town, an' then of his peaceful ancestors. If he could rub this man the right way, as Zeb suggested, it might save him that long walk.

"I am willing to make you a liberal offer," the agent continued. "But I must have an answer to-day, or I shall have to choose another locality and you would be the loser."

"I'm willin' to sell," Abner replied, as he slowly took the pipe from his mouth and studied it very carefully.

"That's good," the agent encouraged. "Now, what's your figure?"

"Figger! Well, I can't jist tell ye off-hand. I've got to consult me pardner."

"Your wife, eh?"

"No she's not me pardner; she's me boss. Me pardner's in town jist now. We work this place together ye see, so I couldn't give ye a price without consultin' Jerry."

"And Jerry's in town, is he?"

"Sure. An' I can't do nuthin' without consultin' him."

"Suppose, then, you come along with me, and we can see Jerry," the visitor suggested.

"Jist the thing, Mister," Abner agreed, rising to his feet and throwing the axe over his shoulder. "I'll be with ye in a jiffy."

Abner hurried up to the house, chuckling as he went, while the agent strolled slowly toward the road, viewing the farm as he walked. Abner found no one in the house, and this made him wonder. But he had no time to delay just then, so, donning his coat, he was standing waiting as the car stopped at the gate.

It did not take long to speed into Glucom. Abner compared this trip with the toilsome one he and Zeb had made the night before, and he decided that he would have a car of his own when he was able.

"Where shall we go?" the agent asked, as he swung the car into the main street.

"To the station," Abner replied.

And to the station they sped, and when Abner stepped out he went at once into the office. There he found Sam, who greeted him like a long-lost brother, and offered him a chair.

"Can't set down, Sam," Abner told him. "I want Jerry; where is he?"

"In Dingman's barn. He let me have the use of it for a few days. You'll find Jerry all right and in good condition."

Sam was much surprised at Abner's excited manner, and he watched him through the window as he spoke to the stranger in the car, and then hurried up the street.

"What in time is Abner up to now, I wonder. Surely he's not going to sell his horse."

It did not take Abner long to find Jerry, and when mounted upon the waggon, he drove proudly back to the station to the expectant agent.

"Look here," the agent impatiently demanded, "you have kept me a deuce of a long time. I'm in a hurry."

"I can't help that," Abner replied, as he reined Jerry up close to the station platform. "I didn't tell ye to wait, did I?"

"But you wanted me to wait till you had consulted with your partner, didn't you?"

"So I did. What was I thinkin' about?"

"And you've seen him?" was the eager question.

"Sure, sure; I've seen Jerry, all right."

"Is he willing to sell?"

"Ye bet ye'r boots he is. Jerry's willin', fer he's more tired of Ash Pint than of anythin' else. He needs more excitement than he kin find on a farm. He wants to be near the train so's he kin hear the en-gines holler. It allus puts new life into him."

"That's fine. I suppose you've agreed on the price?"

"Oh, yes, we agree, all right, we allus do. Never had a fallin' out yit."

"Now, how much do you want for the place, Mr. Andrews?"

"Well, let me see," and Abner scratched his head in a thoughtful manner. "Oh, I guess fifteen thousand'll do all right."

"Fifteen thousand!" the agent exclaimed. "Fifteen thousand for that wretched place of yours, which is as poor as Job's turkey, so I understand. You must be crazy, man. Your farm isn't worth more than seven hundred dollars, and how have you the gall to value it at fifteen thousand? You don't pay taxes on more than five hundred, do you?"

"Mebbe I don't, Mister. But ye see there are some things ye'r not taxed fer, an' them's the things which you an' others seem to think very valuable. There's the situation, which is the finest in the country, accordin' to ye'r own statement. That should be worth five thousand; the view, fresh air, an' the boatin' an' swimmin' privileges, another five, so that makes ten thousand. Then there's the gravel on the place, an' I guess it's nearly all gravel, an' that's worth a great deal fer ballast, so I understand. It alone should bring fifteen thousand, but Jerry an' me are quite willin' to let ye have the hull outfit fer that amount, an' throw in the situation, air, an' sich things fer nuthin'."

The agent was angry now, and it was with considerable effort that he controlled his temper. He knew that Abner was making fun of him, and this nettled him exceedingly. He was, in fact, beginning to doubt the farmer's sanity. He glanced at Jerry and then at the waggon. In his excitement he had not thought of their presence as unusual. Where had they come from, anyway?

"Is that your horse?" he abruptly asked.

"Guess so."

"But aren't you sure?"

"No, sir-ee, I'm not. Ye'r never sure of that hoss. He's got a mind of his own, he has, jist like any pardner should have."

"Partner!" and the agent's eyes bulged with a new light. "Do you mean to tell me that he's the partner you've been speakin' about?"

"Sure; I was tellin' ye no fib. A man might have a darn sight worse one, let me tell ye that."

"And he's Jerry?"

"Yep; that's what I call him."

This was too much for the agent. With a savage oath, he settled himself back in his seat, and started the engine.

"Don't ye want to buy our place?" Abner asked. "We're willin' to sell, ain't we, Jerry?"

"To h—l with your place," the agent snarled, as he started the car. "I wouldn't do business with a fool, and that's what you are."

"Thanks fer the compliment an' fer the ride to town," Abner replied. "If it hadn't been fer you I'd had to walk here after Jerry. Guess it pays to rub people the right way, after all, ha, ha."

He watched the agent as he sped away. His mouth was expanded into a grin, and his gray eyes twinkled.

"Peaceful ancestors!" he chuckled. "Whew! Guess Zeb was right after all. It sartinly does the work. That feller's been set on by Ikey Dimock as sure as I'm livin'. But Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint, wasn't caught nappin', not by a jugful, skiddy-me-shins if he was. Gid-dap, Jerry, me dear old pardner. We must git home an' face the music there."