The Devils Garden | Page 2

as a squirrel and
industrious as a beaver; and who, if once fired with ambition, soon
learns to direct all his energies to a chosen end, and infallibly wins his
way from the cart-tracks and the muck-wagons to office stools and
black coats. Not yet dressed for the day, in his loose serge jacket and
unbraced trousers, he looked what was termed locally "a rum customer
if you had to tackle un." His dark hair bristled stiffly, his short
mustache wanted a lot of combing, a russet stubble covered chin and
neck; but the broad forehead and blue eyes gave a suggestion of power
and intelligence to an aspect that might otherwise have seemed simply
forbidding.
"Good marnin', sir."
One of the helpers at the Roebuck stables had come slouching past.
"Good mornin', Samuel."
It was still music to the ears of the postmaster when people addressed

him as "Sir." Especially if, like that fellow, they had known him as a
boy. But he thought now that perhaps many who spoke to him thus
deferentially in truth desired his downfall.
Quite possible. One never knows. He himself wished them well, in his
heart was fond of them all, and craved their regard; although he was too
proud to be always seeking it, or even going half-way to meet it.
And he thought, tolerantly, that you can not have everything in this
world. Your successful man is rarely a popular man. He had had the
success in full measure--if it pleased them, let the envious ones go on
envying him his elevated station, his domestic comfort, and his pretty
wife.
As he thought of his wife all his reflections grew tender. She was
probably still fast asleep; and when, presently, he went up-stairs to the
private part of the house, he was careful not to disturb her.
His official clothes lay waiting for him on a chair in the kitchen. They
had been brushed and folded by Mary, the servant, who sprang to
attention at the appearance of her master, brought him shaving-water,
arranged the square of looking-glass conveniently, assisted with the
white collar and black tie, and generally proved herself an efficient
valet.
She ventured to ask a question when Mr. Dale was about to leave the
kitchen.
"Any news, sir?"
"News!" Mr. Dale echoed the word sternly. "What news should there
be--anyway, what news that concerns _you_?
"I beg pardon, sir." Buxom, red-cheeked Mary lowered her eyes, and
by voice and attitude expressed the confusion proper to a subordinate
who has taken a liberty in addressing a superior. "I'm sorry, sir. But I
on'y ast."
"All right," said Dale, less sternly. "You just attend to your own job,
my girl."
He went down into the office, and did not come up again until an hour
and a half later, when breakfast was ready and waiting. He stood near
the window for a few moments, meditatively looking about him. The
sunlight made the metal cover of the hot dish shine like beautifully
polished silver; it flashed on the rims of white teacups, and, playing
some prismatic trick with the glass sugar basin, sent a stream of

rainbow tints across the two rolls and the two boiled eggs. An
appetizing meal--and as comfortable, yes, as luxurious a room as any
one could ask for. Through the open door and across the landing, he
had a peep into the other room. In that room there were books, a piano,
a sofa, hand-painted pictures in gold frames--the things that you expect
to see only in the homes of gentlemen.
"Sorry I'm late, Will."
"Don't mention it, Mavis."
Mrs. Dale had come through the doorway, and his whole face
brightened, softened, grew more comely. Yes, he thought, a home fit
for a gentleman, and a wife fit for a king.
"Any news?"
"They've told me to go up and see them to-morrow;" and he moved to
the table. "Come on. I'm sharp-set."
"Did they write in a satisfactory way?"
"Oh, yes. Sit down, my dear, and give me my tea."
He had said that he felt hungry, but he ate without appetite. The roll
was crisp and warm, the bacon had been cooked to a turn, the tea was
neither too strong nor too weak; and yet nothing tasted quite right.
"Will," said his wife, toward the end of the meal, "I can see you aren't
really satisfied with their answer. Do tell me;" and she stretched her
hand across the table with a gesture that expressed prettily enough both
appeal and sympathy.
She was a naturally graceful woman, tall and slim, with reddish brown
hair, dark eyebrows, and a white skin; and she carried her thirty-two
years so easily that, though the searching sunlight bore full upon her,
she looked almost a young girl.
Dale