LAY until after midnight groping in the mine of thought which Mr. Baker had laid open. It was a new kind of exercise, and, for one thing, after digging in my conceit awhile, I found a brain. It was not a large find, but there are some, surely, who go through life without as good luck. It was the most impudent brain I ever knew.
“You're a fool and a coward,” it seemed to say to me. “What are you going to do?”
“Look for employment,” I suggested.
“That's what I'm doing, and you're the only one in the world who can give it. Try me.” And I did—thought it all over, and began to make rules for the regulation of my conduct. Thereafter I would be brave; no more skulking for me.
I was up at daybreak with a new tone in my voice. That morning I spent half of my money for a new flannel shirt and some fresh underwear. I felt very brave and careless when I started for Summerville with the village behind me. It was a walk of seven miles, and nothing happened except Sam, who had driven over in a buggy and come down the road to meet me. He was dressed up, and had a dreamy eye and a red face. “What luck?” I queried.
“Ain't seen her yet,” he said. “Get in here. I'm so scairt I'm all of a tremble. You got through all right?”
“Yes.”
“So the old man said. Thought he'd die laughin' 'bout the potato-sack.”
“He cured me of being a coward.”