HE following morning Pole rose before daylight and rode to Darley. As he reached the place, the first rays of the sun were touching1 the slate-covered spire2 of the largest church in town.
He went to a public wagon3-yard and hitched4 his horse to one of the long racks. A mountain family he knew slightly had camped in the yard, sleeping in their canvas-covered wagon, and were making coffee over a little fire. Pole wanted a cup of the beverage6, but he passed on into a grocery-store across the street and bought a dime's worth of cheese and hard-tack crackers7. This was his breakfast. He washed it down with a dipper of water from the street well, and sat around the store chatting with the clerk, who was sprinkling the floor, and sweeping8 and dusting the long room. The clerk was a red-headed young man with a short, bristling9 mustache, and a suit of clothes that was too large for him.
"Don't Mr. Craig stay around Fincher's warehouse10 a good deal?" Pole asked, as the clerk rested for a moment on his broom near him.
"Mighty11 nigh all day long," was the reply; "him an' Fincher's some kin5, I think."
"On his wife's side," said Pole. "I want to see Mr. Craig. I wonder ef he 'll be down thar this mornin'."
"Purty apt," said the clerk. "Fincher's his best friend sence his bu'st-up, an' they are mighty thick. I reckon he gits the cold-shoulder at a lots o' places."
"You don't say!"
"An' of course he wants somewhar to go besides home. In passing I've seed 'im a-figurin' several times at Fincher's desk. They say he's got some notion o' workin' fer Fincher as his bookkeeper."
"Well, he 'll have to make a livin' some way," said Pole.
The clerk laughed significantly.
"Ef it ain't already made," said he, with a smile. Pole stood up. "I don't think that's right," he said, coldly. "Me nur you, nur nobody, hain't got no right to hint at what we don't know nothin' about. Mr. Craig may 'a' lost ever' cent he had."
"In a pig's valise!" sneered12 the red-headed man. "I'd bet my hat he's got money—an' plenty of it, huh!"
"Well, I don't know nothin' about it," said Pole, still coldly. "An' what's more, Dunn, I ain't a-goin' about smirchin' any helpless man's character, nuther. Ef I knowed he had made by the bu'st I'd talk different, but I don't know it!"
"Oh, I see which side you are on, Baker13," laughed the clerk. "Folks are about equally divided. Half is fer 'im an' half agin. But mark my words, Craig will slide out o' this town some day, an' be heerd of after a while a-gittin' started agin some'r's else. That racket has been worked to death all over the country."
Pole carried the discussion no further. Half an hour passed. Customers were coming in from the wagon-yard and examining the wares14 on the counters and making slow purchases. The proprietor15 came in and let the clerk go to breakfast. Pole stood in the doorway16, looking up the street in the direction of Craig's residence. Presently he saw the ex-banker coming from the post-office, reading his mail. Pole stepped back into the store and let him go by; then he went to the door again and saw Craig go into Fincher's warehouse at the end of the next block of straggling, wooden buildings. Pole sauntered down the sidewalk in that direction, passing the front door of the warehouse without looking in. The door at the side of the house had a long platform before it, and on it Fincher, the proprietor, was weighing bales of hay which were being unloaded from several wagons17 by the countrymen who were disposing of it.
"Hello, Mr. Fincher," Pole greeted him, familiarly. "Want any help unloadin'?"
"Hello, Baker," said Fincher, looking up from the blank-book in which he was recording18 the weights. "No, I reckon they can handle it all right." Fincher was a short, fat man, very bald, and with a round, laughing face. He had known Pole a long time and considered him a most amusing character. "How do you come on, Pole?"
"Oh, about as common. I jest thought them fellers looked sorter light-weight."
The men on the wagon laughed as they thumped19 a bale of hay on to the platform. "You'd better dry up," one of them said. "We 'll git the mayor to put you to work agin."
"Well, he 'll have to be quicker about it than he was the last time," said Pole, dryly.
Some one laughed lustily from behind a tall stack of wheat in bags in the warehouse. It was Lawyer Trabue. He came round and picked up Fincher's daily paper, as he did every morning, and sat down and began to read it.
"Now you are talkin'," he said. "Thar was more rest in that job, Pole, than any you ever undertook. They tell me you didn't crack a rock."
Fincher laughed as he closed his book and struck Baker with it playfully. "Pole was too tired to do that job," he said. "He was born that way."
