"Well, well, you"ve no call t" be afeared o" goin" hungry on that account," says Peter, laying an arm over the lad"s shoulder. "No, nor none o" the little crew over t" your house. Take up the fishin" where your father left it off, lad," says he, "an" you"ll find small difference. I"ll cross out your father"s name on the books an" put down your own in its stead."
"I"m fair obliged," says Tom. "That"s kind, sir."
"Nothin" like kindness t" ease sorrow," says Pinch-a-Penny. "Your father died in debt, lad."
"Ay, sir?"
"Deep."
"How much, sir?"
"I"m not able t" tell offhand," says Peter. ""Twas deep enough. But never you care. You"ll be able t" square it in course o" time. You"re young an" hearty. An" I"ll not be harsh. Damme, I"m no skinflint!"
"That"s kind, sir."
"You--you--_will_ square it?"
"I don"t know, sir."
"What?" cries Peter. "What! You"re not knowin", eh? That"s saucy talk.
You had them there supplies?"
"I "low, sir."
"An" you guzzled your share, I"ll be bound!"
"Yes, sir."
"An" your mother had her share?"
"Yes, sir."
"An" you"re not knowin" whether you"ll pay or not! Ecod! What is you?
A scoundrel? A dead beat? A rascal? A thief? A jail-bird?"
"No, sir."
""Tis for the likes o" you that jails was made."
"Oh, no, sir!"
"Doesn"t you go t" church? Is that what they learns you there? I"m thinkin" the parson doesn"t earn what I pays un. Isn"t you got no conscience?"
"Twas too much for young Tom. You sees, Tom Lane _had_ a conscience--a conscience as fresh and as young as his years. And Tom had loved his father well. And Tom honored his father"s name. And so when he had brooded over Pinch-a-Penny"s words for a spell--and when he had maybe laid awake in the night thinking of his father"s goodness--he went over to Pinch-a-Penny"s office and allowed he"d pay his father"s debt.
Pinch-a-Penny give un a clap on the back, and says: "You is an honest lad, Tom Lane! I knowed you was. I"m proud t" have your name on my books!"--and that heartened Tom to continue. And after that Tom kept hacking away on his father"s debt. In good years Pinch-a-Penny would say: "She"s comin" down, Tom. I"ll just apply the surplus." And in bad he"d say: "You isn"t quite cotched up with your own self this season, b"y. A little less pork this season, Tom, an" you"ll square this here little balance afore next. I wisht this whole harbor was as honest as you. No trouble, then," says he, "t" do business in a business-like way."
When Tom got over the hill--fifty and more--his father"s debt, with interest, according to Pinch-a-Penny"s figures, which Tom had no learning to dispute, was more than it ever had been; and his own was as much as he ever could hope to pay. And by that time Pinch-a-Penny Peter was rich, and Long Tom Lane was gone sour.
In the fall of the year when Tom Lane was fifty-three he went up to St. John"s in Pinch-a-Penny Peter"s supply-schooner. n.o.body knowed why. And Tom made a mystery of it. But go he would. And when the schooner got back "twas said that Tom Lane had vanished in the city for a day. Why? n.o.body knowed. Where? n.o.body could find out. Tom wouldn"t tell, nor could the gossips gain a word from his wife. And, after that, Tom was a changed man; he mooned a deal, and he would talk no more of the future, but dwelt upon the shortness of a man"s days and the quant.i.ty of his sin, and labored like mad, and read the Scriptures by candlelight, and sot more store by going to church and prayer-meeting than ever afore. Labor? Ecod, how that poor man labored through the winter! While there was light! And until he fair dropped in his tracks of sheer weariness! "Twas back in the forest--hauling fire-wood with the dogs and storing it away back of his little cottage under Lend-a-Hand Hill.
"Dear man!" says Peter; "you"ve firewood for half a dozen winters."
"They"ll need it," says Tom.
"Ay," says Peter; "but will you lie idle next winter?"
"Next winter?" says Tom. And he laughed. "Oh, next winter," says he, "I"ll have another occupation."
"Movin" away, Tom?"
"Well," says Tom, "I is an" I isn"t."
