Out of a Labyrinth. Lynch Lawrence L.

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "And so she air," retorted Jim with much solemnity. "Don't you go ter presoomin', Mr. Ireland. That are Miss Manvers, as lives in the house that's just a notch bigger'n Kurnel Brookhouse's; and her father was Captain Manvers, as went down in the good ship Amy Audrey, and left his darter that big house, and a bigger fortune dug out 'en a treasure-ship on the coast uv – "

      "Stop a bit, long legs," interposed Carnes, or Barney, as we had better call him, "was it a threasure-ship yee's wur hatchin' when it tuck yee's so long to shun out yer little sthory?"

      "Well, then, Erin, tell your own stories, that's all. If yer wan't ter kick over one uv the institooshuns uv Trafton, why, wade in."

      But Carnes only shook his head, and lying at full length upon the ground feigning great pain, groaned at intervals:

      "Oh! h! h! threasure-ship!"

      "But, Long," I interposed, "does this young lady, this Miss Manvers, sanction the story of a treasure from the deep, or is it only a flying rumor?"

      "It's flyin' enough," retorted Jim, soberly. "It's in everybody's mouth; that is, everybody as has an appetite for flyin' rumors. And I never knew of the lady contradictin' it, nuther. The facks is jest these, boss. There's Miss Manvers, and there's the big house, and the blooded horses, an' all the other fine things that I couldn't begin to interduce by their right names. They're facks, as anybody can see. There seems to be plenty o' money backin' the big house an' other big fixins, an' I ain't agoin' to be oudacious enough ter say there ain't a big treasure-ship backin' up the whole business. Now, I ain't never seen 'em, an' I ain't never seen anyone as has, not bein' much of a society man; but folks say as Miss Manvers has got the most wonderfullest things dug out o' that ship; old coins, heaps of 'em; jewels an' aunteeks, as they call 'em, that don't hardly ever see daylight. One thing's certain: old Manvers come here most six years ago; he dressed, looked, and talked like a sailor; he bought the big house, fitted it up, an' left his daughter in it. Then he went away and got drowned. They say he made his fortune at sea, and it's pretty sartin that he brought some wonderful things home from the briny. Mebbe you had better go up to the Hill, that's Miss Manvers' place, and interduce yourself, and ask for the family history, Mr. 'Exile of Erin,'" concluded Jim, with a grin intended to be sarcastic, as he seated himself on a half decayed stump, and prepared to fill his pipe.

      "Bedad, an' so I will, Long Jim," cried Barney, springing up with alacrity. "An' thank ye kindly for mintionin' it. When will I find the leddy at home, then?"

      Partly to avert the tournament which I saw was about to break out afresh between the two, and partly through interest in the fair owner of the treasure-ship spoils, I interposed once more.

      "Miss Manvers must be a fair target for fortune-hunters, Long; are there any such in Trafton?"

      "Wall, now, that's what some folks says, tho' I ain't goin' ter lay myself liable ter an action fer slander. There's lovers enough; it ain't easy tellin' jest what they air after. There's young Mr. Brookhouse; now, his pa's rich enough; he ain't no call to go fortin huntin'. There's a lawyer from G – , too, and a young 'Piscopal parson; then there's our new young doctor. I ain't hearn anyone say anythin' about him; but I've seen 'em together, and I makebold ter say that he's anuther on 'em. Seen the young doctor, ain't ye?" turning to me suddenly with the last question.

      "Yes," I replied, carelessly; "he dines at the hotel."

      "Just so, and keeps his own lodgin' house in that little smit on a cottage across the creek on the Brookhouse farm road."

      "Oh, does he?"

      "Yes. Queer place for a doctor, some think, but bless you, it's as central as any, when you come ter look. Trafton ain't got any heart, like most towns; you can't tell where the middle of it is. It's as crookid as – its reputation."

      Not desiring to appear over anxious concerning the reputation of Trafton, I continued my queries about the doctor.

      "He's new to Trafton, I think you said?"

      "Yes, bran new; too new. We don't like new things, we don't; have to learn 'em afore we like 'em. We don't like the new doctor like we orter."

      "We, Long? Don't you like Dr. Bethel?"

      "Well, speakin' as an individual, I like him fust rate. I wuz speakin' as a good citizen, ye see; kind o' identifyin' myself with the common pulse," with an oratorical flourish.

      "Oh, I do see," I responded, laughingly.

      "Yis, we see!" broke in Barney, who had bridled his tongue all too long for his own comfort. "He's runnin' fur office, is Jim; he's afther wantin' to be alderman."

      "Ireland," retorted Long, in a tone of lofty admonition, "we're talkin' sense, wot nobody expects ye to understand. Hold yer gab, won't yer?"

      Thus admonished, Barney relapsed into silence, and Jim, who was now fairly launched, resumed:

      "Firstly," said he, "the doctor's a leetle too good lookin', don't you think so?"

      "Why, he is handsome, certainly, but it's in a massive way; he is not effeminate enough to be too handsome."

      "That's it," replied Long, disparagingly; "he ain't our style. Our style is curled locks, cunnin' little moustachys, little hands and feet, and slim waists. Our style is more ruffles to the square fut of shirt front, and more chains and rings than this interlopin' doctor wears."

      "Our sthyle! Och, murther, hear him!" groaned Carnes, in a stage aside.

      "His manners ain't our style, nuther," went on Long, lugubriously. "We always has a bow and a smile fur all, rich an poor alike, exceptin' now and then a no count person what there's no need uv wastin' politeness on. He goes along head up, independenter nor Fouth o' July. He don't make no distincshun between folks an' folks, like a man orter. I've seen him bow jist the same bow to old Granny Sanders, as lives down at the poor farm, and to Parson Radcliffe, our biggest preachin' gun. Now, that's no way fer a man ter do as wants ter live happy in Trafton; it ain't our way."

      A mighty groan from Barney.

      "He's got a practice, though," went on Jim, utterly ignoring the apparent misery of his would-be tormentor. "Somehow he manages to cure folks as some of our old doctors can't. I reckon a change o' physic's good fer folks, same's a change o' diet – "

      "Or a clane shirt," broke in Carnes, with an insinuating glance in the direction of Jim's rather dingy linen.

      "Eggsackly," retorted Long, turning back his cuffs with great care and glancing menacingly at his enemy – "er a thrashin'."

      "Gentlemen," I interposed, "let us have peace. And tell me, Jim, where may we find your model Traftonite, your hero of the curls, moustaches, dainty hands, and discriminating politeness? I have not seen him."

      "Whar?" retorted Long, in an aggrieved tone, "look here, boss, you don't think I ever mean anythin' personal by my remarks? I'd sworn it were all that way when you come ter notice. The average Traftonite's the sleekest, pertiest chap on earth. We wuz born so."

      Some more demonstrations in pantomime from Carnes, and silence fell upon us. I knew from the way Long smoked at his pipe and glowered at Carnes that nothing more in the way of information need be expected from him. He had said enough, or too much, or something he had not intended to say; he looked dissatisfied, and soon we separated, Long repairing to his farm, and Carnes and I to our hotel, all in search of dinner.

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