Jeff Briggs's Love Story

by Bret Harte

jouncin' her up and downez if it was a ball-room!" A guilty recollection that he had skippedwith her through the passage struck him with remorse as his aunt wenton: "It's a mercy that betwixt you and the wet bar-skin she ain't gother deth!"

  "Don't ye think, aunty," stammered Jeff, "that--that--my bein' thelandlord, yer know, it would be the square thing--just out o' respect,ye know--for me to drop in thar and ask 'em if thar's anythin' theywanted?"

  His aunt stopped, and resignedly put down the pillows. "Sarah," shesaid meekly to the handmaiden, "ye kin leave go that mattress. Yer's Mr.Jefferson thinks we ain't good enough to make the beds for them two citywomen folks, and he allows he'll do it himself!"

  "No, no! aunty!" began the horrified Jeff; but failing to placate hisinjured relative, took safety in flight.

  Once safe in his own room his eye fell on the bear-skin. It certainlyWAS wet. Perhaps he had been careless--perhaps he had imperiled herlife! His cheeks flushed as he threw it hastily in the corner. Somethingfell from it to the floor. Jeff picked it up and held it to the light.It was a small, a very small, lady's slipper. Holding it within the palmof his hand as if it had been some delicate flower which the pressure ofa finger might crush, he strode to the door, but stopped. Should hegive it to his aunt? Even if she overlooked this evident proof ofHIS carelessness, what would she think of the young lady's? Oughthe--seductive thought!--go downstairs again, knock at the door, and giveit to its fair owner, with the apology he was longing to make? Then heremembered that he had but a few moments before been dismissed from theroom very much as if he were the original proprietor of the skin he hadtaken. Perhaps they were right; perhaps he WAS only a foolish clumsyanimal! Yet SHE had thanked him--and had said in her sweet childlikevoice, "It is a great thing to be strong; a greater thing to be strongand gentle." He was strong; strong men had said so. He did not know ifhe was gentle too. Had she meant THAT, when she turned her strangelysoft dark eyes upon him? For some moments he held the slipperhesitatingly in his hand, then he opened his trunk, and disposingvarious articles around it as if it were some fragile, perishableobject, laid it carefully therein.

  This done, he drew off his boots, and rolling himself in his blanket,lay down upon the bed. He did not open his novel--he did not followup the exciting love episode of his favorite hero--so ungratefulis humanity to us poor romancers, in the first stages of their realpassion. Ah, me! 'tis the jongleurs and troubadours they want then, notus! When Master Slender, sick for sweet Anne Page, would "rather thanforty shillings" he had his "book of songs and sonnets" there, whatavailed it that the Italian Boccaccio had contemporaneously discoursedwisely and sweetly of love in prose? I doubt not that Master Jeff wouldhave mumbled some verse to himself had he known any: knowing none, helay there and listened to the wind.

  Did she hear it; did it keep her awake? He had an uneasy suspicion thatthe shutter that was banging so outrageously was the shutter of herroom. Filled with this miserable thought, he arose softly, stole downthe staircase, and listened. The sound was repeated. It was trulythe refractory shutter of No. 7--the best bedroom adjoining thesitting-room. The next room, No. 8, was vacant. Jeff entered it softly,as softly opened the window, and leaning far out in the tempest, essayedto secure the nocturnal disturber. But in vain. Cord or rope hehad none, nor could he procure either without alarming his aunt--anextremity not to be considered. Jeff was a man of clumsy but forcefulexpedients. He hung far out of the window, and with one powerful handlifted the shutter off its hinges and dragged it softly into No. 8. Thenas softly he crept upstairs to bed. The wind howled and tore round thehouse; the crazy water-pipe below Jeff's window creaked, the chimneyswhistled, but the shutter banged no more. Jeff began to doze. "It's agreat thing to be strong," the wind seemed to say as it charged upon thedefenseless house, and then another voice seemed to reply, "A greaterthing to be strong and gentle;" and hearing this he fell asleep.

  II.

