Jim Wilcox “a Daddy”

Jim Wilcox "a Daddy" By D. C. Retsloff For the first time since little skinny Jim Wilcox had been a daddy, he was disturbed as he walked home from work. Julia, his wife, almost filling the doorway, stood watching for him and the eight children rolled their round eyes in aston- ishment at the sight of their "Daddy's" unusually sober face. "Get the pork and beans on the table," said Julia, turning to the twins; and you, Jack, bring the wash things out to the bench." The smaller children and the two year old baby stood by to see their "Daddy" splash, splutter, and blow, a combination re- sembling a duck and a whale. Tonight, however, they were disappointed; Jim was very much subdued. He hurried through his washing, hurried through his supper, hurried as he milked the goat, and then took Julia by the arm and tried to hurry her down the beach to an old wrecked life-boat half buried in the sand. "Mommer," he said, "I'm worried." Julia puffed as she lowered her two hundred pounds of flesh and bone in a hollow that grew deeper as she settled, leaned back against the hull and looked expectant. "Yes, Mommer, I'm worried." Julia quit settling, "What has gone wrong? What you got to worry about, Jim? Ain't jhe cracks big enough in the north side of the house for you to hear the first clang of the fire bell? Ain't you been getting wet enough every Sunday all season help- ing the life saving crew practice launching the life-boats? Ain't the winter coming on when all the family will need water-proof shoes? Ain't sugar and flour and hog meat as high as ever?" She paused for breath and great heaves seemed to swell her already huge form to the bursting point. Letting his gaze wander across the sand dunes to the white breakers on the incoming tide, Jim repeated: "Yes, Mommer, I'm worried; not about any of the things you mention, but at something the boss told me to do today." Julia let a handful of sand sift through her pudgy fingers, puffed out her full cheeks and asked: "What did pig-eye tell you to do?"

JIM WILCOX "A DADDY" 621 "Don't call him 'pig-eye', Julia, sometime you'll forget and say it before the children." "That's what he is, just the same," Julia half wheezed. "We are by ourselves, and if a woman feels free to speak her mind it is when she's in the presence of her mate. Now, what'd Cy Skinner tell you to do?" "He told me to take coal from the Hawkes' house and from the Wells' cottage and put it in his coal house. Then to load up the pile of fire-place logs Mrs. Blair left at *Spindrift' and put them along with the coal." Julie shrugged, studied the after-glow of the sunset for a moment, and then boldly declared, "Cy Skinner's a thief." "I can't think that, Julia. See how the company trusts him. John Burke trusts him, and Burke is the big man of the concern. Mrs. Blair trusted him; he did lots of work for her this past summer." "John Burke only comes down once a month." Julia still studied the rose and gold of the western sky. "Cy Skinner could steal him dumb and blind. He ain't got any right to that wood and coal. I ain't a single doubt, Cy Skinner's a thief." She rolled over in the sand and slowly pulled herself up beside the scarred hull. "You mark my words, he's a thief." Jim Wilcox had more than the usual amount of respect for his colossus of a wife, but he shook his head and muttered, "I can't believe that, Mommer." « » * The next week he began hauling cement and sand for a new bridge over "Tide-grass Slough." As he was climbing up on a wagon with a load of cement Cy Skinner signalled him to wait. Lowering his usually loud voice, the bo8S said: "Drive around past my place, Jim, and drop off a bag of cement from every load you haul today." There was a sickish feeling in the pit of Jim's stomach and his voice was weak as he asked : " Who's going to pay for them, Mr. Skinner?" "You should worry," Cy's face reddened. "Yes, I should, Mr. Skinner, I should worry. I'm working for the company, and I know where this cement should go. Why must I drop a sack from every load? I want to know who will pay for the sacks that I leave at your barn." "You throw them off according to my orders, that's all it's necessary for you to know. I'm boss of these works, and it's none of your durned business who pays for them." Cy's "pig-eyes" blazed. Jim dropped from the hub on which he was standing. Drop- ped so close to the boss that his toes scraped against the tall

