endowed him, in many ways, above the level of the world to which Fate had chained his feet, and his neighbors never had been kind enough to forget that he was poor.
Even after Peter was dead Joe suffered for the family pride. He was still spoken of, far and near in that community, as the “pore folks’s boy.” Those who could not rise to his lofty level despised him because he respected the gerund, and also said were where they said was, and there are, where usage made it they is. It was old Peter’s big-headedness and pride, they said. What business had the pore folks’s boy with the speech of a school-teacher or minister in his mouth? His “coming” and his “going,” indeed! Huh, it made ’em sick.
Joe had lived a lonely, isolated life on account of the family poverty and pride. He was as sensitive as a poet to the boorish brutality, and his poor, unlettered, garrulous mother made it worse for him by her boasting of his parts. She never failed to let it be known that he had read the Bible through, “from back to back,” and the Cottage Encyclopedia, and the Imitation of Christ, the three books in the Newbolt library.
People had stood by and watched Peter Newbolt at his schemes and dreams for many a year, and all the time they had seen him growing poorer and poorer, and marveled that 23 he never appeared to realize it himself. Just as a great many men spend their lives following the delusion that they can paint or write, and waste their energies and resources on that false and destructive idea, Peter had held the dream that he was singled out to revolutionize industry by his inventions.
He had invented a self-winding clock which, outside his own shop and in the hands of another, would not wind; a self-binding reaper that, in his neighbor’s field, would not perform its part; and a lamp that was designed to manufacture the gas that it burned from the water in its bowl, but which dismally and ignobly failed. He had contrived and patented a machine for milking cows, which might have done all that was claimed for it if anybody–cows included–could have been induced to give it a trial, and he had fiddled around with perpetual motion until the place was a litter of broken springs and rusty wheels.
Nothing had come of all this pother but rustic entertainment, although he demonstrated the truth of his calculations by geometry, and applied Greek names to the things which he had done and hoped to do. All this had eaten up his energies, and his fields had gone but half tilled. Perhaps back of all Peter’s futile strivings there had lain the germ of some useful thing which, if properly directed, might have grown into the fortune of his dreams. But he had plodded in small ways, and had died at last, in debt and hopeless, leaving nothing but a name of reproach which lived after him, and even hung upon his son that cool April morning as he went forward to assume the penance that his mother’s act had set for him to bear.
And the future was clouded to Joe Newbolt now, like a window-pane with frost upon it, where all had been so clear in his calculations but a day before. In his heart he feared the ordeal for Isom Chase was a man of evil repute. 24
Long ago Chase’s first wife had died, without issue, cursed to her grave because she had borne him no sons to labor in his fields. Lately he had married another, a woman of twenty, although he was well along the road to sixty-five himself. His second wife was a stranger in that community, the daughter of a farmer named Harrison, who dwelt beyond the county-seat.
Chase’s homestead was a place pleasant enough for the abode of happiness, in spite of its grim history and sordid reputation. The mark of thrift was about it, orchards bloomed upon its fair slopes, its hedges graced the highways like cool, green walls, not a leaf in excess upon them, not a protruding bramble. How Isom Chase got all the work done was a matter of unceasing wonder, for nothing tumbled to ruin there, nothing went to waste. The secret of it was, perhaps, that when Chase did hire a man he got three times as much work out of him as a laborer ordinarily performed.
There were stories abroad that Chase was as hard and cruel to his young wife as he had been to his old, but there was no better warrant for them than his general reputation. It was the custom in those days for a woman to suffer greater indignities and cruelties than now without public complaint. There never had been a separation of man and wife in that community, there never had been a suit for divorce. Doubtless there were as many unhappy women to the square mile there as in other places, but custom ruled that they must conceal their sorrows in their breasts.
To all of these things concerning Isom Chase, Joe Newbolt was no stranger. He knew, very well indeed, the life that lay ahead of him as the bondboy of that old man as he went forward along the dew-moist road that morning.
Early as it was, Isom Chase had been out of bed two hours or more when Joe arrived. The scents of frying food 25 came out of the kitchen, and Isom himself was making a splash in a basin of water–one thing that he could afford to be liberal with three times a day–on the porch near the open door.
Joe had walked three miles, the consuming fires of his growing body were demanding food. The odors of breakfast struck him with keen relish as he waited at the steps of the porch, unseen by Isom Chase, who had lifted his face from the basin with much snorting, and was now drying it on a coarse brown towel.
“Oh, you’re here,” said he, seeing Joe as he turned to hang up the towel. “Well, come on in and eat your breakfast. We ought to ’a’ been in the field nearly an hour ago.”
Hungry as he was, Joe did not advance to accept the invitation, which was not warmed by hospitality, indeed, but sounded rather like a command. He stood where he had stopped, and pushed his flap-brimmed hat back from his forehead, in nervous movement of decision. Chase turned, half-way to the door, looking back at his bound boy with impatience.
“No need for you to be bashful. This is home for a good while to come,” said he.
“I’m not so very bashful,” Joe disclaimed, placing the little roll which contained his one extra shirt on the wash-bench near the door, taking off his hat, then, and standing serious and solemn before his new master.
“Well, I don’t want to stand here waitin’ on you and dribble away the day, for I’ve got work to do!” said Isom sourly.
“Yes, sir,” said Joe, yielding the point respectfully, but standing his ground; “but before I go across your doorstep, and sit at your table and break bread with you, I want you to understand my position in this matter.” 26
“It’s all settled between your mother and me,” said Chase impatiently, drawing down his bayoneted eyebrows in a frown, “there’s no understanding to come to between me and you–you’ve got nothing to say in the transaction. You’re bound out to me for two years and three months at ten dollars a month and all found, and that settles it.”
“No, it don’t settle it,” said Joe with rising heat; “it only begins it. Before I put a bite in my mouth in this house, or set my hand to any work on this place, I’m going to lay down the law to you, Mr. Chase, and you’re going to listen to it, too!”
“Now, Joe, you’ve got too much sense to try to stir up a row and rouse hard feelin’s between us at the start,” said Isom, coming forward with his soft-soap of flattery and crafty conciliation.
“If I hadn’t ’a’ known that you was the smartest boy of your age anywhere around here, do you suppose I’d have taken you in this way?”
“You scared mother into it; you didn’t give me a chance to say anything, and you took an underhanded hold,” charged Joe, his voice trembling with scarce-controlled anger. “It wasn’t right, Isom, it wasn’t fair. You know I could hire out any day for more than ten dollars a month, and you know I’d never let mother go on the county as long as I was able to lift a hand.”
“Winter and summer through, Joe–you must consider that,” argued Isom, giving his head a twist which was meant to be illustrative of deep wisdom.
“You knew she was afraid of being thrown on the county,” said Joe, “you sneaked in when I wasn’t around and scared her up so she’d do most anything.”
“Well, you don’t need to talk so loud,” cautioned Isom, turning an uneasy,