"Say, Mr. Trabue," retaliated20 Pole, "did you ever heer how I got the best o' Mr. Fincher in a chicken trade?"
"I don't think I ever did, Pole," laughed the lawyer, expectantly. "How was it?"
"Oh, come off, don't go over that again," said Fincher, flushing.
"It was this away," said Pole, with a broad, wholesome21 grin. "My cousin, Bart Wilks, was runnin' the restaurant under the car-shed about two yeer ago. He was a new hand at the business, an' one day he had a awful rush. He got a telegram that a trainload o' passengers had missed connection at Chattanooga an' would have to eat with him. He was powerful rattled22, runnin' round like a dog after its tail. He knowed he'd have to have a lot o' fryin' chickens, an' he couldn't leave the restaurant, so he axed me ef I'd take the money an' go out in town an' buy 'em fer 'im. I consented, an' struck Mr. Fincher, who was sellin' sech truck then. He 'lowed, you know, that I jest wanted one, or two at the outside, fer my own use, so when I seed a fine coop out in front an' axed the price of 'em he kinder drawed on his beerd till his mouth fell open, an' studied how he could make the most out o' me. After a while he said: 'Well, Pole, I 'll make 'em ten cents apiece ef I pick 'em, an' fifteen ef you pick 'em.' I sorter skeerd the chickens around an' seed thar was two or three tiny ones hidin' under the big ones, an' I seed what he was up to, but I was ready fer 'im. 'All right,' ses I, 'you pick 'em.' Thar was two or three loafers standin' round an' they all laughed at me when Mr. Fincher got down over the coop an' finally ketched one about the size of a robin23 an' hauled it out. 'Keep on a-pickin',' ses I, an' he made a grab fer one a little bigger an' handed it up to me. Then he stuck his hands down in his pockets, doin' his best to keep from laughin'. The gang yelled then, but I wasn't done. 'Keep on a-pickin',' ses I. An' he got down agin. An', sir, I got that coop at about four cents apiece less 'n he'd paid fer 'em. He tried to back, but the gang wouldn't let 'im. It was the cheapest lot o' chickens I ever seed. I turned the little ones out to fatten24, an' made Wilks pay me the market-price all round fer the bunch."
"I 'll be bound you made some 'n' out of it," said Trabue. "Fincher, did you ever heer how that scamp tuck in every merchant on this street about two yeer ago?"
"Never heerd anything except his owin' 'em all," said Fincher, with a laugh.
"I could put 'im in the penitentiary25 fer it," affirmed the lawyer. "You know about that time thar was a powerful rivalry26 goin' on among the storekeepers. They was movin' heaven an' earth to sell the'r big stocks. Well, one of the spryest in the lot, Joe Gaylord, noticed that Pole was powerful popular with mountain-folks, an' he made 'im a proposition, bindin' 'im down to secrecy27. He proposed to give Pole ten per cent, commission on all the goods he'd he'p sell by bringin' customers in the store. Pole hesitated, beca'se, he said, they might find it out, an' Joe finally agreed that all Pole would have to do was to fetch 'em in, give the wink28, an' him an' his clerks would do the rest. It worked mighty slick fer a while, but Pole noticed that very often the folks he'd fetch in wouldn't be pleased with the goods an' prices an' ud go trade some'r's else. Then what do you think the scamp did? He went to every store in town an' made a secret contract to git ten per cent, on all sales, an' he had the softest snap you ever heerd of. He'd simply hang onto a gang from the country, whether he knowed 'em or not, an' foller 'em around till they bought; then he'd walk up an' rake in his part."
"I got left once," said Pole, laughing with the others. "One gang that I stuck to all day went over to Melton an' bought."
"Well, the merchants caught on after a while an' stopped him," said Trabue; "but he made good money while he was at it. They'd 'a' sent 'im up fer it, ef it hadn't been sech a good joke on 'em."
"I don't know about that," replied Pole, thoughtfully. "I was doin' all I agreed, an' ef they could afford to pay ten per cent, to anybody, they mought as well 'a' paid it to me. I drawed trade to the whole town. The cigars an' whiskey I give away amounted to a lots. I've set up many a night tellin' them moss-backs tales to make 'em laugh."
"Well, ef you ever git into any trouble let me know," said Trabue, as he rose to go. "I 'll defend you at half price; you'd be a sight o' help to a lawyer. I 'll be hanged if I ever seed a better case 'an you made out in the mayor's court, an' you hadn't a thing to back it up with, nuther."
