The Bishop of Cottontown: A Story of the Southern Cotton Mills
"It's lots talked about," said Carpenter--"'specially the big race
an' purse you've got put up."
Travis grew interested quickly and leaned over excitedly.
"My reputation is at stake--and that of The Gaffs' stable. You see,
Carpenter, it's a three-cornered race for three-thousand
dollars--each of us, Col. Troup, Flecker and me, have put up a
thousand--three heats out of five--the winner takes the stake. Col.
Troup, of Lenox, has entered a fast mare of his, and Flecker, of
Tennessee, will be there with his gelding. I know Flecker's horse. I
could beat him with Lizette and one of her legs tied up. I looked him
over last week. Contracted heels and his owner hasn't got horse-sense
to know it. It's horse-sense, Carpenter, that counts for success in
life as in a race."
Carpenter nodded again.
"But it's different with Col. Troup's entry. Ever been to Lenox?" he
asked suddenly.
Carpenter shook his head.
"Don't know anybody there?" asked Travis. "I thought so--just what I
want."
He went on indifferently, but Carpenter saw that he was measuring his
words and noting their effect upon himself. "They work out over there
Tuesdays and Fridays--the fair is only a few weeks off--they will be
stepping their best by Friday. Now, go there and say nothing--but
just sit around and see how fast Col. Troup's mare can trot."
"That'll be easy," said Carpenter.
"I have no notion of losing my thousand and reputation, too." He bent
over to Carpenter and laughed. "All's fair in love and--a horse race.
You know it's the 2:25 class, and I've entered Lizette, but Sadie B.
is so much like her that no living man who doesn't curry them every
day could tell them apart. Sadie B.'s mark is 2:15. Now see if Troup
can beat 2:25. Maybe he can't beat 2:15."
Then he laughed ironically.
Carpenter looked at him wonderingly.
It was all he said, but it was enough for Carpenter. Fraud's wink to
the fraudulent is an open book. Her nod is the nod of the Painted
Thing passing down the highway.
Base-born that he was--low by instinct and inheritance, he had never
heard of so brilliant and so gentlemanly a piece of fraud. The
consummate boldness of it made Carpenter's eyes twinkle--a gentleman
and in a race with gentlemen--who would dare to suspect? It was the
boldness of a fine woman, daring to wear a necklace of paste-diamonds.
He sat looking at Travis in silent admiration. Never before had his
employer risen to such heights in the eyes of the Whipper-in. He sat
back in his chair and chuckled. His furtive eyes danced.
"Nobody but a born gen'us 'ud ever have tho'rt of that," he
said--"never seed yo' e'kal--why, the money is your'n, any way you
fix it. You can ring in Lizette one heat and Sadie B."----
"There are things to be thought and not talked of," replied Travis
quickly. "For a man of your age ar'n't you learning to talk too much
out loud? You go and find out what I've asked--I'll do the rest. I'm
thinking I'll not need Sadie B. Never run a risk, even a dead sure
one, till you're obliged to."
"I'll fetch it next week--trust me for that. But I hope you will do
it--ring in Sadie B. just for the fun of it. Think of old bay-window
Troup trottin' his mare to death ag'in two fast horses an' never
havin' sense enough to see it."
He looked his employer over--from his neatly turned foot to the
cravat, tied in an up-to-date knot. At that, even, Travis flushed.
"Here," he said--"another toddy. I'll trust you to bring in your
report all right."
Carpenter again took his straight--his eyes had begun to glitter, his
face to flush, and he felt more like talking.
Travis lit another cigar. He puffed and smoked in silence for a
while. The rings of smoke went up incessantly. His face had begun to
redden, his fingers to thrill to the tip with pulsing blood. With it
went his final contingency of reserve, and under it he dropped to the
level of the base-born at his side.
Whiskey is the great leveler of life. Drinking it, all men are,
indeed, equal.
"When are you going out to get in more hands for the mill?" asked
Travis after a pause.
"To-morrow----"
"So soon?" asked Travis.
"Yes, you see," said Carpenter, "there's been ha'f a dozen of the
brats died this summer an' fall--scarlet fever in the mill."
Travis looked at him and smiled.
"An' I've got to git in some mo' right away," he went on. "Oh,
there's plenty of 'em in these hills."
Travis smoked for a few minutes without speaking.
"Carpenter, had you ever thought of Helen Conway--I mean--of getting
Conway's two daughters into the mill?" He made the correction with a
feigned indifference, but the other quickly noticed it. In an instant
Carpenter knew.
As a matter of fact the Whipper-in had not thought of it, but it was
easy for him to say what he thought the other wished him to say.
"Wal, yes," he replied; "that's jes' what I had been thinkin' of.
They've got to come in--'ristocrats or no 'ristocrats! When it comes
to a question of bread and meat, pedigree must go to the cellar."
"To the attic, you mean," said Travis--"where their old clothes are."
Carpenter laughed: "That's it--you all'ers say the k'rect thing. 'N'
as I was sayin'"--he went on--"it is a ground-hog case with 'em. The
Major's drunk all the time. His farm an' home'll be sold soon. He's
'bleeged to put 'em in the mill--or the po'-house."
He paused, thinking. Then, "But ain't that Helen about the pretties'
thing you ever seed?" He chuckled. "You're sly--but I seen you givin'
her that airin' behin' Lizette and Sadie B.--"
"You've nothing to do with that," said Travis gruffly. "You want a
new girl for our drawing-in machine--the best paying and most
profitable place in the mill--off from the others--in a room by
herself--no contact with mill-people--easy job--two dollars a day--"
"One dollar--you forgit, suh--one dollar's the reg'lar price, sah,"
interrupted the Whipper-in.
