David turned and looked at John for an instant, with a twinkle in his eye. The younger man returned the look and smiled slightly. David laughed outright.
“I guess you’ve seen folks before,” he remarked.
“I have never met anyone exactly like Mr. Timson, I think,” said our friend with a slight laugh.
“Fortunitly them kind is rare,” observed Mr. Harum dryly, rising and going to his desk, from a drawer of which he produced a couple of cigars, one of which he proffered to John, who, for the first time in his life, during the next half hour regretted that he was a smoker. David sat for two or three minutes puffing diligently, and then took the weed out of his mouth and looked contemplatively at it.
“How do you like that cigar?” he inquired.
“It burns very nicely,” said the victim. Mr. Harum emitted a cough which was like a chuckle, or a chuckle which was like a cough, and relapsed into silence again. Presently he turned his head, looked curiously at the young man for a moment, and then turned his glance again to the fire.
“I’ve ben wonderin’ some,” he said, “pertic’lerly since I see you, how ’twas ’t you wanted to come up here to Homeville. Gen’l Wolsey gin his warrant, an’ so I reckon you hadn’t ben gettin’ into no scrape nor nothin’,” and again he looked sharply at the young man at his side.
“Did the general say nothing of my affairs?” the latter asked.
“No,” replied David, “all ’t he said was in a gen’ral way that he’d knowed you an’ your folks a good while, an’ he thought you’d be jest the feller I was lookin’ fer. Mebbe he reckoned that if you wanted your story told, you’d ruther tell it yourself.”
XIV
Whatever might have been John’s repugnance to making a confidant of the man whom he had known but for half an hour, he acknowledged to himself that the other’s curiosity was not only natural but proper. He could not but know that in appearance and manner he was in marked contrast with those whom the man had so far seen. He divined the fact that his coming from a great city to settle down in a village town would furnish matter for surprise and conjecture, and felt that it would be to his advantage with the man who was to be his employer that he should be perfectly and obviously frank upon all matters of his own which might be properly mentioned. He had an instinctive feeling that Harum combined acuteness and suspiciousness to a very large degree, and he had also a feeling that the old man’s confidence, once gained, would not be easily shaken. So he told his hearer so much of his history as he thought pertinent, and David listened without interruption or comment, save an occasional “E-um’m.”
“And here I am,” John remarked in conclusion.
“Here you be, fer a fact,” said David. “Wa’al, the’s worse places ’n Homeville—after you git used to it,” he added in qualification. “I ben back here a matter o’ thirteen or fourteen year now, an’ am gettin’ to feel my way ’round putty well; but not havin’ ben in these parts fer putty nigh thirty year, I found it ruther lonesome to start with, an’ I guess if it hadn’t ’a’ ben fer Polly I wouldn’t ’a’ stood it. But up to the time I come back she hadn’t never ben ten mile away f’m here in her hull life, an’ I couldn’t budge her. But then,” he remarked, “while Homeville aint a metrop’lis, it’s some a diff’rent place f’m what it used to be—in some ways. Polly’s my sister,” he added by way of explanation.
“Well,” said John, with rather a rueful laugh, “if it has taken you all that time to get used to it the outlook for me is not very encouraging, I’m afraid.”
“Wa’al,” remarked Mr. Harum, “I’m apt to speak in par’bles sometimes. I guess you’ll git along after a spell, though it mayn’t set fust rate on your stomech till you git used to the diet. Say,” he said after a moment, “if you’d had a couple o’ thousan’ more, do you think you’d ’a’ stuck to the law bus’nis?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied John, “but I am inclined to think not. General Wolsey told me that if I were very anxious to go on with it he would help me, but after what I told him he advised me to write to you.”
“He did, did he?”
“Yes,” said John, “and after what I had gone through I was not altogether sorry to come away.”
“Wa’al,” said Mr. Harum thoughtfully, “if I was to lose what little I’ve got, an’ had to give up livin’ in the way I was used to, an’ couldn’t even keep a hoss, I c’n allow ’t I might be willin’ fer a change of scene to make a fresh start in. Yes, sir, I guess I would. Wa’al,” looking at his watch, “I’ve got to go now, an’ I’ll see ye later, mebbe. You feel like takin’ holt today?”
“Oh, yes,” said John with alacrity.
“All right,” said Mr. Harum. “You tell Timson what you want, an’ make him show you everythin’. He understands, an’ I’ve paid him for’t. He’s agreed to stay any time in reason ’t you want him, but I guess,” he added with a laugh, “ ’t you c’n pump him dry ’n a day or two. It haint rained wisdom an’ knowlidge in his part o’ the country fer a consid’able spell.”
David stood for a moment drawing on his gloves, and then, looking at John with his characteristic chuckle, continued:
“Allowed he’d ben drawin’ the hull load, did he? Wa’al, sir, the truth on’t is ’t he never come to a hill yet, ’f ’t wa’n’t more ’n a foot high, but what I had to git out an’ push; nor never struck a turn in the road but what I had
