"Why Do You Look At Me So Strangely?"

The first books came, and among the many orders to be delivered, was one for the girl who had reminded Wyeth of a person who now belonged to a closed chapter of his life. He carried her the book.

"My madam has not paid me yet," she said regretfully, "but if you can bring it back next week, I will be delighted to take it."

He did so, and she was as good as her word. "I hope I shall enjoy it," she said, as she paid him.

"I hope so too," said he. "Practically all I have sold to told me that they liked it," he added. He looked at her, and while he was not aware of it, in that moment he had an insane desire. The past and the one connected with it, rose for one brief second before him, as he had known it. She noted the strange look, and was embarrassed. Presently she recovered from the effect it had, and said:

"Why do you look at me so strangely?"

"I don't know," he replied, non-committally.

She did not understand it, but blushed as she said: "You are indeed a strange person.... I have thought about it more than once, since you were here and took my order. Do you look at all your lady customers like that?" She looked full into his eyes as she said this, but what she saw there made her hastily retract.

"I was only joking. You are singular—strange, and—I do not know what to think of you; but you are more than an ordinary agent for the book. I'm sure of that." He remained silent. She looked keenly at the picture, and then at him. A small mustache and a different style in the trimming of his hair; but she inquired suddenly:

"Did you write this book? The picture resembles you." He looked innocent and said:

"Do you think so?"

"Indeed I do," she insisted. '"Then you wrote it?"

"Oh no, indeed," he lied, earnestly.

She appeared dubious, and then said, thoughtfully: "Maybe you have some private reasons for not wishing to be identified as the author, but I feel positive that you are." She smiled appreciatively for a moment, as she surveyed him carefully. "I think you must be smart and know a great deal, to be able to write such a big book. I shall always recall with pleasure, that I had the honor—though he did not acknowledge the fact—of meeting a real author." She extended her hand, which he took, as she said: "I am glad to have met you; and if you write another book, please try to remember that I would like to have a copy of it. Goodbye."

Slim was lolling in the office when Sidney returned. Mrs. Lautier, the clerk and ex-matron, found him very much to her humor, as did Sidney, and he was appreciated in the capacity of mirth.

"Well," he said cheerfully, "I'm doing a little better now. Delivered six copies today," and almost took Wyeth's breath away by handing him $5.40.

"Say," he cried suddenly, when they had settled up. "I happened upon something today in which I am deeply interested, and have been very anxious to tell you." He lowered his voice to a whisper, while Sidney looked surprised, but listened.

"It's a grocery stock that can be bought at a bargain."

"Well?..."

"A chance for you and me to get in right...."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll buy it?"

"But I am not in the grocery business. Books!"

"But you are out to make money?"

"I don't gather what you want or expect me to do."

"Well, I'll explain." He seated himself comfortably, and then went on in that low tone of voice. "A fellow is in partnership with another who is up against it for cash, and offers to sell his share, which is a half interest, at a bargain." He paused again briefly, and then went on. "I, as you know, having recently quit working in a grocery, naturally know all about the conducting of one."

Wyeth nodded understandingly, and remained silent and patient.

"I see in this thing the chance I have been waiting for, and am ready to consider it favorably. Big money is to be made, can be made out of it for me, and I can, at the same time and in the same enterprise, become a man of affairs."

"M-m," breathed his listener, "How do you propose to conduct it?"

"Well," artfully, "first, it should, of course, be incorporated. And then a competent manager and treasurer are necessary."

"M-m. Do you propose to increase the present stock?"

"Not at once. I think the stock as it stands at the present, is quite sufficient to care for the trade which, I have observed, is good."

"M-m."

"I thought as a favor, I would tell you and give you a chance. You could put in an equal share along with myself, which would give you a fourth interest, and you could become vice president."

"I suppose you will, of course, quit selling books, should you take over the affairs of this—er—corporation?" said Wyeth, with well feigned regret.

"Well," said the other, meditatively; "I have not fully decided as yet. It depends largely upon whether you can be brought to see the great advantage you would gain by coming in."

"But what little I represent—which surely isn't much—is tied up in the book business. How much will this thing cost?" Slim winked wisely, held his head low, and whispered it into his ear.

"Twenty-five dollars."

"I'll think it over," said Wyeth, feigning seriousness.

The next day, Slim had forgotten all about the grocery business, but tore into the office in an ecstasy of delight and secrecy. He had discovered something else. It was a soda fountain, rather, it was some old fixtures. When the drug store below had been moved into the new building, they had stored their old fixtures in an empty store room near. The same had been vacant for ten years, but Slim happened by, and saw a grand opportunity at a glance.

He told this to Sidney, with much feeling. "It's the greatest proposition of a decade! We can buy those fixtures for a song, rent the place they are in cheap, move the office up there, and conduct a book store and soda fountain in connection." His eyes opened wide, as he revealed the magnitude of the proposition.

"Can't do it, Slim. It's too big. Guess I'll have to stick to books." The other took on a disappointed expression.

