THE HEIRESS OF THE RIDGE.
NO-NAME PAPER.
The “Ridger” is quite a different person from the Mountaineer. He looks upon the latter individual as a sodden and benighted unfortunate, whose inaccessible habitation entitles him to the pity of the favored dwellers on the “Ridge.”
That the Ridge is but a low out-put of the Mountain, that it is barren and isolated, does not disturb the comfortable theory of its inhabitants. To the people of the Valley the Ridger is a twin brother of the owner of the hut on the top-most peak of the range.
They look alike. Their bearing and habits are similar. To the Valley eye their clothes are of the same material and cut; but to the Ridger himself there is as wide a difference between him and his less favored brother on the “mounting” as that to be found by the stroller on Fifth Avenue when he gazes with profound contempt upon the egotistic biped who plainly hopes to deceive the elect into a belief that he, also, belongs to the charmed circle and has not simply “run over” from Jersey City, or St. Louis, or New Bedford.
The Mountaineer is frequently a Tunker, the Ridger rarely. Therefore the Ridger is likely to have a shaven face, and, for the younger contingent, a mustache is the rule, a “goatee” the fashion. To the Tunker none of these are permissible. The beard may not be cut, a mustache may not be worn, and, with the first of these propositions in force it will be seen at once that “a goatee” is quite out of the question.
When I say that the Ridger is likely to have a shaven face I do not intend to convey the impression that he ever uses a razor. He shaves his face with the scissors. His Tunker neighbor up the mountain performs the same feat on his own upper lip. The result is effective and satisfactory from both a religious and artistic outlook in the eyes of these sticklers for fashion and dogma, albeit, it might be looked upon as more or less disappointing by the habitués of the Union League Club or the devotees at St. Thomas.
If the rivet, which at some previous date had held the two halves of the scissors together, happens to be lost, or if it has worn so loose that these members “do not speak as they pass by,” a jack knife or even a butcher’s knife is no stranger to the tonsorial process of these followers of the elusive god of style.
I do not know that I have ever met a Tunker so lost to a deep sense of religious duty, or a Ridger sufficiently devoid of the pride of personal appearance, that he would “go to town” without having first performed this rite.
It is a serious business.
In the house of my old friend Jeb Hilson there had once been a “lookin’ glass” of no mean proportions, if those of his neighbors may be taken as the standard, and how else do we measure elegance or style? It had occupied a black frame, and a position on the wall directly over a “toilet,” which was the most conspicuous piece of furniture in the room. At the present time there was nothing to tell the tale but a large nail (from which hung a bunch of seed onions,) and the smoked outline of something which had been nearly fourteen inches long and not far from the same width. In front of this drab outline Jeb Hilson always stood to shave. His memory was so tenacious that I never observed that he noticed the absence of the glass. He gazed steadily at the wall and worked the scissors so deftly that the stubble rained in little showers upon the top of the “toilet” and within the open bosom of his tennis shirt. Not that Jeb Hilson ever heard of tennis, or knew that he was clad in a garment of so approved a metropolitan style and make; but that was the pattern he had worn for many years, and it was the one which his women folk were best able to reproduce. His flannel ones were gray, and his trousers were belted about with a leather strap. For full dress occasions he wore a white cotton shirt of the same pattern and a brown homespun vest. This latter garment was seldom buttoned. Why hide the glory of that shirt? If Jeb owned a coat I have never seen it. He appeared to think it a useless garment.
I believe I did not say that Jeb Hilson was the leader of those who eschewed all hair upon the face. Whether this was done to show a profounder contempt for the Tunker superstition, or whether Jeb had a secret pride in the outline of his mouth and chin, and a desire to give full expression to their best effects, it would be hard to say. It is certain, however, that his motives must have been powerful, for he underwent untold torture to achieve his results. If the blades of the scissors clicked past each other or wabbled apart too far to even click, Jeb would resort to his knife and proceed to saw off the offending beard.
“Hit air saw off er chaw off,” he would remark laconically, as he tried first one implement and then the other. “I wisht ter gracious thet theer scisser leg’d stay whar’t war put; but Lide trum the grape vines with ’em las’ week an’ they is wus sprung then they wus befo’. But wimmen folks is all durn fools. I’d be right down glad ef the good Lord had a saw fit ter give ’em a mite er sense. Some folks sez it would er spilt ’em, but I’m blame ef I kin see how they could er been wus spilt than the way they is fixed now.”
