Chapter XXI: A Poke Party

Friedrich was sitting at his solitary breakfast. He had grown expert in the daily preparation of bacon, eggs, cornbread, and coffee; but that is a poor feast which is denied the sauce of companionship, and he dallied with his spoon, while he stared gloomily through the open door. The jaded green of the late September foliage harmonized with his mood of depression.

He went to Oakwood now only so often as courteous attention to his sister-in-law--poor little girl!--seemed to demand. Sydney avoided him; and John, who still lingered, although the Schuylers had gone north long before, gave him the black looks of a jealous rival. Hilda, though never assuming before him the part of betrothed which every one assigned to her, nevertheless made him feel the bond by which he had engaged himself,--a net as fine as silk and as strong as steel; an enmeshment of chivalry and sympathy and love for his good word.

He made his new business the excuse for his infrequent visits. It was no subterfuge, for even in the short period of two months the "McRae Cattle" were earning encomiums, from those who knew stock, for their good condition and the flavor of their beef. Both on the Baron's place and at Cotswold long shelter-sheds were being erected for winter protection; and at Cotswold, whose larger size warranted the establishment of a more extensive plant, the firm had put in a small stationary engine to cut the feed, and was building a silo for the preservation of the winter supplies. A dehorning machine, which caused a moment of present torture for the sake of months of future peace, served an additional purpose as an advertisement. Farmers came from far back in the mountains to see the inhuman weapon, and incidentally brought along a calf or two to sell as an excuse for their waste of time. Their denunciations sent more of the curious, who were not deterred by motives of tenderness from submitting their creatures to the operation, provided they received a good price.

When Hilda had discovered her brother-in-law's straitened circumstances she had offered to him a part of her income, deploring his evident poverty with real distress of voice and manner.

"I don't understand why it is so,--you are not extravagant, like Max,--but I can see the fact plainly enough, and I beg you to take it, dear Friedrich."

Friedrich kissed her hand in gratitude, but refused, explaining that he had enough capital for the undertaking of his business venture, and that his personal wants were of the simplest.

"But your house, Friedrich. It is not fitting that a von Rittenheim should live in a cabin like that."

"Man makes the house, Hilda, and I don't feel that my dignity is hurt. I am comfortable, and that is all that is necessary."

He happened to think of this conversation as he drank the last of his coffee, and he realized that Hilda's offer was another of the tiny threads that linked him to her. He thought how true it was now that, so long as he could make his living out of his new business, he cared nothing for the roof that sheltered him; while on that golden night of happiness when Sydney and he had watched the river flow under the bridge, he had been glad of his new prosperity because he could build for _her_ a house such as she should fancy.

He did not allow himself to think often of Sydney. He was glad that he had had the strength to refrain from asking her to be his wife until he had something more substantial than his name to offer her. It relieved somewhat the present situation. Yet her avoidance of him he could construe only as contempt for a man who had played with her while bound by other ties. Sometimes he felt that he must explain to her how intangible were those bonds. Yet he was sufficiently conscious of their actual existence to feel that the difficulties of explanation were almost insurmountable. And Hilda, poor child, took his devotion entirely for granted.

His thoughts were leading him in a circle, and it was a relief when Melissa appeared in the doorway. He sprang up to welcome her.

"Come in, Mrs. Yare-brough. How do you do?"

"Ah'm well, thank ye. How are you?" returned Melissa, in the polite formula of her kind.

"Won't you have a cup of coffee?"

"No, Ah thank you. How's Mrs. Baron?"

"Mrs. Baron? Oh! She was very well the last time I was at Oakwood. She asks fr-requently for you and the baby."

"Mrs. Baron's so sweet! Ah never 'lowed to like anybody's much's Miss Sydney, but Mrs. Baron's jus' splendid."

With a woman's care-taking instinct, she began to gather together the dishes on the table and prepare them for washing.

"No, let me," she said, in response to von Rittenheim's objection. "Jus' while Ah'm talkin'. Ah stopped by to tell ye that Ah'm goin' to have a party to-night, an' Ah'd be proud to have you-all come to hit."

