Chapter 23
Chapter 23 of Tilde Jane. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Drew Conway Kent. Tilde Jane by Marshall Saunders.
Chapter 23. An unexpected appearance. While Tilde Jane wrote, Poacher suddenly made a stealthy movement and Gipy, deaf as he was, had enough of the dog spirit left in him to know that someone was coming and to elevate the tiny V-shaped flaps over his ears. The gate clicked. There was a rustling along the ribbon glass bordering the narrow path and then Tilde Jane's writing pad fell to the ground and she sprang up
with a delighted scream. For peering forward in the gathering gloom she discovered Hank, the long absent Hank, moving heavily and awkwardly up the path towards her. He had grown thin, his clothes hung loosely on him and he was pale and worried in appearance, but Tilde Jane did not criticise him. He was the person who had most helped her in her search for a home and springing towards him she caught his arm and ejaculated,
Oh Hank, Mr Hank, is it truly you? I'm pinching, or is it a ghost? He smiled faintly and in return pinched her cheek, I ain't a ghost yet, though upon my word I didn't know but what I'd soon be one. As he spoke he threw himself warily on the seat, Well Tilde, how does Sisgasset treat you? Coronation, you're getting fat, and he scanned her in satisfaction. I wouldn't know you for the little runaway that held me
up last March up Marston. I guess I'm getting fat because I'm peaceful in my mind, said Tilde Jane demurely. I don't have no one to fight, I'm just having the softest time. Sir Father really treats you well? Of course, don't I right you? He's just as sweet as a peach. He lets me wash and scrub and cook and never says a word except not to work too hard and if he wants to be just a little bit cranky, just a teeny little bit, he goes in his room and shuts the door till the bad spirit gets out of him.
Did he ever hurt you? No, he never struck me, he isn't too like the dogs. Hank had never been told of Poacher's adventure but his attention wandered to the dog and he absently stroked his head. You've done the old man a lot of good, he said at last. I know sir, said Tilde Jane earnestly, I guess it's the dogs, but he wants more good done to him. He's in a regular slouch of despond sometimes, Mr Hank.
Is he? said the young man listlessly. What's he desponding about? About money Mr Hank, he lost some in the street and he never got it back, then it costs him something to keep me and the dogs. I feel dreadful about it, I try to eat just as little as possible but I'm as hungry as a bear most of the time. Hank's attention was roused. You must not stent yourself Sissy, this is too bad, I'm to blame. I've been intending to send
you some money but I've had a round of bad luck. His face was so disturbed that Tilde Jane made haste to change the subject. Oh, I'm so worked up to see you I'm perfectly intoxicated, I feel just like the kettle before it boils and that minds me I must go and set it on. You must be starving. No, I ain't hungry, I haven't had an appetite for a week but how much did father lose? Sixty dollars said the little girl reluctantly. Hank relapsed into silence after this information.
He was evidently not inclined to talk but Tilde Jane was brimful of questions and presently burst out with one of them. Mr Hank, what did you do with that beauty horse of yours? Had to sell it he said bitterly. I've lost everything I had. Those farmers are all against me, every potato top among them. I'm played out in this state, they'd like to jail me if they could. Jail you? said Tilde Jane resentfully. I guess I'd come and pound at the door of the jail if they did.
You ought to pound said Hank in an ungrateful and ungalliant tone, because I ain't had a mite of luck since you crossed my path. Tilde Jane fell into blank astonishment for the space of one minute. Then she asked wistfully, do you mean that I did truly bring you bad luck? You truly did he said peevishly. I'm all broken up in my business, cleaned out, done for.
Tilde Jane pushed the hair back from her forehead with a bewildered gesture. Her benefactor was in trouble, perhaps ruined and threw her. But this was no time for reflection, the urgency of the case demanded action. Mr Hank, she said softly, weren't it a roggy kind of business anyway? All business is his roggy, he said gruffly.
I guess you didn't mean that, she said mildly. I know you didn't mean that, I've done you harm. I guess you were just in trouble like the river in the spring when the ice goes mixy maxy every way. He smiled slightly as he rose and looked down into the shrewd little face. Well, tut-tut, Tilde, be a good girl. Where are you going? she asked helplessly.
Blessed if I know, somewhere to earn a living, to Canada maybe. Don't you go through Vanceborough? she said sharply. Then she pressed her hands to her head. I think I'm crazy. Are you Hank Dilson, standing there saying you're going to leave us like this? Don't take on Tilde, he said consolingly.
I'm really sorry. I wouldn't have come out of my way this much if I hadn't promised you, and if you hadn't been such a nice little girl, of course you haven't hurt me. I guess you've done me good, for I have a kind of disgust with my business ever since you set foot in my life. She paid no attention to the latter part of his speech. You say you've got to go, and I can't keep you, she murmured stupidly, and you don't know where you're going.
I don't know, and I don't want to know. I'll loathe for long till my money gives out, and then I'll go to work. Hank, do you think of Australia? No, I ain't got enough dough to get that far. Do you mean bread? No, I mean cash. Why don't you stay here? Nothing to do that I know of.
This is a one-horse place. Hank, you ain't seen your father, she cried, catching at his coat sleeve as he turned towards the gate. Upon my word I forgot the old man. I believe I'll go in for sixty seconds. You say his house better? Yes, said Tilda Jane hurriedly. I didn't write you that he had a fit not long since,
and it seemed to straighten him out. He goes to town on his crutches every day, and Gipy limps after him. Oh, Hank Dilson, Hank Dilson, I'm most loony about this business of you going away. Hank smiled wearily at her and went slowly towards the house. How long can you stay? she asked, running after him. How long will you give us?
He took out his watch and held it close to his face. I guess I'll take the eleven o'clock train. It's nine now. I thought I'd look up some of the boys. Give us all the time, she said pleadingly. Stay with your father and me, I promise, will you? All right, he said obligingly. I don't care if I do. I'm beat out anyway. I have to go someplace, but I'll be back soon. She called after him,
and then she threw up both hands and pressed them over her ears, a favourite gesture with her when she was doing hard thinking. Mr. Wey, Smith or Mr. Tracy? she repeated half aloud. Mr. Wey, Smith or Mr. Tracy? Mr. Tracy, she said at last. He's almost likely, and whirling on her heel, she flew down the path, out the gate and into the street.
Poacher, silent, graceful and swift, kept close to her, but the battered gippy soon gave up the chase with a howl of protest and went limping home. Hank, to his surprise, had on the whole the most agreeable talk of his life with his father. The old man was altered. He had been, at the same time, the stiffest and most demonstrative of parents. The young man reflected. There really was a remarkable change for the better in him, and yet, at the end of three
quarters of an hour, Hank got up to take his leave. They were nearly always absent from each other. They had got out of the way of taking an active interest in each other's concerns. There was not yet sufficiently firm footing and enough of it to bridge to the shaky background of the past, and parting would be a mutual relief. Yet the old man's eye twinkled wistfully as they followed his son to the door. Hank had told him nothing of his troubles, yet his father saw that
he had lost flesh, that he had not a prosperous heir, and he actually guessed that all was not going well with him. He would find out from the young girl, and with a sigh he settled back in his chair. I'll try to come home soon again, father, said Hank, dispiritedly, as he looked over his shoulder before closing the bedroom door, and he was just shrugging his shoulders at the promise, when something dark and panting caught at him in the unlighted kitchen and made him jump.
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