While I sawed at that prosaic hunk o’ ham the notion of chasing up those knaves and getting my clutch on that stolen money—or any other money—seemed just a hopeless dream. It was surely a crazy idea; I sat there and looked down into my plate and so decided. For all of a quarter-hour I mulled and gloomed there, wondering what had happened to make me so dull and disheartened and doped. I woke up to what the matter was—woke all of a sudden. It was that blamed ready-made suit of clothes!
I was simply plain Ross Sidney! I was right down on the plane of all the men around me. I looked like a tank-town commercial drummer and felt like one. I had no more imagination or horizon than a grocery clerk. All the fantastic spirit of adventure had gone out of me. Perhaps it may be thought that mere clothes cannot do all that to a man! Well, wear overalls to the next grand ball! I’m no psychologist and I have never read Carlyle’s essay on clothes, though I am told he describes about what I have felt. I’m merely saying this: when I realized what was the matter with me and felt certain that I needed to be comfortably crazy in order to keep up my dip—why, do you suppose I would ever have tried to bark in front of that show if I had been dressed in a sack-suit?
Yes, comfortably crazy!
I rushed, up-stairs and shifted to my knight-errant regalia. Then I went to my job on the run. I reckoned that I was going to be in a devil of a hurry for a while!
I galloped down to the wood-lot, my plug-hat riding tilted back like the funnel of a racing steamer. Those choppers were hearty and happy and were hustling for that bonus; if a few laggards needed pep I injected it. I made estimates, got every hitch in Levant which would cart wood and drag timber and started the cut for the railroad.
The freight-trains picked up the gondola cars as they were ready.
I rushed to the cities and arranged for deliveries, pulled down first payments in good season to settle wages for a week, as agreed with Henshaw Hook, and shuttled back and forth until all the cut was cleaned up on the lot. Gad! how I was counting days! I did not waste any time on Judge Kingsley. I realized that the more I kept away from him, the more I kept him guessing!
I grabbed my first opportunity to take a day off the job and run down to the big city; I made that jump from one of the towns where I was handling the last deliveries—for I could not make final collections until the railroad completed its haul, and so I had a little time to spare.
There was another barker at the door of Dawlin’s place, and I noted with gratification that he was a rather seedy chap. The blonde looked acutely surprised and showed apprehension when I walked right in past her. Plainly, her man had been making some promises as to what he would do to me if I ever showed up again.
And the first glance Dawlin gave me when he looked up from his gazara envelopes showed that he was quite ready to keep his promises.