Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 141: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

FLOOD. wa equipped, and still smacking the flavor of his last sip of wine, he made his way brisk- ly down to the river. He found the boathouse still high and dry. He went down to the edge of the creeping water and raised the lantern and Jooked out upon the sliding black and white flood. The cakes of rotted ice bumped and crumbled and slobbered as they drifted along. His eyes were keen—extraordinarily so for their age. His clearness of vision was one of the numerous things he prided himself on. He saw something coming that was not ice, drifting into the wavering ray of his lantern, swinging close inshore. Curiosity prompted him to thrust out the long pole and attempt to gaff it. The iron failed to catch, and at that moment he saw that the thing was a scow. He was not interest- ed in scows—but, on the other hand, he was not accustomed to strike and miss. He set down the lantern, leaned forward and made another hack with the ironed pole. This time the right angled spike struck deep into the flat gunwale and held, and for a few seconds the drag of the drift- ing scow came within an ace of pulling the squire into the black water. But the hale old man gave ground a little so as to regain his balance, let a yard or so of pole slip through his hands, then gripped tight and set his heels into the wet sod and put his back into the pull. His blood was up—the blood of Ingolds- bys and Lovelaces. A fig for the scow!— but he had undertaken to bring it ashore, so ashore he would brine it, though the devil himself and all the flooded rivers in the Province dragged against him! And he did-it. Not only did he bring an end of it to the edge of the shppery sod, but he jerked and worried and dragged until he had half its length high and dry. The squire felt that as he had done the confounded scow the honor of pulling it from the river onto his own land he might as well condescend a step farther and ex- amine it for some mark of ownership. So he fetched the lantern. “The devil!” he exclaimed; and well he might, for there in the bottom of the scow sat the bewhiskered peddler gaping at the light, and looking far more like the devil than like anything else one could think of on the spur of the moment. He recovered his composure in a second. ‘Who are you, and where have you come from?’ the squire demanded. ‘I’m a poor peddler,” replied the other, after blinking his eyes and opening and shutting his mouth several times. “ I reckon TY went adrift from French Village—but I don’t know where I’ve got to.” He shivered violently. “Youre on the Overisland front; and I’m Squire Ingoldsby,” said the rescuer. “You must be chilled to the bone. Come out of that and up to the house, or you'll catch your death.” The peddler got stiffly and unsteadily to his feet, staggered forward and fell ffat. This was partly the result of chill, but not entirely so. He got instantly to his hands and knees and crawled forward and over the square nose of the scow. Ingoldsby helped him to an upright position and steadied him so. ‘““Faugh!” exclaimed the squire. reek of cheap gin!” ‘An’ what of it?” cried the peddler, bracing his legs. ‘“‘ What d’ye expect? We ain’t all rich!” “Can you walk without assistance?” asked the squire coldly. “Sure I kin walk. Damn nigh froze— an’ wringin’ wet to the hide—but that’s good ’nough for me—poor devil what drinks gin! Sure I kin walk! An’ don’t ye talk to me like I’m a dog, neither! I got my pride—an’ a taste for good liquor, too. D’ye think Id drink squareface gin if I owned yer cellar?” “Now, follow me—if you can,” said In- goldsby with much scorn and a little pity and something of resignation in his voice. The peddler’s head cleared after a few uncertain steps, and his legs steadied and strengthened as the blood warmed in them. He did very well on the gentler slopes of the long path to the house, but on the steeper grades he had to crawl. He swore to himself as he crawled. His brain was amazingly active: and so was the devil of “ You . bate, malice and all uncharitableness. oO EOmiGwvooks-=co ts ye