That Printer of Udells

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That Printer of Udell's

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Title: That Printer of Udell's
Author: Harold Bell Wright

Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6384] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on December 5,
2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
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[Frontispice illustration: "Come on, Smoke, we've gotter go now."]

THAT PRINTER OF UDELL'S
A STORY OF THE MIDDLE WEST
BY HAROLD BELL WRIGHT

DEDICATION
TO THAT FRIEND WHOSE LIFE HAS TAUGHT ME MANY
BEAUTIFUL TRUTHS; WHOSE WORDS HAVE
STRENGTHENED AND ENCOURAGED ME TO LIVE MORE
TRUE TO MY GOD, MY FELLOWS AND MYSELF; WHO HOPED
FOR ME WHEN OTHERS LOST HOPE; WHO BELIEVED IN ME
WHEN OTHERS COULD NOT; WHO SAW GOOD WHEN
OTHERS LOOKED FOR EVIL; TO THAT FRIEND, WHOEVER HE

IS, WHEREVER HE MAY BE, I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE
THIS STORY.
H. B. W.

"And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you,
Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of these my brethren, even these least,
ye did it unto me."
CHAPTER I
"O God, take ker' o' Dick!--He'll sure have a tough time when I'm
gone,--an' I'm er' goin'--mighty fast I reckon.--I know I aint done much
ter brag on,--Lord,--but I aint had nary show.--I allus 'low'd ter do ye
better,--but hit's jes' kept me scratchin'--ter do fer me an' Dick,--an'
somehow I aint had time--ter sarve--ye like I ought.--An' my man he's
most ways--no 'count an' triflin',--Lord,--'cepten when he likers up,--an'
then,--you know how he uses me an' Dick.--But Dick, he aint no ways
ter blame--fer what his dad an' mammy is,--an' I ax ye--fair,--o
Lord,--take ker o' him--fer--Jesus' sake--Amen."
"Dick!--O Dick,--whar are ye honey?"
A hollow-cheeked wisp of a boy arose from the dark corner where he
had been crouching like a frightened animal, and with cautious steps
drew near the bed. Timidly he touched the wasted hand that lay upon
the dirty coverlid.
"What ye want, maw?"
The woman hushed her moaning and turned her face, upon which the
shadow was already fallen, toward the boy. "I'm er goin'--mighty
fast,--Dicky," she said, in a voice that was scarcely audible. "Whar's yer
paw?"
Bending closer to the face upon the pillow, the lad pointed with
trembling finger toward the other end of the cabin and whispered, while

his eyes grew big with fear, "Sh--, he's full ergin. Bin down ter th'
stillhouse all evenin'--Don't stir him, maw, er we'll git licked some
more. Tell me what ye want."
But his only answer was that broken prayer as the sufferer turned to the
wail again. "O Lord, take ker o'--"
A stick of wood in the fire-place burned in two and fell with a soft thud
on the ashes; a lean hound crept stealthily to the boy's side and thrust a
cold muzzle against his ragged jacket; in the cupboard a mouse rustled
over the rude dishes and among the scanty handful of provisions.
Then, cursing foully in his sleep, the drunkard stirred uneasily and the
dog slunk beneath the bed, while the boy stood shaking with fear until
all was still again. Reaching out, he touched once more that clammy
hand upon the dirty coverlid. No movement answered to his touch.
Reaching farther, he cautiously laid his fingers upon the ashy-colored
temple, awkwardly brushing back a thin lock of the tangled hair. The
face, like the hand, was cold. With a look of awe and horror in his eyes,
the child caught his parent by the shoulder and shook the lifeless form
while he tried again and again to make