  It was not yet daylight when he awoke with an idea that brought himhurriedly to his feet. Quickly dressing himself, he began to count themoney in his pocket. Apparently the total was not satisfactory, as heendeavored to augment it by loose coins fished from the pockets of hisother garments, and from the corner of his washstand drawer. Then hecautiously crept downstairs, seized his gun, and stole out of the stillsleeping house. The wind had gone down, the rain had ceased, a few starsshone steadily in the north, and the shapeless bulk of the coach, itslamps extinguished, loomed high and dry above the lessening water, inthe twilight. With a swinging tread Jeff strode up the hill and was soonupon the highway and stage road. A half-hour's brisk walk brought himto the summit, and the first rosy flashes of morning light. This enabledhim to knock over half-a-dozen early quail, lured by the proverb, whowere seeking their breakfast in the chaparral, and gave him courage tocontinue on his mission, which his perplexed face and irresolute mannerhad for the last few moments shown to be an embarrassing one. At lastthe white fences and imposing outbuildings of the "Summit Hotel" rosebefore him, and he uttered a deep sigh. There, basking in the firstrays of the morning sun, stood his successful rival! Jeff looked at thewell-built, comfortable structure, the commanding site, and the air ofserene independence that seemed to possess it, and no longer wonderedthat the great world passed him by to linger and refresh itself there.

  He was relieved to find the landlord was not present in person, and soconfided his business to the bar-keeper. At first it appeared thatthat functionary declined interference, and with many head-shakings andaudible misgivings was inclined to await the coming of his principal,but a nearer view of Jeff's perplexed face, and an examination of Jeff'sgun, and the few coins spread before him, finally induced him to producecertain articles, which he packed in a basket and handed to Jeff,taking the gun and coins in exchange. Thus relieved, Jeff set his facehomewards, and ran a race with the morning into the valley, reachingthe "Half-way House" as the sun laid waste its bare, bleak outlines, andrelentlessly pointed out its defects one by one. It was cruel to Jeff atthat moment, but he hugged his basket close and slipped to the back doorand the kitchen, where his aunt was already at work.

  "I didn't know ye were up yet, aunty," said Jeff submissively. "It isn'tmore than six o'clock."

  "Thar's four more to feed at breakfast," said his aunt severely, "andyer's the top blown off the kitchen chimbly, and the fire only just gotto go."

  Jeff saw that he was in time. The ordinary breakfast of the "Half-wayHouse," not yet prepared, consisted of codfish, ham, yellow-ochrebiscuit, made after a peculiar receipt of his aunt's, and potatoes.

  "I got a few fancy fixin's up at the Summit this morning, aunty," hebegan apologetically, "seein' we had sick folks, you know--you and theyoung lady--and thinkin' it might save you trouble. I've got 'em here,"and he shyly produced the basket.

  "If ye kin afford it, Jeff," responded his aunt resignedly, "I'mthankful."

  The reply was so unexpectedly mild for Aunt Sally, that Jeff put hisarms around her and kissed her hard cheek. "And I've got some quail,aunty, knowin' you liked em."

  "I reckoned you was up to some such foolishness," said Aunt Sally,wiping her cheek with her apron, "when I missed yer gun from the hall."But the allusion was a dangerous one, and Jeff slipped away.

  He breakfasted early with Yuba Bill that morning; the latter gentleman'staciturnity being intensified at such moments through a long habit ofconfining himself strictly to eating in the limited time allowed hisdaily repasts, and it was not until they had taken the horses from thestable and were harnessing them to the coach that Jeff extracted fromhis companion some facts about his guests. They were Mr. and Mrs.Mayfield, Eastern tourists, who had been to the Sandwich Islands for thebenefit of their daughter's health, and before returning to New York,intended, under the advice of their physician, to further try theeffects of mountain air at the "Summit Hotel," on the invalid. They wereapparently rich people, the coach had been engaged for them solely--eventhe mail and express had been sent on by a separate conveyance, so thatthey might be more independent. It is
hardly necessary to say thatthis fact was by no means palatable to Bill--debarring him not only thesocial contact and attentions of the "Express Agent," but the selectionof a box-seated passenger who always "acted like a man."

  "Ye kin kalkilate what kind of a pardner that 'ar yaller-liveredMayfield would make up on that box, partik'ly ez I heard before westarted that he'd requested the kimpany's agent in Sacramento to selecta driver ez didn't cuss, smoke, or drink. He did, sir, by gum!"

