California -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Western stories
The heavy tread of Abner Nott echoed in the passage. Confused and
embarrassed, Renshaw remained standing at the door that had closed upon
Rosey as her father entered the cabin. Providence, which always
fostered Mr. Nott's characteristic misconceptions, left that
perspicacious parent but one interpretation of the situation. Rosey had
evidently just informed Mr. Renshaw that she loved another!
"I was just saying good-by to Miss Nott," said Renshaw, hastily
regaining his composure with an effort. "I am going to Sacramento
to-night, and will not return. I"--
"In course, in course," interrupted Nott, soothingly; "that's wot you
say now, and that's wot you allow to do. That's wot they allus do."
"I mean," said Renshaw, reddening at what he conceived to be an
allusion to the absconding propensities of Nott's previous tenants,--"I
mean that you shall keep the advance to cover any loss you might suffer
through my giving up the rooms."
"Certingly," said Nott, laying his hand with a large sympathy on
Renshaw's shoulder; "but we'll drop that just now. We won't swap hosses
in the middle of the river. We'll square up accounts in your room," he
added, raising his voice that Rosey might overhear him, after a
preliminary wink at the young man. "Yes, sir, we'll just square up and
settle in there. Come along, Mr. Renshaw." Pushing him with paternal
gentleness from the cabin, with his hand still upon his shoulder, he
followed him into the passage. Half annoyed at his familiarity, yet not
altogether displeased by this illustration of Rosey's belief of his
preference, Renshaw wonderingly accompanied him. Nott closed the door,
and pushing the young man into a chair, deliberately seated himself at
the table opposite. "It's jist as well that Rosey reckons that you and
me is settlin' our accounts," he began, cunningly, "and mebbee it's
just ez well ez she should reckon you're goin' away."
"But I _am_ going," interrupted Renshaw, impatiently. "I leave
to-night."
"Surely, surely," said Nott, gently, "that's wot you kalkilate to do;
that's just nat'ral in a young feller. That's about what I reckon _I'd_
hev done to her mother if anythin' like this hed ever cropped up, which
it didn't. Not but what Almiry Jane had young fellers enough round her,
but, 'cept ole Judge Peter, ez was lamed in the War of 1812, there
ain't no similarity ez I kin see," he added, musingly.
"I am afraid I can't see any similarity either, Mr. Nott," said
Renshaw, struggling between a dawning sense of some impending absurdity
and his growing passion for Rosey. "For Heaven's sake, speak out if
you've got anything to say."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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