Shavings | Page 5

occured to him. "Why, say, Jed, don't you like to be called
'Shavin's'?"
No answer. A blue collar was added to the white shirt of the sailor.
"Don't you, Jed?" repeated Gabe.
Mr. Winslow's gaze was lifted from his work and his eyes turned
momentarily in the direction of his caller.

"Gabe," he drawled, "did you ever hear about the feller that was born
stone deef and the Doxology?"
"Eh? What-- No, I never heard it."
The eyes turned back to the wooden sailor and Mr. Winslow chose
another brush.
"Neither did he," he observed, and began to whistle what sounded like
a dirge.
Mr. Bearse stared at him for at least a minute. Then he shook his head.
"Well, by Judas!" he exclaimed. "I--I--I snum if I don't think you BE
crazy, same as some folks say you are! What in the nation has-- has
your name got to do with a deef man and the Doxology?"
"Eh? . . . Oh, nothin'."
"Then what did you bust loose and tell me about 'em for? They wan't
any of MY business, was they?"
"No-o. That's why I spoke of 'em."
"What? You spoke of 'em 'cause they wan't any of my business?"
"Ye-es . . . I thought maybe--" He paused, turned the sailor over in his
hand, whistled a few more bars of the dirge and then finished his
sentence. "I thought maybe you might like to ask questions about 'em,"
he concluded.
Mr. Bearse stared suspiciously at his companion, swallowed several
times and, between swallows, started to speak, but each time gave it up.
Mr. Winslow appeared quite oblivious of the stare. His brushes gave
the wooden sailor black hair, eyes and brows, and an engaging crimson
smile. When Gabriel did speak it was not concerning names.
"Say, Jed," he cried, "HAVE you heard about Cap'n Sam Hunniwell?
'Bout his bein' put on the Exemption Board?"

His companion went on whistling, but he nodded.
"Um-hm," grunted Gabe, grudgingly. "I presumed likely you would
hear; he told you himself, I cal'late. Seth Baker said he see him come in
here night afore last and I suppose that's when he told you. Didn't say
nothin' else, did he?" he added, eagerly.
Again Mr. Winslow nodded.
"Did he? Did he? What else did he say?"
The tall man seemed to consider.
"Well," he drawled, at length, "seems to me I remember him sayin'--
sayin'--"
"Yes? Yes? What did he say?"
"Well--er--seems to me he said good night just afore he went home."
The disappointed Gabriel lost patience. "Oh, you DIVILISH fool
head!" he exclaimed, disgustedly. "Look here, Jed Winslow, talk sense
for a minute, if you can, won't you? I've just heard somethin' that's goin'
to make a big row in this town and it's got to do with Cap'n Sam's bein'
app'inted on that Gov'ment Exemption Board for drafted folks. If you'd
heard Phineas Babbitt goin' on the way I done, I guess likely you'd
have been interested."
It was plain that, for the first time since his caller intruded upon his
privacy, the maker of mills and sailors WAS interested. He did not put
down his brush, but he turned his head to look and listen. Bearse,
pleased with this symptom of attention, went on.
"I was just into Phineas' store," he said, "and he was there, so I had a
chance to talk with him. He's been up to Boston and never got back till
this afternoon, so I cal'lated maybe he hadn't heard about Cap'n Sam's
app'intment. And I knew, too, how he does hate the Cap'n; ain't had
nothin' but cuss words and such names for him ever since Sam done

him out of gettin' the postmaster's job. Pretty mean trick, some folks
call it, but--"
Mr. Winslow interrupted; his drawl was a trifle less evident.
"Congressman Taylor asked Sam for the truth regardin' Phineas and a
certain matter," he said. "Sam told the truth, that's all."
"Well, maybe that's so, but does tellin' the truth about folks make 'em
love you? I don't know as it does."
Winslow appeared to meditate.
"No-o," he observed, thoughtfully, "I don't suppose you do."
"No, I . . . Eh? What do you mean by that? Look here, Jed Winslow,
if--"
Jed held up a big hand. "There, there, Gabe," he suggested, mildly.
"Let's hear about Sam and Phin Babbitt. What was Phineas goin' on
about when you was in his store?"
Mr. Bearse forgot personal grievance in his eagerness to tell the story.
"Why," he began, "you see, 'twas like this: 'Twas all on account of
Leander. Leander's been drafted. You know that, of course?"
Jed nodded. Leander Babbitt was the son of Phineas Babbitt, Orham's
dealer in hardware and lumber and a leading political boss. Between
Babbitt, Senior, and