He gazed intently at the smoked image on the wall, and collecting, between his thumb and finger, a pinch of hair on his upper lip began to saw at it with his knife. His large yellow teeth were displayed, and the appearance of a beak was so effectively presented by the protruded lip that words came from behind it with the uncanny sound of a parrot; but it did not occur to him to cease talking.
“I fromised” (his upper lip was drawn too far out to form the letter p, or any with like requirements), “I fromised the young ’squire ter be at the cote house ter day, an’ I tole him thet I’d ast the jedge fer ter ’fint a gyardeen fer thet theer demented widder uv Ike’s.”
He grasped a fresh bunch of stubble, shifted onto the other foot, turned the side of his face to the smoked image of the one time mirror, and rolled his eyes so that in case a glass had hung there he might have been able to see one inch from his left ear. The shaving went steadily on. So did the conversation.
“Ef I don’t make considdable much hase I’m gwine ter be late, an’ ef the jedge don’t ’pint a gyardeen fer thet theer Sabriny she’s goin’ fer ter squander the hull uv her proppity. Thet theer wuthless Lige Tummun is goin’ fer ter git the hull uv hit. Thet’s thes persisely what he’s a figgerin’ fer in my erpinion. He hev thes persuaged her fer ter let him hev the han’lin uv hit, an’ she air a goin’ ter live thar fer the res’er her days; but I’d thes like ter know what’s a goin’ ter hinder him fum a bouncin’ her thes es soon es he onct gits holt er the hull er thet theer proppity. An’ then whose a goin’ ter take keer uv her? Nobody air a hankerin’ fer ter take keer uv a demented widder woman onless she air got proppity. But I hain’t a wantin’ ter say much, fer they is folks mean enough ter up an’ think I mout be a try’n ter git holt er thet proppity myse’f, an’ have the han’lin uv hit; so I thes tole the young ’squire abouten hit, an’ he thes rec’mended me fer ter thes go ter town nex’ cote day an’ erply ter the jedge fer ter ’pint a gyardeen over Sabriny.”
The shaving was finished at last and the homespun “weskit” donned. He stood in front of the smoked reminder while he performed this latter feat, and, after staring intently at the wall, appeared to be perfectly content with the result. Then he trudged away and joined the innumerable host which would as soon think of staying away from town on court day as it would think of standing on its head to pray.
All Ridgers of the masculine gender went to town on court day, and as few Valley men failed to do the same—whether because they knew it would be a good chance to see everybody in the county and talk politics, or because few men were so destitute as to be without lawsuits of their own,—certain it is that they all went and that it furnished topics of conversation which lasted until court day rolled around again.
As I was a guest at the “young ’squire’s” house I was privileged to hear on the following day some further conversation on the subject of Sabriny’s guardian. I was sitting on the front porch with the sweet and simple-hearted mother of the young ’squire when Jeb Hilson’s lithe form appeared.
Jeb was still in full dress. The fronts of his vest hung beneath his long arms as he walked, and he wore his white cotton shirt, somewhat the worse for its “Cote Day” experiences, it must be confessed. On his head was one of those delightfully soft straw hats which the young men of the valley buy by the dozen for fifty cents, wear until they get damp, or for some other reason droop about the face and head like a “Havelock,” and then cast aside for a new one. But a Ridger does not pay out five cents recklessly. One of these straw coverings must last him all summer. But for all that a Ridger must see, and therefore the front of the drooping brim is sacrificed to stern necessity when it can no longer be kept off of the face. The effect is unique. A soft straw crown, run to a peak; a pendant wide brim touching the back and shoulders; a few “frazzles” of straw on the forehead which tell where a brim once was; for the Ridger cuts the front out with the same scissors or knife with which he shaves, and with no more accuracy of outline. The young farmers wear these broad straw hats to protect their faces and eyes from the down-beating sun. The Ridger appears to wear them purely for ornament, since the only protection which they offer in their new shape is to the back of necks already so wrinkled and tanned that even a Virginia sun could hardly penetrate to a discomforting degree.
