The Quality of Mercy. Howells William Dean

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СКАЧАТЬ called from it, "Mr. Hilary! I couldn't wait at home; and I've just been at the depot by the lower road. You have a dispatch?"

      "Yes, I have a telegram."

      "Oh, give it to me!"

      He withheld it a moment. "I don't know what it is, Miss Northwick. But if isn't what you expected, will you let – will you allow me – "

      As if she did not know what she was doing, she caught the dispatch from his hand, and tore it open. "Well," she said, "I knew it. He hasn't been there; now I shall go to Wellwater." She crumpled the telegram nervously in her hand, and made a motion to lift the reins.

      Matt put his hand on her wrist. "You couldn't. You – you must let me go."

      "You?"

      "Me. I can get into Boston in time for that half-past-seven train, and I can do all the things when I get to Wellwater that you couldn't do. Come; be reasonable! You must see that what I propose is best. I solemnly promise you that nothing shall be left undone, or omitted or forgotten, that could set your mind at rest. Whatever you would wish done, I will do. Go home; your sister needs you; you need yourself; if you have a trial to meet greater than this suspense, which you've borne with such courage, you want all your strength for it. I beg you to trust me to do this for you. I know that it seems recreant to let another go in your place on such an errand, but it really isn't so. You ought to know that I wouldn't offer to go if I were not sure that I could do all that you could do, and more. Come! Let me go for you!"

      He poured out his reasons vehemently, and she sat like one without strength to answer. When he stopped, she still waited before she answered simply, almost dryly, "Well," and she gave no other sign of assent in words. But she turned over the hand, on which he was keeping his, and clutched his hand hard; the tears, the first she had shed that day, gushed into her eyes. She lifted the reins and drove away, and he stood in the road gazing after her, till her sleigh vanished over the rise of ground to the southward.

      XIII

      The pale light in which Matt Hilary watched the sleigh out of sight thickened into early winter dusk before his train came and he got off to Boston. In the meantime the electrics came out like sudden moons, and shed a lunar ray over the region round about the station, where a young man, who was in the habit of describing himself in print as "one of The Boston Events' young men," found his way into an eating-house not far from the track. It had a simple, domestic effect inside, and the young man gave a sigh of comfort in the pleasant warmth and light. There was a woman there who had a very conversable air, a sort of eventual sociability, as the young man realized when she looked up from twitching the white, clean cloths perfectly straight on the little tables set in rows on either side of the room.

      She finally reached the table where the young man had taken a chair for his overcoat and hat, and was about taking another for himself.

      "Well," he said, "let's see. No use asking if you've got coffee?" He inhaled the odor of it coming from the open door of another room, with a deep breath.

      "Baked beans?"

      "Yes."

      "Well, I don't think there's anything much better than baked beans. Do you?"

      "Well, not when you git 'em good," the woman admitted. "Ril good."

      "And what's the matter with a piece of mince pie?"

      "I don't see's there's any great deal. Hot?"

      "Every time."

      "I thought so," said the woman. "We have it both ways, but I'd as soon eat a piece of I don't know what as a piece o' cold mince pie."

      "We have mince pie right along at our house," said the young man. "But I guess if I was to eat a piece of it cold, my wife would have the doctor round inside of five minutes."

      The woman laughed as if for joy in the hot mince-pie fellowship established between herself and the young man. "Well, I guess she need to. Nothin' else you want?" She brought the beans and coffee, with a hot plate, and a Japanese paper napkin, and she said, as she arranged them on the table before the young man, "Your pie's warmin' for you; I got you some rolls; they're just right out the oven; and here's some the best butter I ever put a knife to, if I do say so. It's just as good and sweet as butter can be, if it didn't come from the Northwick place at a dollar a pound."

      "Well, now, I should have thought you'd have used the Northwick butter," said the young man with friendly irony.

      "You know the Northwick butter?" said the woman, charmed at the discovery of another tie.

      "Well, my wife likes it for cooking," said the young man. "We have a fancy brand for the table."

      The woman laughed out her delight in his pleasantry. "Land! I'll bet you grumble at it, too!" she said, with a precipitate advance in intimacy which he did not disallow.

      "Well, I'm pretty particular," said the young man. "But I have to be, to find anything to find fault with in the way my wife manages. I don't suppose I shall be able to get much more Northwick butter, now."

      "Why not?"

      "Why, if he was killed in that accident – "

      "Oh, I guess there ain't anything to that," said the woman. "I guess it was some other Northwick. Their coachman – Elbridge Newton – was tellin' my husband that Mr. Northwick had stopped over at Springfield to look at some hosses there. He's always buyin' more hosses. I guess he must have as much as eighty or ninety hosses now. I don't place any dependence on that report."

      "That so?" said the young man. "Why, what did that fellow mean, over at the drug store, just now, by his getting out for Canada?"

      "What fellow?"

      "Little slim chap, with a big black moustache, and blue eyes, blue and blazing, as you may say."

      "Oh, – Mr. Putney! That's just one of his jokes. He's always down on Mr. Northwick."

      "Then I suppose he's just gone up to Ponkwasset about the trouble there."

      "Labor trouble?"

      "I guess so."

      The woman called toward an open door at the end of the room, "William!" and a man in his shirt sleeves showed himself. "You heard of any labor trouble to Mr. Northwick's mills?"

      "No, I don't believe there is any," said the man. He came forward inquiringly to the table where his wife was standing by the Events' young man.

      "Well, I'm sorry," said the young man, "but it shows that I haven't lost so much in missing Mr. Northwick, after all. I came up here from Boston to interview him for our paper about the labor troubles."

      "I want to know!" said the hostess. "You an editor?"

      "Well, I'm a reporter – same thing," the young man answered. "Perhaps you've got some troubles of your own here in your shops?"

      "No," said the host, "I guess everybody's pretty well satisfied here in Hatboro'." He was tempted to talk by the air of confidence which the Events' young man somehow diffused about him, but his native Yankee caution prevailed, and he did not take the lead offered him.

      "Well," said the young man, "I noticed one of your citizens over at the drug store that seemed to be pretty happy."

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