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No wonder, he said to himself that the stage driver called it the Jack-o-Lantern! Thats exactly what it is! Why didnt he paint it yellow and be done with it? The old devil! The last disrespectful allusion, of course, being meant for Uncle Ebeneezer.
Poor Dorothy, he thought again. Ill burn the whole thing, and she shall put every blamed crib into the purifying flames. Its mine, and I can do what I please with it. Well go away to-morrow, well go
Where could they go, with less than four hundred dollars? Especially when one hundred of it was promised for a typewriter? Harlan had parted with his managing editor on terms of great dignity, announcing that he had forsworn journalism and would hereafter devote himself to literature. The editor had remarked, somewhat cynically, that it was a better day for journalism than for literature, the fine, inner meaning of the retort not having been fully evident to Harlan until he was some three squares away from the office.
Much chastened in spirit, and fully ready to accept his wifes estimate of him, he went on downhill into Judson Centre.
It was the usual small town, the post-office, grocery, meat market, and general loafing-place being combined under one roof. Near by was the blacksmith shop, and across from it was the inevitable saloon. Far up in the hills was the Judson Centre Sanitarium, a worthy institution of some years standing, where every human ailment from tuberculosis to fits was more or less successfully treated.
Upon the inmates of the sanitarium the inhabitants of Judson Centre lived, both materially and mentally. Few of them had ever been nearer
to it than the back door, but tales of dark doings were widely prevalent throughout the community, and mothers were wont to frighten their young offspring into obedience with threats of the san-tor-i-yum.
Now what do you reckon ails him ? asked the blacksmith of the stage-driver, as Harlan went into the village store.
Wouldnt reckon nothin ailed him to look at him, would you? queried the driver, in reply.
Indeed, no one looking at Mr. Carr would have suspected him of an ailment. He was tall and broad-shouldered and well set up, with clear grey eyes and a rosy, smooth-shaven, boyish face which had given him the nickname of The Cherub all along Newspaper Row. In his bearing there was a suggestion of boundless energy, which needed only proper direction to accomplish wonders.
You cant never tell, continued the driver, shifting his quid. Now, Ive took folks up there goin on ten year now, an some Ive took up looked considerable more healthy than I be when I took em up. Comin back, howsumever, it was different. One young feller rode up with me in the rain one night, a-singin an a-whistlin to beat the band, an when I took him back, a month or so arterward, he had a striped nurse on one side of him an a doctor on t other, an was wearin a shawl. Couldnt hardly set up, but he was a-tryin to joke just the same. Hank, says he, when we got a little way off from the place, my book of life has been edited by the librarians an the entire appendix removed. Thems his very words. An, says he, the time to have the appendix took out is before it does much of anythin to your table of contents.
The doctor shut him up then, an I didnt hear no more, but I remembered the language, an arterwards, when I got a chanst, I looked in the school-teachers dictionary. It said as how the appendix was sunthin appended or added to, but I couldnt get no more about it. Ive hearn tell of a devil child with a tail to it what was travellin with the circus one year, an Ive surmised as how mebbe a tail had begun to grow on this young feller an it was took off.
You dont say! ejaculated the blacksmith.
By reason of his professional connection with the sanitarium, Mr. Henry Blake was, in a sense, the oracle of Judson Centre, and he enjoyed his proud distinction to the full. Ordinarily, he was taciturn, but the present hour found him in a conversational mood.
Hes married, he went on, returning to the original subject. I took him an his wife up to the Jack-o-Lantern last night. Come in on the nine forty-seven from the Junction. Reckon theyre goin to stay a spell, cause theyve got trunks one of a reasonable size, an nother that looks like a dog-house. Box, too, thats got lead in it.
Books, maybe, suggested the blacksmith, with unexpected discernment. Schoolteacher boarded to our house wunst an she had most a car-load of em. Educated folks has to have books to keep from losin their education.
Dont take much stock in it myself, remarked the driver. It spiles most folks. As soon as they get some, they begin to pine an hanker for more. I knowed a feller wunst that begun with one book dropped on the road near the sanitarium, an he never stopped till he was plum through college. An a woman up there sent my darter a book wunst, an I took it right back to her. My darters got a book, says I, an she aint a-needin of no duplicates. Keep it, says I, fer somebody that aint got no book.