Part 8 (1/2)

”That's exactly what you must do, and write like a horse trotting.

I've left two columns open, and I want you to spread yourself.”

”Something important?” Lyman asked, sitting down.

”Now, what do you want to talk that way for? It's a world beater.”

”What do you mean?”

”The marriage, don't you understand? Make two columns out of it and I'll get fifty subscribers before night. Hurry up, I've got a tramp printer waiting for the copy.”

”Nonsense,” said Lyman, lighting a cigar. ”You wouldn't expect a man to write up his own marriage, any more than you would his own funeral.”

”If his funeral was as extraordinary as this marriage I would. Finest piece of news I ever heard of. Never heard of anything to beat it; and we'll make the hair rise up in this community like bristles on a dog.

Go ahead with it. The tramp's waiting and I am paying him time.”

”Sit down,” said Lyman. Warren did so reluctantly. Lyman put his hand on the young man's shoulder. ”My dear boy,” said he, ”don't you know it would be very indelicate, not to say vulgar, for us to print a sensational account of that marriage? For a day it might be a news victory, but afterwards it would be a humiliating defeat. To tell you the truth, I am about ready to confess my regret that it happened.” He was silent for a moment, as if to take note of Warren's hard breathing. ”And if McElwin had come to me more as a man and less like a mad bull I would have agreed to sign the divorce pet.i.tion. But I don't like to be driven. I am sorry to disappoint you; it is hard to throw cold water on your warm enthusiasm, but I won't write a word about the marriage.”

Tears gathered in Warren's eyes. ”This life's not worth living,” he said. ”Nothing but disappointment all the time. No hope; everything dead.”

”But you shouldn't hang a hope on a poisonous weed, my boy.”

”No matter where I hang one, it falls to the dust. But say, you are not going to sign that paper, are you?”

”Not at present. I am man enough to be stubborn.”

”Good!” Warren cried, his wonted enthusiasm beginning to rise. ”Don't sign it at all. You've got him on the hip, and you can throw him where you please. I've been waiting two years to get even with him. He stopped his paper because I printed a communication from a farmer denouncing money sharks. All right,” he said, getting up, ”we can make the paper go anyway. I'll put that tramp on another job.”

He went out with a rush and the high spirits of glorious and thoughtless youth. Lyman went to the window and gazed over at the bank. The place looked cool and dignified, the province of a bank when other places of business have been forced to an early opening. Lyman smiled at the reflection that there was no c.r.a.pe on the door, as if he had half expected to find it there. ”He couldn't let me have a hundred dollars when I offered to give him a mortgage on the library,” he mused. ”Said he couldn't, but he was willing enough to offer the money in exchange for another sort of mortgage. I suppose he thinks it strange that I was not bought upon the instant.”

”Well,” said Warren, entering the room, ”I paid the tramp thirty cents for his time and he has gone away happier than if he had been put to work. What are you doing? Looking at dad's temple? Fine prospect.”

”Yes, for dad.”

”But don't you let him browbeat you out of your rights.”

”I won't. The son-in-law has rights which the father-in-law ought to respect. What sort of a fellow is Zeb Sawyer?”

”Good deal of a bully,” Warren answered, standing beside Lyman and looking through the window as if to keep company with the survey of the bank. ”He managed by industry and close attention to shoot a man, I understand, and that gave him a kind of pull with society, although the fellow didn't die. He's a hustler and makes money, and of course has a firm grip on McElwin's heart. There are worse fellows, although he didn't renew his subscription when the time ran out.”

While they were looking the porter opened the door of the bank.

”They are going to transact business just the same,” said Lyman.

”Yes, they've got to pull teeth, no matter what has happened. Do you know that there are lots of fellows around town that would like to come up here and congratulate you, but they are afraid of McElwin.”

”I wonder Caruthers hasn't come,” said Lyman.

”No you don't. You've got no use for him and have told him so. h.e.l.loa, yonder comes McElwin and Sawyer. They are crossing the street. By George, I believe they are coming here.”