Paul Rundel: A NovelHarben, Will N. (Will Nathaniel)
General
Paul Rundel: A Novel
Harben, Will N. (Will Nathaniel)
Fugitives from justice -- Fiction; Georgia -- Fiction; Ku Klux Klan (19th century) -- Fiction
“I should like it, I am sure,” Paul said, gratefully.
“I am going to stay here, and I'll have to keep busy.”
“Well, we'll talk it over to-morrow,” Hoag said, in quite a tone of
satisfaction. “I reckon we'll agree on the price. If you are as hard a
worker as you used to be I'll be more 'an pleased.”
They were now at the veranda steps. The front door was locked; Hoag
opened it with a key which was fastened to his suspenders by a steel
chain, and the two went into the unlighted hall. The owner of the house
fumbled about in the dark until he found a couple of candles on a table,
and, scratching a match on his thigh, he lighted them.
“Now we are all hunky-dory,” he chuckled. “I'm goin' to give you a good
room, an' if I don't live on the fat of the land as to grub nobody else
does. If we come to terms, I'll want you to stay right here, whar I can
consult you at a moment's notice.”
“That would be nice indeed,” Paul returned, as he followed his host up
the uncarpeted stairs to a hall, which was the counterpart of the one
below.
At the front end of the hall Hoag pushed a door open and entering a
large bedroom, put one of the candles on the mantelpiece. “Here you
are,” he said, pleasantly, waving his heavy hand over the furniture,
which consisted of a table, a couple of chairs, a bureau, wardrobe, and
a fully equipped wash-stand. “You 'll have to admit”--Hoag smiled
at this--“that it is better than the place you was headed for. The
last time I peeped in that jail thar wasn't any beds that I could
see--niggers an' tramps was lyin' on iron bars with nothin' under 'em
but scraps o' blankets.”
Just then there was the sound of a creaking bed in the room adjoining.
Hoag put his own candle down on the table. “It's Henry,” he explained.
“He's been poutin' all day. Me'n him had some hot words at supper. He
wants me to furnish some money for him to go in business on. Him an'
another man want to start a produce store in Grayson, but I won't put
hard cash in inexperienced hands. It would be the same as stickin' it
in a burnin' brush-heap. He's quit drinkin' an' gamblin', but he won't
work.”
“I've seen young men like him,” Paul said. “Henry wasn't brought up to
work, and he may be helpless. He ought to be encouraged.”
“Well, I'll not encourage him by puttin' a lot o' cash in his clutches,”
Hoag sniffed. “If he'd set in an' work like you used to do, for
instance, thar's no tellin' what I would do for him in the long run.
Well, I'm keepin' you up. I'll see you in the mornin'. Good night.”
“Good night,” Paul said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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