The other turned on him almost fiercely: "Your memory is as weak as
your wits--two dollars, I tell you, and don't interrupt me again--"
"To be sho'," said the Whipper-in, meekly--"I did forgit--please
excuse me, sah."
"Then, in talking to Conway, you, of course, would draw his attention
to the fact that he is to have a nice cottage free of rent--that will
come in right handy when he finds himself out in the road--sold out
and nowhere to go," he said.
"'N' the commissary," put in Carpenter quietly. "Excuse me, sah, but
there's a mighty good bran' of whiskey there, you know!"
Travis smiled good humoredly: "Your wits are returning," he said; "I
think you understand."
"I'll see him to-morrow," said Carpenter, rising to go.
"Oh, don't be in a hurry," said Travis.
"Excuse me, sah, but I'm afraid I've bored you stayin' too long."
"Sit down," said the other, peremptorily--"you will need something to
help you along the road. Shall we take another?"
So they took yet another drink, and Carpenter went out, calling his
dog.
Travis stood in the doorway and watched them go down the driveway.
They both staggered lazily along. Travis smiled: "Both drunk--the dog
on ham."
As he turned to go in, he reeled slightly himself, but he did not
notice it.
When he came back he was restless. He looked at the clock. "Too early
for bed," he said. "I'd give a ten if Charley Biggers were here with
his little cocktail laugh to try me a game of poker."
Suddenly he went to the window, and taking a small silver whistle
from his pocket he blew it toward the stables. Soon afterwards a well
dressed mulatto boy entered.
"How are the horses to-night, Jim?" he asked.
"Fine, sir--all eatin' well an' feelin' good."
"And Coquette--the saddle mare?"
"Like split silk, sir."
"Exercise her to-morrow under the saddle, and Sunday afternoon we
will give Miss Alice her first ride on her--she's to be a present for
her on her birth-day, you know--eh?"
Jim bowed and started out.
"You may fix my bath now--think I'll retire. O Jim!" he called, "see
that Antar, the stallion, is securely stalled. You know how dangerous
he is."
He was just dozing off when the front door closed with a bang.
Then a metal whip handle thumped heavily on the floor and the
jingling of a spur rattled over the hall floor, as Harry Travis
boisterously went down the hall, singing tipsily,
"Oh, Johnny, my dear,
Just think of your head,
Just think of your head
In the morning."
Another door banged so loudly it awakened even the setter. The old
dog came to the side of the bed and laid his head affectionately in
Travis' palm. The master of The Gaffs stroked his head, saying: "It
is strange that I love this old dog so."
CHAPTER IV
FOOD FOR THE FACTORY
The next morning being Saturday, Carpenter, the Whipper-in, mounted
his Texas pony and started out toward the foothills of the mountains.
Upon the pommel of his saddle lay a long single-barreled squirrel
gun, for the hills were full of squirrels, and Jud was fond of a
tender one, now and then. Behind him, as usual, trotted Bonaparte,
his sullen eyes looking for an opportunity to jump on any timid
country dog which happened along.
There are two things for which all mills must be prepared--the wear
and tear of Time on the machinery--the wear and tear of Death on the
frail things who yearly work out their lives before it.
In the fight for life between the machine and the human labor, in the
race of life for that which men call success, who cares for the life
of one little mill hand? And what is one tot of them from another?
And if one die one month and another the next, and another the next
and the next, year in and year out, who remembers it save some
poverty-hardened, stooped and benumbed creature, surrounded by a
scrawny brood calling ever for bread?
The world knows not--cares not--for its tiny life is but a thread in
the warp of the great Drawing-in Machine.
So fearful is the strain upon the nerve and brain and body of the
little things, that every year many of them pass away--slowly,
surely, quietly--so imperceptibly that the mill people themselves
scarcely miss them. And what does it matter? Are there not hundreds
of others, born of ignorance and poverty and pain, to take their
places?
And the dead ones--unknown, they simply pass into a Greater Unknown.
Their places are filled with fresh victims--innocents, whom Passion
begets with a caress and Cupidity buys with a curse. Children they
are--tots--and why should they know that they are trading--life for
death?
It was a bright fall morning, and Jud Carpenter rode toward the
mountain a few miles away. They are scarcely mountains--these
beautifully wooded hills in the Tennessee Valley, hooded by blue in
the day and shrouded in somber at night; but it pleases the people
who live within the sweet influence of their shadows to call them
mountains.
Jud knew where he was going, and he rode leisurely along, revolving
in his mind the plan of his campaign. He needed the recruits for the
Acme Mills, and in all his past experience as an employment agent he
had never undertaken to bring in a family where as much tact and
diplomacy was required as in this case.
It was a dilapidated gate at which he drew rein. There had once been
handsome pillars of stone and brick, but these had fallen and the
gate had been swung on a convenient locust tree that had sprung up
and grown with its usual rapidity from its sheltered nook near the
crumbling rock wall. Only one end of the gate was hung; and it lay
diagonally across the entrance of what had once been a thousand acres
of the finest farm in the Tennessee Valley.
Dismounting, Jud hitched his horse and set his gun beside the tree;
and as it was easier to climb over the broken-down fence than to lift