When 'Bear Cat' Went Dry. Charles Buck

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СКАЧАТЬ inquired Henderson, and the boy's eyes blazed passionately with his thwarted lust for opportunity – then dimmed to wretchedness.

      "Like hit! Hell, Mr. Henderson, I'd lay my left hand down, without begrudgin' hit, an' cut hit off at ther wrist fer ther chanst ter do thet!"

      Henderson sketched for him briefly the histories of schools that had come to other sections of the hills; schools taught by inspired teachers, with their model farms, their saw-mills and even their hospitals: schools to which not only children but pupils whose hair had turned white came and eagerly learned their alphabets, and as much more as they sought.

      The boy raised a hand. "Fer God's sake don't narrate them things," he implored. "They sots me on fire. My grandsires hev been satisfied hyar fer centuries an' all my folks sees in me, fer dreamin' erbout things like thet, is lackin' of loyalty."

      Henderson found his interest so powerfully engaged that he talked on with an excess of enthusiasm.

      "But back of those grandsires were other grandsires, Turner. They were the strongest, the best and the most American of all America; those earlier ancestors of yours and mine. They dared to face the wilderness, and those that got across the mountains won the West."

      "Ours didn't git acrost though," countered the boy dryly. "Ours was them thet started out ter do big things an' failed."

      Henderson smiled. "A mule that went lame, a failure to strike one of the few possible passes, made all the difference between success and failure in that pilgrimage, but the blood of those empire-builders is our blood and what they are now, we shall be when we catch up. We've been marking time while they were marching, that's all."

      "Ye've done been off ter college yoreself, hain't ye, Mr. Henderson?"

      "Yes. Harvard."

      "Harvard? Seems ter me I've heered tell of hit. Air hit as good as Berea?"

      The visitor repressed his smile, but before he could answer Bear Cat pressed on:

      "Whilst ye're up hyar, I wonder ef hit'd be askin' too master much of ye ef – " the boy paused, gulped down his embarrassment and continued hastily – "ef ye could kinderly tell me a few books ter read?"

      "Gladly," agreed Henderson. "It's the young men like you who have the opportunity to make life up here worth living for the rest."

      After a moment Bear Cat suggested dubiously: "But amongst my folks I wouldn't git much thanks fer tryin'. Ther outside world stands fer interference – an' they won't suffer hit. They believes in holdin' with their kith an' kin."

      Again Henderson nodded, and this time the smile that danced in his eyes was irresistibly infectious. In a low voice he quoted:

      "The men of my own stock

      They may do ill or well,

      But they tell the lies I am wonted to,

      They are used to the lies I tell.

      We do not need interpreters

      When we go to buy and sell."

      Bear Cat Stacy stood looking off over the mountain sides. He filled his splendidly rounded chest with a deep draft of the morning air, – air as clean and sparkling as a fine wine, and into his veins stole an ardor like intoxication.

      In his eyes kindled again that light, which had made Henderson think of volcanoes lying quiet with immeasurable fires slumbering at their hearts.

      Last night the boy had fought out the hardest battle of his life, and to-day he was one who had passed a definite mile-post of progress. This morning, too, a seed had dropped and a new life influence was stirring. It would take storm and stress and seasons to bring it to fulfilment, perhaps. The poplar does not grow from seed to great tree in a day – but, this morning, the seed had begun to swell and quicken.

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