It was a tidy enough fortune my dear old father had left me. I had been able to do many things to make Wanza and Captain Grif comfortable and happy during the long winter. Among other things I had purchased a piano for Wanza to replace the old melodeon, and delighted Captain Grif with the gift of a phonograph. And last, but not least, I had made the last payment on the little cottage in which they lived and presented the deed to Captain Grif on his sixty-fifth birthday.
Dear Captain Grif! His manner of accepting this last gift was characteristic.
“Tain’t for myself I’d take it. I’d just about as lief worry along and save and scrimp toward makin’ the final payment— I ’low I’d sooner; I like the glory, and when you have a soft thing handed to you there ben’t nothin’ achieved. I’m meanin’ it, s-ship-mate. Things we earn is the things we ’preciate. But I take it kindly of you. And for Wanza’s sake I thank you and accept. ’Tis hard on the gal—pinchin’ and scrimpin’—and peddlin’ in winter is about played out—the roads is in bad shape for gettin’ about, you’ll ’low. Now with the house paid for, the gal’ll have what she earns for ribbons and furbelows and trinkets. And ownin’ sech a face as hern, Mr. Dale—though it don’t need no adornin’—sure makes a gal long for fixin’s. I’m grateful and pleased for her sake—I sure be.” Tears dimmed his kind old eyes. His hand came out to me. “Shake hands, David Dale, man; you’re a friend—a friend. We need friends—the gal and I—seems like we need ’em more’n we used since all we been through,—and I want to say right here that Wanza never would’a perked up if it hadn’t a been for your helpin’ her this winter. She was pretty well down, Wanza was. Well, in my youth, young folks was different. I used to think—I used to think one time—well, there, by golly, s-ship-mate, it makes no difference what I used to think! I was mistook, I ’low. It sure is great for a man and gal to be such friends as you and Wanza—no foolishness—no tomfoolery!—it’s unusual—I ain’t sayin’ that it tain’t—but it’s fine, s-ship-mate, it’s fine.”
“I’M GRATEFUL AND PLEASED”
Through the winter I had had frequent letters from Haidee—frank, friendly letters, filled with stories of Joey—and a few printed epistles from the lad; one in particular that impressed me; “Joey is all rite,” it said.
I discussed this with Wanza, who said tearfully:
“His saying that makes me think he isn’t. He is such a plucky little chap. He would not have you worrying. Not that I think he’s sick—sure enough sick, you know; but I just feel sure he’s pining.”
“Please—please, Wanza, don’t put that thought into my mind,” I said hastily. “If I thought Joey were happy I could more easily bear his absence.”
She looked at me and shook her head. Then she smiled.