GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME
The passing of Joseph from Canaan was complete.It was an evanishment for which there was neither sackcloth nor surprise; and though there came no news of him it cannot be said that Canaan did not hear of him, for surely it could hear itself talk.The death of Jonas Tabor and young Louden's crime and flight incited high doings in the "National House"windows; many days the sages lingered with the broken meats of morals left over from the banquet of gossip.But, after all, it is with the ladies of a community that reputations finally rest, and the matrons of Canaan had long ago made Joe's exceedingly uncertain.Now they made it certain.
They did not fail of assistance.The most powerful influence in the town was ponderously corroborative: Martin Pike, who stood for all that was respectable and financial, who passed the plate o' Sundays, who held the fortunes of the town in his left hand, who was trustee for the widow and orphan,--Martin Pike, patron of all worthy charities, courted by ministers, feared by the wicked and idle, revered by the good,--Judge Martin Pike never referred to the runaway save in the accents of an august doomster.His testimony settled it.
In time the precise nature of the fugitive's sins was distorted in report and grew vague; it was recalled that he had done dread things; he became a tradition, a legend, and a warning to the young;a Richard in the bush to frighten colts.He was preached at boys caught playing marbles "for keeps": "Do you want to grow up like Joe Louden?"The very name became a darkling threat, and children of the town would have run had one called suddenly, "HERE COMES JOE LOUDEN!" Thus does the evil men do live after them, and the ill-fame of the unrighteous increase when they are sped!
Very little of Joseph's adventures and occupations during the time of his wandering is revealed to us; he always had an unwilling memory for pain and was not afterwards wont to speak of those years which cut the hard lines in his face.The first account of him to reach Canaan came as directly to the windows of the "National House"as Mr.Arp, hastening thither from the station, satchel in hand, could bring it.
This was on a September morning, two years after the flight, and Eskew, it appears, had been to the State Fair and had beheld many things strangely affirming his constant testimony that this unhappy world increaseth in sin; strangest of all, his meeting with our vagrant scalawag of Canaan."Not a BLAMEBIT of doubt about it,"declared Eskew to the incredulous conclave."There was that Joe, and nobody else, stuck up in a little box outside a tent at the Fair Grounds, and sellin'
tickets to see the Spotted Wild Boy!" Yes, it was Joe Louden! Think you, Mr.Arp could forget that face, those crooked eyebrows? Had Eskew tested the recognition? Had he spoken with the outcast? Had he not! Ay, but with such peculiar result that the battle of words among the sages began with a true onset of the regulars; for, according to Eskew's narrative, when he had delivered grimly at the boy this charge, "I know you --YOU'RE JOE LOUDEN!" the extraordinary reply had been made promptly and without change of countenance: "POSITIVELY NO FREE SEATS!"On this, the house divided, one party maintaining that Joe had thus endeavored to evade recognition, the other (to the embitterment of Mr.
Arp) that the reply was a distinct admission of identity and at the same time a refusal to grant any favors on the score of past acquaintanceship.
Goaded by inquiries, Mr.Arp, who had little desire to recall such waste of silver, admitted more than he had intended: that he had purchased a ticket and gone in to see the Spotted Wild Boy, halting in his description of this marvel with the unsatisfactory and acrid statement that the Wild Boy was "simply SPOTTED,"--and the stung query, "I suppose you know what a spot IS, Squire?" When he came out of the tent he had narrowly examined the ticket-seller,--who seemed unaware of his scrutiny, and, when not engaged with his tickets, applied himself to a dirty law-looking book.It was Joseph Louden, reasserted Eskew, a little taller, a little paler, incredibly shabby and miraculously thin.If there were any doubt left, his forehead was somewhat disfigured by the scar of an old wound--such as might have been caused by a blunt instrument in the nature of a poker.
"What's the matter with YOU?" Mr.Arp whirled upon Uncle Joe Davey, who was enjoying himself by repeating at intervals the unreasonable words, "Couldn't of be'n Joe," without any explanation."Why couldn't it?" shouted Eskew.
"It was! Do you think my eyes are as fur gone as yours? I saw him, I tell you! The same ornery Joe Louden, run away and sellin' tickets for a side-show.He wasn't even the boss of it; the manager was about the meanest-lookin' human I ever saw --and most humans look mighty mean, accordin'
to my way of thinkin'! Riffraff of the riffraff are his friends now, same as they were here.Weeds!
and HE'S a weed, always was and always will be!
Him and his kind ain't any more than jimpsons;overrun everything if you give 'em a chance.
Devil-flowers! They have to be hoed out and scattered--even then, like as not, they'll come back next year and ruin your plantin' once more.
That boy Joe 'll turn up here again some day;you'll see if he don't.He's a seed of trouble and iniquity, and anything of that kind is sure to come back to Canaan!"Mr.Arp stuck to his prediction for several months; then he began to waver and evade.By the end of the second year following its first utterance, he had formed the habit of denying that he had ever made it at all, and, finally having come to believe with all his heart that the prophecy had been deliberately foisted upon him and put in his mouth by Squire Buckalew, became so sore upon the subject that even the hardiest dared not refer to it in his presence.
