That evening one of Hiram Look’s horses, hitched to Hiram’s best carriage, pranced up to the door of Fyles’ tavern, and the thin woman hopped in lightly, snuggled herself down beside Simon Peak, and away they went.
In Simon’s inside pocket was one of Hiram’s bankbooks showing deposits of a generous amount in one of the savings banks at the county shire. Between its leaves was tucked an order signed by Hiram Look, and directing that money should be paid over to Simon Peak, who would be identified by one of the showman’s friends in the city. There were blank spaces in the order for the insertion of the amount of money to be drawn.
“I’m going to show you what I think of you, Sime,” Hiram had declared in a burst of enthusiasm. “You said I misjudged you. Well, here’s showin’ you that I ain’t. I’m goin’ to leave that order blank ’cause I believe in you. I’ll bet you’re friend enough of mine to beat her down another notch. I’ll bet you can do it. Fill in the amount and draw when it’s settled. Stay till you get them letters, put her on a train and come back, and I’ll show ye that Hime Look appreciates a friend in need.”
It was a piece of impulsiveness that worried the showman considerably during the next day or two, as he sat watching for the head of the gray horse to come bobbing around the alders. His hard life had taught him to distrust men’s honesty and faith. He wondered as he sat there what had influenced him to put so much trust in Peak on the spur of the moment.
“It’s on account of gittin’ softened up by women, that’s what it is,” he grunted in soliloquy. “There I was with a tin can tied to my tail and runnin’ around in a circle and afraid of the two of ’em. No, I ain’t afraid of Abby Snell! But it’s wuth more than one five thousand dollars to keep it away from her that I ever fell in love with a circus woman and wrote such letters as——”
Again the red flush came up from under his collar.
“Yes, I have trusted Sime,” he would mumble aloud, after he had stared at the corner of the alders until his eye ached. “I’ve trusted him, I say! But when your old neighbours and your own brother skins you, then it’s time to turn to strangers and get used white. It’s your own folks that do you the wust—it allus has been so, it prob’ly allus will be so. But—-I could go to the shire and ’tend to that bus’ness and crawl back on my hands and knees before this. She was a-goin’ to telegraft for them letters, cuss her!”
On the third day, when “Figger-Four” Avery bobbed back from the post-office with the mail, there was a thick packet among the letters that Hiram opened first with trembling fingers, for he had recognised Simon Peak’s handwriting.
It was the letter wrapped around the bankbook that Hiram tackled first. He skimmed it with his one eye bulging like a rabbit’s. It was in a way an apologetic letter, and yet it was flavoured with a note of complaint. Simon Peak went on to state that he had thought it all over prayerfully. Each time that a woman had come into their affairs he had been misjudged. Now that his suspicions as to the up-country widow had been confirmed, he could plainly see that he would sooner or later be misjudged again and, being old, he could not endure any more griefs of the sort, seeing that Hiram was his best and his only friend. He was too tender-hearted to stand it—and, besides, he had heard that the widow was neater than wax and smarter than a hornet, and under her administration spittoons and general freedom would have to be abandoned. Moreover, he believed that the conscience of Signora Rosyelli had troubled her ever since the episode of the sixteen hundred dollars. Furthermore, letting her have all that money to go away with and do with as she liked wouldn’t be the retribution that she deserved. It was too much money for a woman to handle——
Hiram yanked open the bankbook and glared at the balance. There had been a withdrawal of ten thousand dollars.