"I tell you, I felt different as we stood there at our last campfire, and I says, 'Hannah, you're a wonder. You are the best of the outfit. It was your money we started on. It was your grit kept me going on when I was for quitting, and you are in every deal I make. You bet I'll let the world know we are partners.' So that's why that signboard went up. Not a bad ad I reckon, for no one sees it without taking notice; so, if there's anything in our line you need, let me know."
As Carson and Hartigan walked down the street, the doctor said: "Well, what do you think of Woman Suffrage now?"
Hartigan shrugged his big shoulders, gave a comical glance back at the signboard, and replied:
"You've got me!"
It was indeed a poser for Jim; a shock to a deep-set prejudice. Notwithstanding the fact that his mother had been a woman of power, the unquestioned and able head in a community of men, he had unconsciously clung to the old idea of woman's mental inferiority. In college he had had that notion bolstered up with Scripture texts and alleged Christian doctrine.
This was not the time or place, he felt, to discuss the principle of it, and his natural delicacy would, in any case, have kept him from a free expression; but later, in the blacksmith shop, that neutral territory of free speech, they had it out. Higginbotham was there and was ready and able to fight with Scriptural weapons. He pointed out that all the texts quoted, such as: "Wives be in subjection to your own husbands in everything, etc.," were from St. Paul, who was believed to have had a painful history in such matters; whereas, St. Peter, admittedly a far better authority, said: "Likewise, ye husbands, dwell with them, giving honour to the wife."
"Which may or may not be sound doctrine," said John, "but I know my wife brought me out here, it was her capital that set me up, she has a hand in all business, so why not say so on the signboard?"
Cedar Mountain had its fill of fun and there were many venerable jokes about "wearing the pants" and others about a spelling of "hen-pecked." "Wasn't it 'Hannah-pecked' now?" And some there were, even women, who condemned the innovation as godless; but all of these hostile comments died away when folk came to know the pair and realize how justly they were represented on the signboard: "John and Hannah Higginbotham, Insurance Agents."
CHAPTER XVII
Belle Makes a Decision and Jim Evades One
It was late on Wednesday afternoon. Belle was working at the sewing machine in the back room of the Boyd home when there was a familiar knock at the front door. She was not unprepared for it and yet she dreaded this inevitable interview. Lowe had been pointedly cold for some time. He had been to the house only once in the past month and he had made it quite plain that Hartigan was the objectionable figure in the horizon. Belle realized that their relations had come to a crisis. She had not admitted frankly to herself what she would do when this talk took place, but in her heart there was not the slightest doubt.
At the sound of his step and knock she went into the parlour, closing the door into the rear room to insure some measure of privacy, and then admitted Jack. His greeting had the obvious air of a man who has been wronged. For a while, with characteristic obliquity, he talked of his school work. Belle sewed meanwhile, asking occasional questions. After a quarter of an hour of this the conversation languished. Belle was determined that he should open the subject himself, and in the awkward pause that ensued she busied herself basting up a lining for her frock. At last, clearing his throat, Lowe began:
"Belle, I've got something else to say to you."
She looked at him squarely, the direct gaze of her clear, dark eyes in striking contrast with his close-lidded, shifting glance. He went on:
"I think that you and the new preacher are going too far and it had better stop now."
"Just what do you mean, Jack? What do you accuse me of, exactly?"
From the very beginning of their friendship he had always writhed under the directness of her mental processes. He was ever for evasion, indirection; she for frank, open dealing in all things. He tried to retreat.
"I'm not accusing you of anything."
"No, but of something," she replied with a faint smile. "What is it?"
"There's a lot of talk about town—about you and Hartigan. It makes me a laughing stock. If we weren't engaged——"
Belle interrupted:
"That's just what I want to speak about. I've been wanting to have a frank talk with you for some time, Jack, and we may as well have it now.
"I have always liked you and you have been awfully attentive and helpful to me. I thought I was in love with you, but you know that when we had our talk a year ago, I begged you not to make an announcement and when you insisted on telling a few friends it was agreed that I was to have a year to decide finally. That was why I never wore your ring." She drew a box from her breast and held it out to him.
"We have both made a mistake, Jack. I made the worst one when I allowed you to over-persuade me a year ago; but we are not going to spoil two lives by going on with it."
Lowe's mind was not of particularly fine calibre. For some months, whenever he faced the truth, he had realized that he would never marry Belle. He was fond of her to the extent possible in a nature such as his and he was keenly alive to the financial advantage of becoming Boyd's son-in-law. His past history would not bear close inspection and latterly some of his youthful vices had come to light and to life. He knew only too well what a marriage into the Boyd family would do for his fortunes, financially and socially, and a dull rage of several weeks' nursing burned in him against Hartigan. As he took his hat to depart he was foolish enough to speak what was in his mind. He uttered a silly attack on the Preacher. It moved Belle and brought the colour to her face. His bitter comments on their own relations had not called forth any response from her, but this shaft went home, as he meant it should. She controlled herself and merely remarked:
"I would not say that; it might get to his ears."
And so he departed.
It was on that same afternoon that Hartigan had a new and, to him, terrifying experience in the dangerous world of the emotions.
He had ridden forth to make a pastoral call at the Hoomer homestead, out on the plain five miles northeast of Cedar Mountain. When first he glimpsed the house among the low log stables, there were two women in sight; when he came to the door and entered, there was but one, the mother. Half an hour later, the daughter, Lou-Jane, appeared arrayed for conquest. She was undeniably handsome, in spite of a certain coarseness that made Hartigan subtly uneasy, though he could not have told why. She was of the rare vigorous type that is said to have appeared in Ireland after many survivors of the great Armada were washed ashore on the rugged western coast. The mingling of the Irish and Spanish blood in her had resulted in black eyes, black eyebrows, and red, or golden-red hair, combined with a clear, brilliant Irish complexion. She was lively, energetic, rather clever, and tremendously taken with the new preacher.
Jim was naturally shy with women, as most big men seem to be, and the masterful Lou-Jane smote him with utter confusion. She prattled on about the tea, about the church, the Rev. Dr. Jebb, the local people, the farm, national politics, dry-farming, horses, cows and alfalfa, with the definite purpose of finding out his interests. Getting the best response on the topic of horses, she followed it up.
"You must come and see my pony. He's a beauty. I got first prize on him as girl rider at the fair last year. I'm so glad you like horses."
She laid her hand on his arm a dozen times to guide him here or there; she took his hand at last and held on, to his utter embarrassment, long after he had helped her over a fence, and looked disappointed when she got no flirtatious response. She led out her saddle pony and laughingly said: