Jap Herron Part 27

He went back into the car and, kneeling beside his sleeping wife, prayed madly to his G.o.d for mercy.

The gra.s.ses were green along the tracks, and the blue violets lifted their rain-washed faces as the familiar stations loomed in sight near the journey's end. At the last station below Bloomtown, Bill and Dr.

Hall entered the sleeper.

"We have everything arranged," Dr. Hall said to j.a.p, while Bill fought with his tears. "Isabel Granger has gone through too much to stand the harrowing experience of a funeral. The carriages are waiting, and it has all been attended to at the cemetery. We'll just have a short service out there, and I want you to keep her in the carriage with you.

Bill and I did things with a high hand, but it had to be so. I wouldn't risk having the girl look into her mother's grave. She couldn't stand it."

The platform was crowded with friends, and Tom Granger was responding to sympathetic greetings with tears he did not try to hold. j.a.p half carried Isabel to the nearest carriage, and Dr. Hall took his place with them. Bill had hurried to meet Mabelle, who tactfully drew Tom Granger into the second carriage, in which the minister sat waiting.

In a dream the well known landmarks of Bloomtown pa.s.sed before j.a.p's eyes. There was the quick jolt that marked the crossing of the railroad tracks, and then the cool green of the cemetery came into view.

While the brief service was read, j.a.p held Isabel tight to his aching breast. His eyes wandered away beyond the yellow mound of earth, and in the hazy distance he saw his City of Hope. The young gra.s.s smiled above the mounds that held the empty sh.e.l.ls of those he had loved, the first in all the world who had loved him. On Flossy's straight white shaft he read "I Hope." That was all.

After the slow cortege had moved its way back to town, Mabelle left the carriage and approached her brother. Bill, with his face frankly tear-stained, was beside her. The coachman had descended from his box, and was opening the door.

"Let me take her--let me take your sweetheart to our cottage," she pleaded. Leaning past him, she took one of Isabel's black-gloved hands. "Dear, I am j.a.ppie's sister. I want to have you with me until you are better."

Tom Granger sat up and leaned out of the carriage, so that all could hear him.

"j.a.p is coming home with us," he said. "He is my son. He was married to Isabel just before her mother left us."

And it was thus that after well-nigh three years of waiting Bloomtown celebrated the long-expected happiness of her best loved son.

CHAPTER XXV

Isabel had a long, lingering illness. It was plainly impossible for j.a.p and Mabelle to go to New York to see f.a.n.n.y Maud make her debut.

Mabelle had been a ministering angel, so faithful in her care of the invalid that an unreasoning jealousy blotted the grin of contentment from Bill's face as he uncomplainingly took the brunt of work at the office. j.a.p was too abstracted to notice the a.s.sociate Editor's woe.

One day, when rosy June was just bursting its buds, he glanced hurriedly through the columns of the _Herald_, still damp from the press. He started, and looked keenly at Bill. Second column, first page, under a double head that reduced the day's political sensation to minor importance, he read:

"OUR NEIGHBOR REJOICES; TWINS COME TO THE EDITOR OF THE BARTON STANDARD."

"Whew!" he whistled. Bill looked up. The red flew to his cheeks.

"Both boys," he commented, folding papers rapidly. "Be in line for pages, when old Brons lands in the Halls of Justice."

j.a.p hurried home to tell the news. Isabel, still pale and weak, was lying in the hammock on the screened porch. She laughed, her old merry laugh, when j.a.p told her of Rosy Raymond's achievement. Mabelle tossed her yellow curls.

"Well, I don't think she was worrying Bill," she snapped.

"There is no heavier blow to romance than twins," j.a.p said.

"Maybe she will call them j.a.p and Bill," crisped Mabelle, and stopped short when her brother walked abruptly to the other end of the porch.

"I hope that it won't fl.u.s.ter you to know that Bill and I are going to be married before f.a.n.n.y Maud leaves for Europe," she flung at him. "I want that haughty sister of mine to know that I am marrying a real man."

j.a.p came swiftly back.

"Have you taken Bill into your confidence, Sis?" he asked, patting Isabel's shoulder gently, as he smiled his whimsical smile at Mabelle.

"You're naughty to tease her so," his wife chided.

"Bill and I are going to New York on our wedding trip, just as soon as Isabel can spare me. I want f.a.n.n.y Maud to see----" She stopped, then took the bit in her teeth. "j.a.ppie, you never knew why I ran away from New York last Thanksgiving. Of course I told Bill all about it long ago. f.a.n.n.y and I certainly don't agree when it comes to men. I can't imagine she will approve of Bill, after the one she picked for me."

Further confidence was cut short by the appearance of Bill, turning the corner. She arose and ran to meet him.

"Poor Bill," j.a.p laughed, as the two came arm in arm up the shady lawn.

