“In his trouses’ pocket. I offered to keep it for him, but he said no, he’d keep it; then he’d know when he broke it. He’s had a letter sinse you was there from somewhere. Says he expects another with some money. He hain’t much now, and we fellers chipped in and made him up a little. We kind of like the cuss. He wants to sell that stun he wears on his little finger, but says this ain’t no place for that. Joe Newell, who’s great on jewelry, offered him twenty-five dollars for it, thinkin’ he was doin’ a big thing. You or’to seen Pennington’s face. ‘Twenty-five dollars!’ says ’ee. ‘Are you crazy? It cost three hundred.’ I don’t b’lieve it, do you? There’s his watch he’s goin’ to send to Helena, or Butte, when he gits a chance. Says that cost a hundred and fifty dollars. I don’t b’lieve it, do you? They’ve give him the best room up to the tavern, and he’ll pay, too. I b’lieve he’s honest for a New Yorker, but I can’t make him out. He never says a word about his folks, with all Lizy Ann’s pumpin’, and she’s good at that. She couldn’t git nothin’ from him. He talked about some gal with a queer name when he was outen his head before Miss Elithe came. Since then when he talked in his sleep it hain’t been that girl’s name, but two or three times he’s called for Elithe, Elithe, to git him outen some scrape.”
Here Stokes gave another wink, which Elithe did not see. But her father did, and stopped the garrulous Stokes by abruptly changing the conversation and asking after the work in the mine in which he had a small interest.
“Fust rate, fust rate. You’ll be a nabob some day, and I hope you will,” Stokes said, leaving Mr. Pennington and launching into the subject of the mines. “Well, good day,” he said at last. “I must be goin’ back. Keep an eye on New York; that’s what we call him, and don’t let him backslide. He never cussed but oncet comin’ here, and that was when we run over a boulder and sent him up about a foot. Good-bye.”
He started to go, then stopped and added: “I reckon New York will he spectin’ some of you to call soon. It’s kind’er lonesome changin’ from the mines to the tarvern.”
Rob was the first to call. He had thought the night at the mines a lark and was a good deal interested in Mr. Pennington, whom he first called Elithe’s patient and afterwards her convert. He found him in the “chambre de luxe” of The Samona,—a large, square room with three paper-curtained windows, a rag carpet, a high post bedstead, two hard chairs, a table in the centre with a red cotton spread, a Bible, a high washstand with a round hole in the top for the bowl and two small towels. Mr. Pennington was glad to see the boy and kept him a long time, asking him questions about the people in the town and his own family generally. Then looking from his window to the far end of the long street, where the church, soon to be consecrated, was standing, he talked about that, learning that Elithe played the instrument, as Rob called the little parlor organ, and led the singing and taught in Sunday-school and “ran things generally, and ran them well, too,” Rob said, adding with a good deal of pride: “Elithe is very religious,—not stiff, you know; not the kind that won’t let a feller have a good time. She likes fun and all that, but she’s great on the church and temperance.”
Rob remembered the snakes and blue devils, and as the son of a clergyman felt it his duty to drive a nail in the right direction when he had a chance. There was no sign of snakes or devils about Mr. Pennington now. He was clothed and in his right mind. A temperance pledge was in his pocket and he meant to keep it. He had some money, thanks to his friends the miners, whom he should pay as soon as he received what he was expecting every day. He was lodged in a clean and comfortable room, and what was better than all he was near Elithe. His “sweet wild rose of the West” he called her to himself, and he had sworn a big oath that not a petal of the rose should be tarnished by him. He was going to reform; he had reformed, and when later in the day Mr. Hansford called he, like Rob, was impressed with the gentlemanly manner with which he was received. In some respects Mr. Pennington had the advantage of Roger. He had traveled in Europe, had seen much of the world, had read many books and had been to Harvard College. He did not say he had been sent home for the very habit which had brought him so low at the mines, nor did Mr. Hansford ask him troublesome questions. Accustomed to many phases of human nature, he was shrewd enough to guess that behind this polished exterior there was a past the man would keep from sight, and he did not intend to meddle with it. If he could do him good he would and at the same time he should guard his own fold sedulously, lest some taint of poison should creep in. He invited Mr. Pennington to call at the Rectory, and the next day he came, and the next and the next, until he was quite one of the family. He seemed to know just what string to pull to make himself popular. He told Rob of his trip to Egypt, of the Pyramids and the Sphinx, and the grand old ruins of Luxor and Thebes. He played backgammon with George, checkers with Thede, and hull-gull with Artie. He treated Mrs. Hansford with the utmost deference as a lady and an invalid, anticipating her wishes and making himself so agreeable to her that she looked forward to his visits with more interest than Elithe. To her Mr. Pennington never talked much. He knew that Mr. Hansford was watching him in that direction, and nothing could be more circumspect than his demeanor towards her. But he never for a moment forgot her. He always heard her when she spoke,—heard, too, the rustle of her dress and the sound of her footsteps when she was coming, and when, as she sometimes did, she gave him her hand, as she said good-night, the touch of her slender fingers sent the blood coursing through his veins, and he would curse himself for a fool to care so much for a little Western country girl who never could care for him, and who he knew ought not to care for him if she could.
Meanwhile his reformation was progressing. He kept his pledge, was gracious to everybody, and only swore occasionally under his breath at the coarseness of his food and the way it was served. Every Sunday and every week day when there was service found him at church, more devout if possible than Elithe herself. Rob, who saw everything, said he kept his head down longer than any body else and bowed nearly to the floor in the creed.
“You are so good why don’t you get confirmed when the Bishop comes to consecrate the church?” the boy said to him one day, and Pennington replied: “By Jove, I b’lieve I will. I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think she’d,—he’d, I mean,—do you think he’d take me?”
Rob understood the blunder. Like his father, he was awake to the situation, and he replied: “He might take you, but I don’t know about she.”
Mr. Pennington colored and mentally decided to abandon the confirmation business. As a whole he was very popular in Samona, where some of the people looked upon him as a suitor for the Rector’s daughter. It did not take long for this gossip to reach Mr. Hansford, who was greatly annoyed. As yet Elithe had shown no sign of consciousness, but there might come an awakening, which, if possible, he would prevent. In his extremity his thoughts turned to his aunt, Miss Phebe Hansford. It was more than twenty years since he had seen her and a long time since he had heard from her. She had opposed his marriage bitterly and opposed his going into the ministry as an Episcopal clergyman. She had very little faith in the church and less in Lucy Potter, and when he espoused both she washed her hands of him and had kept them washed and dried ever since. He could not ask her to invite Elithe to visit her, but he would write to her and send his daughter’s picture, hoping that something might come of it. It would be hard to part with Elithe, but he would do it if by so doing he could remove her from danger. There was a consultation with his wife, who at first demurred, but at last consented, and the letter on which so much was pending was sent with a prayer that it might have the desired result.