The hay was unloaded and the wagons driven away. Fincher stood eying Pole with admiration29. "It's a fact," he said. "You could 'a' made some 'n' out o' yorese'f, if you'd 'a' been educated, an' had a showin'." Pole jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Craig, who was standing30 in the front door, looking out into the street. "Everybody don't git a fair showin' in this world, Mr. Fincher," he said. "That man Craig hain't been treated right."
The jovial31 expression died out of the merchant's face, and he leaned against the door-jamb.
"You are right thar," he said—"dead right. He's been mighty unlucky and bad treated."
Pole grasped the brim of his massive hat, and drew it from his shaggy head. "It makes me so all-fired mad sometimes, Mr. Fincher, to heer folks a-runnin' that man down, that I want to fight. I ain't no religious man myse'f, but I respect one, an' I've always put him down in my book as a good man."
"So 've I," said the merchant, and he looked towards the subject of their conversation and called out: "Craig, oh, Craig, come back heer a minute."
Pole put on his hat and stared at the ground. He made a gesture as if of protest, but refrained from speaking.
"What's wanted?" Craig came down to them. He was smoking a cigar and wore a comfortable look, as if he had been fighting a hard but successful fight and now heard only random32 shots from a fleeing enemy.
"You ain't a candidate fer office," laughed Fincher, "but nearly all men like to know they've got friends. This chap heer's been standin' up fer you. He says it makes him mad to hear folks talk agin you."
"Oh, it's Baker!" exclaimed the ex-banker, shaking hands with Pole and beaming on him. "Well, I don't know a man I'd rather have for a friend," he said, smoothly33.
Pole tossed his head, and looked straight into the speaker's eye. "I'm fer human justice, Mr. Craig," he said. "An' I don't think folks has treated you right. What man is thar that don't now an' then make mistakes, sir? You've always had means, an' I never was anything but a pore mountain-boy, but I've always looked on you as a good man, a law-abidin' man, an' I don't like to heer folks try to blame you fer what another man done. When you had plenty, I never come nigh you, beca'se I knowed you belonged to one life an' me another, but now you are flat o' yore back, sir, I'm yore friend."
Craig's face beamed; he pulled his beard; his eyes danced.
"I'm glad there are men in the world like you, Baker," he said. "I say I'm glad, and I mean it."
Fincher had begun to look over the figures in his book, and walked to the front.
"Oh, my friendship ain't wuth nothin'," said Pole. "I know that. I never was in the shape to he'p nobody, but I know when a man' s treated right or wrong."
"Well, if you ever need assistance, and I can help you, don't fail to call on me," Craig spoke34 with a tone of sincerity35.
Pole took a deep breath and lowered his voice, glancing cautiously into the house, as if fearful of being overheard.
"Well, I do need advice, Mr. Craig," he said. "Not money, nor nothin' expensive, but I've laid awake night after night wishing 'at I could run on some man of experience that I could ax fer advice, an' that I could trust. Mr. Craig, I 'll be blamed ef I don't feel like tellin' you some 'n' that never has passed my lips."
Craig stared in interested astonishment36. "Well, you can trust me, Baker," he said; "and if I can advise you, why, I 'll do it with pleasure."
There was a cotton compress near by, with its vast sheds and platforms, and Pole looked at it steadily37. He thrust his hand into his pants pocket and kept it there for a full minute. Then he shook his head, drew out his hand, and said: "I reckon I won't bother you to-day, Mr. Craig. Some day I 'll come in town an' tell you, but—" Pole looked at the sun. "I reckon I'd better be goin'."
"Hold on," Craig caught Pole's arm. The exbanker was a natural man. Despite his recent troubles, he had his share of curiosity, and Pole's manner and words had roused it to unwonted activity. "Hold on," he said. "What's your hurry? I've got time to spare if you have."
Pole hung his head for a moment in silence, then he looked the old man in the face. "Mr. Craig," he began, in even a lower voice, "do you reckon thar's any gold in them mountains?" Pole nodded to the blue wave in the east.
Craig was standing near a bale of cotton and he sat down on it, first parting the tails of his long, black coat.
"I don't know; there might be," he said, deeply interested, and yet trying to appear indifferent. "There is plenty of it in the same range further down about Dalonega."
Pole had his hand in the right pocket of his rough jean trousers.
"Is thar anybody in this town that could tell a piece o' gold ef they seed it?" he asked.
