Part 1 (2/2)

”Ye're right, Hiram--I did. In the first place, then, they're sayin'

ye're the laziest fella in Bear Valley.”

Hiram laughed mirthlessly. ”There's nothin' new in that, Uncle Sebastian. They've said the same since paw died. I reckon I am, maybe.”

”Hiram,” patiently persisted the old man, ”I didn't walk 'way up here to listen to such talk. I tell ye, ye're playin' insincere, Hiram.

Down in yer heart ye know as well as anythin' it makes ye hot to be talked about an' called th' laziest man in Bear Valley. I'd druther see ye hoppin' mad ner takin' it that a way.

”Now, Hiram, listen to me: I've known ye sence ye was knee-high to a duck, ain't I? Yer paw an' me was thicker ner mola.s.ses. Yer paw would 'a' made a brilliant man, Hiram, if he'd 'a' had th' chanct. You've inherited yer paw's brains.

”When ye was a kid ye was a little devil, I'll admit. Still, givin'

myself credit fer a set o' brains a leetle above th' average o' Bear Valley, I made allowances. Ye was mean because yer head was full o'

ideas; an' in Bear Valley they's so blamed little to use them ideas on that ye jest naturally had to turn to meanness. Ye wasn't really bad; ye was jest alive. All yer life ye been hankerin' fer sumpin that Bear Valley couldn't give, but ye didn't even know what 'twas ye was hankerin' fer. How could ye? A man's gotta taste olives before he c'n tell if he likes 'em, ain't he? Yer paw taught ye to read.” Uncle Sebastian glanced once more, half pityingly, half resentfully, at the backless magazines. ”Readin's put notions into yer head an' set ye to hankerin'.

”Then as ye grew up th' Valley folks begun to shun ye, didn't they?” he continued. ”They called ye queer. Then when yer paw died they dropped ye altogether. It hurt ye, an' ye jest drew aloof an' went to shakes.

”D'ye know, Hiram, sometimes I find myself not blamin' ye like I oughta. They called ye no good before ye really was so, an'

practically driv ye to it. Then ye was too proud to brace up an' give 'em th' satisfaction o' thinkin' their treatment o' ye had made ye turn over a new leaf. If they'd gone on treatin' ye decent ye'd likely come out all right o' yer own hook. Hiram, pride's put a heap o' men in th'

penitentiary. Pride's stubborn, Hiram. But layin' aside th' root o'

th' trouble, an' lookin' at th' matter through _their_ eyes, it's really a shame th' way yer paw's place has gone to ruin--th' way you've gone th' same route. I'd druther see ye plumb bad ern so all-fired no-good all round. Ye had jobs a number o' times drivin' eight an' ten on jerkline, freightin' tanbark from Longport. Ye're a good jerkline skinner, Hiram--no better in the country--but ye won't stick no more'n a month or two outa each year.

”But I'm makin' allowances fer ye--I always have--I'm th' only one that ever has. I been watchin' an' waitin' fer ye to right yerself an' get at sumpin; but this mornin', down to th' store, it come over me that ye'll never do it in Bear Valley.

”Consequently, Hiram,” Uncle Sebastian resumed, ”ye've gotta move.”

Hiram glanced at him with wide-opened eyes. ”Move! Where to?”

”Out into th' world, Hiram, to strike yer gait. Ye gotta hit th' hard places an' git experience. Ye gotta taste olives to see if ye c'n stummick 'em. Ye'll get an awful batterin'-up, I reckon, but ye'll likely learn if they's anything in ye. At first ye'll probably go to th' bad an' get a heap worse ern ye was in Bear Valley. That's neither here ner there. Th' point is, if they's a gait in ye ye'll eventually strike it. If not--well, then, what's th' difference? I'm goin' to pay up fer ye down to th' store an' give ye enough to land ye in Frisco. Then th' good Lord an' what He put into that head o' yers must look after ye. I'm gonta foreclose on ye, Hiram.”

Hiram was not looking at Uncle Sebastian, but the old man saw his slight start and the red creep down his columnar neck as the last sentence came out. One great toe protruded from the upper of one of Hiram's shoes. Uncle Sebastian saw it twitching.

”You're foreclosin' on me?” The words came slowly and with a hollow gulp.

Uncle Sebastian's lips went straight and hard. ”Unless ye'll deed th'

place to me, Hiram.”

Another pause, while the low wind whined in the treetops and Ripley Creek went gurgling and sucking through the latticed trunks in the pile of drift.

”What did you tell me when I gave the mortgage, Uncle Sebastian?”

The reproach in Hiram's voice did not move the arbiter. ”I know what I told ye, Hiram. I told ye, ye needn't worry--that I wouldn't foreclose--that I wasn't speculatin' when I lent th' money on th'

place. Jest th' same, Hiram, I'm foreclosin' on ye.”

Uncle Sebastian eyed the young man keenly. The first shock past, Hiram seemed now to be turning the matter over with just deliberation.

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