"I said thar was a woman,"continued Bill;"thar allus is one!Let a man be hell-bent or heaven-bent,somewhere in his track is a woman's feet.I don't say anythin'agin this gal,ez a gal.The best of 'em,Jeff,is only guide-posts to p'int a fellow on his right road,and only a fool or a drunken man holds on to 'em or leans agin em.Allowin'this gal is all you think she is,how far is your guide-post goin'with ye,eh?Is she goin'to leave her father and mother for ye?Is she goin'to give up herself and her easy ways and her sicknesses for ye?Is she willin'to take ye for a perpetooal landlord the rest of her life?And if she is,Jeff,are ye the man to let her?Are ye willin'to run on her errants,to fetch her dinners ez ye do?Thar ez men ez does it;not yer in Californy,but over in the States thar's fellows is willing to take that situation.I've heard,"continued Bill,in a low,mysterious voice,as of one describing the habits of the Anthropophagi--"I've heard o'fellows ez call themselves men,sellin'of themselves to rich women in that way.I've heard o'rich gals buyin'of men for their shape;sometimes--but thet's in furrin'kintries--for their pedigree!I've heard o'fellows bein'in that business,and callin'themselves men instead o'hosses!Ye ain't that kind o'man,Jeff.'Tain't in yer blood.Yer father was a fool about women,and in course they ruined him,as they allus do the best men.It's on'y the fools and sneaks ez a woman ever makes anythin'out of.When ye hear of a man a woman hez made,ye hears of a nincompoop.And when they does produce 'em in the way o'nater,they ain't responsible for 'em,and sez they're the image o'their fathers!Ye ain't a man ez is goin'to trust yer fate to a woman!""No,"said Jeff darkly.
"I reckoned not,"said Bill,putting his hands in his pockets again."Ye might if ye was one o'them kind o'fellows as kem up from 'Frisco with her to Sacramento.One o'them kind o'fellows ez could sling poetry and French and Latin to her--one of HER kind--but ye ain't!No,sir!"
Unwise William of Yuba!In any other breast but Jeff's that random shot would have awakened the irregular auxiliary of love--jealousy!
But Jeff,being at once proud and humble,had neither vanity nor conceit,without which jealousy is impossible.Yet he winced a little,for he had feeling,and then said earnestly:
"Do you think that opening you spoke of would hold for a day or two longer?""I reckon."
"Well,then,I think I can settle up matters here my own way,and go with you,Bill."He had risen,and yet hesitatingly kept his hand on the back of his chair."Bill!""Jeff!"
"I want to ask you a question;speak up,and don't mind me,but say the truth."Our crafty Ulysses,believing that he was about to be entrapped,ensconced himself in his pockets,cocked one eye,and said:"Go on,Jeff.""Was my father VERY bad?"
Bill took his hands from his pockets."Thar isn't a man ez crawls above his grave ez is worthy to lie in the same ground with him!""Thank you,Bill.Good night;I'm going to turn in!""Look yar,boy!G-d d--n it all,Jeff!what do ye mean?"There were two tears--twin sisters of those in his sweetheart's eyes that afternoon--now standing in Jeff's!
Bill caught both his hands in his own.Had they been of the Latin race they would have,right honestly,taken each other in their arms,and perhaps kissed!Being Anglo-Saxons,they gripped each other's hands hard,and one,as above stated,swore!
When Jeff ascended to his room that night he went directly to his trunk and took out Miss Mayfield's slipper.Alack!during the day Aunt Sally had "put things to rights"in his room,and the trunk had been moved.This had somewhat disordered its contents,and Miss Mayfield's slipper contained a dozen shot from a broken Eley's cartridge,a few quinine pills,four postage stamps,part of a coral earring which Jeff--on the most apocryphal authority--fondly believed belonged to his mother,whom he had never seen,and a small silver school medal which Jeff had once received for "good conduct,"much to his own surprise,but which he still religiously kept as evidence of former conventional character.He colored a little,rubbed the medal and earring ruefully on his sleeve,replaced them in his trunk,and then hastily emptied the rest of the slipper's contents on the floor.This done,he drew off his boots,and,gliding noiselessly down the stair,hung the slipper on the knob of Miss Mayfield's door,and glided back again without detection.
Rolling himself in his blankets,he lay down on his bed.But not to sleep!Staringly wide awake,he at last felt the lulling of the wind that nightly shook his casement,and listened while the great,rambling,creaking,disjointed "Half-way House"slowly settled itself to repose.He thought of many things;of himself,of his past,of his future,but chiefly,I fear,of the pale proud face now sleeping contentedly in the chamber below him.He tossed with many plans and projects,more or less impracticable,and then began to doze.Whereat the moon,creeping in the window,laid a cold white arm across him,and eventually dried a few foolish tears upon his sleeping lashes.
