The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters by Robert Lewis Taylor

Author:Robert Lewis Taylor [Taylor, Robert Lewis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature
ISBN: 9780307768674
Publisher: Main Street Books; Doubleday
Published: 1958-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter XXVII

Next morning everybody was bowled over at my story, but they hadn’t much time to discuss it, because at a pow-wow last night, it was settled that my father and the Kissels should get mules. We’d have to “pack,” as they called it. Jennie and Mrs. Kissel and the quartet would ride in Brice’s wagon. It was the only way.

But as they talked—my father, chiefly—I noticed Mr. Kissel looking embarrassed, and contributing even less than usual. Then he said, “You folks had better go on. Mother and I’ll prefer to turn back.”

“You what?” cried my father. “Now see here, Kissel, this was your expedition in the first place—the rest of us just tagged along. You can’t turn back!”

Kissel was perspiring, but he stuck to his guns. “Mother and I’ve talked it over; we’ll turn back.”

I had a thought, then, and spoke up, though my father had sworn me not to interrupt grownups during a conference.

“I may get a licking for talking,” I said, “but it might be the Kissels haven’t any more money.”

My father’s face looked like a balloon that’s been punctured.

“Oh, I see.”

Before he went on, Mr. Coe, who was sitting by, but not taking part, got up and took off his hat. He looked fussed, as my mother used to say.

“Possibly it’s poor taste to mention it,” he said, “but the fact is, dash it all, it’s ridiculous to put so many strictures of form on the subject of money. What I’m trying to say, so very badly, is that I’m rather rich, in a moderate sort of way. Always have been. Vulgar, but there it is. Fellow left it me in a will—total stranger. Some sort of uncle, I believe they said. So, if you don’t mind—”

Mr. Kissel said, “You’re a good and generous man, but we can’t take a loan that mightn’t be repaid. It wouldn’t be fit.”

Clearing his throat, my father now got off some of his usual rubbish. “If it comes to that, and not to detract from the typical gesture of our esteemed friend, Henry Coe, I myself—”

I interrupted; I couldn’t help it. I knew exactly how much money was left; and realized that because of Mr. Coe he was planning to bull right ahead and suggest that, he was rich, too, which could do nobody on earth any good, and might bring harm to several.

So I dug into my pocket and dribbled those pretty gold pieces out on the ground. I’d shined them up; how they twinkled in the sun.

“Son,” said my father, turning white, “step over to one side. We’d better have a chat.”

“It’s all right; they’re mine.” I told them about finding the injured man’s jacket, and how I’d stowed the coins in the wagon pouch that Mrs. Kissel made me.

“If the Kissels won’t take it outright,” I said, “I’d like to call it buying a share in their venture. Digging gold or farming!”

Mr. Kissel gazed around in his slow way. Then he shook hands and said, “Lad, you’ve got a partner.

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