"It's the chance of a life time," he said, with plain regret, and continued to look the part. "I thought you were down here to make money, and when I go out and find something that's an Eldorado, I cannot enlist you. You are making a serious mistake, and will regret it some day."

That was all for that day, but the next day he was mysterious. He didn't, however, "put" Wyeth next to this, but, on the quiet, he met others on the street below, where, at some length, they discussed a restaurant and hotel business, to be duly incorporated, and an office and a management to be appointed. Mrs. Lautier made known to Wyeth the inner secrets of this the next day.

"I'm certainly disappointed in you, Mr. Wyeth," said Slim, one day soon after, very grievously.

"How's that, Professor?" inquired the other, with assumed concern.

"You never seem to consider seriously, the many good propositions I have discovered, and have offered to you for investment."

"Do you yourself?"

"I could make a bunch of money if you would come in," he repeated artfully, but ignored the direct question.

The next day, he was more artful than ever. He was, indeed, full of another proposition. He smiled as he told his friend.

"I'm going to marry that woman out there," he said, low and confidentially.

"On Fourteenth?" the other echoed cheerfully, returning a sincere smile. "That's where you're a man. That'll sure be dandy. When?"

"Oh, not yet a-while, not until I get a divorce from the last one."

"Oh—then. M-m. So you've been married already, rather, you are."

"I have never told you much of my past life, except from a business point, have I?" He smiled naively, and, taking a chair, he became seated, placed his feet in the window, and proceeded to narrate a part of his past.

"I've been married twice," he began.

"Oh, twice...."

"Yes. My first wife died. We lived on a farm in South Carolina, and were as happy a couple as you ever knew. I owned a two-horse farm, and raised plenty of cotton and corn and some hogs, while my wife raised plenty of chickens and garden truck. We had two boys, whom I kept in school in town during the winter. And then, after my crops were laid by, my wife looked after the place, while I went out and sold song books and pictures, and preached."

"Then you're a preacher, too," said Wyeth, when he paused a moment. "I didn't think you were a preacher," he continued, looking him over.

"Well, not altogether. I preach sometimes, but not much since I married the last woman."

"How's that?"

"To tell you the truth, that woman almost made me lose my religion, she was such a devil."

Wyeth was silent, but attentive. Slim went on.

"Didn't you meet my brother? He was here not long ago. I had him up here in the office. You might have seen him about the building here. You could not have mistaken him for any one else, if you had seen him."

"Does he look like you?"

"Lord, no!" Slim exclaimed, with a laugh. "Not at all. And you would not have believed it; but ten years ago he was as spare as I am. Then he went to preaching, and since then he has become the fattest thing you ever saw."

Wyeth smiled naively. Coleman proceeded with his interrupted narrative.

"Well, getting back to that woman; I married her four months after my first wife died, and took her to live in the same house. We got along less than three weeks in peace. Then things began to warm up. She was a devil, if there ever was one on top of the earth, but I persisted faithfully." His appearance was now very pious. "The first big row we had was on Sunday. It was in the morning, and I, with my Bible under my arm, was starting to church. She didn't want to go that day, and had tried to keep me from going; but I always led the prayer, and preached during the pastor's absence, so, as I was saying, I was starting for church. When I passed a room in which she had enclosed herself to pout, she suddenly opened it, and hit me in the side with a big rock. If it had not struck the Bible, I think I would have been hurt seriously; but it hit the book and my arm, and rolled upon the floor.

"Well, after that, the devil was to pay. She kept me in Hell and hot water, and we got along like a cat and a dog. Each day, from sunrise until long after it had set, I asked Jesus whether I could hold out to the end. I had declared to his Holy Name, that I had taken that woman to live with for better or for worse; but surely I was getting the worst of it. And then, at last, it came to the point when it was beyond human endurance. She took to shooting at me for the fun of it."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Wyeth. "You don't mean to say that she shot at you!"

"No," he replied calmly, "she didn't shoot at me; she shot at me, and not once, but any old time she felt like it, which was more than once, by many, many times," he soliloquized, grimly.

"Good night!"

"Yes; she shot at me as though it were no more than throwing hot water on a bunch of rats."

"Save me Jesus!"

"Then one day I shot at her."

"Hush!"

"Yes, I shot at her and tried to hit, but I am thankful the good Lord was with us both against ourselves, I missed. I think I was too much excited."

"Deliver me!"

"It was a few days after we had had a big row for sure, and she had declared she would kill me."

Wyeth looked helpless. Slim smiled grimly, and went on:

"It was about my first wife. I had an enlarged picture of her that hung on the wall, and this devil had been eyeing it with apparent disfavor. That day, she stood directly under it, looking up at it with a double ax concealed in her skirt. I knew she had the ax, and watched her. I swore to myself that the day of Pentecost had come. If she touched my dead wife's picture, I would kill her on the spot."

"Be merciful, Coleman!"

"Yes, yes," he said, in a terrible voice. "I would have done so too, you can bet your last dollar on that.