622 IMPROVEMENT ERA man's round stomach. "It is my business, Cy Skinner. John Burke trusts me. I've got fi\e boys growing up. How'd they feel if theyknew I was stealing?" "Oh, ho! Preaching is another of your many accomplish- ments, is it?" sneered Cy, spitting tobacco juice from his loose mouth. "You needn't work on this end of the job." "And you needn't waste your breath in telling me, Cy Skin- ner. I'll not work on any end of it, so long as you are boss. I'll report you to Mr. Burke." "What'd you say?" Cy whirled on his heel, "You durned little shrimp ! I'd slap your face if you were not so insignificant. Don't you know better than to throw up a job when times are hard? You poor, shriveled idiot, with winter coming on and a family to keep. Report, and be durned. If I hear that you've opened your mouth, 111 find a way to shut it up for keeps. Un- derstand?" "Stop!" Jim stretched to his full height. "Stop! or I'll use this horse-whip on you. You can't scare me, even if you are boss here." He spat a frothy mass toward Cy Skinner, flung the whip down and walked away from the wagon. * * * Julia's huge shape shook with laughter when Jim told her how he had scraped Cy's stomach, but by the time he had reached the final scene there were tears in her eyes. "Served him right, Jim. It takes a mighty good man to do what you've just done. I'm glad you called him a thief — that's just what he is!" "I didn't call him a thief, Julia. I said I couldn't steal. I don't know but what I was foolish to quit work. Winter's com- ing and we got to eat." Julia patted his shoulder, "Never mind about the job, Jim, there's always a way for the living. We'll manage somehow." That night Jim could not sleep. He turned and twisted in his narrow bed space, and when the clock struck twelve he got up. A full moon flooded the dunes below the house and turned the water of the ocean into an endless stretch of quivering sil- ver. Jim sat on the end of the wash bench. All at once he heard the sound of a wagon crossing the culvert leading from "Spindrift." Without stopping he grabbed a sheet from the wash hanging on the line and ran down the bluff. As the wagon rounded a bend, the horses stopped suddenly and snorted. In the middle of the road stood a single ghost-like figure. A few years before there had been found under the culvert bridge the body of a murdered man. There was many a tale told by superstitious persons of how on nights when the moon

JIM WILCOX UA DADDY" 623 was full, the spirit of the dead man haunted the scene of the crime. Jim thought of that as he stood motionless in his white dra- pery. He heard an exclamation, an oath, and then the sound of rapid foot-steps. He cautiously peered through the end of the sheet and saw a tall man scrambling up the opposite side of the bluff. Placing his fingers in his mouth, the ghost blew a shrill whistle, letting it die away in a sort of long-drawn wail. He chuckled as he heard the foot-falls grow fainter and finally lose themselves in the noise of the waves. When he was sure he was alone, he dropped his white cover- ing and started for the wagon. As he was about to climb up on the load, he saw something black beside the wheel. He picked it up, turned the horses and drove back to the Blair cottage. On the pergola-co\ ered drive he unhitched the team and headed them toward the barns of the construction company. They were the animals he had driven on the cement wagon. The next morning he went down where Cy Skinner was su- perintending the loading of the wagons and said, as he held up a black hat: "Here is the hat you lost last night down at 'Spin- drift' culvert. I unloaded the furniture and put it back in the cottage." Without waiting for a reply he turned and hurried to the post office. He asked for and received the eastern address of Mrs. Blair and proceeded to the telegraph office where he sent this message: "Cy Skinner stealing furniture and wood from 'Spindrift.' "Jim Wilcox." Then he went home and told Julia what he'd done and added: "Mommer, I'm convinced against my will that you are right about Cy Skinner, I think he was the man on the load last night." "'Course, he was, Jim. He's a thief. I told you so. Though of course Mrs. Blair wouldn't miss the price of the furniture." "That's not here nor there, Mommer. She has confidence in us as a village. She thinks we're an honest people. John Burke takes a squint around 'Spindrift' every time he comes down and I suppose that's all the care-taker she thinks she needs. A man who won't try to protect a lone widow ain't much of a man." A few days later Jim was served with a notice that the house in which he lived had been sold to Cy Skinner and he must vacate immediately. "Where will we go?" Julia for once could not muster up a smile. "The rainy season is coming and we've nothing saved up for moving expenses." "Never mind, Mommer," Jim stood on tip-toe and put

624 IMPROVEMENT ERA his arm around her neck. "Never mind, just the other day you told me there 'was always a way for the living.' We'll find something. He scurried through the village hunting shelter for his fam- ily. The few vacant houses had all been rented by Cy Skinner. He spent several anxious hours and another sleepless night, and when the morning came he announced to the family that they would go into winter quarters, in tents among the dunes. Julia shook her head dismally and kept on shaking it in spite of the enthusiasm which took hold of her children when their "Daddy" extolled a "Winter camp on the sea shore." It was barely dawn, the sky was gray and a mist falling when Jim began to move their belongings down the bluff to a sheltered spot behind a long range of dunes where one large and two small kahki-colored tents stood waiting the "Winter Colony." Each child followed him, carrying some cherished article — a kelp basket, a broken phonograph horn, a lank geranium struggling for existence in a tomato can, a much marred air- gun, a bantam hen. The mist turned to a drizzle. The drift-wood fire sputtered, the wind from the west blew the smoke into the large tent where the family huddled over the remnants of a bologna and cracker lunch. Jim was wet to the skin, and Julia was trying to per- suade him to draw on a pair of her out-size woolen stockings under his rubber boots, when the kind face of John Burke appeared among the smoke clouds. "I'm mighty 'fraid I'll spoil your chances on this duck farm," he said with a laugh as he handed Jim a yellow paper. The whole family crowded close to the little "Daddy" and pricked their ears so as not to miss a syllable while he read aloud : "If Jim Wilcox is reliable have him move into 'Spindrift' cottage and take care of the place. "Ruth Blair." His rain-chilled fingers trembled, for an instant he looked at John Burke, then his eyes swept over his bedraggled brood. He covered his face with his hands to hide the tears that he could not check. The children did not understand the situation. When they saw their usually cheerful "Daddy" weeping, the whole vicinity of the dunes resounded with their shrill wails. "Hush!" commanded Julia. "Hush, every one of you. Don't you understand that we're going to live at 'Spindrift?' Your Daddy is to be the care-taker, so Cy Skinner won't have a chance to lug the whole place off. Gather up your pretties and come on. Let's get in out of the rain."

