The Abandoned Farmers

by Irvin S. Cobb

  CHAPTER IV. HAPPY DAYS FOR MAJOR GLOOM

  Soon after we moved to the country we became eligible to join theWestchester County Despair Association, on account of an artesianwell--or, to be exact, on account of three artesian wells, complicatedwith several springs.

  I spoke some pages back of the Westchester County Despair Association,which was founded by George Creel and which has a large membership inour immediate section. As I stated then, any city-bred man who turnsamateur farmer and moves into our neighborhood, and who in developinghis country place has a streak of hard labor, is eligible to join thisorganization. And sooner or later--but as a general thing sooner--allthe urbanites who settle up our way do join. Some day we shall be strongenough to club in and elect our own county officers on a ticket pledgedto run a macadam highway past the estate of each member.

  Our main claim to qualification was based upon the water question; andyet at the outset it appeared to us that lack of water would be the veryleast of our troubles. When we took title to our abandoned farm, andfor the first time explored the bramble-grown valley leading up fromthe proposed site of our house to the woodland, we several times had towade, and once or twice thought we should have to swim. Why, we actuallycongratulated ourselves upon having acquired riparian rights withoutpaying for them.

  This was in the springtime; and the springs along the haunches of thehills upon either side of the little ravine were speaking in burblymurmuring voices, like overflowing mouths, as they spilled forth theiraccumulated store of the melted snows of the winter before; and theApril rainstorms had made a pond of every low place in the county.

  In our ignorance we assumed that, since there was now plenty of water ofNature's furnishing, there always would be plenty of water forthcomingfrom the same prodigal source--more water than we could possibly everneed unless we opened up a fresh-water bathing beach in the lower meadowof our place. So we dug out and stoned up the uppermost spring, whichseemed to have the most generous vein of them all, and put in pipes. Thelay of the land and the laws of gravity did the rest, bringing the flowdowngrade in a gurgling comforting stream, which poured day and nightwithout cessation.

  This detail having been attended to, we turned our attention to otherthings. Goodness knows there were plenty of things requiring attention.I figured at that period of our pioneering work that if we got into theDespair Association at all it would follow as the result of my beingindicted for more or less justifiable manslaughter in having destroyedan elderly gentleman of the vicinity, whom upon the occasion of ourfirst meeting I rechristened as Old Major Gloom, and of whom we stillspeak behind his back by that same name.

  The major lived a short distance from us, within easy walking distance,and he speedily proved that he was an easy walker. I shall not forgetthe first day he came to call. He ambled up a trail that the previoustenants, through a chronic delusion, had insisted upon calling a road;and he found me up to my gills in the midst of the preliminary jobof trying to decide where we should make a start at clearing out thejungle, which once upon a time, probably back in the Stone Age, asnearly as we might judge from its present condition, had been the housegarden.

  We had been camping on the place only a few days. We climbed over,through and under mystic mazes of household belongings to get our meals,or to get to our beds, or to get anywhere, and altogether were existingin a state of disorder that might be likened to the condition theGermans created with such thoroughgoing and painstaking efficiency whenfalling back from an occupied French community.

  I trust we are not lacking in hospitality; but, for the moment, we werein no mood to receive visitors. However, upon first judgment the oldmajor's appearance was such as to disarm hostility and re-arouse theslumbering instincts of cordiality. He was of a benevolent aspect, withfine white whiskers and an engaging manner. If you can imagine one ofthe Minor Prophets, who had stepped right out of the Old Testament,stopping en route at a ready-made clothing store, you will have a veryfair mental picture of the major as he looked when he approached me,with hand outstretched, and in warm tones bade me welcome to UpperWestchester. He fooled me; he would have fooled anybody unless possiblyit were an expert criminologist, trained at discerning depravity whenmasked behind a pleasing exterior.

  When he spoke I placed him with regard to his antecedents, for Ihad been on the spot long enough to recognize the breed to which hebelonged. There is a type of native-born citizen of this part of NewYork State who comes of an undiluted New England strain, being thedescendant of pioneering Yankees who settled along the lower HudsonValley after the Revolution and immediately started in to trade theoriginal Dutch settlers out of their lands and their eyeteeth.

  The subsequent generations of this transplanted stock have preservedsome of the customs and many of the idioms of their stern and rock-boundforebears; at the same time they have acquired most of the linguisticeccentricities of the New York cockney. Except that they dwell inproximity to it, they have nothing in common with the great city thatis only thirty or forty miles away as the motorist flies. Generally theyprofess a contempt for New York and all its works. They may not visit itonce a year; but, all the same, its influence has crept up through thehills to tincture their mode of speech with queer distinctive modes ofpronunciation.