"She kept looking up at it, and muttering in a low tone. I heard her say: 'I've a notion to tear you to pieces!' I decided that I would tell her, and in so doing give her one chance, a last chance to continue life in this world. So I said: 'Woman, woman, if you touch that picture, get ready to die, for, just as sure as I'm a nigga, I'm going to put your lights out!' Those were terrible days, terrible days," he sighed wearily, and for the first time since Wyeth had known him, he felt a pang of sorrow for him. He was serious. Presently he resumed:

"She went out without a word—she was always dangerous when she said nothing—and returned presently, with a brand new, great big pistol, and, without a word she began shooting. She and I then had it. She with the gun and me a-running, while she pulled the trigger, and run me all over that farm.

"After this, I armed myself and got ready. I took the children to my mother, sold off the stock and everything else but the furniture. I asked the Lord to spare my life, and not let one of those bullets from that gun she always carried, push daylight through me, and I would try to fulfill my promise, God's will be done. I offered her half if she wanted to quit, but she didn't. No, after she had shot at me and scared me out of my wits, she was ready for me to take her in my arms.

"For awhile, things became a little better, but suddenly she went off half-cock, and pulled the trigger of that big gun on me again. Then she got her surprise. I had a gun too. She had a Smith and Wesson, and I had a left-hand Wheeler. 'Ki-doi! Ki-doi!' my old gun barked, and the magazine would whirl around cleverly, automatically. She stood frozen to the spot for a minute, then, taking fright, she dropped hers, and flew with me right after her, shooting that old cannon at every leap. Across the country we went. I loaded and emptied it a half dozen times, and shot away twenty-five shells. I shot at everything in sight!

"After that, I finished selling out and went to Arkansas, where I was getting along all right, until I was fool enough to let her come to me. Again we got along very well for a time, but she got to cocking her pistol where and when I could hear it, so I set out again. Just lately she came to Brookville, and went to raising cain, trying to force me to take care of her. So, as you see, she made me quit there, and thus you see me."

For a long time, both were silent. The noise outside came to their ears, clearly and distinctly, while the ticking of the clock seemed louder than ever before. Presently, Sidney, to relieve his own emotions, arose from his chair and went outside.

Slim spoke of marrying the woman on Fourteenth street, every day for the next week. One morning he came in, his face beaming all over with smiles, and pleasant anticipation was plainly evident.

"Well," he began, "we talked it over last night, and she thinks it will be all right. So I want you to write a letter to my brother who owes me some money, and tell him I must have it, since I am engaged to be married, and must have it to use in paying for my divorce."

Wyeth did so.

"That's fine," he cried gratefully, when it was handed to him. "You certainly can say a whole lot in a few words."

"When I get married to this woman, I think I will have a mate like my first one," said Coleman. Wyeth tendered his sympathy.

"Well," he said, as one put to a task he would like to avoid, "I must get around, and see a lawyer about a divorce." He was thoughtful for a moment, and then resumed: "Wonder what they charge for divorces in this town?"

"Depends upon the attorney and the case," said Wyeth. "I think twenty-five dollars is the usual fee, or amount of cost." Slim hesitated thoughtfully, and then said:

"I'll go down here and see this nigga lawyer. He ought to be willing to get one cheaper than a white lawyer. Don't you think so?"

"Possibly."

He went out. About a half hour later he returned, looking downcast and sullen. He was silent for some minutes, and then said, as if addressing himself: "That nigga's crazy."

"Who's crazy?" Sidney inquired, looking up.

"That nigga lawyer."

"How do you figure that out?"

"I went in there, and spoke to him in regard to the divorce, and what do you think he wants for getting me one?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"Fifty dollars! What do you think of that for highway robbery?"

"Perhaps your case is a bit more complicated than the average, and, therefore, justifies a larger fee," Wyeth suggested.

"Aw, that what he said, too, but he's a blood sucker. He can't gouge me."

"Oh, well," said Wyeth in an off-hand manner, "you won't quibble on a matter of twenty-five dollars additional, when you are getting a good wife. Consider that as a treasure."

"Well, I don't care. If she's willing to pay half, I'll give the sucker fifty." Wyeth bestowed a terrible look upon him, whereupon Slim withered:

"Well, she'd be getting as much as I. So what's the difference?" he tried to argue. Wyeth continued to glare at him.

"The idea!" he declared presently, with undisguised contempt. "To wish a woman to pay for your release from another! I'm too shocked to say how ashamed I am of you!"

Slim laughed sheepishly.

"Twenty-five dollars for a pair of legs like you! If I were a woman, I wouldn't give twenty-five cents for you as you sit there now," Wyeth added, with subdued mirth.

The next day, his atmosphere had changed perceptibly. He was in an ugly humor. Presently he gave words to its cause.

"That nigga woman's fooling me, and I know it."

"What's the stew today?"

"She's got another nigga a-hangin' around her. I've been suspicioning it for some time."

"You're the limit."

"I gave her a ballin' out last night about it too."

Mrs. Lautier came in at this moment, and that was the end of it for awhile.