Her interest in him was so evident, and her desire to give him pleasure so real, that Friedrich responded, heartily,--

"Certainly, I shall go. It will give me delight. It is kind of you to ask me."

Melissa turned away, and rattled the knives and forks in gratified embarrassment.

"Hit's goin' to be to mother's 'cos her house is larger. You know where hit is?"

"Yes, indeed. Is it a dance?"

"Hit's a poke party, but there'll be dancin', too."

"A poke party! What is that?"

"Don't you-all know what a poke party is?"

"Poke? That is what I do with my finger at the baby."

Melissa laughed aloud.

"You wait 'n see, then. Ah reckon hit'll be a surprise party fo' you as well as a poke party."

It was clear that Melissa had imparted to her friends the Baron's guess as to the probable nature of a poke party, for he was greeted with broad smiles as he made his way through the crowd of men and boys about Mrs. Lance's door into the room where dancing was going on. Melissa came to him and proposed a seat beside Mrs. 'Gene Frady until the cotillon should be ended, but von Rittenheim preferred to go about the room as dexterously as he might in avoidance of the dancers, speaking to his acquaintances among the women and girls who lined its walls. There was space upon the floor for only two sets, and the lookers-on gossiped patiently, until such time as Alf Lance, the fiddler, should grow weary and let fall his bow.

"They's fo' blue waistes here to-night. Ollie Warson looks mahty sweet in her's."

"Do you think so? Hit seems like she favored her paw too much."

"Well, Bill Warson 'lows that if they's any good looks in the family, they come from him."

"Maw, you-all got a hairpin? Give hit to me next time I turn co'ners."

"Look at Evvie Williams! She always gets a seat nex' the window, so's she c'n talk to some feller out o' hit."

"Ah did, too, when Ah was that age."

"Yes, Ah remember you did. Ah don' guess Hamp Pinner's goin' to dance with Ollie tonight."

"Yes, he is. He jus' ast her in through the window."

"Sh, sh, sh. Will you hush yo' fuss!"

"Ah'm well, thank ye, Mr. Baron. How are you?"

"Look at Drusilla Pinner cross her feet, an' her a church-member, too!"

"Ah been lookin'. She's awful careless about her dancin'."

"This child'll have to go to bed in the other room. He's yellin' jus' tur'ble."

"Ah 'low M'lissy 'll make some money out o' this. They's right smart here."

Von Rittenheim made his rounds and joined the group of men at the door. They received him pleasantly, for he was a favorite among them. Indeed, since his misfortune in the spring he had noticed an added warmth in their attitude, and a certain intimacy of approach. As he talked to them the music stopped abruptly, and with its last note he found himself alone, for the youths about him had precipitated themselves into the room to secure their partners for the next cotillon. The enterprising Hamp came in through the window, by which port of entry the orchestra departed in search of the reviving pail on the back porch.

Melissa came timidly to von Rittenheim.

"Won't you-all dance this nex' one, Mr. Baron? Ah'll get ye a partner."

"I fear I should make too many mistakes. I do not understand well enough English to know quickly what says the director."

"Oh, yo' partner 'll tell ye all that."

"Then, if you will be that partner, will I try."

"Oh, no. Hit looks like Ah'd been askin' you."

"But no, Mrs. Yare-brough, for I would not tr-rust myself to the care of anybody whom I knew less well."

"Truly? Then we'll stand here?" And Friedrich, looking at her beaming face, did not regret the effort.

The other participants in the cotillon gained no praise from the spectators, for every eye was upon their unexpected guest. They applauded his successes and smiled encouragingly upon his mistakes. They admired his good looks in pleased undertones, and secretly urged Alf to prolong the dance and their pleasure until it seemed to Friedrich that he had been on the floor for hours.

When at last the music stopped, Bud's voice was heard calling, loudly,--

"Come in yere, boys, 'n get yo' pokes."