"Oh, a good many, I reckon," said Craig, a steely beam of excitement in his unsteady eye. "I can, myself. I spent two years in the gold-mines of California when I was a young man."
"You don't say! I never knowed that." Pole had really heard of that fact, but his face was straight. He had managed to throw into it a most wonderful blending of fear and over-cautiousness.
"Oh yes; I've had a good deal of experience in such things."
"You don't say!" Pole was looking towards the compress again.
Craig laughed out suddenly, and put his hand on Pole's shoulder with a friendly, downward stroke.
"You can trust me, Baker," he said, persuasively39, "and it may be that I could be of assistance to you."
There was something like an actual tremor40 of agitation41 in Pole's rough hand as he drew his little nugget from its resting-place at the bottom of his pocket. With a deep, indrawn breath, he handed it to Craig. "Is that thar little lump gold or not?" he asked.
Craig started visibly as his eyes fell on the piece of gold. But he took it indifferently, and examined it closely.
"Where did you run across that?" he asked.
"I want to know ef it's the puore thing," answered Pole.
Craig made another examination, obviously to decide on the method he would apply to a situation that claimed all his interest.
"I think it is," he said; "in fact, I know it is."
Pole took it eagerly, thrust it back into his pocket, and said:
"Mr. Craig, I know whar thar's a vein42 o' that stuff twenty yards thick, runnin' clean through a mountain."
"You do!" Craig actually paled under his suppressed excitement.
"Yes, sir; an' I kin buy it, lock, stock, and barrel, fer five hundred dollars—the feller that owns it ud jump at it like a duck on a June-bug. That's my secret, Mr. Craig. I hain't one dollar to my name, but from this day on I'm goin' to work hard an' save my money till I own that property. I'm a-goin' down to Atlanta next week, whar people don't know me, an' have a lump of it bigger 'n this examined, an' ef it's gold I 'll own the land sooner or later."
Craig glanced to the rear.
"Come back here," he said. Opening a door at the end of the warehouse, he led Pole into a more retired43 spot, where they would be free from possible interruption. Then, in a most persuasive38 voice, he continued: "Baker, you need a man of experience with you in this. Besides, if there is as much of—of that stuff as you say there is, you wouldn't be able to use all you could make out of it. Now, it might take you a long time to get up the money to buy the land, and there is no telling what might happen in the mean time. I'm in a close place, but I could raise five hundred dollars, or even a thousand. My friends still stick to me, you know. The truth is, Baker, I'd like the best in the world to be able to make money to pay back what some of my friends have lost through me."
Pole hung his head. He seemed to be speaking half to himself and on the verge44 of a smile when he replied: "I'd like to see you pay back some of 'em too, Mr. Craig."
Craig laid his hand gently on Pole's shoulder.
"How about lettin' me see the place, Baker?" he said.
Pole hesitated, and then he met the ex-banker's look with the expression of a man who has resigned himself to a generous impulse.
"Well, some day when you are a-passin' my way, stop in, an' I 'll—"
"How far is it?" broke in Craig, pulling his beard with unsteady fingers.
"A good fifteen miles from heer," said Pole.
Craig smiled. "Nothin' but an easy ride," he declared. "I've got a horse doin' nothing in the stable. What's to hinder us from going to-day—this morning—as soon as I can go by for my horse?"
"I don't keer," said Pole, resignedly. "But could you manage to go without anybody knowin' whar you was bound fer?"
"Easy enough," Craig laughed. He was really pleased with Pole's extreme cautiousness.
"Then you mought meet me out thar some'r's."
"A good idea—a good idea, Baker."
"Do you know whar the Ducktown road crosses Holly45 Creek46, at the foot o' Old Pine Mountain?"
"As well as I know where my house is."
Pole looked at the sun, shading his eyes with his hand.
"Could you be thar by eleven o'clock?"
"Easy enough, Baker."
"Well, I 'll meet you—I'm a-goin' to trust you, Mr. Craig, an' when you see the vein, ef you think thar's enough money in it fer two—but we can see about that later."
"All right, Baker. I 'll be there. But say," as Pole was moving away, "you are a drinking man, and get a little off sometimes. You haven't said anything about this where anybody—"
Pole laughed reassuringly47. "I never have been drunk enough to do that, Mr. Craig, an', what's more, I never will be."
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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retaliated
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| v.报复，反击( retaliate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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robin
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fatten
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| v.使肥，变肥 | |
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penitentiary
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rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
参考例句： |
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