  "I reckon you were very careful, then, Bill," said Jeff.

  "In course," returned Bill, with a perfectly diabolical wink. "Incourse! You know that 'Blue Grass,'" pointing out a spirited leader;"she's a fair horse ez horses go, but she's apt to feel her oats on adown grade, and takes a pow'ful deal o' soothin' and explanation aforeshe buckles down to her reg'lar work. Well, sir, I exhorted and laboredin a Christian-like way with that mare to that extent that I'm cussed ifthat chap didn't want to get down afore we got to the level!"

  "And the ladies?" asked Jeff, whose laugh--possibly from his morning'sexperience--was not as ready as formerly.

  "The ladies! Ef you mean that 'ar livin' skellington I packed up to yerhouse," said Bill promptly, "it's a pair of them in size and color,and ready for any first-class undertaker's team in the kintry. Why, youremember that curve on Break Neck hill, where the leaders allus look asif they was alongside o' the coach and faced the other way? Well, thatwoman sticks her skull outer the window, and sez she, confidential-liketo old yaller-belly, sez she, 'William Henry,' sez she, 'tell that manhis horses are running away!'"

  "You didn't get to see the--the--daughter, Bill, did you?" asked Jeff,whose laugh had become quite uneasy.

  "No, I didn't," said Bill, with sudden and inexplicable vehemence, "andthe less you see of her, Jefferson Briggs, the better for you."

  Too confounded and confused by Bill's manner to question further, Jeffremained silent until they drew up at the door of the "Half-wayHouse." But here another surprise awaited him. Mr. Mayfield, erect anddignified, stood upon the front porch as the coach drove up.

  "Driver!" began Mr. Mayfield.

  There was no reply.

  "Driver," said Mr. Mayfield, slightly weakening under Bill's eye, "Ishall want you no longer. I have"--

  "Is he speaking to me?" said Bill audibly to Jeff, "'cause they call me'Yuba Bill' yer abouts."

  "He is," said Jeff hastily.

  "Mebbee he's drunk," said Bill audibly; "a drop or two afore breakfastsometimes upsets his kind."

  "I was saying, Bill," said Mr. Mayfield, becoming utterly limp and weakagain under Bill's cold gray eyes, "that I've changed my mind, and shallstop here awhile. My daughter seems already benefited by the change. Youcan take my traps from the boot and leave them here."

  Bill laid down his lines resignedly, coolly surveyed Mr. Mayfield, thehouse, and the half-pleased, half-frightened Jeff, and then proceededto remove the luggage from the boot, all the while whistling loud andoffensive incredulity. Then he climbed back to his box. Mr. Mayfield,completely demoralized under this treatment, as a last resort essayedpatronage.

  "You can say to the Sacramento agents, Bill, that I am entirelysatisfied, and"--

  "Ye needn't fear but I'll give ye a good character," interrupted Billcoolly, gathering up his lines. The whip snapped, the six horses dashedforward as one, the coach plunged down the road and was gone.

  With its disappearance, Mr. Mayfield stiffened slightly again. "I havejust told your aunt, Mr. Briggs," he said, turning upon Jeff, "that mydaughter has expressed a desire to remain here a few days; she has sleptwell, seems to be invigorated by the air, and although we expected togo on to the 'Summit,' Mrs. Mayfield and myself are willing to accedeto her wishes. Your house seems to be new and clean. Your table--judgingfrom the breakfast this morning--is quite satisfactory."

  Jeff, in the first flush of delight at this news, forgot what thatbreakfast had cost him--forgot all his morning's experience, and, Ifear, when he did remember it, was too full of a vague, hopeful courageto appreciate it. Conscious of showing too much pleasure, he affectedthe necessity of an immediate interview with his aunt, in the kitchen.But his short cut round the house was arrested by a voice and figure. Itwas Miss Mayfield, wrapped in a shawl and seated in a chair, basking inthe sunlight at one of the bleakest and barest angles of the house. Jeffstopped in a delicious tremor.

