The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 15, 1906, Page 8

BY FLEMING 1e edge of Prince- \N— ¥ and nny-yellow was the wagon EZARMY WY sweep,, scat- the coat- ts, came for she he mill, e hand and your father's he, leading on rew-like e, I'm glad you couldn’t astle.” murmured, her face pepa’s money trou- e have to teach.” love me, you'll never led, uttered a faint €ry, like note of happy laughter together. He put his arms ssed her. ther say? time of late. He doesn't very well. You'll have to say the right cried appealingly. d try to ed. He's des- ful, Lor win 1L farm was a mile from town. near the road, with a lawn in er & Dawson's buggy, ed Mr. Briner, strid- gate. “Come in, Mr. eat mortgaged vic- welcome to "em.” tied his horse and stepped on Briner, troubi I'm sorry if you've been * he said. Trouble! Huh! It's the man that lent nie the money that’s been havin' the ” mused James. “Mine comes went in. had to come into the country to get something to eat I know,” saild Mrs, CHARLES EMBREE Briner. “Town folks starve, poor things, ‘Welk to the dining-room, Mr. Jordan.” As he and Maude entered last, he stole the pressure of her hand behind her back. “Mr. Jordan, 1 have to coax this girl to eat, said Mrs. Briner, pointing to Maude. “Maude never eats.” “She blooms on it,” blurted Briner. Tom sought vaguely for some acceptable speech to bestow upon the grim farmer. “About the wheat,” ventured he. “I've wondered why the farmers all raise wheat, anyhow. That's why the price goes down. I've wondered now if you couldn’t raise something new. I've heard of a jasmine farm in Texas.” “Aw!" cried Briner, gazing at the well. He wag quite disgusted. “They bave big flower dealers in In- dianapolis. Why don’t you turn your farm into—well, say—" Maude's eyes looked scared. “A wiolet farm, for instance,” Tom. . ““What!"” burst out Briner, and got sud- denly up, the sum of his troubles over- powering him. “Never mind—never mind —young folks have got to talk,” and he stalked away. said “Oh, Tom, you said the wrong thing,” ' cried Maude. £ o The sorrows of James Briner were com- ing to a crisis, and’ of that crisi§ ‘the barn was the fitting scene. At 4 o'clock .he entered the red edifice. There were bins of good wheat, witing. He looked at them sorrowfully. “Smutty,” muttered he. ““Three-fourths of the crop. James Briner, the devil's tempting you.” He took a letter out of his pocket and read it over. It meant only one thing, pay—pay, the creditors can walt no more. He read his doom in that epistle, and, chewing it up, he thought of Maude. “Lord!” he cried, as though his thoughts were half a prayer, “I've slaved too many years for this. It's a great fall, old Briner. And they've called you the richest farmer in Gibson County for years, If T put in the smutty wheat just once, enough to tide over, maybe, I could make it up some time again, and the price’ll 8O UD next year. “You've been & just man all your life,” the farmer said. “You can afford to sin once. A layer of good on top, and the bad underneath. They don't have to ex- amine your wheat any more.” He in the shadow could see a little sun- lit scene at the well, without being ob- served. ‘Wil he lose everything, Maude?”’ ask- ed Jordan. “I'm afraid”—her eyes were wet—“I'm afraid so, Tom.” Briner's heart smote him. The world had made him, without, a rock. The tears _ of Maude, sitting by the.well -with+her lover, broke him. Hé rested his“head against thé boards of ‘the bin of smutty _ ‘wheat.” X 5% & 5 (‘. ¥ “The ‘devil's ‘won for once,” groaned he. “I'm going up to the depot,” whined THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. Shackner. “Here Jim came down and said there weren't any cars for us. Oh, my—what kind of a railroad, anyhow? How do they expect us to ship flour?” “No frelgit cars?’ cried Dawsoi. “Why, Tommie, you told them we had that Nashville order ready to fill. Why. Tommie—Oh, say, Mr. Shackner, now I thought I'd make an offer of two-forty for that—Oh, Jim! Jim! come in here. Never mind—go ahead! I said go ahead! Now, I tnought two-forty for that low grade—" *“Go on, go on,” mumbled Shackner as he moved away on the cinder path. “Give it awgy for nothing if you want.” “Tommie,” ran on Dawson, ‘“wheat's gone down a cent; offer fifty-seven, and don’t buy anything but the best at that. ‘Wilkinson said Briner's going to haul to- day.t A buggy came round the corner of the cooper shop at a brisk rate. Out came a blue hat and a pair of dancing eyes, and a girl jumping to the ground. “Isn’'t father here' yet,” cried Maude, daintily confused. *I was just going to town. Good-by. I wanted to see him.” “Don’t get in!” implored he. She