Jehoshaphat started. Alarm-a sudden vision of his children-quieted his indignation. "But, Mister Wull, sir," he pleaded, "I got t" have it.
I-why-I just _got_ t" have it!"
The trader was unmoved.
"Eighteen!" cried Jehoshaphat, flushing. "Mercy o" G.o.d! I says "tisn"t right."
"Tis the price."
""Tisn"t right!"
Wull"s eyes were how flashing. His lips were drawn thin over his teeth.
His brows had fallen again. From the ambush they made he glared at Jehoshaphat.
"I say," said he, in a pa.s.sionless voice, "that the price o" flour at Satan"s Trap is this day eighteen."
Jehoshaphat was in woful perplexity.
"Eighteen," snapped Wull. "Hear me?"
They looked into each other"s eyes. Outside the storm raged, a clean, frank pa.s.sion; for nature is a fair and honest foe. In the little office at the back of John Wull"s shop the withered body of the trader shook with vicious anger. Jehoshaphat"s round, brown, simple face was gloriously flushed; his head was thrown back, his shoulders were squared, his eyes were sure and fearless.
""Tis robbery!" he burst out.
Wull"s wrath exploded. "You bay-noddy!" he began; "you pig of a punt-fisherman; you penniless, ragged fool; you man without a copper; you sore-handed idiot! What you whinin" about? What right _you_ got t"
yelp in my office?"
Of habit Jehoshaphat quailed.
"If you don"t want my flour," roared Wull, fetching the counter a thwack with his white fist, "leave it be! "Tis mine, isn"t it? I _paid_ for it.
I _got_ it. There"s a law in this land, you pauper, that _says_ so.
There"s a law. Hear me? There"s a law, Mine, mine!" he cried, in a frenzy, lifting his lean arms. "What I got is mine. I"ll eat it," he fumed, "or I"ll feed my pigs with it, or I"ll spill it for the fishes.
They isn"t no law t" make me sell t" _you_. An" you"ll pay what I"m askin", or you"ll starve."
"You wouldn"t do that, sir," Jehoshaphat gently protested. "Oh no-_no_!
Ah, now, you wouldn"t do that. You wouldn"t throw it t" the fishes, would you? Not flour! "Twould be a sinful waste."
"Tis my right."
"Ay," Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat argued, with a little smile, ""tis yours, I"ll admit; but we been sort o" dependin" on you t" lay in enough t" get us through the winter."
WUll"s response was instant and angry. "Get you out o" my shop," said he, "an" come back with a civil tongue!"
"I"ll go, Mister Wull," said Jehoshaphat, quietly, picking at a thread in his faded cap. "I"ll go. Ay, I"ll go. But-I got t" have the flour.
I-I-just _got_ to. But I won"t pay," he concluded, "no eighteen dollars a barrel."
The trader laughed.
"For," said Jehoshaphat, ""tisn"t right."
Jehoshaphat went home without the flour, complaining of the injustice.
Jehoshaphat Rudd would have no laughter in the house, no weeping, no questions, no noise of play. For two days he sat brooding by the kitchen fire. His past of toil and unfailing recompense, the tranquil routine of life, was strangely like a dream, far off, half forgot. As a reality it had vanished. Hitherto there had been no future; there was now no past, no ground for expectation. He must, at least, take time to think, have courage to judge, the will to retaliate. It was more important, more needful, to sit in thought, with idle hands, than to mend the rent in his herring seine. He was mystified and deeply troubled.
Sometimes by day Jehoshaphat strode to the window and looked out over the harbor ice to the point of sh.o.r.e where stood the storehouse and shop and red dwelling of old John Wull. By night he drew close to the fire, and there sat with his face in his hands; nor would he go to bed, nor would he speak, nor would he move.
In the night of the third day the children awoke and cried for food.
Jehoshaphat rose from his chair, and stood shaking, with breath suspended, hands clinched, eyes wide. He heard their mother rise and go crooning from cot to cot. Presently the noise was hushed: sobs turned to whimpers, and whimpers to plaintive whispers, and these complaints to silence. The house was still; but Jehoshaphat seemed all the while to hear the children crying in the little rooms above, He began to pace the floor, back and forth, back and forth, now slow, now in a fury, now with listless tread. And because his children had cried for food in the night the heart of Jehoshaphat Rudd was changed. From the pa.s.sion of those hours, at dawn, he emerged serene, and went to bed.
At noon of that day Jehoshaphat Rudd was in the little office at the back of the shop. John Wull was alone, perched on a high stool at the desk, a pen in hand, a huge book open before him.
"I"m come, sir," said Jehoshaphat, "for the barrel o" flour."
The trader gave him no attention.
"I"m come, sir," Jehoshaphat repeated, his voice rising a little, "for the flour."
The trader dipped his pen in ink.
"I says, sir," said Jehoshaphat, laying a hand with some pa.s.sion upon the counter, "that I"m come for that there barrel o" flour."
"An" I s"pose," the trader softly inquired, eying the page of his ledger more closely, "that you thinks you"ll get it, eh?"
"Ay, sir."
Wull dipped his pen and scratched away.
"Mister Wull!"
The trader turned a leaf.
"Mister Wull," Jehoshaphat cried, angrily, "I wants flour. Is you gone deaf overnight?"
Impertinent question and tone of voice made old John Wull wheel on the stool. In the forty years he had traded at Satan"s Trap he had never before met with impertinence that was not timidly offered. He bent a scowling face upon Jehoshaphat. "An" you thinks," said he, "that you"ll get it?"
"I does."
"Oh, you does, does you?"
Jehoshaphat nodded.
"It all depends," said Wull. "You"re wonderful deep in debt, Jehoshaphat." The trader had now command of himself. "I been lookin" up your account," he went on, softly. "You"re so wonderful far behind, Jehoshaphat, on account o" high livin" an" Christmas presents, that I been thinkin" I might do the business a injury by givin" you more credit. I can"t think o" _myself_, Jehoshaphat, in this matter. "Tis a _business_ matter; an" I got t" think o" the business. You sees, Jehoshaphat, eighteen dollars more credit-"
"Eight," Jehoshaphat corrected.