Jeb nodded to me. Then he took his straw ornament by the top of the peak and lifted it high above his head, so that he could bring it forward without scraping his hair, and “made his manners” to the young “’squire’s” mother. He seated himself on the upper step of the wide gallery, crossed his long legs, placed his straw ornament carefully on his knee, with the pendant portion falling toward his foot, and began a bit of diplomatic manœuvring.
“Howdy, Miss Brady, howdy. I hope yo’ health is tollible. I thes thought I’d like t’ see the young ’squire. Air he in? Hit air thes a leetle bisness matter twixt him an’ me, thes a leetle matter uv mo’ er less intrust’ t’ us both.”
But the young ’squire was not at home. His mother indicated a willingness to convey any message to him upon his return; but Jeb, always contemptuous of women, was in a state of elusive subtlety. Someone in town had lent wings to his already abnormally developed caution in the matter of the application for the appointment of the “gyardeen” for his weak-minded sister-in-law, and had hinted that he might have to swear to her mental condition if he became the sponsor for such a move. Jeb was wily. He had tasted of his brother’s wife’s wrath on more occasions than one, and whatever his opinion may have been of the strength of her mind, he entertained no doubts as to the vigor of her temper when it was aroused. Jeb wanted to be appointed her “gyardeen.” He looked upon the “proppity” as a vast and important financial trust. If he asked the judge to appoint a guardian, and Sabriny knew that he had said that she was of defective intellect—well—Jeb would face much to be allowed to handle that $134.92. (This was the “proppity” in question. It was a “back” pension and there was to be $2.11 per month henceforth.) But Jeb was not foolhardy, and he had trudged back from town without having done what the young “’squire” had advised, and Sabriny’s “proppity” was in jeopardy still.
“No,” he said, wagging his head and looking slyly at the young ’squire’s mother. “No, I thes wanted ter see the young ’squire fer a leetle private talk. I thes promised him fer ter do sompin, an’ then I never done it. Not as he’d keer; but I thes wanted ter make my part fa’r an’ squar’.”
He espied a straw that had straggled out from the ragged cut in the front of his hat. He took it firmly between thumb and finger and gave it a quick sidewise jerk, whereupon it parted company forever with its fellows. Jeb inserted this between two of his lower front teeth at their very base. When it was firmly established he continued his conversation, leaving his lower lip to struggle in vain to regain a position of horizontal dignity. The straw was tenacious, and the lip was held at bay. He did not want to tell his story to anyone but the young ’squire; but an opportunity to display his mental vigor and business acumen to the ’squire’s mother did not present itself every day, and might he not tell the tale, and yet not tell it? Could he not give an outline and still conceal his own motives and desires? Certainly. Women were very weak minded at best, and even the young ’squire’s mother would not be able to sound the depths of his subtle nature.
“The young ’squire, he tole me fer ter ast the jedge ter ’pint a gyardeen over the proppity o’ Sabriny, along o’ her beein’—thet is ter say—wimmen bein’ incompertent ter—thet is, Miss Brady, mose wimmen not havin’ the ’bility fer ter hannel a large proppity—even if they is—. I aint sayin’ that Sabriny is diff’nt fum mose wimmen, you mine. They is folks thet say her mine is—thet she aint adzackly right in her head; but lawsy, I aint sayin’ thet; an’ you mus’ know thet wimmin’ aint in no way fit fer ter manage a proppity—a large proppity—-more especial if they is any man a-tryin’ fer ter git hit away frum ’em.”
“Why, is anybody trying to get poor Sabriny’s money, Jeb?” asked the young ’squire’s mother in sympathetic wonder.
But Jeb had been warned that he would better not commit himself if he hoped for fair sailing. He turned his straw over and put the stiff end between his teeth again, glanced covertly about, concluded that the lady was not setting a trap for him, and began again.
“I aint a sayin’ as they is, an’ I aint a swarin’ thet they aint. Mebby you mout o’ heard uv Lige Tummun?”
“Yes, I have heard that he is a trifling fellow,” said the young ’squire’s mother. “I hope there is no way he can get Sabriny’s little pension.”
