| XI
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| WICK CUTTER WAS the money-lender who had fleeced poor Russian Peter.
When a farmer once got into the habit of going to Cutter, it was like
gambling or the lottery; in an hour of discouragement he went back.
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| Cutter's first name was Wycliffe, and he liked to talk about his pious
bringing-up. He contributed regularly to the Protestant churches,
`for sentiment's sake,' as he said with a flourish of the hand.
He came from a town in Iowa where there were a great many Swedes,
and could speak a little Swedish, which gave him a great advantage
with the early Scandinavian settlers.
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| In every frontier settlement there are men who have come
there to escape restraint. Cutter was one of the `fast set'
of Black Hawk business men. He was an inveterate gambler,
though a poor loser. When we saw a light burning in his office
late at night, we knew that a game of poker was going on.
Cutter boasted that he never drank anything stronger than sherry,
and he said he got his start in life by saving the money
that other young men spent for cigars. He was full of moral
maxims for boys. When he came to our house on business,
he quoted `Poor Richard's Almanack' to me, and told me
he was delighted to find a town boy who could milk a cow.
He was particularly affable to grandmother, and whenever they
met he would begin at once to talk about `the good old times'
and simple living. I detested his pink, bald head,
and his yellow whiskers, always soft and glistening.
It was said he brushed them every night, as a woman does her hair.
His white teeth looked factory-made. His skin was red and rough,
as if from perpetual sunburn; he often went away to hot springs
to take mud baths. He was notoriously dissolute with women.
Two Swedish girls who had lived in his house were the worse
for the experience. One of them he had taken to Omaha
and established in the business for which he had fitted her.
He still visited her.
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| Cutter lived in a state of perpetual warfare with his wife,
and yet, apparently, they never thought of separating.
They dwelt in a fussy, scroll-work house, painted white and
buried in thick evergreens, with a fussy white fence and barn.
Cutter thought he knew a great deal about horses,
and usually had a colt which he was training for the track.
On Sunday mornings one could see him out at the fair grounds,
speeding around the race-course in his trotting-buggy,
wearing yellow gloves and a black-and-white-check
travelling cap, his whiskers blowing back in the breeze.
If there were any boys about, Cutter would offer one of them
a quarter to hold the stop-watch, and then drive off,
saying he had no change and would `fix it up next time.'
No one could cut his lawn or wash his buggy to suit him.
He was so fastidious and prim about his place that a boy would
go to a good deal of trouble to throw a dead cat into his
back yard, or to dump a sackful of tin cans in his alley.
It was a peculiar combination of old-maidishness and licentiousness
that made Cutter seem so despicable.
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| He had certainly met his match when he married Mrs. Cutter.
She was a terrifying-looking person; almost a giantess in height,
raw-boned, with iron-grey hair, a face always flushed, and prominent,
hysterical eyes. When she meant to be entertaining and agreeable,
she nodded her head incessantly and snapped her eyes at one.
Her teeth were long and curved, like a horse's; people said
babies always cried if she smiled at them. Her face had a kind
of fascination for me: it was the very colour and shape of anger.
There was a gleam of something akin to insanity in her full,
intense eyes. She was formal in manner, and made calls in rustling,
steel-grey brocades and a tall bonnet with bristling aigrettes.
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| Mrs. Cutter painted china so assiduously that even her wash-bowls
and pitchers, and her husband's shaving-mug, were covered
with violets and lilies. Once, when Cutter was exhibiting
some of his wife's china to a caller, he dropped a piece.
Mrs. Cutter put her handkerchief to her lips as if she were
going to faint and said grandly: `Mr. Cutter, you have broken
all the Commandments--spare the finger-bowls!'
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| They quarrelled from the moment Cutter came into the house until they
went to bed at night, and their hired girls reported these scenes
to the town at large. Mrs. Cutter had several times cut paragraphs
about unfaithful husbands out of the newspapers and mailed them
to Cutter in a disguised handwriting. Cutter would come home at noon,
find the mutilated journal in the paper-rack, and triumphantly
fit the clipping into the space from which it had been cut.
Those two could quarrel all morning about whether he ought to put
on his heavy or his light underwear, and all evening about whether
he had taken cold or not.
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| The Cutters had major as well as minor subjects for dispute.
The chief of these was the question of inheritance: Mrs. Cutter
told her husband it was plainly his fault they had no children.
He insisted that Mrs. Cutter had purposely remained childless,
with the determination to outlive him and to share his property
with her `people,' whom he detested. To this she would reply that
unless he changed his mode of life, she would certainly outlive him.
After listening to her insinuations about his physical soundness,
Cutter would resume his dumb-bell practice for a month, or rise
daily at the hour when his wife most liked to sleep, dress noisily,
and drive out to the track with his trotting-horse.
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| Once when they had quarrelled about household expenses, Mrs. Cutter put on
her brocade and went among their friends soliciting orders for painted china,
saying that Mr. Cutter had compelled her `to live by her brush.'
Cutter wasn't shamed as she had expected; he was delighted!
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| Cutter often threatened to chop down the cedar trees which half-buried
the house. His wife declared she would leave him if she were
stripped of the I privacy' which she felt these trees afforded her.
That was his opportunity, surely; but he never cut down the trees.
The Cutters seemed to find their relations to each other interesting
and stimulating, and certainly the rest of us found them so.
Wick Cutter was different from any other rascal I have ever known,
but I have found Mrs. Cutters all over the world; sometimes founding
new religions, sometimes being forcibly fed--easily recognizable,
even when superficially tamed.
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