Seth's drive to Eastboro was a dismal journey. Joshua pounded along over the wet sand or through ruts filled with water, and not once during the trip was he ordered to "Giddap" or "Show some signs of life." Not until the first scattered houses of the village were reached did the lightkeeper awaken from his trance sufficiently to notice that the old horse was limping slightly with the right forefoot.
"Hello!" exclaimed Seth. "What's the matter with you, Josh?"
Joshua slopped on, but this was a sort of three-legged progress.
The driver leaned forward and then pulled on the reins.
"Whoa!" he ordered. "Stand still!"
Joshua stood still, almost with enthusiasm. Seth tucked the end of the reins between the whip socket and the dashboard, and swung out of the wagon to make an examination. Lifting the lame foot, he found the trouble at once. The shoe was loose.
"Humph!" he soliloquized. "Cal'late you and me'll have to give Benijah a job. Well," climbing back into the vehicle, "I said I'd never give him another after the row we had about the last, but I ain't got ambition enough to go clear over to the Denboro blacksmith's. I don't care. I don't care about nothin' any more.
Giddap."
Benijah Ellis's little, tumble-down blacksmith shop was located in the main street of Eastboro, if that hit-or-miss town can be said to possess a main street. Atkins drove up to its door, before which he found Benijah and a group of loungers inspecting an automobile, the body of which had been removed in order that the engine and running gear might be the easier reached. The blacksmith was bending over the car, his head and shoulders down amidst the machinery; a big wrench was in his hand, and other wrenches, hammers, and tools of various sizes were scattered on the ground beside him.
"Hello, Benije," grunted Seth.
Ellis removed his nose from its close proximity to the gear shaft and straightened up. He was a near-sighted, elderly man, and wore spectacles. Just now his hands, arms, and apron were covered with grease and oil, and, as he wiped his forehead with the hand not holding the wrench, he left a wide mourning band across it.
"Well?" he panted. "Who is it? Who wants me?"
One of the loafers, who had been assisting the blacksmith by holding his pipe while he dove into the machinery, languidly motioned toward the new arrival. Benijah adjusted his spectacles and walked over to the wagon.
"Who is it?" he asked crossly. Then, as he recognized his visitor, he grunted: "Ugh! it's you, hey. Well, what do YOU want?"
"Want you to put a new shoe on this horse of mine," replied Seth, not too graciously.
"Is that so! Well, I'm busy."
"I don't care if you be. I guess you ain't so busy you can't do a job of work. If you are, you're richer'n I ever heard you was."
"I want to know! Maybe I'm particular who I work for, Seth Atkins."
"Maybe you are. I ain't so particular; if I was, I wouldn't come here, I tell you that. This horse of mine's got a loose shoe, and I want him attended to quick."
"Thought you said you'd never trust me with another job."
"I ain't trustin' you now. I'll be here while it's done. And I ain't askin' you to trust me, neither. I'll pay cash--cash, d'ye understand?"
The bystanders grinned. Mr. Ellis's frown deepened. "I'm busy," he declared, with importance. "I've got Mr. Delancey Barry's automobile to fix, and I can't stop to bother with horses--specially certain kind of horses."
This sneer at Joshua roused his owner's ire. He dropped the reins and sprang to the ground.
"See here, Benije Ellis," he growled, advancing upon the repairer of automobiles, who retreated a step or two with promptness. "I don't care what you're fixin', nor whose it is, neither. I guess 'twill be 'fixed' all right when you get through with it, but that ain't neither here nor there. And it don't make no difference if it does belong to Mr. Barry. If 'twas Elijah's chariot of fire 'twould be just the same. That auto won't be done this afternoon, and nobody expects it to be. Here's my horse sufferin' to be shod; I want him shod and I've got the money to pay for it. When it's winter time you're around cryin' that you can't earn money to pay your bills.
Now, just because it's summer and there's city big-bugs in the neighborhood innocent enough to let you tinker with their autos-- though they'll never do it but once--I don't propose to be put off.
If you won't shoe this horse of mine I'll know it's because you've got so much money you don't need more. And if that's the case, there's a whole lot of folks would be mighty glad to know it--Henry G. Goodspeed for one. I'm goin' up to his store now. Shall I tell him?"
This was a shot in the bull's-eye. Mr. Ellis owed a number of bills, had owed them for a long time, and Mr. Goodspeed's was by no means the smallest. The loafers exchanged winks, and the blacksmith's manner became more conciliatory.
"I didn't say I wouldn't do it for you, Seth," he pleaded. "I'm always willin' to do your work. You're the one that's been complainin'."
"Ugh! Well, I'm likely to complain some more, but the complaint's one thing, and the need's another. I'm like Joel Knowles--he said when he couldn't get whisky he worried along best he could with bay rum. I need a blacksmith, and if I can't get a real one I'll put up with an imitation. Will you shoe this horse for me?"
"Course I'll shoe him. But I can't do it this minute. I've got this consarned machine," waving a hand toward the automobile, "out of door here and all to pieces. And it's goin' to rain. Just let me put enough of it together so's I can shove it into the shop out of the wet, and then I'll tackle your job. You leave your horse and team here and go do your other errands. He'll be ready when you come back."