the storm was wild enough, but of short duration, and it came to its end as suddenly as it had begun. as the black cloud departed from the sky, the darkness, which had been almost a solid inside the still-house, was pierced by certain lines of mild light coming through various chinks in the walls and roof. our friends examined one another curiously, as if to be sure that it was not all a dream.
cattleton found himself face to face with a demure-looking young man, whom he at once recognized as harry punner, a writer of delicious verses and editor of a rollicking humorous journal at new york.
“hello, hal! you here?” he cried. “well how does it strike your funny bone? it insists upon appearing serious to me.”
“i’m smothering for a whiff of fresh air,” said punner, in a very matter-of-fact tone. “can’t we raise a window or something?”
“the only window visible to the naked eye,” said cattleton, “is already raised higher than i[112] can reach,” and he pointed to a square hole in the wall about seven and a-half feet above the ground and very near the roof.
crane went about in the room remarking that the aroma floating in the air was the bouquet of the very purest and richest copper-distilled corn whisky and that if he could find it he was quite sure that a sip of it would prove very refreshing under the peculiar circumstances of the case, an observation which called forth from mrs. nancy jones black a withering temperance reprimand.
“as the presiding officer of the woman’s prohibition promulgation society i cannot let such a remark pass without condemning it. if this really is a liquor establishment i desire to be let out of it forthwith.”
“so do i!” exclaimed little mrs. philpot with great vehemence. “open the door mr. hubbard, please.”
hubbard went to the door and finding that it was constructed to open outwardly, gave it a shove with all his might. there was a short tussle and he staggered back.
“why don’t you push it open?” fretfully exclaimed mrs. nancy jones black.
“the gentlemen outside object, for reasons not stated,” was the rather stolidly spoken answer.
cattleton had taken off his hat and was going about through the company soliciting handkerchiefs.
“drop them in, drop them in,” he urged, “i need all of them that i can get.”
he offered his hat as a contribution box as he spoke, and nearly every-one gave a handkerchief, without in the least suspecting his purpose.
when he had collected a round dozen, cattleton crammed them all down in the crown of his hat which he then put on his head.
“now hal,” he said, addressing punner, “give me a boost and i’ll make an observation through that window.”
the rain was now entirely ended and the wind had fallen still.
with punner’s help cattleton got up to the window and poked out his head.
“git back ther’!” growled a vicious voice, and at the same time the dull sound of a heavy blow was followed by the retreat of cattleton from the window to the floor in a great hurry.
upon top of his hat was a deep trench made by a club.
“the handkerchiefs did their duty nobly,” he remarked. “let everybody come forward and identify his property.”
“what did you see?” asked punner.
“a giant with an oak tree in his hand and murder in his eye,” said cattleton, busily selecting and returning the handkerchiefs. “this eleemosynary padding was all that saved me. the blow was aimed at my divine intellect.”
“see here,” cried peck, in great earnest, “this is no joking matter. we’re in the power of a set of mountain moonshiners, and may be murdered in cold blood. we’d better do something.”
crane had prowled around until he had found a small jug of fragrant mountain dew whisky, which he was proceeding to taste in true kentucky style, when a gaunt form rose in a corner of the room, and tottering forward seized the jug and took it out of his hand.
“no ye don’t, sonny, no ye don’t! this yer mounting jew air not ever’body’s licker ’at wants it. not by er half er mile at the littlest calc’lation!”
miss crabb made a note. crane gazed pathetically at the fantastic old man before him, and brushed his handkerchief across his lips, as if from habit, as he managed to say:
“i meant no undue liberty, i assure you. that whisky is——”
“overpowerin’,” interrupted the old man, taking a sip from the vessel. “yes, i don’t blame ye fur a wantin’ of it, but this yer licker air mine.”
“up in kentucky,” said crane, “we are proud to offer——”
“kaintucky! did ye say ole kaintuck? air ye from ther’, boy?”
the octogenarian leaned forward as he spoke and gazed at crane with steadfast, rheumy eyes.
miss henrietta stackpole came forward to hear what was to follow, her instinct telling her[115] that a point of human interest was about to be reached.
“yes,” said crane, “i was born and reared on lulbegrud creek.”
“lulbegrud!”
“yes.”
“how fur f’om wright’s mill?”
“close by, at kiddville,” said crane.
“ye ’member easton’s springs close by an’ pilot knob away off in the distance?”
“very well, indeed, and guoff’s pond.”
“boy, what mought yer name be?”
“crane.”
“crane!”
“yes.”
“well, i’ll ber dorg!”
the old man stood gazing and grinning at crane for some moments, and then added:
“what’s yer pap’s name?”
“eliphas crane.”
“’liphas crane yore pap!”
“yes.”
“child, i air yer pap’s uncle.”
“what!”
“i air peter job crane.”
“you!”
“sartin es anything.”
“are you my father’s uncle peter?”
“i air yer pap’s uncle pete.”
“how strange!”
miss stackpole did not permit a word, a look, or a shade of this interview to escape her. she now turned to bartley hubbard and said:
“we americans are the victims of heterogeneous consanguinity. such an incident as this could not happen in england. it will be a long time before we can get rid of our ancestors.”
“yes,” assented hubbard, nonchalantly, “yer pap’s uncle certainly is a large factor in american life.”
“how many men did you see when you looked out?” peck inquired, addressing cattleton.
“i saw only one, but he was a monster,” was the ready reply. “it’s no use brooding over trying to escape by force. we’re utterly helpless, and that jolt on my head has rendered me unfit for diplomatic efforts.”
“what do you suppose they will do with us?”
“they won’t dare let us go.”
“why?”
“they’d be afraid that we would report their illicit distillery.”
“ah, i see.”
the affair began to take on a very serious and gloomy aspect, and the room was growing oppressively hot, owing to the presence of a a small but energetic furnace that glowed under a sighing boiler. outside, with the clearing sky and refreshed air, there arose a clamor of bird-song in the dripping trees. under the floor the spring-stream gurgled sweetly.
“ye ’member abbott’s still house on ole lulbegrud?” said the old man, pursuing his reminisences, after he had permitted his grand-nephew[117] to taste the “mounting jew,” “an’ dan rankin’s ole bob-tail hoss?”
“very well, indeed,” responded crane, “and billy pace’s blackberry fields where i picked berries in summer and chased rabbits in winter.”
“take er nother drop o’ the jyful juice, boy, fur the mem’ry o’ ole kaintuck!”
“oh dear! but isn’t it incomparably awful?” exclaimed mrs. nancy jones black, gazing in horrified fascination upon the two kentuckians, as they bowed to each other and drank alternately from the little jug.
“characteristic southern scene not used by craddock,” murmured miss crabb, making a whole page of a single note.
“don’t this yere liquor taste o’ one thing an’ smell o’ another an’ jes’ kinder git ter the lowest p’int o’ yer appetite?” continued crane’s great uncle peter.
“delicious beyond compare,” responded the young man, drinking again, “it is nectar of the gods.”
mrs. nancy jones black groaned, but could not withdraw her eyes from the scene.
“good deal like ole times down to abbott’s still-house on lulbegrud, boy,” the old man suggested, “ye don’t forgit erbout dan rankin’s mule a-kickin’ ole man hornback’s hat off?”
the poet laughed retrospectively and mopped his glowing face with his handkerchief. the heat from the furnace and the stimulus of the excellent beverage were causing him to feel the need of fresh air.
indeed, everybody was beginning to pant. miss moyne was so overcome with excitement and with the heat of the place, that she was ready to faint, when the door was flung open and tolliver appeared. a rush of sweet cool air, flooding the room, revived her, just as she was sinking into dufour’s arms.
