The Bishop and the Boogerman

by Joel Chandler Harris

Young Somers hardly knew what to say; he had heard old Jonas described as the meanest man in twenty states, and the promoters of the railway enterprise who had sent him to Shady Dale were not at all backward in expressing their opinion of the man who was causing them so much unnecessary trouble and delay. So he walked on in silence for awhile. Then: "Speaking of my grandfather, I was just on the point of inquiring about the old place, but when you made your appearance just now, dropping out of the sky, I forgot all about it. I should like very much to see the home where my mother was born, and where my grandfather was born and died. I have heard my mother talk about Shady Dale and about the old home-place ever since I could understand what she said. I remember, when I was a child, that I had a queer idea that the town was shaped like a bowl or saucer; all the good people that chanced to come by stumbled and fell in, there to remain, and all the bad people crawled over the rim and fell out; and I couldn't help having a feeling of disappointment when I found that Shady Dale is very much like other towns."

"Now, don't say that!" protested Adelaide. "I have seen a great many towns, but never one like this—not one as pretty."

"Why, in North Carolina——" the young fellow began, but Adelaide interrupted him with a laugh so genuine and unaffected that it was delightful to hear. Yet, in spite of the fact that he enjoyed the rippling sound, he felt his face turning red. "You think North Carolina is a joke," he went on, "but you would be surprised to know what a great state it is."

"I was laughing at one of Mr. Sanders's jokes," said Adelaide, still smiling. "Once there was a tobacco peddler came here driving a big covered waggon. Mr. Sanders discovered he was from North Carolina, and shook hands with him very cordially, and asked about a great many people he never heard of. The tobacco man said they must have moved away, but Mr. Sanders said he thought not, for the reason that the only three North Carolinians he ever saw that were able to settle at the toll-gates and ferries, made their way straight to Alabama, and formed a business firm. He said the name of this firm was 'Tar, Pitch, and Turkentime'—that's the way he pronounced the names. The tobacco man didn't get angry; he laughed as loudly as anybody, and Uncle Jonas says that was because he wasn't conceited."

Here Adelaide paused; she had come to the house of the friend she proposed to visit, and from the gate she pointed out the trees that grew so abundantly on the Bowden place, and her attitude seemed to say to the young man that should he get lost, he would be safe so long as she was within calling distance. He had been used to more dignity and less charm on the part of most of the young women he knew, and he rather preferred the variety which he had now come in contact with for the first time. And yet, when he came to the old homestead, where his grandfather lived and died, and where his mother was born, he was attacked by none of the emotions that would have seized upon the soul of his mother. He had been educated in a different environment, and he was essentially modern in his sense of the importance of business affairs. As he read the friendly inscription on the tomb of his grandfather—the family burying-ground being not far from the picturesquely simple old house—he was conscious of a strong desire to know whether failure or success would crown his negotiations with Mr. Jonas Whipple.

The vagrant winds blew through the tops of trees more than two centuries old, the house frowned grimly over the reminiscences of past hospitality, and the whole scene appealed strongly to sentiments that are now said not to be strictly scientific. But it must not be supposed that the young man had no poetry in his soul, or that his nature was free from emotions of a sentimental character. He lived entirely in the present, and the past had no meaning for him save that which was coldly historical. He found his inspiration in the rhythmical clatter and cackle of intricate machinery; he was stirred by the interweaving and interlacing business problems, and the whole movement, shape, and pattern of huge commercial enterprises.

Nor was this a misfortune. Being modern and practical, he was wholly free from the entanglements and misconceptions of prejudices that had outlived the issues that gave rise to them; and he went about his business with a mind at once clear, clean, and cheerful, bearing the signal of hope on his forehead. As he walked about the old place, it was characteristic of him, that he should be seeking the solution of the puzzle which Mr. Sanders had placed before him in the shape of a "royal straight flush," but in a matter of this kind, his mathematics availing him nothing: nor did it occur to him that the solution was to be found somewhere in the region from which the nations of the world draw their not over-abundant supplies of poetical metaphor. After an interval which he deemed seemly and proper, he turned his steps in the direction whence he had come. The street being straight as well as wide, afforded a fine perspective of sun and shade, to say nothing of the sand. As he went on, he walked more and more rapidly, so that he could have been accused of fleeing from the ghosts of his ancestors; but the propelling influence was the sight of Adelaide, who, having completed her morning call, was emerging from the gate-way that led to the house of her friend. She was for moving on, but seemed suddenly to remember about the young man. Turning, she saw him coming, and waited, sauntering slowly, her mind full of a swarm of thoughts that had been fighting for its possession since she first saw him.

"The sight of your mother's old home doesn't seem to have saddened you," she remarked, as he came up.

"No," he replied, "but that is because I have no refreshing memory of the old place. All my ideas about it are second hand; and besides, it seems to be a very cheerful place. I imagine that the soil round about is still fertile."

"I never thought of that," she answered; "but men are always more practical than women. In your place, I should have searched over the old homestead for the favourite walks of my grandfather; and I should have known, before I came away, where my mother ran, and hid herself when her feelings were hurt; and where she played with her dolls, and just how she did when she was a little bit of a girl."