Stories of a Western Town | Page 8

glowered at them and went away sore at
heart. We make a great mistake when we suppose that it is only the
affectionate that desire affection; sulky and ill-conditioned souls often
have a passionate longing for the very feelings that they repel. Lieders
was a womanish, sensitive creature under the surly mask, and he was
cut to the quick by his comrades' apathy. "There ain't no place for old
men in this world," he thought, "there's them boys I done my best to
make do a good job, and some of 'em I've worked overtime to help; and
not one of 'em has got as much as a good-by in him for me!"
But he did not think of going to poor Thekla for comfort, he went to his
grim dreams. "I git my property all straight for Thekla, and then I quit,"
said he. Perhaps he gave himself a reprieve unconsciously, thinking
that something might happen to save him from himself. Nothing
happened. None of the "boys" came to see him, except Carl Olsen, the
very stupidest man in the shop, who put Lieders beside himself fifty
times a day. The other men were sorry that Lieders had gone, having a
genuine workman's admiration for his skill, and a sort of underground
liking for the unreasonable old man because he was so absolutely
honest and "a fellow could always tell where to find him." But they
were shy, they were afraid he would take their pity in bad part, they
"waited a while."
Carl, honest soul, stood about in Lieders's workshop, kicking the

shavings with his heels for half an hour, and grinned sheepishly, and
was told what a worthless, scamping, bragging lot the "boys" at
Lossing's were, and said he guessed he had got to go home now; and so
departed, unwitting that his presence had been a consolation. Mrs.
Olsen asked Carl what Lieders said; Carl answered simply, "Say, Freda,
that man feels terrible bad."
Meanwhile Thekla seemed easily satisfied. She made no outcry as
Lieders had dreaded, over his leaving the shop.
"Well, then, papa, you don't need git up so early in the morning no
more, if you aint going to the shop," was her only comment; and
Lieders despised the mind of woman more than ever.
But that evening, while Lieders was down town (occupied, had she
known it, with a codicil to his will), she went over to the Olsens and
found out all Carl could tell her about the trouble in the shop. And it
was she that made the excuse of marketing to go out the next day, that
she might see the rich widow on the hill who was talking about a china
closet, and Judge Trevor, who had asked the price of a mantel, and Mr.
Martin, who had looked at sideboards (all this information came from
honest Carl); and who proposed to them that they order such furniture
of the best cabinet-maker in the country, now setting up on his own
account. He, simple as a baby for all his doggedness, thought that they
came because of his fame as a workman, and felt a glow of pride,
particularly as (having been prepared by the wife, who said, "You see it
don't make so much difference with my Kurt 'bout de prize, if so he can
get the furniture like he wants it, and he always know of the best in the
old country") they all were duly humble. He accepted a few orders and
went to work with a will; he would show them what the old man could
do. But it was only a temporary gleam; in a little while he grew
homesick for the shop, for the sawdust floor and the familiar smell of
oil, and the picture of Lossing flitting in and out. He missed the
careless young workmen at whom he had grumbled, he missed the whir
of machinery, and the consciousness of rush and hurry accented by the
cars on the track outside. In short, he missed the feeling of being part of
a great whole. At home, in his cosey little improvised shop, there was

none to dispute him, but there was none to obey him either. He grew
deathly tired of it all. He got into the habit of walking around the shops
at night, prowling about his old haunts like a cat. Once the night
watchman saw him. The next day there was a second watchman
engaged. And Olsen told him very kindly, meaning only to warn him,
that he was suspected to be there for no good purpose. Lieders
confirmed a lurking suspicion of the good Carl's own, by the clouding
of his face. Yet he would have chopped his hand off rather than have
lifted it against the shop.