The She Boss | Page 3

come out all right o'
yer own hook. Hiram, pride's put a heap o' men in th' penitentiary.
Pride's stubborn, Hiram. But layin' aside th' root o' th' trouble, an'
lookin' at th' matter through their eyes, it's really a shame th' way yer
paw's place has gone to ruin--th' way you've gone th' same route. I'd
druther see ye plumb bad ern so all-fired no-good all round. Ye had
jobs a number o' times drivin' eight an' ten on jerkline, freightin'
tanbark from Longport. Ye're a good jerkline skinner, Hiram--no better
in the country--but ye won't stick no more'n a month or two outa each
year.
"But I'm makin' allowances fer ye--I always have--I'm th' only one that
ever has. I been watchin' an' waitin' fer ye to right yerself an' get at
sumpin; but this mornin', down to th' store, it come over me that ye'll
never do it in Bear Valley.
"Consequently, Hiram," Uncle Sebastian resumed, "ye've gotta move."
Hiram glanced at him with wide-opened eyes. "Move! Where to?"
"Out into th' world, Hiram, to strike yer gait. Ye gotta hit th' hard places
an' git experience. Ye gotta taste olives to see if ye c'n stummick 'em.
Ye'll get an awful batterin'-up, I reckon, but ye'll likely learn if they's

anything in ye. At first ye'll probably go to th' bad an' get a heap worse
ern ye was in Bear Valley. That's neither here ner there. Th' point is, if
they's a gait in ye ye'll eventually strike it. If not--well, then, what's th'
difference? I'm goin' to pay up fer ye down to th' store an' give ye
enough to land ye in Frisco. Then th' good Lord an' what He put into
that head o' yers must look after ye. I'm gonta foreclose on ye, Hiram."
Hiram was not looking at Uncle Sebastian, but the old man saw his
slight start and the red creep down his columnar neck as the last
sentence came out. One great toe protruded from the upper of one of
Hiram's shoes. Uncle Sebastian saw it twitching.
"You're foreclosin' on me?" The words came slowly and with a hollow
gulp.
Uncle Sebastian's lips went straight and hard. "Unless ye'll deed th'
place to me, Hiram."
Another pause, while the low wind whined in the treetops and Ripley
Creek went gurgling and sucking through the latticed trunks in the pile
of drift.
"What did you tell me when I gave the mortgage, Uncle Sebastian?"
The reproach in Hiram's voice did not move the arbiter. "I know what I
told ye, Hiram. I told ye, ye needn't worry--that I wouldn't
foreclose--that I wasn't speculatin' when I lent th' money on th' place.
Jest th' same, Hiram, I'm foreclosin' on ye."
Uncle Sebastian eyed the young man keenly. The first shock past,
Hiram seemed now to be turning the matter over with just deliberation.
"I reckon I know what you're up to, Uncle Sebastian," he said at last.
"We've talked the matter over too many times for me to misconstrue
your motives. You're thinkin' that I'll amount to somethin' if I get away
from here."
"I reckon ye've said it, Hiram." Uncle Sebastian voiced this with great

relief.
"And you're foreclosin' on me to force me to go."
"Eggzackly, Hiram. I'm proud that ye interpret my motive."
Hiram was silent another long minute. Then, with a hollow laugh: "I
reckon you'll be tolerably disappointed, Uncle Sebastian. There was a
time when I'd 'a' looked forward to leavin' Mendocino. I've had
hankerin's, and I've got 'em yet--but I'm scared. I've never been outa the
country but once. What c'n I do away from here? What d'ye expect of
me, anyway?"
"Ye c'n certainly do as much out o' here as ye're doin' here, Hiram."
"I don't know about that. It don't take much to live here. I've got about
all I want, I reckon. If I had more books to read I'd be pretty near
content. There was a time, as I said, when it was different; but now I
don't reckon I care. But what particular thing d'ye expect me to excel in,
Uncle Sebastian?"
"Excel's a tol'able big word, Hiram. I can't tell ye any more. Ye've
wanted to be a poet, an' ye've wanted to be an officer in th' army, an'
this an' that an' th' other--ye've wanted to be pretty near everythin' ye
read about last. When ye git in touch with these things, Hiram, ye may
be able to choose--though they's a heap o' 'em ain't that's in constant
touch. I know ye've got imagination. I know it's wasted here in th'
backwoods; an' I know ye gotta git."
Uncle Sebastian had risen to emphasize this ultimatum. Now, standing
and looking down, he finished:
"Whether ye'll bless me