The girls found seats for themselves, while the men crowded into the other room.

"Hit's supper," said Melissa, giving Friedrich a little shove towards the door. "You'll see now."

"May I have the honor of bringing yours to you?"

"No, Ah thank ye, Mr. Baron. Ah always eats mine with Bud. But you-all go in an' get some, an' you'll fin' somebody to eat hit with when ye come back."

In the other room the men crowded before a table upon which were piled paper bags of different sizes. Each man was taking two, one for himself and one for his partner.

"This size poke is ten cents," insisted Bud, in the uproar, "'n this size is fifteen. They's good things in 'em all. The quality's the same, hit's the quantity makes the difference. Yes, they's devil ham san'wich. Ah know they is, 'cos Ah cut mah finger openin' a can fo' M'lissy this mo'nin'. Yes, they's cake, too. You, Hamp, that size is fifteen!"

As Friedrich approached, a laugh went up at the expense of 'Gene Frady, who had taken a bag of each size.

"Watch out which one 'Gene gives his wife," cried Bud, sarcastically.

The babies on the bed, four of them, were aroused by the noise, and joined their voices thereto. Three older children, who were sleeping rosily under the covers, slumbered on peacefully.

"One poke, or two, Mr. Baron? Ah'm proud to see you-all here," said Bud.

"A poke is a bag, eh? Give me two pokes, if you please, Bud. Yes, the large ones."

Returning to the dancing-room, he made his way to Mrs. Lance, Melissa's mother, who was sitting near the window. She was flattered into silence by the attention of the offered poke, and they ate the contents of their bags with solemnity.

A figure moving in the dim light outside attracted Friedrich's attention. He put his head out of the window. The man came directly beneath, and looked up.

"Ah, Pink, I thought that was you. I want to see you at some time."

"Ah'll watch out fo' ye when you-all's unhitchin' yo' mule."

"Very well. I'm going in a few minutes. You do not come in?"

"No. Hit's M'lissy's party, 'n she 'n me ain' friends."

"Here, take this, then."

Friedrich dropped his partly filled poke into the ready, uplifted hand.

"I had my supper very late to-night," he explained to Mrs. Lance, "and a man outside a party looks so forlorn, don't you think so?"

"Some of 'em deserves hit," returned Mrs. Lance, laconically. "He's one."

Von Rittenheim was fumbling with the halter-strap of his mule, when Pressley appeared beside him out of the shadow of a pine-tree.

"Is that you, Pr-ressley? Do you r-ride or walk?"

"Ah'm walkin'."

"Then will I not mount."

Friedrich slipped the reins over the mule's head, and led him out on to the highway. Pressley walked beside him. The stars shone brightly enough to make visible the open road.

"Are you-all goin' to ask me about the rent, Mr. Baron? Bud 'n me's been pullin' fodder fo' a week. Hit's all ready in the upper field, 'n you c'n take yo' choice any time. They's good bundles, fo' han's to the bundle."

"Thank you. No, it was not of that I was going to speak. I want to tell you that about six weeks ago--it was in August--I was up on Buzzard Mountain one night, and I fell asleep there."

Pink looked at him suspiciously in the darkness, and put a piece of the road between them.

"I fell asleep on a ledge of r-rock, and when I woke up I heard voices just under me."

"The hell ye did!"

"It was you and Bud."

"Well, what ye goin' to do about hit? Hit ain' befittin' you to squeal on us."

Von Rittenheim turned hot in the darkness, and made an impulsive motion that induced a corresponding disturbance in his companion.

"If I had thought of doing that I should not have spoken to you to-night."

Pressley nodded, and came across the intervening space.

"You-all wan' to come into the game, eh?"

"No, I do not want to join you, if that is what you mean."

"Well, what do ye want, anyway?"

"I wees' to say a few things to you. I do not ask you to stop moonshining. You are old enough to decide for yourself what kind of life you pr-refer to lead, though you know well that the life of a law-br-reaker is not the r-right sort."

