Kilo | Page 4

KILO
CHAPTER I
Eliph' Hewlitt
Eliph' Hewlitt, book agent, seated in his weather-beaten top buggy,
drove his horse, Irontail, carefully along the rough Iowa hill road that
leads from Jefferson to Clarence. The Horse, a rusty gray, tottered in a
loose-jointed manner from side to side of the road, half asleep in the
sun, and was indolent in every muscle of his body, except his tail,
which thrashed violently at the flies. Eliph' Hewlitt drove with his
hands held high, almost on a level with his sandy whiskers, for he was
well acquainted with Irontail.
The road seemed to pass through a region of large farms, offering few
opportunities for selling books, the houses being so far apart, but Eliph'
knew the small settlement of Clarence was a few miles farther on, and
he was carrying enlightenment to the benighted. He glowed with
missionary zeal. In his eagerness he thoughtlessly slapped the reins on
the back of Irontail.

Instantly the plump, gray tail of the horse flashed over the rein and
clamped it fast. Eliph' Hewlitt leaned over the dashboard of his buggy
and grasped the hair of the tail firmly. He pulled it upward with all his
strength, but the tail did not yield. Instead, Irontail kicked vigorously.
Eliph' Hewlitt, knowing his horse as well as he knew human nature,
climbed out of the buggy, and taking the rein close by the bit led
Irontail to the side of the road. Then he took from beneath the buggy
seat a bulky, oil-cloth-wrapped parcel and seated himself near the
horse's head. There was no safety for a timid driver when Irontail had
thus assumed command of the rein. There was no way to get a rein
from beneath that tail but to ignore it. In an hour or so Irontail would
grow forgetful, carelessly begin flapping flies, and release the rein
himself.
Eliph' Hewlitt unwrapped the oilcloth from the object in enfolded. It
was a book. It was Jarby's 'Encyclopedia of Knowledge and
Compendium of Literature, Science, Art, Comprising Useful
Information on One Thousand and One Subjects, Including A History
of the World, the Lives of all Famous Men, Quotations From the
World's Great Authors, One Thousand and One Recipes, Et Cetera'.
One Volume, five dollars bound in cloth; seven fifty in morocco. Eliph'
Hewlitt passed his hand affectionately over the gilt-stamped cover, and
then opened it at random and read.
For years he had been reading Jarby's Encyclopedia, and among its ten
thousand and one subjects he always found something new. It opened
now at "Courtship-How to Make Love--How to Win the
Affections--How to Hold Them When Won," and although he had read
the pages often before, he found in all parts of the book, whenever he
read it, a new meaning. It occurred to him that even a book agent might
have reason to use the helpful words set for in clear type in the chapter
on "Courtship--How to Make Love," and he realized that sometime he
must reach the age when he would need a home of his own. For years
he had thought of woman only as a possible customer for Jarby's
Encyclopedia. Every woman, not already married, he now saw, might
be a possible Mrs. Eliph' Hewlitt.

Suddenly he raised his head. On the breeze there was borne to him the
sound of voices--many voices. He closed the book with a bang. His
small body became tense; his eyes glittered. He scented prey. He
wrapped the book in its oilcloth, laid it upon the buggy seat, and taking
Irontail by the bridle, started in the direction of the voices.
Half a mile down the road he came upon a scene of merriment. In a
cleared grove men, women and children were gathered; it was a church
picnic. Eliph' Hewlitt took his hitching strap from beneath the buggy
seat and secured Irontail to a tree.
"Church picnic," he said to himself; "one, two, sixteen, twenty-four,
AND the minister. Good for twelve copies of Jarby's Encyclopedia or
I'm no good myself. I love church picnics. What so lovely as to see the
pastor and his flock gathered together in a bunch, as I may say, like
ten-pins, ready to be scooped in, all at one shot?"
He walked up to the rail fence and leaned against it so that he might be
seen and invited in. It was better policy than pushing himself forward,
and it gave him time to study the faces. He did not find them hopeful
subjects. They were not the faces of readers. They were not even the
faces of buyers. Even in their holiday finery, the women were shabby
and the men were careworn. The minister himself, white-bearded and
gray-haired, showed more signs of spiritual grace than intellectual
strength.
One woman, fresh and bright