  The result is a composite dialectic system not to be found anywhere elseexcept in this little strip of upland country and in certain isolatedcommunities over on Long Island, along the outer edge of the zone ofmetropolitan life and excitement. For instance, a member of this race ofbeings will call a raspberry a "rosbry"; and he will call a bluebird a"blubbud," thereby displaying the inherited vernacular of the Down Eastcountry. He will say "oily" when he means early, and "early" whenhe means oily, and occasionally he will even say "yous" foryou--peculiarities which in other environment serve unmistakably to markthe born-and-bred Manhattanite.

  The major at once betrayed himself as such a person. He introducedhimself, adding that as a neighbor he had felt it incumbent to call.I removed a couple of the family portraits and a collection of Indianrelics and a few kitchen utensils, and one thing and another, from theseat of a chair, and begged him to sit down and make himself at home,which he did. He accepted a cigar, which I fished out of a humidortemporarily tucked away beneath a roll of carpet; and we spoke of theweather, to which he gave a qualified and cautious indorsement. Then,without further delay, he hitched his chair over and laid a paternalhand upon my arm.

  "I hear you've got Blank, the lawyer, searching out the title to yourpropputty here."

  "Yes," I said; "Mr. Blank took the matter in hand for us. Fine man,isn't he?"

  "Well, some people think so," he said with an emphasis of profoundsignificance.

  "Doesn't everybody think so?" I inquired. "Listen," he said; "my mottois, Live and let live. And, anyhow, I'm the last man in the world to goround prejudicing a newcomer against an old resident. Now I've just metyou and, on the other hand, I've known Blank all my life; in fact, we'resort of related by marriage--a relative of his married a relative ofmy wife's. So, of course, I've got nothing to say to you on thatscore except this--and I'm going to say it to you now in the strictestconfidence--if I was doing business with Blank I'd be mighty, mightycareful, young man."

  "You astonish me," I said. "Mr. So-and-So"--naming a prominent businessman of the county seat--"recommended his firm to me."

  "Oh, So-and-So, eh? I wonder what the understanding between those twois? Probably they've hatched up something."

  "Why, isn't So-and-So above suspicion?" I asked. "I wouldn't say he wasand I wouldn't say he wasn't. But, just between you and me, I'd thinktwice about taking any advice he gave me. They tell me you've let thecontract for some work to Dash & Space?"

  "Yes; I gave them one small job."

  "Too bad!"

  "What's too bad?"

  "You'll be finding out for yourself before you're done; so I won't sayanything more on that subject neither. I could tell you a good dealabout those fellows if I was a-mind to; but I never beli
eved inrepeating anything behind a man's back I wouldn't say to his face. Liveand let live!--that's my motto. Anyhow, if you've already signed up withDash & Space it's too late for you to be backing out--but keep your eyesopen, young man; keep your eyes wide open. Who's your architect going tobe?"

  I told him. He repeated the name in rather a disappointed fashion.

  "Never heard of him," he admitted; "but I take it he's like the run ofhis kind of people. I never yet saw the architect that I'd trust as faras I could sling him by the coat-tails. Say, ain't that Bink's deliverywagon standing over yonder in front of your stable?"

  "I think so. We've been buying some things from Bink."

  "You've opened up a regular account with him, then?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, I wouldn't reflect on Bink's honesty for any amount of money inthe world. Of my own knowledge I don't know anything against him one wayor the other. Of course, from time to time I've heard a lot of thingsthat other people said about him; but that's only hearsay evidence, andI make it a rule not to repeat gossip about anybody. Still"--he lingeredover the word--"still, if it was me instead of you, I'd go over hisbills very carefully--that's all!

  "I don't blame any fellow for trying to get along in his business; andI guess the competition is so keen in the retail merchandising linethat oncet in a while a man just naturally has to skin his customers alittle. But that's no argument why he should try to take the entire hideoff of 'em. They tell me Bink's bookkeeper is a regular wizard when itcomes to making up an account, 'specially for a stranger." He tooka puff or two at his cigar, meantime squinting across our weed-grownfields. "Don't I see 'Lonzo Begee chopping dead trees down therealongside the road?"

  "Yes; I believe that's his name. He only came to work for us thismorning. Seems to be a hustler."

  "Does he, now? Well, ain't it a curious circumstance how many fellersstarting in at a new job just naturally work their heads off and windup at the end of the second week loafing? Strikes me that's particularlythe case with the farm laborers round here. Now you take 'Lonzo Begee'scase. He never worked for me--I'm mighty careful about who I hire,lemme tell you!--but it always struck me as a strange thing that 'Lonzochanges jobs so often. I make it a point to keep an eye on what'shappening in this neighborhood; and seems like every time I run acrosthim he's working in a different place for a different party.

  "And yet you never can tell--he might turn out to be a satisfactory handfor you. Stranger things have happened. And besides, what suits oneman don't suit another. I believe in letting a man find out about thesethings for himself. The bitterer the experience and the more it costshim, the more likely he is to remember the lesson and profit by it.Don't you think so yourself?"

