The girl settled deeper into the soft coat, her eyes half closed.
“You told me once you couldn’t remember your mother even,” she suggested.
“No, nor my father, nor any other relatives, if I ever had any. I was simply stranded in Kansas City when it was new. I wasn’t born there, though, but out West on a prairie ranch somewhere. The tradition is that my parents were hand-to-mouth theatrical people, who’d got the free home craze and tried to live out on the west Kansas desert, who were dried out and 245 starved out until they went back on the road; and who then, of course, didn’t want me. I don’t know. Anyway, when my brain awoke I was there in Kansas City. As a youngster I had a dozen homes—and none. I was any one’s property—and no one’s. I did anything, accepted whatever Providence offered, to eat. Animals must live and I was no exception. The hand seemingly of every man and woman in the world was against me, and I conformed to the inevitable. Any one weaker than I was my prey, any one stronger my enemy. I learned to fight for my own, to run when it was wisest, to take hard knocks when I couldn’t avoid them—and say nothing. It was all in the game. I know this isn’t pleasant to hear,” he digressed.
“I’m listening. Go on, please.”
“That was the first stage. Then, together with a hundred other similar little beasts, a charitable organization got hold of me and transplanted me out into the country, as they do old footsore hack horses when they get to cluttering the pavement. Chance ordained that I should draw an old Norwegian farmer, the first generation over, and that he should draw me. I fancy we were equally pleased. His contract was to feed me and clothe me and,—I 246 was twelve at the time, by the way,—to get out of me in return what work he could. There was no written contract, of course; but nevertheless it was understood just the same.
“He fulfilled his obligation—in his way. He was the first generation over, I repeat, and had no more sense of humor than a turtle. He saw that I had all I could eat—after I’d done precisely so much work, his own arbitrary stint, and not a minute before. If I was one iota short I went hungry as an object-lesson. He gave me clothes to wear, after every other member of the family had discarded them, in supreme disregard for suitability or fit. He sent me to school—during the months of January and February, when there was absolutely nothing else to do, and when I should have been in the way at home. At times of controversy he was mighty with the rod. He was, particularly at the beginning of our intimacy, several sizes larger than I. It was all a very pleasant arrangement, and lasted four years. It ended abruptly one Thanksgiving Day.
“I remember that day distinctly, as much so as yesterday. Notwithstanding it was a holiday, I’d been husking corn all day steady, from dark until dark. There was snow on the ground, 247 and I came in wet through, chattering cold, hungry, and dog-tired—to find the entire family had left to celebrate the evening with a neighbor. They did that often of a holiday, but usually they left word. This time they’d forgotten, or didn’t care. Anyway, it didn’t matter, for that day had been the last straw. So far as I was concerned the clock had struck twelve and a new circuit had begun.
“I looked about the kitchen for supper, but there was none, so I proceeded to prepare one suitable to the occasion. Among other things, the farmer raised turkeys for the market and, although the season was late, there were a few birds left for seed. I went out to the barn with a lantern and picked the plumpest gobbler I could find off the roost, and an hour later had him in the oven. This was at eight o’clock in the evening. While he was baking I canvassed the old farmer’s wardrobe. I’d grown like a mushroom those last years and, though I was only sixteen, a suit of his ready-made clothes was a fair fit. I got into it grimly. I also found a dog-skin fur coat and, while it smelled a good deal like its original owner, it would be warm, and I laid it aside carefully for future reference. 248
“Then came supper. I didn’t hurry in the least, but I had a campaign in mind, so I went to work. When that bird was done I ate it, and everything else I could find. I had the appetite of an ostrich, and when I was through there wasn’t enough left for a hungry cat. I even considered taking the family cat in to the feast,—they had one, of course, and it always looked hungry, too; but I had a sort of pride in my achievement and I wanted to leave the remains as evidence.
“It was ten o’clock by this time and no one had shown up. I was positively sorry. I’d hoped the old farmer would return and find me. I had a few last words to say to him, some that had been lying heavy on my mind for a long time. But he didn’t come, and I couldn’t wait any longer; so I wrote them instead. I put on the dog-skin coat and started away on foot into the night. If I’d had money I would have left the value of the clothes; but he’d never given me a dollar in all those four years, so I took them on account. It was two miles to town and I made it in time to catch the ten-forty-five freight out.