it! But fool as I am I told him he could have half the iron property for
thirty thousand–and if I only had him back here he couldn’t touch it for
a cent less than a quarter of a million!”
Mrs. Hawkins looked up white and despairing:
“You threw away this chance, you let this man go, and we in this awful
trouble? You don’t mean it, you can’t mean it!”
“Throw it away? Catch me at it! Why woman, do you suppose that man
don’t know what he is about? Bless you, he’ll be back fast enough to-
morrow.”
“Never, never, never. He never will comeback. I don’t know what is to
become of us. I don’t know what in the world is to become of us.”
A shade of uneasiness came into Hawkins’s face. He said:
“Why, Nancy, you–you can’t believe what you are saying.”
“Believe it, indeed? I know it, Si. And I know that we haven’t a cent
in the world, and we’ve sent ten thousand dollars a-begging.”
“Nancy, you frighten me. Now could that man–is it possible that I–
hanged if I don’t believe I have missed a chance! Don’t grieve, Nancy,
don’t grieve. I’ll go right after him. I’ll take–I’ll take–what a
fool I am!–I’ll take anything he’ll give!”
The next instant he left the house on a run. But the man was no longer
in the town. Nobody knew where he belonged or whither he had gone.
Hawkins came slowly back, watching wistfully but hopelessly for the
stranger, and lowering his price steadily with his sinking heart. And
when his foot finally pressed his own threshold, the value he held the
entire Tennessee property at was five hundred dollars–two hundred down
and the rest in three equal annual payments, without interest.
There was a sad gathering at the Hawkins fireside the next night. All
the children were present but Clay. Mr. Hawkins said:
“Washington, we seem to be hopelessly fallen, hopelessly involved. I am
ready to give up. I do not know where to turn–I never have been down so
low before, I never have seen things so dismal. There are many mouths to
feed; Clay is at work; we must lose you, also, for a little while, my
boy. But it will not be long–the Tennessee land—-”
He stopped, and was conscious of a blush. There was silence for a
moment, and then Washington–now a lank, dreamy-eyed stripling between
twenty-two and twenty-three years of age–said:
“If Col. Sellers would come for me, I would go and stay with him a while,
till the Tennessee land is sold. He has often wanted me to come, ever
since he moved to Hawkeye.”
“I’m afraid he can’t well come for you, Washington. From what I can
hear–not from him of course, but from others–he is not far from as bad
off as we are–and his family is as large, too. He might find something
for you to do, maybe, but you’d better try to get to him yourself,
Washington–it’s only thirty miles.”
“But how can I, father? There’s no stage or anything.”
“And if there were, stages require money. A stage goes from Swansea,
five miles from here. But it would be cheaper to walk.”
“Father, they must know you there, and no doubt they would credit you in
a moment, for a little stage ride like that. Couldn’t you write and ask
them?”
“Couldn’t you, Washington–seeing it’s you that wants the ride? And what
do you think you’ll do, Washington, when you get to Hawkeye? Finish your
invention for making window-glass opaque?”
“No, sir, I have given that up. I almost knew I could do it, but it was
so tedious and troublesome I quit it.”
“I was afraid of it, my boy. Then I suppose you’ll finish your plan of
coloring hen’s eggs by feeding a peculiar diet to the hen?”
“No, sir. I believe I have found out the stuff that will do it, but it
kills the hen; so I have dropped that for the present, though I can take
it up again some day when I learn how to manage the mixture better.”
“Well, what have you got on hand–anything?”
“Yes, sir, three or four things. I think they are all good and can all