The She Boss | Page 2

spot in all of California.
"Hello, Hiram!" Sebastian Burris called at last.

The youth started perceptibly and sat up. He turned his head over his
left shoulder. Big, bulging blue eyes laughed back at Sebastian. The
good-naturedly twisted mouth that grinned at him was suggestive of a
sluggish drawl. The long legs twined themselves, and Hiram Hooker
flopped over on his stomach, facing his friend.
"Why, hello, Uncle Sebastian!" he cried in a tone which bore true
welcome. "What're you doin' 'way up here? Come on down an' look at
the young trout!"
Without remark, Uncle Sebastian, grasping roots and low-hanging
branches, clambered stiffly down the bank. He sat down by the side of
Hiram Hooker and glanced at three old, dirty backless magazines that
lay on the pebbles and smiled.
"Ain't seen ye down to th' store at stage time in I dunno when, Hiram,"
he remarked, surveying the handsome young Hercules with admiration.
Hiram skimmed a flat piece of slate across a riffle.
"I never get any mail, Uncle Sebastian," he drawled.
"They's a heap o' us don't go to Bixler's fer th' mail, Hiram."
"Heaven knows there's nothin' else to take me there," and there was just
a shade of bitterness in the twist of Hiram's good-natured mouth.
In place of tossing pebbles, Uncle Sebastian chose to pick up a
redwood splinter on which to whittle. He took out a slick-handled
jackknife, blew a clot of pocket lint from the springs, opened a whetted
pruning blade, and began shaving the brittle wood. His watery blue
eyes were far-off and thoughtful.
"Jest come from there," he resumed. "We was talkin' about ye down
there, Hiram. Put me in mind to come up an' see ye. Hiram, ye ain't any
too popular in Bear Valley--d'ye know it?"
"You know I do," promptly replied Hiram.

"D'ye know what they're sayin' agin' ye?" Uncle Sebastian continued
after a long pause.
"Don't know as I'm carin'."
"Yes, ye are, Hiram," said Uncle Sebastian positively. "Don't tell me
that. Ye c'n tell yerself ye don't keer, Hiram, but ye're lyin' to yerself. It
ain't in human nature not to keer what folks thinks about a fella. Gosh!
where'd we be if it wasn't so?"
Hiram flipped a pebble. "I reckon you're right, Uncle Sebastian, and I
reckon I know you're aimin' at somethin'. You came 'way up here to
spring somethin' on me, didn't you? Well, le's have it."
"Ye're right, Hiram--I did. In the first place, then, they're sayin' ye're
the laziest fella in Bear Valley."
Hiram laughed mirthlessly. "There's nothin' new in that, Uncle
Sebastian. They've said the same since paw died. I reckon I am,
maybe."
"Hiram," patiently persisted the old man, "I didn't walk 'way up here to
listen to such talk. I tell ye, ye're playin' insincere, Hiram. Down in yer
heart ye know as well as anythin' it makes ye hot to be talked about an'
called th' laziest man in Bear Valley. I'd druther see ye hoppin' mad ner
takin' it that a way.
"Now, Hiram, listen to me: I've known ye sence ye was knee-high to a
duck, ain't I? Yer paw an' me was thicker ner molasses. Yer paw would
'a' made a brilliant man, Hiram, if he'd 'a' had th' chanct. You've
inherited yer paw's brains.
"When ye was a kid ye was a little devil, I'll admit. Still, givin' myself
credit fer a set o' brains a leetle above th' average o' Bear Valley, I
made allowances. Ye was mean because yer head was full o' ideas; an'
in Bear Valley they's so blamed little to use them ideas on that ye jest
naturally had to turn to meanness. Ye wasn't really bad; ye was jest
alive. All yer life ye been hankerin' fer sumpin that Bear Valley

couldn't give, but ye didn't even know what 'twas ye was hankerin' fer.
How could ye? A man's gotta taste olives before he c'n tell if he likes
'em, ain't he? Yer paw taught ye to read." Uncle Sebastian glanced once
more, half pityingly, half resentfully, at the backless magazines.
"Readin's put notions into yer head an' set ye to hankerin'.
"Then as ye grew up th' Valley folks begun to shun ye, didn't they?" he
continued. "They called ye queer. Then when yer paw died they
dropped ye altogether. It hurt ye, an' ye jest drew aloof an' went to
shakes.
"D'ye know, Hiram, sometimes I find myself not blamin' ye like I
oughta. They called ye no good before ye really was so, an' practically
driv ye to it. Then ye was too proud to brace up an' give 'em th'
satisfaction o' thinkin' their treatment o' ye had made ye turn over a new
leaf. If they'd gone on treatin' ye decent ye'd likely