  I told him I thought so; and presently he took his departure, afterremarking that we had purchased a place with a good many possibilitiesin it; though, from what he had heard, we probably paid too much for it,and he only hoped we didn't waste too much money in developing. Heleft me filled with so many doubts and so many misgivings that I feltcongested. Within two days he was back, though, still actuated by theneighborly spirit, to warn me against a few more persons with whom wehad already had dealings, or with whom we expected to have dealings, orwith whom conceivably we might some day have dealings.

  And within a week after that he returned a third time to put me onmy guard against one or two more individuals who somehow had beenoverlooked by him in his previous visits. Rarely did he come out in theopen and accuse anybody of anything. He was too crafty, too subtle forthat. The major was a regular sutler. But he certainly did understandthe art of planting the poison. Give him time enough, and he coulddestroy a fellow's confidence in the entire human race.

  He specialized in no single direction; his gifts were ample for allemergencies. When he tired of making you distrustful of those about you,or when temporarily he ran out of material, he knew the knack of makingyou distrustful of your own judgment. For example, there was thetime, in the second month of our acquaintance I think it was, whenhe meandered in to inspect the work of renovation that had just beenstarted on the stable. He spent perhaps ten minutes going over thepremises, now and then uttering low, disparaging, clucking sounds underhis breath. I followed him about fearsomely. I was distressed on accountof the disclosures that I felt would presently be forthcoming.

  "Putting on a slate roof, eh?" he said when he was done with theinvestigation. "Expect it to stay put?"

  I admitted that such had been the calculation of the builder.

  "Nothing like being one of these here optimists," he commented dryly."But I want to tell you that it's the biggest mistake you ever made toput a slate roof on those sloping gables without sticking in some metaluprights to keep the snow from sliding off in a lump when the winterthaws come."

  It had always seemed to me that snow had few enough pleasures as it was.Though I had given the subject but little thought, it appeared to methat if sliding off a roof gave the snow any satisfaction it would illbecome me or any one else to interfere. I ventured to say as much.

  "I guess you don't get my meaning," he explained. "When the snow startssliding, if there's enough of it, it's purty sure to take most of thoseslates along with it. And then where'll you be, I want to know?"

  "Is--is it too late to put up some anti-sliding thingumbobs now?" Iasked.

  "Oh, yes," he said comfortingly; "it's too late now unless you rippedthe whole job off and started all over again. I judge you'll just haveto let Nature take its course. I see you've got a chimney that don'tcome over the ridge of the roof. Are you calculating that it'll draw?"

  "I rather hoped it would--that was the intention, I believe."

  "Well, then, you're in for another disappointment there. But if I wasyou I shouldn't fret myself about that, because it'll be some months yetbefore you'll be building a fire in the fireplace, what with the warmweather just coming on; and you can have the top of the chimney liftedalmost any time.... I don't want to alarm you needlessly; but it looksto me like mighty faulty drainpipes the plumber's been putting in foryou. You'll have to snatch all that out before a great while and havenew pipes put in proper. Don't it beat all what sharpers plumbers are?But then, they're no worse than other artisans, taking them by andlarge. F'r instance, what could be a worse job than that plasteringin your bedroom, or those tin gutters up yonder at your eaves? Theplastering may stay up a while, but the first good hard storm oughtto bring the gutters down. I don't like your masonry work, either, ifyou're asking me for my opinion; and I see the carpenters are slippingin some mighty sorry-looking flooring on you."

  I am not exaggerating. I am repeating, as accurately as I can, aconversation that really took place.

  For a while the major was in a fair way to spoil the present century forme. If the inhabitants of the countryside were in a conspiracy to stripthe pelfry off a fresh arrival and divide it among them as souvenirs, ifthere was no honesty left anywhere in a corrupted world, what, then,was the use of living? Why not commit suicide according to one of thestandard methods and have done with the struggle, trusting that theundertaker would not be too much of a gouge and that the executors ofthe estate would leave a trifle of it for the widow and the orphan?

  But, after a spell, during which from the various firms, corporationsand persons who had been traduced by him we uniformly had considerateand fair and scrupulously honorable treatment and service, we began todisregard the major's danger signals and to steer right past them. He,though, wearied not in well-doing. At every chance he dropped in, apoison viper disguised as a philanthropist, to hang another red light onthe switch for us. It was inevitable that his ministrations should geton our nerves. I began to have visions centering about justifiable actsof homicide, always with the major for the chosen victim of my violence.

  It was after having such a dream that I figured myself as getting intoGeorge Creel's Despair Association by virtue of having to stand trialover at White Plains for murder. As a matter of fact, I spared themajor; and at last accounts he was still
going to and fro in the land,planting slanders on all likely sites. I take it that there is onecounterpart for him among every so many human beings; but it is in thecountry where every one has a chance to find out every one's business,and where the excuses of being neighborly and friendly give himopportunity for plying his trade that he is most in evidence.