paused. ] “Why?" faltered she. “Is that all you.came for?” | 5 “I—-I thought he . would . be: cold, :I brought his muffler,” she said, blushing, holding the white thing up. . “It's hot as can be,” e he. ‘But—oh, of course, it'll probebly get B cold. You'd better come in and walt for him.” Up the road_ came four neavily laden \+~-WagOnS. - On 1 the «seat- of sthe «first sat- Briner. - “*“Good morning, Mr. Lriner,” said Jor-' ; dan, “We're glad to get your wheat today,” #ald Tom, still anxiously. “We need it. *“I've waited my head off for the price to rise. What vou gimme today?” “Pm sorry. The market’s very bad, Mr. Briner.,” Tom wag rather pale just \ now. “We can't give you but 57 to- day.” “Git up!” The horses’ feet pounded the_scale platform. Maude came in to see Tom weigh the wheat. The four loads were weighed. As the mill wagon was being heaped with sacks of “Jersey Cream” at the sink, Briner must wait. “This is your best wheat, of course, Mr. Briner?” “Yes. Forty loads.” 2 Tom glanced but casually at the wheat, Briner was known to be as Honest as the very United Presbyterian church. At léngth the mill wagon drove off, its Clydesdales stamping the earth. “Git up,” said Briner. The wagon end gate was removed, the wooden lever was shifted, the tim- bers under the rear wheels teetered vio- lently down, with a crash the wagon slumped, and the river of wheat flowed into the depths. Briner now stood at his horses’ side and Tom turned his eyes to the vanishing wheat. There was a queer shadow in it. “Why, Mr. Briner!” cried he, then stopped. H .The,blood leaped to his face and de- . parted entirely.; He stopped and caught -up a ‘handful'of grain as the last dis-- appeared. « His trained 'eye knew tao +well- the matter. .«He stood a moment, silent, looking at it. “A little smut has got into this, Mr. Briner,” he said. IAMES LA FAARPLE DROVE THE TEAM N> BY HIS SLUDbE Maude was coming to see, half int . ested, not imagining danger. In Briner's eyes was the truth, unrooted—for they had,been honest eyes. for .sixty . yenrfs. But his face was a blank. The woman s instinct all at once read the whole thing aright, and Maude, full of shame and stronger pity, turned a sudden pale countenance to her father. “@it up!” This time the words were ground between Briner's “teeth. The wagon rattled with slow mevement. Maude stocd forlorn, alone in the dust. suffering. The moment was a ¢ =is for Jordan. This was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. He wanted this gir! —he wanted her now! He might let the smut go. To do nothing would be to be falthless to a trust. Forty loads of that wheat would color the flour, perhaps lose thousands of dollars and a reputation more valuable still, for his employers. One of those seconds of battle which wrench a man left him with a heart full of misery and a blind determination to do right. The wagons must wait. He walked to the office. The day had darkened, but Jordan had won. Round the corner of the cooper. shop came feeble Shackner, disgruntled about the frelght cars. Up from the engine- room Dawson was trotting with a smile on his face. Briner was standing stock still in the sun. “Why, Tommie, why, Tommie, what's the matter, Tommie? Good morning, Ja- mie—brought in your—" “It's full of smut,” said Jordan, cisting the sample into Dawson's hand. “Smut? What's this? H'm. Why, Ja- mic—why, there's some mistake here; this is a little—this isn't just—Oh, Mr. Shack- ner!” “Is it all like this, Tommie?" Dawson was excited. Tom was in the office now, and cried out with a somewhat anguish-laden cry: AN Briner now strode up, a fierce look on his face. BRINER, = ’ . “I tell you it's good!” swore he terri- bly. “Dear me—we'll have to see” and Shackner, grunting, drew himself to a hub and pulled out a sample. “It's smut,” he complained. “Oh, James, what did you do it for?” “Some error—it's all right—it'll be all right!” cried Dawson, agitated, pat- ting Briner on the moveless shoulder. “Why, Jamie—‘vhere did you—how did it come?” 2 The farmer, like some gray ecrag, gazed at his wagons of ruin. Then he mounted to his seat, swung his whip with a cut of despair, motioned his men after him, and the wheat was driven away. 3 Shackner and Dawson stood gazing after. Maude got up from the door-sill of the mill and stumbled to the bugsgy. - Tom, looking out of the office door, saw her drive down the road, letting the little black horse have his way, for Maude was weeping. V. “I don’t know what the business is coming te.” said Shackner, in plaintive distress, “if all our old stand-bys go like that. Oh, my, James, you've made me sick.” “The old scoundrel, the old rip!” cried Dawson. “Mr. Dawson,” said