He needs it, Ike Billings commented tersely.
Some men seem to lose their wits when theyre workin on logs, observed Mr. Wiley, who had deeply resented Long Dennetts telling of a story which he knew fully as well and could have told much better. Now, natrally, Ive seen things on the Kennebec
Three cheers for the Saco! Hats off, boys! shouted Jed Towle, and his directions were followed with a will.
As I was sayin, continued the old man, peacefully, Ive seen things on the Kennebec that would nt happen on a small river, an Ive ben in turrible places an taken turrible resks resks that would a turned a Saco River mans hair white; but them is the times when my wits work the quickest. I remember once I was smokin my pipe when a jam broke under me. T was a small jam, or what we call a small jam on the Kennebec,only about three hundred thousand pine logs. The first thing I knowed, I was shootin back an forth in the bilin foam, hangin on t the end of a log like a spider. My hands was clasped round the log, and I never lost control o my pipe. They said I smoked right along, jest as cool an placid as a pond-lily.
Why d you quit drivin? inquired Ivory.
My strength want ekal to it, Mr. Wiley responded sadly. I was all skin, bones, an nerve. The Compny would nt part with me altogether, so they give me a place in the office down on the wharves.
That want so bad, said Jed Towle; why did nt you hang on to it, sos to keep in sight o the Kennebec?
I found I could nt be confined under cover. My liver give all out, my appetite failed me, an I want wuth a days wages. Id learned engineerin when I was a boy, an I thought Id try runnin on the road a spell, but it did nt suit my constitution. My kidneys aint turrible strong, an the doctors said Id have Brights disease if I did nt git some kind o work where there want no vibrations.
Hard to find, Mr. Wiley; hard to find! said Jed Towle.
Youre right, responded the old man feelingly. Ive tried all kinds o labor. Some of em dont suit my liver, some disagrees with my stomach, and the rest of em has vibrations; so here I set, high an dry on the banks of life, you might say, like a stranded log.
As this well-known simile fell upon the ear, there was a general stir in the group, for Turrible Wiley, when rhetorical, sometimes grew tearful, and this was a mood not to be encouraged.
All right, boss, called Ike Billings, winking to the boys; well be there in a jiffy! for the luncheon hour had flown, and the work of the afternoon was waiting for them. You make a chalk-mark where you left off, Mr. Wiley, an well hear the rest tomorrer; only dont you forgit nothin! Remember t was the Kennebec you was talkin about.
I will, indeed, responded the old man. As I was sayin when interrupted, I may be a stranded log, but Im proud that the mark o the Gardner Lumber Compny is on me, so t when I git to my journeys end theyll know where I belong and send me back to the Kennebec. Before Im sawed up Id like to forgit this triflin brook in the sight of a good-sized river, an rest my eyes on some full-grown logs, stead o these little damn pipestems you boys are playin with!
V. The Game of Jackstraws
There was a roar of laughter at the old mans boast, but in a moment all was activity. The men ran hither and thither like ants, gathering their tools. There were some old-fashioned pick-poles, straight, heavy levers without any dog, and there were modern pick-poles and peaveys, for every river has its favorite equipment in these things. There was no dynamite in those days to make the stubborn jams yield, and the dog-warp was in general use. Horses or oxen, sometimes a line of men, stood on the river-bank. A long rope was attached by means of a steel spike to one log after another, and it was dragged from the tangled mass. Sometimes, after unloading the top logs, those at the bottom would rise and make the task easier; sometimes the work would go on for hours with no perceptible progress, and Mr. Wiley would have opportunity to tell the bystanders of a turrible jam on the Kennebec that had cost the Lumber Company ten thousand dollars to break.
There would be great arguments on shore, among the villagers as well as among the experts, as to the particular log which might be a key to the position. The boss would study the problem from various standpoints, and the drivers themselves would pass from heated discussion into long consultations.
Theyre paid by the day, Old Kennebec would philosophize to the doctor; an when theyre consultin they dont hev to be doggin, which is a turrible sight harder work.
Rose had created a small sensation, on one occasion, by pointing out to the under boss the key-log in a jam. She was past mistress of the pretty game of jackstraws, much in vogue at that time. The delicate little lengths of polished wood or bone were shaken together and emptied on the table. Each jackstraw had one of its ends fashioned in the shape of some sort of implement,a rake, hoe, spade, fork, or mallet. All the pieces were intertwined by the shaking process, and they lay as they fell, in a hopeless tangle. The task consisted in taking a tiny pick-pole, scarcely bigger than a match, and with the bit of curved wire on the end lifting off the jackstraws one by one without stirring the pile or making it tremble. When this occurred, you gave place to your opponent, who relinquished his turn to you when ill fortune descended upon him, the game, which was a kind of river-driving and jam-picking in miniature, being decided by the number of pieces captured and their value. No wonder that the under boss asked Roses advice as to the key-log. She had a fairys hand, and her cunning at deciding the pieces to be moved, and her skill at extricating and lifting them from the heap, were looked upon in Edgewood as little less than supernatural. It was a favorite pastime; and although a mans hand is ill adapted to it, being over-large and heavy, the game has obvious advantages for a lover in bringing his head very close to that of his beloved adversary. The jackstraws have to be watched with a hawks eagerness, since the trembling can be discerned only by a keen eye; but there were moments when Stephen was willing to risk the loss of a battle if he could watch Roses drooping eyelashes, the delicate down on her pink cheek, and the feathery curls that broke away from her hair.
He was looking at her now from a distance, for she and Mite Shapley were assisting Jed Towle to pile up the tin plates and tie the tin dippers together. Next she peered into one of the bean-pots, and seemed pleased that there was still something in its depths; then she gathered the fragments neatly together in a basket, and, followed by her friend, clambered down the banks to a shady spot where the Boomshers, otherwise known as the Crambry family, were lined up expectantly.
It is not difficult to find a single fool in any community, however small; but a family of fools is fortunately somewhat rarer. Every county, however, can boast of one fool-family, and York County is always in the fashion, with fools as with everything else. The unique, much-quoted, and undesirable Boomshers could not be claimed as indigenous to the Saco valley, for this branch was an offshoot of a still larger tribe inhabiting a distant township. Its beginnings were shrouded in mystery. There was a French-Canadian ancestor somewhere, and a Gypsy or Indian grandmother. They had always intermarried from time immemorial. When one of the selectmen of their native place had been asked why the Boomshers always married cousins, and why the habit was not discouraged, he replied that he really did nt know; he sposed they felt it would be kind of odd to go right out and marry a stranger.