Before her designs upon Bill could be executed, a strange thing happened. f.a.n.n.y Maud and a company of musicians made a summer concert tour. It was only a little run from the city, and such an aggregation of artists as Bloomtown's wildest dreams had never visioned descended upon the town. The hotel was taxed to its uttermost capacity, with six song birds, an orchestra, three lap dogs, and an Impresario whose manner implied that he had designs other than professional on the leading soprano. Her stay was short, and left an impression of perfume, fluffy ruffles, French and haste. Her manager consented to have her sing for j.a.p and Isabel.

Bloomtown stood out in the road, listening, agape. Perhaps Kelly Jones had been to Barton that summer night, for he declared that cats were climbing out of Tom Granger's chimneys, screeching for help, and a man kept scaring them worse by howling at them. When f.a.n.n.y Maud reached the famous high note she was justly proud of, Kelly clapped his hands to his stomach and yelled for mercy.

"That's clawsick music," abjured Bill, who was sitting on the lawn with Mabelle. Kelly looked at them with sorrow.

"I was skeered that she had busted her throat, and all the sound was comin' out to onct," he complained.

The last night of the brief but exciting visit Bill and Mabelle were quietly married. Quietly--yes and no. Mike Hawking rallied the band and all the tinware in town to celebrate. Mabelle was indignant at first, but soon began to enjoy the fun, and created the happiest impression on the older generation of Bloomtown by insisting on marching arm in arm with Kelly Jones at the head of the procession.

After Bill had given his solemn oath never to repeat the offense the "chivaree" broke up, with wild yells of congratulation.

They took up residence in Mabelle's cottage. By consensus of opinion it was Mabelle's cottage. The town in fact so thoroughly recognized Mabelle, in the possessive case, that j.a.p cautioned Bill against the contingency of being referred to as "Mabelle's husband." Bill was proud of his wife, and when fortune brought him lucre, from the long-forgotten bit of Texas land that suddenly showed oil, he began to improve the whole street by putting out trees.

As j.a.p feelingly declared, Mabelle had even improved the dirt under the doorstep of the cottage, and Bill was fairly pushed out on the street for improving to do. Under her fostering care, Bill had learned to make violent demands on the Town Board. And they, the aldermen of Bloomtown, bent on pursuing the even tenor of their way at any hazard, had to adjust themselves to a new ebullition from Bill every Tuesday night. But Bill and Mabelle were not doomed to see their enthusiasm go up in vapor. It bore, instead, the most substantial fruit. The barren, treeless town was beginning to grow shade for the aldermen to rest under in their old age.

Kelly Jones said that if j.a.p had brought Mabelle with him, instead of waiting fourteen years to import her, the town would be larger than St.

Louis. As it was, Bloomtown might yet run that city a swift race.

Mabelle set the fas.h.i.+ons; told the School Board how to run the schools; the preachers how to make their churches popular; the mothers how to train their children. And the Town Fathers all carried their hats in their hands when she breezed down the street. j.a.p and Isabel watched and smiled, serene in the happiness that was theirs.

"How wonderful it is, j.a.p, dear," said Isabel, standing in the sunset glow, on that Easter Sunday, after the year had flown. The last red gleam touched the tip of the monument to Ellis Hinton, that had been erected by Bloomtown and dedicated that morning. Together they had gone to the cemetery, when the crowd would not be there, Isabel's arms full of garlands for the low green tents of their loved ones.

"It seemed that Flossy must be smiling at you as you stood there, saying the marvelous things that must have come to you direct from the lips of your spirit father. Ellis Hinton spoke through you when you told the story of our town."

j.a.p drew her tenderly to the fostering shadow of the monument and pressed her to his heart. Her face was glorified as she looked up into his.

"Oh, j.a.p, what if Ellis had never lived!"

j.a.p drew her close. Many hours had he wrought with his fear, but now the roses had come again to her cheeks and the light to her eyes. He looked over the City of Peace, and his own eyes were full with joy.

"But, thank G.o.d, Ellis did live." And arm in arm they walked back to Ellis Hinton's real town.

As they crossed the railroad tracks, Kelly Jones came ambling down from the station, where a large contingent from the vicinity of the steel highway between Barton and Bloomtown waited for the evening "Accommodation."

"Gimmeny!" he exclaimed, clapping j.a.p on the shoulder, "I sure was proud of Ellis's boy to-day. Ellis says to me, the day he went away, says he, 'Watch my boy, Kelly. He is goin' to put the electricity in Bloomtown's backbone,' and, by jolly, you done it! I reckon you felt proud," he went on, turning to Isabel, "when Wat Harlow called j.a.p the man that made Bloomtown a real town, and the crowd yelled, 'Yes.'

Well, ma'am, for a minute I shook and grunted. And then the wife said, 'Wait a bit,' so I waited. And when j.a.p got up and told the folks that not j.a.p Herron but a greater man than he ever hoped to be, had cradled and nussed Bloomtown and learnt her to walk, I might' nigh split my guzzle yellin' for joy. Did you hear me yellin', 'Hurrah for Ellis's boy!' And did you hear the crowd say it after me?"

As Isabel took his hardened hand in hers, her eyes overflowed.

"j.a.p is Ellis," she said gently, "to you and to his town. I know it, and I am glad."