Jordan, coming in from the rear office, where he had been sitting with his fingers in his hair, “T have something to say about this.” Shackner's dissimilar eyes swung “round slowly to Tom, with a vague hope in them. “Im going to try to prove to you,” said. Tom, with firmness. “that this.is .a case in which there is reason to ex- LCuRT S - > % - “I don't see how' we. could,” mur- mured Shackner, seeming, neverthless, to grasp with the invalid’s eagerness at that idea. “It happen: cried Tom, flushing a little and standing before the two, “that T've seen the cause of this. Mr. Shackner,~you've -known that man fofy. thirty years and you never knew hi to do a wrong thing before. Every summer, . year after year, youwve paid him a big check for the best crop in the county. You've lent him money in advance and without interest. And there was a time. too, when you weren't so well known here yourself but that Briner's word at the bank gave you a lft.” wTrye,” quavered Shackner. “James was sitting here when I got the telegram about the elevator burning down In Petersburg.” «“You know how long he’s worked, for you've worked with him. He' never bought a piece of ground or built a barn without telling you his plans first. You know what the slow accumulation of his property has meant to him and how it is that his farm and the prosperity of his wife and daughter have been his life. Well-now he's in debt. «“Think what it meant to him to lose everything—forty years' work wiped out. Maybe I don’t know much about business, Mr. Dawson, but I do know this, that the one time a good man falls down Is the one time to be charitable. Now, I don't say that Briner is going to be trusted as he was before. You can watch his wheat. 1t's easy enough to keep smut out of the mill, if that's all you want. What I do say is that you men ought to drive out to James Briner’s farm and clear this mat- ter up. And if he did this thing because he’s been tempted past his powers you ought to stand by him."" “We can't,” sald Dawson. “The enly ground you could possibly do such a fool thing on is that it might be busigess— conciliation.” “T'Il declare,” said Shackner, mooning about unhappily, “you'rs right—I was going to anyhow.” “To what?" sharply rasped Dawson. “Oh—just drive out,” whined the othen “James, James, I'd be willing to advance you a little, but—" “But!" exploded breath. “Oh, T begrudge him every cent of it, Mr. Dawson, dear me.”, Dawson, under his VIN On Thursday morning along the road drove Shackner and Tom in & buggy. They were admitted to the parlor, whose shutters Mrs. Briner threw open in haste. She grasped the hand of each and said in agitation: “He isn’t like himself; oh, Mr. Shack- ner, don't forget that he's getting old.” Shackner and Tom stood up, and Maude came in and sat on a sofa. Now Briner loomed in the door, entered, and stood by a whatnot with his wife. “Oh, James, you've made me sick,” said Shackner, his wide eye shining on the farmer. “What did you do it for? Is it a debt? How much is it? Or was it just a mistake?” “No,” sald James, “it wasn't & mis- take. I took that smut and I put it in them wagons, and I took good.wheat and I smeared it on tof. If there’s any mistake the devil made it." He walked to the window. “Look at them ficlds; look at that corm; look at these barns. Mr. Shackner, yous know what I've done to get 'em. Well, they're in soak and there can stay there to kingdom come. I'm busted.” “Why, James, I can’t see you busted,” complained Shackmer. “I could lend you some. You don’t deserve it. I'm Just doing it because Jordan there made me. Jordan explained the thing. It's the way Jordan saw i{t. You can blame Tom for it. I begrudge you every cent of it."” “Take it away,” groaned Briner. Maude arose, walked kner, and said: g bre you really mean it, Mr. Shackner, and will take my word that father will pay it back, I'll take it.” “Your word's better'n his” Shackner, staring at Briner. She took it and lald it on the ‘what- not. Briner at length sat down stily on a.chair and his wife came and clung to him. ¢ “Look here, young mam,” said he, after a long time to Tom, at whom he had been staring, “ain’t you the Yeiler that made some crack about jasmines?" Tom's eyes turned to Maude. “Something abou" farm’ continued Briner. i > A “That was a joke, father® - ‘. “Wuz it? What have you got to do with it? Say, are you still so fond of the millin' business?” < “I'm fond cf Tom.” she said, with her hend'(.lown. “I told you last night.” “fawm, ' Tawm” mused Briner. “Young feller, do you want that girl?™ Tom' Tor ‘Wwas not uncertain. “Well, _meditated a long time— “why don’t you git Lold of her?” (Rights Reserved.) said