Jeff Briggss Love Story | Page 8

Anne Page, would "rather than forty shillings"
he had his "book of songs and sonnets" there, what availed it that the
Italian Boccaccio had contemporaneously discoursed wisely and
sweetly of love in prose? I doubt not that Master Jeff would have
mumbled some verse to himself had he known any: knowing none, he
lay there and listened to the wind.
Did she hear it; did it keep her awake? He had an uneasy suspicion that
the shutter that was banging so outrageously was the shutter of her
room. Filled with this miserable thought, he arose softly, stole down the
staircase, and listened. The sound was repeated. It was truly the
refractory shutter of No. 7--the best bedroom adjoining the sitting-room.
The next room, No. 8, was vacant. Jeff entered it softly, as softly
opened the window, and leaning far out in the tempest, essayed to
secure the nocturnal disturber. But in vain. Cord or rope he had none,
nor could he procure either without alarming his aunt--an extremity not
to be considered. Jeff was a man of clumsy but forceful expedients. He
hung far out of the window, and with one powerful hand lifted the
shutter off its hinges and dragged it softly into No. 8. Then as softly he
crept upstairs to bed. The wind howled and tore round the house; the
crazy water-pipe below Jeff's window creaked, the chimneys whistled,
but the shutter banged no more. Jeff began to doze. "It's a great thing to
be strong," the wind seemed to say as it charged upon the defenseless
house, and then another voice seemed to reply, "A greater thing to be
strong and gentle;" and hearing this he fell asleep.

II.
It was not yet daylight when he awoke with an idea that brought him
hurriedly to his feet. Quickly dressing himself, he began to count the
money in his pocket. Apparently the total was not satisfactory, as he
endeavored to augment it by loose coins fished from the pockets of his
other garments, and from the corner of his washstand drawer. Then he
cautiously crept downstairs, seized his gun, and stole out of the still
sleeping house. The wind had gone down, the rain had ceased, a few
stars shone steadily in the north, and the shapeless bulk of the coach, its
lamps extinguished, loomed high and dry above the lessening water, in
the twilight. With a swinging tread Jeff strode up the hill and was soon
upon the highway and stage road. A half-hour's brisk walk brought him
to the summit, and the first rosy flashes of morning light. This enabled
him to knock over half-a-dozen early quail, lured by the proverb, who
were seeking their breakfast in the chaparral, and gave him courage to
continue on his mission, which his perplexed face and irresolute
manner had for the last few moments shown to be an embarrassing one.
At last the white fences and imposing outbuildings of the "Summit
Hotel" rose before him, and he uttered a deep sigh. There, basking in
the first rays of the morning sun, stood his successful rival! Jeff looked
at the well-built, comfortable structure, the commanding site, and the
air of serene independence that seemed to possess it, and no longer
wondered that the great world passed him by to linger and refresh itself
there.
He was relieved to find the landlord was not present in person, and so
confided his business to the bar-keeper. At first it appeared that that
functionary declined interference, and with many head- shakings and
audible misgivings was inclined to await the coming of his principal,
but a nearer view of Jeff's perplexed face, and an examination of Jeff's
gun, and the few coins spread before him, finally induced him to
produce certain articles, which he packed in a basket and handed to Jeff,
taking the gun and coins in exchange. Thus relieved, Jeff set his face
homewards, and ran a race with the morning into the valley, reaching
the "Half-way House" as the sun laid waste its bare, bleak outlines, and
relentlessly pointed out its defects one by one. It was cruel to Jeff at

that moment, but he hugged his basket close and slipped to the back
door and the kitchen, where his aunt was already at work.
"I didn't know ye were up yet, aunty," said Jeff submissively. "It isn't
more than six o'clock."
"Thar's four more to feed at breakfast," said his aunt severely, "and
yer's the top blown off the kitchen chimbly, and the fire only just got to
go."
Jeff saw that he was in time. The ordinary breakfast of the "Half- way
House," not yet prepared, consisted of codfish, ham, yellow- ochre
biscuit, made after a peculiar receipt of his aunt's, and potatoes.
"I got a few fancy fixin's up