  As we are dealing with facts, however, it would be well to look at thecause of this tremor with our own eyes and not Jeff's. To be plain, mydear madam, as she basked in that remorseless, matter-of-fact Californiasunshine, she looked her full age-twenty-five, if a day! There werewrinkles in the corners of her dark eyes, contracted and frowningin that strong, merciless light; there was a nervous pallor in hercomplexion; but being one of those "fast colored" brunettes, whose dyesare a part of their temperament, no sickness nor wear could bleach itout. The red of her small mouth was darker than yours, I wot, and therewere certain faint lines from the corners of her delicate nostrilsindicating alternate repression and excitement under certainexperiences, which are not found in the classic ideals. Now Jeff knewnothing of the classic ideal--did not know that a thousand years agocertain sensual idiots had, with brush and chisel, inflicted upon theworld the personification of the strongest and most delicate, mostcontrolling and most subtle passion that humanity is capable of, inthe likeness of a thick-waisted, idealess, expressionless, perfectlycontented female animal; and that thousands of idiots had since theninsisted upon perpetuating this model for the benefit of a world thathad gone on sighing for, pining for, fighting for, and occasionallyblowing its brains out over types far removed from that idioticstandard.

  Consequently Jeff saw only a face full of possibilities andprobabilities, framed in a small delicate oval, saw a slight woman'sform--more than usually small--and heard a low voice, to him full ofgentle pride, passion, pathos, and human weakness, and was helpless.

  "I only said 'Good-morning,'" said Miss Mayfield, with that slight, archsatisfaction in the observation of masculine bashfulness, which the bestof her sex cannot forego.

  "Thank you, miss; good-morning. I've been wanting to say to you that Ihope you wasn't mad, you know," stammered Jeff, desperately intent upongetting off his apology.

  "It is so lovely this morning--such a change!" continued Miss Mayfield.

  "Yes, miss! You know I reckoned--at least what your father said, made mekalkilate that you"--

  Miss Mayfield, still smiling, knitted her brows and went on: "I sleptso well last night," she said gratefully, "and feel so much better thismorning, that I ventured out. I seem to be drinking in health in thisclear sunlight."

  "Certainly miss. As I was sayin', your father says his daughter is inthe coach; and Bill says, says he to me, 'I'll pack--I'll carry theold--I'll bring up Mrs. Mayfield, if you'll bring up the daughter;'and when we come to the coach I saw you asleep--like in the corner, andbein' small, why miss, you know how nat'ral it is, I"--

  "Oh, Mr. Jeff! Mr. Briggs!" said Miss Mayfield plaintively, "don't,please--don't spoil the best compliment I've had in many a year.You thought I was a child, I know, and--well, you find," she saidaudaciously, suddenly bringing her black eyes to bear on him like arifle, "you find--well?"

  What Jeff thought was inaudible but not invisible. Miss Mayfield sawenough of it in his eye to protest with a faint color in her cheek. Thusdoes Nature betray itself to Nature the world over.

  The color faded. "It's a dreadful thing to be so weak and helpless,and to put everybody to such trouble, isn't it, Mr. Jeff? I beg yourpardon--your aunt calls you Jeff."

  "Please call me Jeff," said Jeff, to his own surprise rapidly gainingcourage. "Everybody calls me that."

  Miss Mayfield smiled. "I suppose I must do what everybody does. So itseems that we are to give you the trouble of keeping us here until I getbetter or worse?"

  "Yes, miss."

  "Therefore I won't detain you now. I only wanted to thank you for yourgentleness last night, and to assure you that the bear-skin did n
ot giveme my death."

  She smiled and nodded her small head, and wrapped her shawl againclosely around her shoulders, and turned her eyes upon the mountains,gestures which the now quick-minded Jeff interpreted as a gentledismissal, and flew to seek his aunt.

  Here he grew practical. Ready money was needed; for the "Half-way House"was such a public monument of ill-luck, that Jeff had no credit. He mustkeep up the table to the level of that fortunate breakfast--to do whichhe had $1.50 in the till, left by Bill, and $2.50 produced by his AuntSally from her work-basket.

  "Why not ask Mr. Mayfield to advance ye suthin?" said Aunt Sally.

  The blood flew to Jeff's face. "Never! Don't say that again, aunty."

  The tone and manner were so unlike Jeff that the old lady sat down halffrightened, and taking the corners of her apron in her hands began towhimper.

  "Thar now, aunty! I didn't mean nothin',--only if you care to have meabout the place any longer, and I reckon