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Jack-Knife Man

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<h2> IX. PETER GIVES WARNING </h2> THE weather turned extremely cold. Peter came back from his wood-sawing one evening and found Buddy astride a rocking-horse. The table was on top of the bunk to make room for the horse, and Booge, robed in one of the blankets, was playing the part of a badly scared Indian after whom Buddy was riding in violent chase. For a week Buddy had been well, but Booge managed to make Peter think he could still see spots on the boy. Booge had no desire to begin sawing wood again. It was much pleasanter in the shanty-boat with Buddy. The rocking-horse was the oddest looking horse that ever cantered. Among the driftwood Booge had found the remains of an old rocking-chair, and on the rockers he had mounted four willow legs, with the bark still on them, and on these a section of log for the body. With his ax he had cut out a rough semblance of a head and neck from a pine board. The tail and mane were seine twine. But Buddy thought it was a great horse. “Looks like you was a great sculpist, don't it?” said Peter jealously, as he stood watching Buddy riding recklessly over the prairies of the shanty-boat floor. “So that's why you been trying to make me think freckles was measles. It's a pity you didn't have a saw to work with.” Booge looked at Peter suspiciously. “I guess maybe by to-morrow I can find one for you,” continued Peter. “I saw a right good one up at the farm. And quite a lot of cord wood to practise on.” “If you ain't just like a mind reader, Peter!” exclaimed Booge. “You must have knowed I been hankerin' to get back there at that pleasant occupation. But I hated to ask you, you 're so dumb jealous of everything. It's been so long since you've invited me to saw wood I was beginnin' to think you wanted the whole job for yourself.” “You won't have to hanker to-morrow,” said Peter dryly. “To-morrow? Now, ain't that too bad!” said Booge. “To-morrow's just the one day I can't saw wood. I been hired for the day.” “Uncle Booge is going to make me a wagon,” said Buddy. “Uncle Booge is going to take you up to the farm while he saws wood,” declared Peter. “Uncle Peter will make you a wagon later on, Buddy.” “I want Uncle Booge to make me a wagon to-morrow,” Buddy insisted. “He said he would make me a wagon to-morrow. With wheels.” “And a seat into it,” added Booge. “All right,” said Peter with irritation, “stay here and make a wagon, then,” but that night when Buddy was in the bunk and asleep, Peter had a word for Booge. “I don't want to hasten you any, Booge,” he said, trimming the handle of a wooden spoon with great care as he spoke, “but day after to-morrow you'll have to pack your valise and get out of here. I don't want to seem inhospitable or anything, but when a visitor gets permission to stay over night to dry his boots, and then camps down, and loafs, and stays half the winter, and makes wagons and horses there ain't no room for in the boat, he's done about all the staying he's entitled to.” “Buddy's been askin' to have me go again!” said Booge. “No, he ain't,” answered Peter. “He—” He caught the twinkle in Booge's eye and stopped. “Let's wake Buddy up and ask him,” said Booge. “Buddy ain't got anything to say on this matter,” said Peter firmly. “And I ain't sending you away because you are trying to play off from doing your share of wood sawing, neither. I'm Buddy's uncle, and I've got to look out for how he's raised, and I don't want him raised by no tramp, and that's how he's being raised. Every day I think I'll chase you out to saw wood, and every day you come it over me somehow, and I go, and you don't. I don't know how you do it, but you're smart enough to make a fool of me. That's why you got to go.” “Is it?” asked Booge placidly. “I thought it was because you was jealous of me. Yep, that's what I was just thinkin'. He's jealous and he don't care nothin' for what Buddy likes, or wants, or—” “Nothing of the sort,” said Peter indignantly. “You ain't no sort of example to set the boy. I heard you swear this morning when Buddy stuck a fork into you to wake you up. No man that uses words like you used is the sort of man I want Buddy to be with.” Booge grinned. There was no use in rebutting such an accusation. Indeed, he felt he had no call to argue with Peter. Day after to-morrow was a distant future for a man who had lately lived from one meal to the next. Booge believed Buddy would be the final dictator in the matter, and he was sure of Buddy now. “So I guess you'll have to go,” continued Peter. “For a tramp you ain't been so bad, but it crops out on you every once in awhile, and it's liable to crop out strong any time. If it wasn't for the boy I'd let you stay until the ice goes out. I'd got just about to the point where I wasn't no better than a tramp myself, but when—but I've changed, and I'm going to change more.” Booge nodded an assent. “I can almost notice a change myself,” he said, “but the way you 're going to change ain't a marker to the way I'm goin' to change. I've been planning what I'd change into ever since I come here. I ain't quite decided whether to be an angel cherub, like you—or a bank president. I sort of lean to being a bank president. Whiskers look better on a bank president than on an angel cherub, but if you think I'd better be an angel cherub, I'll shave up—and make a stab at—” “You might as well be serious, my mind's made up,” said Peter coldly. “You got to go.” “Suppose,” said Booge slowly, “I was to withdraw out of this here uncle competition and leave it all to you? Suppose I let on I lost my singin' voice?” “No use!” said Peter firmly. “My mind's settled on that question. The longer you stay the harder it'll be to get you to go. I'm givin' you 'til day after to-morrow because I've got' to go up to town to-morrow. We 're shy on food. If it wasn't for that I'd start you off to-morrow.” “Now, suppose I stop bein' Uncle Booge. Say I start bein' Gran'pa Booge, or Aunt Booge,” proposed Booge gravely. “I'll get a gingham apron and a caliker dress—” “You'll get nothin' but out,” said Peter firmly. “You'll be nothin' but away from here.” The trip to town had become absolutely necessary. Peter had drawn ten dollars from the farmer and he had some spoons ready for sale. The farmer was going to town and Peter had at first decided to take Buddy with him, but the spoon peddling excursion would, he feared, tire the boy too much, and he ended by planning to let Booge and Buddy stay in the shanty-boat. It was an index to Peter's changed opinion of the tramp that he felt reasonably safe in leaving Buddy in Booge's care. For one thing Booge was sure to stay with the boat as long as food held out and work was not too pressing. The river had closed and the boat was solidly frozen in the slough. There was no possibility of Booge's floating away in it. “I won't be back until late,” said Peter the next morning as he pinned his thin coat close about his neck, “and it's possible I won't get my spoons all sold out to-day. If I don't I'll stay all night with a friend up town and get back somewhere to-morrow. And you take good care of Buddy, for if anything happens to him I'll hunt you up, no matter where you are, and make you wish it hadn't.” “Unless this horse runs away with him there ain't nothin' to happen,” said Booge. “You needn't worry.” “And, Buddy, if you are a good boy and let Booge put you to bed, if I don't get back, Uncle Peter will bring you something you've been wanting this long while.” “I know what you 're going to bring me,” said Buddy. “I bet you do, you little rascal,” said Peter, thinking of the jack-knife. “We both of us know, don't we? Good-by, Buddy-boy.” He picked up the boy and kissed him. “You don't know what Uncle Peter is going to bring me, Uncle Booge!” said Buddy joyfully, when Peter was gone. “No, sir!” said Booge. “No, sir!” repeated Buddy. “Cause I know! Uncle Peter's going to bring me back my mama.” <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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