He Fell In Love With His Wife - Edward Payson Roe (the speed reading book .txt) 📗

up the flue with an old woolen coat. “I suppose I’ll have to

meet tricks with tricks,” he muttered.

 

Returning to his own apartment, he lighted a fire in the stove and laid upon

the kindling blaze some dampened wood, then went out and quietly hitched his

horses to the wagon.

 

The pungent odor of smoke soon filled the house. The cover over the pipe-hole

in Mrs. Mumpson’s room was not very secure, and thick volumes began to pour in

upon the startled widow. “Jane!” she shrieked.

 

If Jane was sullen toward Holcroft, she was furious at her mother, and paid no

heed at first to her cry.

 

“Jane, Jane, the house is on fire!”

 

Then the child did fly up the stairway. The smoke seemed to confirm the words

of her mother, who was dressing in hot haste. “Run and tell Mr. Holcroft!” she

cried.

 

“I won’t,” said the girl. “If he won’t keep us in the house, I don’t care if

he don’t have any house.”

 

“No, no, tell him!” screamed Mrs. Mumpson. “If we save his house he will

relent. Gratitude will overwhelm him. So far from turning us away, he will

sue, he will plead for forgiveness for his former harshness; his home saved

will be our home won. Just put our things in the trunk first. Perhaps the

house can’t be saved, and you know we must save OUR things. Help me, quick!

There, there; now, now”—both were sneezing and choking in a half-strangled

manner. “Now let me lock it; my hand trembles so; take hold and draw it out;

drag it downstairs; no matter how it scratches things!”

 

Having reached the hall below, she opened the door and shrieked for Holcroft;

Jane also began running toward the barn. The farmer came hastily out, and

shouted, “What’s the matter?”

 

“The house is on fire!” they screamed in chorus.

 

To carry out his ruse, he ran swiftly to the house. Mrs. Mumpson stood before

him wringing her hands and crying, “Oh, dear Mr. Holcroft, can’t I do anything

to help you? I would so like to help you and—”

 

“Yes, my good woman, let me get in the door and see what’s the matter. Oh,

here’s your trunk. That’s sensible. Better get it outside,” and he went up

the stairs two steps at a time and rushed into his room.

 

“Jane, Jane,” ejaculated Mrs. Mumpson, sinking on a seat in the porch, “he

called me his good woman!” But Jane was busy dragging the trunk out of doors.

Having secured her own and her mother’s worldly possessions, she called,

“Shall I bring water and carry things out?”

 

“No,” he replied, “not yet. There’s something the matter with the chimney,”

and he hastened up to the attic room, removed the clog from the flue, put on

the cover again, and threw open the window. Returning, he locked the door of

the room which Mrs. Mumpson had occupied and came downstairs. “I must get a

ladder and examine the chimney,” he said as he passed.

 

“Oh, my dear Mr. Holcroft!” the widow began.

 

“Can’t talk with you yet,” and he hastened on.

 

“As soon as he’s sure the house is safe, Jane, all will be well.”

 

But the girl had grown hopeless and cynical. She had not penetrated his

scheme to restore her mother to health, but understood the man well enough to

be sure that her mother’s hopes would end as they had in the past. She sat

down apathetically on the trunk to see what would happen next.

 

After a brief inspection Holcroft came down from the roof and said, “The

chimney will have to be repaired,” which was true enough and equally so of

other parts of the dwelling. The fortunes of the owner were reflected in the

appearance of the building.

 

If it were a possible thing Holcroft wished to carry out his ruse undetected,

and he hastened upstairs again, ostensibly to see that all danger had passed,

but in reality to prepare his mind for an intensely disagreeable interview.

“I’d rather face a mob of men than that one idiotic woman,” he muttered. “I

could calculate the actions of a setting hen with her head cut off better than

I can this widow’s. But there’s no help for it,” and he came down looking

very resolute. “I’ve let the fire in my stove go out, and there’s no more

danger,” he said quietly, as he sat down on the porch opposite Mrs. Mumpson.

 

“Oh-h,” she exclaimed, with a long breath of relief, “we’ve saved the

dwelling. What would we have done if it had burned down! We would have been

homeless.”

 

“That may be my condition soon, as it is,” he said coldly. “I am very glad,

Mrs. Mumpson, that you are so much better. As Jane told you, I suppose, I

will pay you the sum I agreed to give you for three months’ service—”

 

“My dear Mr. Holcroft, my nerves have been too shaken to talk business this

morning,” and the widow leaned back and looked as if she were going to faint.

“I’m only a poor lone woman,” she added feebly, “and you cannot be so lacking

in the milk of human kindness as to take advantage of me.”

 

“No, madam, nor shall I allow you and Lemuel Weeks to take advantage of me.

This is my house and I have a right to make my own arrangements.”

 

“It might all be arranged so easily in another way,” sighed the widow.

 

“It cannot be arranged in any other way—” he began.

 

“Mr. Holcroft,” she cried, leaning suddenly forward with clasped hands and

speaking effusively, “you but now called me your good woman. Think how much

those words mean. Make them true, now that you’ve spoken them. Then you

won’t be homeless and will never need a caretaker.”

