280 



RECREATION. 



"Why, yes, Hank," I answered, "a man 

 can't live in this section without being alone 

 sometimes, and I've had my share of it.'' 



"I heerd so," he replied, "I heerd so," 

 and leaning a little toward me and dropping 

 his voice, "don't ye go for to think I'm 

 loony if I ask ye suthin'. Some o' the 

 people 'round here think I am, an' don't 

 come nigh me, 'cause they've heerd me 

 talkin' alone ; but I ain't. Say," he con- 

 tinued, hesitatingly, "tell me, have ye ever, 

 at night, when its blowin' like this, heerd 

 anythin'?" and he drew back and waited for 

 my answer. 



"Heard anything?" I repeated, "why of 

 course, many sounds. A gale like this 

 makes a great rumpus at night and one can 

 hear hardly anything else." 



"Not them sounds," he interrupted, 

 "'taint the wind. I know every sound the 

 wind makes, zippin' an' whizzin' 'round 

 corners an' cracks, an' rushin' an' groanin' 

 in the woods ; taint them sounds, them is 

 jes' nateral wind sounds, when anything 

 gits in its way. I mean people, when ye 

 know there ain't any ; talkin' like. Did ye 

 ever hear that ? I have," he went on quick- 

 ly, "often. An' after I've heerd 'em I don' 

 know who they be,, nor what they're sayin' ; 

 but I kin hear the words — shoutin' an' 

 whisperin' all confused like. Sometime I 

 think if they'd on'y say 'em over agin I 

 cud kinder sense what 'twas they was talkin' 

 about, an' there is times when I do under- 

 stan' 'em. Mostly though it's all jumbled 

 an' mixed up ; an' yet ye can tell plain 

 enough they're conspirin' some trouble fer 

 somebody ; plannin' an' consultin' an' then 

 away they go agin, rushin' off to drownd 

 some mis'able, shiverin' sailor er help burn 

 a house, er hurt somebody some way." 



"Gosh a'mighty ! hear it," he cried, at a 

 burst of wind. "Seems as if they'd all 

 turned loose to-night" ; and he reached 

 under the bunk and drew forth the old ac- 

 cordion. 



"Ef ye don't mind I'll play," he said, and 

 began at once to push and pull and finger 

 the instrument so vigorously that, notwith- 

 standing much air was heard to escape, 

 through many cracks and holes, it at last 

 gave out an unwilling noise. Some of its 

 keys refused to work or perhaps Hank had 

 never been properly taught, or had for- 

 gotten how to use them. Two notes, how- 

 ever, sounded continuouslv ; a monotonous 

 droning sound, with a little regular catch 

 at the slight pause between the push and 

 the pull. The same strains were repeated 

 over and over again. He played a tune 

 which I concluded was intended for the 

 air of "Annie Laurie." So we sat for near- 

 ly an hour, I smoking, he playing. When 

 the wind pushed harder against the house 

 he redoubled his exertions and I could hear 



his stiff and calloused fingers striking 

 against the keys like chafers beating at 

 night against a lighted window. 



"For mercy's sake, Hank," I exclaimed, 

 at last, "stop that, or play something dif- 

 ferent." 



"Don't ye like it?" said he, with a 

 note of surprise in his voice. 'Pears 

 strange ye don't. It's better 'n listenin' to 

 them danged people outside. I don't know 

 no other tune, an' I don' know as I want 

 ter. I've got kinder used ter this one, an' 

 'I know jes' how it goes, an' jes' what's 

 comin'. That's why th' winds rile me up 

 so ; they're so onsartin ye can't never tell 

 what they're up to. Some nights I should 

 think I've played nigh a thousan' verses o' 

 that tune ; perhaps not a thousan', but I 

 calc'late it takes me 'bout 2 minutes to play 

 a verse, an' I've played her stiddy from 

 'bout 4 in the aft'noon till 'bout 7 next 

 mornin', takin' out what time I used put- 

 tin' wood on th' fire. Its kinder calmin' 

 to th' mind, I think, but I'll quit fer a 

 while ef it goes agin ye." 



"When did you get the accordion, 

 Hank?" I asked. "You seem to value it 

 highly." 



"Yes," he said, stroking it as if it had 



been some pet, "I do set considerable store 



by it. My partner give it ter me 'bout a 



month afor — afor he quit. You d'dn't know 



him. He quit 'fore ye began to go by here, 



He left 7 year ago this month — yes, an' 



this day. Good, stiddy, quiet feller Adam 



was; ye wouldn't want a better one ter 



live with. Me an' him never had a word, 



not a word, fer 10 years, an' slep an' et 



together, an' that's sayin' a good deal ; ye 



can't say any more. Bein' friends with a 



man in th' woods aint like bein' friends 



with hjm outside, cause there ye can get 



away from him fer a spell, ef ye want ter; 



but ye can't git away from him in here, an' 



ef anything goes wrong, why, thar he is, j 



the last thing at night, an'- the first thing 



in the mornin', stickin' as clus ter ye a'most 



as ef he was yer conscience, an' sometimes 



ye git ter hate him a'most as bad as ef he 



was. Ye git so tired o' seein' him, all'ays 



jes' the same an' never changin' a mite; 



an' it seems sometimes a'most as ef ye 



was married to him, an' I tell ye it's terrible 



tryin'. But 'twant never so with him; no 



sir! I never see a man like him. When 



I had my fever so bad he went out ter 



the edge and hired a feller ter go an' git 



some medicine fer me an' paid him $6 fer 



it ; and he come right back an' stayed with 



me an' then went out agin' ter fetch th' 



medicine in. In January 'twas, an' the 



snow 5 foot deep ; froze his hand an' his 



foot stiffer'n a gun barrel ; that's what he 



done, an' I couldn't never git him ter take 



back th' $6." 