There come a day in March weather of that year when seals was thick on the floe off Gingerbread Cove. You could see un with the naked eye from Lack-a-Day Head. A hundred thousand black specks swarming over the ice three miles and more to sea! "Swiles! Swiles!" And Gingerbread Cove went mad for slaughter. "Twas a fair time for off-sh.o.r.e sealing, too--a blue, still day, with the look and feel of settled weather. The ice had come in from the current with a northeasterly gale, a wonderful mixture of Arctic bergs and Labrador pans, all blinding white in the spring sun; and "twas a field so vast, and jammed so tight against the coast, that there wasn"t much more than a lane or two and a Dutchman"s breeches of open water within sight from the heads. n.o.body looked for a gale of off-sh.o.r.e wind to blow that ice afore dawn of the next day.
"A fine, soft time, lads!" says Pinch-a-Penny. "I "low I"ll go out with the Gingerbread crew."
"Skipper Peter," says Tom Lane, "you"re too old a man t" be on the ice."
"Ay," says Peter, "but I wants t" bludgeon another swile afore I dies."
"But you creaks, man!"
"Ah, well," says Peter, "I"ll show the lads I"m able t" haul a swile ash.o.r.e."
"Small hope for such as you on a movin" floe!"
"Last time, Tom," says Peter.
"Last time, true enough," says Tom, "if that ice starts t" sea with a breeze o" wind behind."
"Oh, well, Tom," says Peter, "I"ll take my chances. If the wind comes up I"ll be as spry as I"m able."
It come on to blow in the afternoon. But "twas short warning of off-sh.o.r.e weather. A puff of gray wind come down; a saucier gust went by; and then a swirl of galish wind jumped over the pans. At the first sign of wind, Pinch-a-Penny Peter took for home, loping over the ice as fast as his lungs and old legs would take un when pushed, and n.o.body worried about he any more. He was in such mad haste that the lads laughed behind un as he pa.s.sed. Most of the Gingerbread crew followed, dragging their swiles; and them that started early come safe to harbor with the fat. But there"s nothing will master a man"s caution like the l.u.s.t of slaughter: give a Newfoundlander a club, and show un a swile-pack, and he"ll venture far from safety. "Twas not until a flurry of snow come along of a sudden that the last of the crew dropped what they was at and begun to jump for sh.o.r.e like a pack of jack-rabbits.
With snow in the wind, "twas every man for himself. And that means no mercy and less help.
By this time the ice had begun to feel the wind. "Twas restless. And a bad promise: the pans crunched and creaked as they settled more at ease. The ice was going abroad. As the farther fields drifted off to sea, the floe fell loose insh.o.r.e. Lanes and pools opened up. The cake-ice tipped and went awash under the weight of a man. Rough going, ecod! There was no telling when open water would cut a man off where he stood. And the wind was whipping off-sh.o.r.e, and the snow was like dust in a man"s eyes and mouth, and the landmarks of Gingerbread Cove was nothing but shadows in a mist of snow to windward. n.o.body knowed where Pinch-a-Penny Peter was. n.o.body thought about him. And wherever poor old Pinch-a-Penny was--whether safe ash.o.r.e or creaking sh.o.r.eward against the wind on his last legs--he must do for himself. "Twas no time to succor rich or poor. Every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost.
Bound out, in the morning, Long Tom Lane had fetched his rodney through the lanes. By luck and good conduct he had managed to get the wee boat a fairish way out. He had beached her, there on the floe--a big pan, close by a hummock which he marked with care. And "twas for Tom Lane"s little rodney that the seven last men of Gingerbread Cove was jumping. With her afloat--and the pack loosening in-sh.o.r.e under the wind--they could make harbor well enough afore the gale worked up the water in the lee of the Gingerbread hills. But she was a mean, small boat. There was room for six, with safety--but room for no more; no room for seven. "Twas a nasty mess, to be sure. You couldn"t expect nothing else. But there wasn"t no panic. Gingerbread men was accustomed to tight places. And they took this one easy. Them that got there first launched the boat and stepped in. No fight; no fuss.
It just happened to be Eleazer b.u.t.t that was left. "Twas Eleazer"s ill-luck. And Eleazer was up in years, and had fell behind coming over the ice.
"No room for me?" says he.
"Twas sure death to be left on the ice. The wind begun to taste of frost. And "twas jumping up. "Twould carry the floe far and scatter it broadcast.
"See for yourself, lad," says Tom.