 

“Are you making me an offer of marriage?” he asked with lowering brow.

 

“Oh, no, indeed!” she simpered. “That wouldn’t be becoming in me. I’m only

responding to your own words.”

 

Rising, he said sternly, “No power on earth could induce me to marry you, and

that would be plain enough if you were in your right mind. I shall not stand

this foolishness another moment. You must go with me at once to Lemuel

Weeks’. If you will not, I’ll have you taken to an insane asylum.”

 

“To an insane asylum! What for?” she half shrieked, springing to her feet.

 

“You’ll see,” he replied, going down the steps. “Jump up, Jane! I shall take

the trunk to your cousin’s. If you are so crazy as to stay in a man’s house

when he don’t want you and won’t have you, you are fit only for an asylum.”

 

Mrs. Mumpson was sane enough to perceive that she was at the end of her

adhesive resources. In his possession of her trunk, the farmer also had a

strategic advantage which made it necessary for her to yield. She did so,

however, with very bad grace. When he drove up, she bounced into the wagon as

if made of India rubber, while Jane followed slowly, with a look of sullen

apathy. He touched his horses with the whip into a smart trot, scarcely

daring to believe in his good fortune. The lane was rather steep and rough,

and he soon had to pull up lest the object of his unhappy solicitude should be

jolted out of the vehicle. This gave the widow her chance to open fire. “The

end has not come yet, Mr. Holcroft,” she said vindictively. “You may think you

are going to have an easy triumph over a poor, friendless, unfortunate,

sensitive, afflicted woman and a fatherless child, but you shall soon learn

that there’s a law in the land. You have addressed improper words to me, you

have threatened me, you have broken your agreement. I have writings, I have a

memory, I have language to plead the cause of the widow and the fatherless. I

have been wronged, outraged, trampled upon, and then turned out of doors. The

indignant world shall hear my story, the finger of scorn will be pointed at

you. Your name will become a byword and a hissing. Respecterble women,

respecterbly connected, will stand aloof and shudder.”

 

The torrent of words was unchecked except when the wheels struck a stone,

jolting her so severely that her jaws came together with a click as if she

were snapping at him.

 

He made no reply whatever, but longed to get his hands upon Lemuel Weeks.

Pushing his horses to a high rate of speed, he soon reached that interested

neighbor’s door, intercepting him just as he was starting to town.

 

He looked very sour as he saw his wife’s relatives, and demanded harshly,

“What does this mean?”

 

“It means,” cried Mrs. Mumpson in her high, cackling tones, “that he’s said

things and done things too awful to speak of; that he’s broken his agreement

and turned us out of doors.”

 

“Jim Holcroft,” said Mr. Weeks, blustering up to the wagon, “you can’t carry

on with this high hand. Take these people back to your house where they

belong, or you’ll be sorry.”

 

Holcroft sprang out, whirled Mr. Weeks out of his way, took out the trunk,

then with equal expedition and no more ceremony lifted down Mrs. Mumpson and

Jane.

 

“Do you know what you’re about?” shouted Mr. Weeks in a rage. “I’ll have the

law on you this very day.”

 

Holcroft maintained his ominous silence as he hitched his horses securely.

Then he strode toward Weeks, who backed away from him. “Oh, don’t be afraid,

you sneaking, cowardly fox!” said the farmer bitterly. “If I gave you your

desserts, I’d take my horsewhip to you. You’re going to law me, are you?

Well, begin today, and I’ll be ready for you. I won’t demean myself by

answering that woman, but I’m ready for you in any way you’ve a mind to come.

I’ll put you and your wife on the witness stand. I’ll summon Cousin Abram, as

you call him, and his wife, and compel you all under oath to give Mrs. Mumpson

a few testimonials. I’ll prove the trick you played on me and the lies you

told. I’ll prove that this woman, in my absence, invaded my room, and with

keys of her own opened my dead wife’s bureau and pulled out her things. I’ll

prove that she hasn’t earned her salt and can’t, and may prove something more.

Now, if you want to go to law, begin. Nothing would please me better than to

show up you and your tribe. I’ve offered to pay this woman her three months’

wages in full, and so have kept my agreement. She has not kept hers, for

she’s only sat in a rocking chair and made trouble. Now, do as you please.

I’ll give you all the law you want. I’d like to add a horsewhipping, but that

would give you a case and now you haven’t any.”

 

As Holcroft uttered these words sternly and slowly, like a man angry indeed

but under perfect self-control, the perspiration broke out on Weeks’ face. He

was aware that Mrs. Mumpson was too well known to play the role of a wronged

woman, and remembered what his testimony and that of many others would be

under oath. Therefore, he began, “Oh, well, Mr. Holcroft! There’s no need of

your getting in such a rage and threatening so; I’m willing to talk the matter

over and only want to do the square thing.”

 

The farmer made a gesture of disgust as he said, “I understand you, Lemuel

Weeks. There’s no talking needed and I’m in no mood for it.