"Oh, quit preachin', Mr. Baron. You-all's a law-breaker, yo'self."

Friedrich clutched the reins with a jerk that made the mule give a disgusted snort. The justice of the retort compelled him to self-control, as well as the knowledge that a giving way to rage would accomplish nothing, whereas coolness might do something.

"You know as well as I do the penalty of br-reaking the law. You've suffered it more than once, they tell me."

"Ah reckon Ah've cost 'em right smart mo'n they ever got out o' me," chuckled Pink.

"So I do not ask you to face the r-results of what you do, because you know well what they are, and you have made your choice. But I do ask you to think carefully before you undertake the r-responsibility of making Bud a criminal."

Pink's eyes shone cruelly in the darkness, but he only said, "Seems like you-all been a long time startin' on this yere work o' reform. You said hit was six weeks ago you heard us a-talkin'."

"Perhaps I have been wrong to delay. But that morning Bud seemed not sure and determined about joining you, and I hoped that he might make up his mind to refr-rain."

"How do you know he ain'?"

"Oh, by the grape-vine telegraph. Those things always are known. Also have I heard the men at the party to-night talking about it."

"Bud ain' no boy. Don' you think he's old enough to decide fo' himself fo' or ag'in' the life of a law-breaker, as you call hit."

"No, I do not. Bud is several years younger than you in r-real age, and he is a child beside you in deter-rmination. Also, he admires you."

"Ah'm grateful for the compliment!"

"You could do anything with him."

"Ah'm doin' what Ah wan' to with him."

Von Rittenheim looked at his opponent in disgust, and fell back upon his last argument.

"You know well what are the chances of your getting caught. You've been caught before."

"Yes, but Ah won' be this time. Hit was fellers that was mad with me who told on me befo', 'n Ah've fixed hit this time so Ah ain' got no enemies. They's only one feller that might inform."

"Who's that?"

"You."

The Baron flung up his head in quick scorn, and Pressley noted the gesture shrewdly, and nodded in satisfaction. Still he drove in another nail.

"A feller who'll listen will tell."

Friedrich colored angrily.

"You mean me? It does not sound well to hear--that! At first when I awoke on the mountain I was sleepy. I r-realized not what it meant. When I did know, I had no wees' to die at once. I was unarmed myself, and a man in your position would shoot deter-rmined to kill."

Pressley smiled at this tribute to his quickness and resolve.

"But it is not a question of me. What I was going to say was that you know there's a chance of your being arrested, and surely you would not care to feel that it was through you that Bud had br-rought that shame and disgr-race upon his wife."

"His wife?"

The ejaculation sounded to von Rittenheim like the hiss of a snake, and he drew away from Pressley as from a reptile.

"You have no r-relatives to suffer; alone you bear the bur-rden of your misdeeds. But if Bud goes wr-rong consider of the gr-rief of that poor Melissa, and think of the baby gr-rowing up to know that her father is a cr-riminal!"

"You-all think you got a mahty strong argyment there, Mr. Baron, don' you? But let me tell you, that's the weakest one you could bring. M'lissy Lance told me 'No' when she was a girl, an' M'lissy Yarebrough's never spoke a decent word to me since she's been married, 'n 'f unhappiness comes on her, Ah'll be glad of hit; 'n 'f hit comes through mah doin', hit's only what Ah'm aimin' at."

"'Aimin' at?' What mean you by that?"

"Ah mean Ah'll be gladder still 'f she's hurt through me."

"Know you not that it is a coward who takes pleasure in the pain of women and children?"

"So be," returned Pink, cheerfully. "A coward Ah am, then, fo' that's the way Ah feel."

"I warn you I shall speak to Bud."

"Talk yo' hatful, Ah don' care. Ah got a pull on him. Talk all you please so long's ye don' talk to the marshal."

"An' Ah ain' afraid o' yo' doin' that," he continued to himself, as he turned into the side road that led to his cabin. "You-all's had enough o' them folkses; an' you ain' that kind, either."