“I aint a sayin’ nothin’ agin’ Lige,” said Jeb, with wily inflection which said all things against that luckless wight. “I aint sayin’ nothing’ agin Lige, an’ I aint sayin’ thet he wants ter git hole uv Sabriny fer ter git her proppity; but he hev drawed up a paper, an’ she hev sign hit, fer ter live with him an’ his ole ’oman the res’ er her days fer, an’ in consideration, uv the hull uv thet back pension down, en half—er as near half as $2.11 kin be halft,—every month whilse she live; an’ he bines hisself fer ter feed, an’ cloth, an pervide fer her so long as they both do live, by an’ accordin’ ter the terms uv thet theer paper he hed draw’d up and Sabriny hev sign.”
“Too bad, too bad,” said the young ’squire’s mother; “but the judge will appoint you, don’t you think, since she is weak-minded, and Lige is so unreliable? Poor Sabriny would have very little comfort in that torn-down hut I’m afraid. Did the judge say he would see to it?”
Jeb took the straw from between his teeth, and his lip resumed its normal position. He turned and twisted, seated himself on the lower step, and readjusted his hat on his knee. Then he went on:—
“I aint sayin’ I want ter be ’pinted her gyardeen. Thet air fer the jedge ter say, pervided somebody er other fetch the needcessity ter his mine befo’ all thet proppity air squandered. I haint sayin’ that Sabriny air weak-minded, nuther—thet is weakmindeder then thet she air a—she hev the mine uv a female, an’ nachully not able ter hannel proppity. An’ I haint sayin’ she aint gettin’ mighty well took keer uv by Lige, nuther. The last time I war theer she war roolin’ the roost. She slep’ in the bes’ bed, an’ et offen the bes’ plate, an’ had the bes’ corn dodger an’ shote; but what I air—that is what some air thinkin’ about air whence Lige onct gits the hull er thet proppity in bulk, air hit goin’ ter be thet away? Mine you, I aint asten this yer question; but they is them thet does, an’ whilse they does hit do seem only right an’ proper fer hit ter be looked inter by the proper ‘thorities. Now I tole the young ’squire thet I’d lay the hull caste befo’ the jedge las’ cote day, but the fack air that whence I git theer I met up with a few er my bisness erquaintainces an’ on reflection I made up my mine thet I bes’ thes say nothin’ to the jedge. Thet’s what I kem ter tell the young ’squire so’s he won’t ercuse me in his mine er lyin’ ter ‘im whence he fine out thet I never tole the jedge. They was reasons—numbrous and gineral reasons—fer me ter refleck an’ retrack my plan.”
He reflected for a moment now, and then lifting his hat by the peak, turned it around, raised it high over his head, carried it back and put it on; then from its mutilated front just above his eyebrow he snipped off, with a deft jerk, another straw and started down the steps.
“They is some thet say Sabriny hev a temper thet don’t stop ter be lit up, Miss Brady, but lawsy, I haint sayin’ nothing agin’ Sabriny’s temper, ner agin’ Lige, ner nobody. Some folks will talk thet away. You can’t stop ’em long es they’s ’live en kickin’; but I got mighty little ter say.”
There was a long pause. Then with studied indifference of inflection he continued:—
“I reckon my leetle bisness with the young ’squire kin wait without mouldin’ over night. I thes reckon hit wouldn’t be edzackly bes’ fer ter discuss hit with nobody else,” and he inserted the straw between his teeth with great care and precision, and took his high stepping way toward the Ridge, secure in his self-esteem and approbation in that not even the wiles of a lady of the position of the young ’squire’s mother could betray him into divulging his secret. For, after all, she was but a woman, and—well—this whole matter was a question of “proppity,” and therefore quite beyond her capacity.
As he disappeared over the hill, his straw havelock flapping gently in the wind, and his vest spread wide against his pendent arms, the young ’squire’s mother laughed gently and said:—
“Poor Sabrina, she is a little weaker minded than Jeb, and Jeb is a kind soul in his way. We must let the judge know the trouble, and see if some honest and capable person cannot be found to handle that ‘proppity’ and not squander, too recklessly, the two dollars and eleven cents in the months that are to come. The life of an heiress is, indeed, beset with pitfalls even among the Ridgers.”