The storm was over. I left him a small supply of tobacco, promised to drop in again, and bade him good-bye.
Several days later, in talking with Sipes, I happened to mention Cal’s sad life history. He laughed and said that Cal was a liar.
“The real facts is ’e lived over in the back country fer twenty years, an’ ’e was chased into the hills by ’is wife an’ mother-in-law fer good an’ sufficient reasons. He handed me all that dope oncet about some girl ’e was stuck on some’res down south. It’s all right fer an old cuss like ’im to set ’round an’ talk, but ’e was just ’avin’ dizzy dreams, an’ you fergit ’em. If ’e’d only tell the truth, the way I always do, ’e wouldn’t never have no trouble, an’ folks would ’ave some respect fer ’im, like they do fer me.”
A year elapsed before I again saw the little shanty. The drifting sands had partially covered it, and my knock was unanswered. Several boards were missing from the roof, and through a wide crack I saw that occupation had ceased. The bunk was covered with débris. There were some empty cans on the floor and, I am sorry to say, a few bottles, but Happy Cal was gone.
Let us hope that the wave of fortune or misfortune that took this poor piece of human driftwood on its crest carried him to some far-off, sun-kissed, and glorious shore, where there is no political equality, and where women have no rights.
Either he had spent a most pathetic and adventurous life, or he was one of the most delightful liars I ever listened to.
“Catfish John” lived several miles farther up the shore. He was nearly eighty--at least, so he thought. Rheumatism had interfered with his activities to a considerable extent, and his net reels on the beach were getting a little harder to turn as the years rolled on. He considered the invasion of the dune country by the newcomers a great misfortune, although he was perfectly content to deal with them in a business way.
“Fifty years ago, when I fust come ’ere,” he said, “this country was sumpen to live in. There was some o’ the Injuns ’ere, but they didn’t never bother nobody. Thar was lots o’ game, an’ things ’round ’ere was pretty wild.”
“How did you happen to come here, John?” I asked.
“I come from down East on the Erie Canal, an’ I traveled out ’ere to see some land a feller was tryin’ to sell that ’e showed me on some maps ’e had. He said it was pretty wet, but it had thousands o’ huckleberry bushes on it, an’ the berries grew so thick the bushes all bent over with ’em.