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The Face Of The Poor
by
Mr. Anthony broke into his embarrassment. “Let me see.” He put his hand on the bell.
“Ask Mr. Evert to send me the mortgage from Burson to Edmonson, assigned to me,” he said when Rufus appeared.
The negro walked out of the room as if he were carrying the message on his head.
“Mother doesn’t always see things just as I do,” said Burson; “she was willing to sign the mortgage, though,” he added, “only she didn’t need to; she wanted me to get the money of Edmonson.”
He put his hand into his pocket, and a light of discovery came into his face.
“Have a peach,” he said convivially, laying an enormous Late Crawford on the corner of the desk. Mr. Anthony gave an uncomprehending glance at the gift. “Hain’t you got a knife?” asked Burson, straightening himself and drawing a bone-handled implement from his pocket; “I keep the big blade for fruit,” he said kindly, as he laid it on the desk.
Mr. Anthony inspected the proffered refreshment with a queer, uncertain smile; then he took the peach from the desk, drew the wastebasket between his knees, opened the big blade of the knife, and began to remove the red velvet skin. The juice ran down his wrists and threatened his immaculate cuffs. He fished a spotless handkerchief from his pocket with his pencil and mopped up the encroaching rivulets. His companion smiled upon him with amiable relish as the dripping sections disappeared.
“I errigated ’em more than usual this year, and it makes ’em kind of sloppy to eat,” he apologized; “it doesn’t help the flavor any, but most people buy for size. When you’re out peddling and haven’t time to cultivate, it’s easy to turn on the water. It’s about as bad as a milkman putting water in the milk, and I always feel mean about it. I tell mother errigating’s a lazy man’s way of farming, but she says water costs so much here she doesn’t think it’s cheating to sell it for peach-juice.”
Rufus came into the room, and bore down upon the pair with deferential disdain. Mr. Anthony gave his fingers a parting wipe, and took the papers from the envelope.
“It’s all right, Burson,” he said after a little, “you needn’t mind about your wife’s signature. I’ll risk it. Come back in about a week, say Thursday, Thursday at ten, if that suits you. I’ll have my attorney look into it.”
Burson got up and started out. Then he turned and stood still an instant.
“Of course, I mean to tell mother about the deed,” he said; “I wouldn’t want you to think”–
“Oh, certainly, certainly,” acquiesced Mr. Anthony with an almost violent waiving of domestic confidence. “Good-afternoon, Mr. Burson.” He whirled his revolving chair toward the desk with a distinct air of dismissal, and picked up the package of papers.
After the door closed he sat still for some time, looking thoughtfully at the mortgage; then he made a memorandum in ink, with his signature in full, and attached it to the document. Rufus opened the door.
“Mr. Darnell and two other gentlemen, suh.”
The millionaire set his jaws. “Show them in, Rufus. Damn it,” he said softly,–“damn it, why can’t they be honest!”
* * * * *
“Do you mean to tell me, Erastus Burson, that you deeded him this place, and gave him your note for two hundred and fifty dollars you didn’t owe him?”
“Why, no, mother; didn’t I explain to you there’d be a deficiency judgment?”
“Well, I should say there was. But if anybody’s lackin’ judgment I’d say it was you, not him. The idea! Why he’s as rich as cream, and you’re as poor”–
“Well, his being rich and me being poor hasn’t got anything to do with it, mother; we’re just two men trying to be fair with each other, don’t you see? You and the girls wouldn’t want me to be close-fisted and overreachin’, even if I am poor. I think we fixed it up just as near right as a wrong thing can be fixed. Of course I don’t like to feel the way I do about Edmonson, but Mr. Anthony don’t seem to lay up anything again him, and he’s the one that has the right to. Edmonson treated him worse than anybody ever treated me. I don’t know just how I’d feel toward a man if he’d treated me the way Edmonson treated Mr. Anthony.”