JIM WILCOX "A DADDY" 625 Jim Wilcox looked after his wife and children and sighed, "I can't move in there Mr. Burke." "Why?" Because things in that cottage are too fine for us. Why, when I unloaded the furniture the other night there were pieces I'd never seen before, and I haven't the hint of an idea what they're used for. Honest, Mr. Burke, as much as I need roof to shelter my family, I can't take advantage of a widow. If my children should get an appetite for fine things like those at 'Spindrift' and then by and by have to leave them think what a blow it'd be. The meanest trick a Daddy can play on his children is to give them something when they're little that he'll blame them for wanting when they're big." John Burke rubbed his eyes, stooped and picked up the bantam hen, "Come on, Jim, come on. For the present you'll stay there and watch the place. You can write to Mrs. Blair and explain about your family." "Spindrift" cottage stood near the western boundary of two acres of sand and soil. The soil was on a gently sloping bluff at the eastern extremity of the little estate. A cypress hedge marked the north and south lines of the property and along the crest of the bluff grew a row of eucalyptus with grape vines and fig trees below them. The soil had been terraced and on the lower ones squash and pumpkin vines in- dicated that it was a likely garden spot. The cottage itself was low and roomy and furnished in a manner to make the Wilcox progeny gape with wonder. Julia spent most of her time for several days in walking from room to room stopping frequently and laughing at meeting herself in the full length mirrors on the many doors. Jim could think of nothing but the letter he was to write to the mistress of "Spindrift." "What shall I say?" he asked Julia for at least the twentieth time. "What shall I say? She don't know how many we are, and when I tell her she'll not want us here." "Don't tell her. then," said Julia. "She'll not be out till April or May, and we'll at least have a roof over our heads until then." Jim glanced at her pitifully. "I've got to write and tell her the truth. There's no other way." "I 'spose you're right," Julia admitted slowly. "Look at this little knob. Watch me pull a writing desk with pens, ink and paper right from the wall. Stay here and write to her, get it out of your system." So seated at the wall desk, with soft sunset colors flooding

626 IMPROVEMENT ERA the brown-beamed room, Jim Wilcox wrinkled his brows and wrote : __ "I guess you never thought about me being a daddy when you sent Mr. Burke that telegram to have me move into your nice cottage. I sent you word about Cy Skinner, because I think every lone woman should be protected by honest men, and I knew he was stealing your things. I'd like to stay here and be your care-taker, but I have eight children and you may think we are too many. The olives and grapes will need pruning in the spring. If I stay I'll try to get a horse and gather cobble stones from the beach and build you a thief-proof wood house. If you don't want so many children living among your fine things, let me know and we will move out as soon as we get word from you. "Respectfully, "Jim Wilcox." Some two months later a letter bearing the Paris, France, post-mark was handed to Jim through the general delivery window of the village office. The odor of violets came from the heavy blue-white envelope when he opened it. He wrinkled his nose as he drew in the perfume, and without stopping hurried back through the November rain to "Spindrift" and his family. They gathered around the open fire where the drift wood logs sent blue and yellow flames crackling up the wide-mouthed chimney. Holding the letter carefully with the tips of his fingers Jim read aloud: "I am in France, and may be away from the United States two years. It was a sudden decision. I'm glad you are going to be the care-taker at my cottage. I enclose a check for five hundred dollars. Buy a horse for your work on the terraces and among the cobble stones. Let the children enjoy everything on the place. I know from your telegram and letter that your children will be brought up to respect the rights of others. "Yours Sincerely, "Ruth Blair." A smile spread over Jim's homely little face. Again he wrinkled his nose. The winter rain beat against the windows but he smelled only the sweet odor of violets. San Diego, California. The Truth The lip of truth shall be established for ever: but a lying tongue is but for a moment. Deceit is in the heart of them that imagine evil: but to the counselors of peace is joy. There shall no evil happen to the just: but the wicked shall be filled with mischief. Lying lips are abomination to the Lord: but they that deal truly are his delight. — Proverbs 12:19-23.