“I hope you git on,” he said. “And I reckon you will. It’s funny––it’s more’n that––and I don’t know where I got the idea. But it’s kinda come to me, somehow, that maybe it was that account in the paper––that story of Jeddy Conway––that’s set you to leavin’. It ain’t none of my business, and I ain’t askin’ no questions, but I do want to say that there never was a time when you couldn’t lick the everlastin’ tar 142 outen him. And you’ve growed some since then. Jest a trifle––jest a trifle!”
The boy’s smile widened and widened. Then he laughed aloud softly and nodded his head.
“I’ll send you the papers,” he promised. “I’ll send you all of them.”
Old Jerry stood with his outstretched hand poised in midair while he realized that his chance shot had gone home. And suddenly, unaccountably, he began to chuckle; he began to cackle noisily.
“I might ’a’ knowed it,” he whispered. “I ought to hev knowed it all along. Now, you don’t hev to worry––they ain’t one mite of a thing I ain’t a-goin’ to see to while you’re away. You don’t want nothin’ on your mind, because you’re goin’ to hev a considerable somethin’ on your hands. And I got to git along now. Godfrey, but it’s late for me to be up here, ain’t it? I got to hustle, if I ever did; and there ain’t too much time to spare. For tonight––tonight, before I git through, I aim to put a spoke in the Jedge’s wheel, down to the Tavern, that’ll make him think the axles of that yello’-wheeled gig of his’n needs greasin’. Jest a trifle––jest a trifle!”
He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him even before the boy could reply. Still smiling whimsically, Young Denny stood and listened to the grating of the wheels as the buggy was turned about outside––heard the old rig groan once, and then 143 complain shrilly as it started on its way. But no one witnessed Old Jerry’s wild descent to the village that night; no one knew the mad speed he made, save the old mare between the shafts; and she was kept too busy with the lash that whistled over her fat flanks to have given the matter any consistent thought.
Old Jerry drove that scant mile or two this night under the spur of his one greatest inspiration; and while he drove he talked aloud to himself.
“And I was a-goin’ to fix it for him,” he muttered once, “I was a-goin’ to fix that old busted jug in the morning. Godfrey, I must ’a’ been flustered!” He shrilled in uncontrollable glee at the recollection. And then again, later and far more gravely:
“I’m a-gittin’ more religious every livin’ day. I’m gittin’ more religious jest from standin’ around and kinda watchin’ how things is made to work out right, jest when you’ve about decided that the Lord ain’t payin’ as much attention to details as he might.”
He knew that there had to be a light in the windows of the Tavern office; he knew that he had to be in time. That was the finger of a Something behind the whole day’s developments which was directing it all so masterfully. And because he was so certain of it all––because he was positive that he was the agent who had been selected to mete out justice at last––he found himself possessed of a greater courage 144 than he had ever known before as he clambered down from his seat and mounted the worn steps.