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An Idyl Of Rickity Tickle
by
“I was scared t’ my marrow-bones.
“‘An’ now, Tumm,’ says he, ‘what’ll I do?’
“‘Skipper Davy,’ says I, ‘go wash the windows o’ your soul!’
“He jumped. ‘How’s that?’ says he.
“”Twould ease your heart t’ do a good deed,’ says I. ‘Go save that baby.’
“‘Me!’ says he, in a rage. ‘I’ll have no hand whatever in savin’ that child.’
“‘Why not?’
“”Twouldn’t be kind t’ the child.’
“‘God’s sake!’
“‘Don’t you see, Tumm?’
“‘Look you, Skipper Davy!’ says I, ‘Janet’s baby isn’t goin’ t’ die o’ starvation in this harbor. There’ll be a crew o’ good women an’ Labrador hands at Janet’s when the news get abroad. But an you’re lucky an’ makes haste you’ll be able t’ get there first.’
“‘What’s one good deed?’
“”Twould be a good deed, Skipper Davy,’ says I. ‘An’ you’d know it.’
“Skipper Davy jumped up. An’ he was fair shakin’ from head t’ toe–with some queer temptation t’ be kind, it seemed to me then.
“‘Make haste!’ says I.
“‘I can’t do a good deed!’ he whimpered. ‘I–I–got the other habit!’
“‘Twas of a June night at Rickity Tickle that Davy Junk said these words,” Tumm commented, in a kindly way, “with the Labrador vessels fitted out an’ waitin’ for a fair wind: such a night as this–a slow, soft little wind, a still, black harbor, an’ a million stars a-twinkle.” He paused–and looked up from the shadowy deck of the Quick as Wink. “What more can a man ask t’ stay his soul,” he demanded, “than all them little stars?” The skipper of the Quick as Wink said, “‘Tis a night o’ fair promise!” And Tumm, in a sigh, “Davy Junk would never look up at the stars.” And the little stars themselves continued to wink away in companionable reassurance just the same.
* * * * *
“The other habit!” Tumm ejaculated. “Ay–the other habit! ‘Twas habit: a habit o’ soul. An’ then I learned a truth o’ life. ‘Twas no new thing, t’ be sure: every growed man knows it well enough. But ’twas new t’ me–as truth forever comes new t’ the young. Lovely or fearsome as may chance t’ be its guise, ’tis yet all new to a lad–a flash o’ light upon the big mystery in which a lad’s soul dwells eager for light. An’ I was scared; an’ I jumped away from Davy Junk–as once thereafter I did–an’ fair shook in the Presence o’ the Truth he’d taught me. For ’twas clear as a star: that a soul fashions its own world an’ lives therein. An’ I’d never knowed it afore! An’ I mind well that it come like a vision: the glimpse of a path, got from a hill–a path the feet o’ men may tread t’ hell an men perversely choose it. A wolf’s world? A world as you likes it! An’ in my young world was no sorrow at all–nor any sin, nor hate, nor hunger, nor tears. But love, ecod!–which, like truth, comes new t’ the young, an’ first glimpsed is forever glorious. I was sixteen then–a bit more, perhaps; an’ I was fond o’ laughter an’ hope. An’ Bessie Tot was in my world: a black-haired, red-lipped little rogue, with gray eyes, slow glances, an’ black lashes t’ veil her heart from eager looks. First love for T. Tumm, I’m bold t’ say; for I’m proud o’ the odd lift o’ soul it give me–which I’ve never knowed since, though I’ve sought it with diligence–ay, almost with prayer. I’ve no shame at all t’ tell o’ the touch of a warm, moist little hand on the road t’ Gull Island Cove–the whisper, the tender fear, in the shadow o’ the Needle–an’ the queer, quick little kiss at the gate o’ dark nights–an’ the sigh an’ the plea t’ come again. An’ so, t’ be sure, I’d no kin with the gloom o’ Davy Junk that night, but was brother t’ hope an’ joy an’ love. An’ my body was big an’ warm an’ willin’–an’ my heart was tender–an’ my soul was clean–an’ for love o’ the maid I loved I’d turned my eyes t’ the sunlit hills o’ life. God’s world o’ sea an’ labor an’ hearts–an’ therein a lad in love!