Jap Herron Part 3

"Thank you for those few kind words, Mark," I said. "But if you think enough of me to trust me with this important work, why do you single me out for all the scoldings, when Edwin and Lola sometimes deserve at least a share in your displeasure?"

"Whist, Hannibal girl, we know our office force," was the humorous rejoinder.

The appearance of Agnesia was one of the keen surprises of the story, and before we realized what j.a.p's little sister would mean to Bloomtown, Mark interrupted his dictation with the words, "Stop!

Girls, the yarn is nearly all unwound. We will skip a bit that we will tie in later. But now--Bill sat doubled over the case, the stick held listlessly in his hand. Nervously he fingered the copy, not knowing what he was reading."

Without a break, we received the brief final chapter, ending with the words, "Isabel wants to call him Jasper William." The planchette added, "The End." We transmitted no more that day, although we knew that our story was far from completion.

The next time we met we had another surprise in the coming of j.a.p's elder sister. When the twenty-fifth chapter was finished, Mark said:

"Girls, I think the story is done."

"It's pretty short for a book," I protested. By way of reply, he gave this:

"Did you ever know about my prize joke? One day I went to church, heard a missionary sermon, was carried away--to the extent of a hundred dollars. The preacher kept talking. I reduced my ante to fifty dollars. He talked on. I came down to twenty-five, to ten, to five, and after he had said all that he had in him, I stole a nickel from the basket. Reason for yourselves. Not how long but how strong. Yet I have a sneaking wish to tell you something of the early days of Ellis's work, especially about Granger and Blanke. But to-day I have writer's cramp. So let's get together soon and make the finish complete."

There were two more sessions, with the dictation of a whole chapter and several fragments, at each meeting, and we met no more until I had put the whole complex record into consecutive form. We had a final review of the work, and a few minor changes in words and phrases were made.

Mark expressed himself as well pleased, and as a little farewell he gave us this, which has nothing to do with j.a.p Herron:

"There will be a great understanding some day. It will come when the earth realizes that we must leave it, to live, and when it can put itself in touch with the heavens that surround it. I have met a number of preachers over here who would like to undo many things they promulgated while they had a whack at sinners.

"There are hardsh.e.l.l Baptists who have a happy time meeting their members, to whom they preached h.e.l.l and brimstone. They have many things to explain. There is one melancholy Presbyterian who frankly stated the fact--underscore 'fact'--that there were infants in h.e.l.l not an ell long. He has cleared out quite a s.p.a.ce in h.e.l.l since he woke up. He doesn't rush out to meet his congregation. It would create trouble and be embarra.s.sing if they looked around for the suffering infants. As I said before, there is everything to learn, after the shackles of earth are thrown aside. I would like to write a story about some of these preachers, and the mistakes they made, when the doctrines of brimstone and everlasting punishment were ladled out as freely to the little maid who danced as to the harlot. It showed a mind asleep to the undiscovered country."

"Can you shed any light on that undiscovered country?" I asked him.

"Perhaps. But for the present there is enough of the truth of life and death in 'j.a.p Herron' to hold you."

And with that he told us good-bye.

EMILY GRANT HUTCHINGS.

[1] William Marion Reedy, Editor and Publisher of _Reedy's Mirror_, a weekly journal published in St. Louis, has long been interested in psychic phenomena, as a source of exotic and unusual literature. He has also discovered and developed much purely terrestrial literary talent, having brought out some of the best poets and fiction writers of present-day America. As a critic, he is a recognized master.

j.a.p HERRON

CHAPTER I

As every well-bred story has a hero, and as there seems better material in j.a.p than any other party to this story, we will dignify him. Mary Herron feebly a.s.serted her rights in the children by naming them respectively, f.a.n.n.y Maud, Jasper James and Agnesia. Jasper deteriorated. He became j.a.p, and j.a.p he remained, despite the fact that f.a.n.n.y Maud developed into f.a.n.n.ye Maude and Agnesia changed her cognomen, without recourse to law, to Mabelle. The folks in Happy Hollow continued to say "Magnesia" long after she left its fragrant depths.

The father of the little Herrons was a kingfisher. He spent his hours of toil on the river bank and his hours of ease in Mike's place. One Friday, good luck peered through the dingy windows of the little shanty where the Herrons starved, froze or sweltered. It was Friday, as I remarked before. Mary was was.h.i.+ng, against difficulties. It had rained for a week. The clothes had to dry before Mary could cash her labor, and it fretted Jacky Herron sorely. His credit had lost caste with Mike, and Mike had the grip on the town. He had the only thirst parlor in Happy Hollow. So Jacky smashed the only remaining window, broke the family cup, and set forth defiantly in the rain. And in the fog and slas.h.i.+ng rain he lost his footing, and fell into the river. As it was Friday, Mary had hopefully declared that luck would change--and it did!

The town buried Jacky and moved his family into decent lodgings, because the Town Fathers did not want to contract typhoid in ministering to them. Loosed of the incubus of a father, the little family grew in grace. j.a.ppie, as his baby sister called him, was the problem. Agnesia was pretty, and the Mayor's wife adopted her. f.a.n.n.y Maud went west to live with her aunt, and j.a.p remained with his mother until she, after the manner of womankind, who never know when they have had luck, married another b.u.m and began supporting him. j.a.p ran away.

He was twelve years old, red-headed, freckled and lanky, when he trailed into Bloomtown. He loafed along the main street until he reached the printing office, and there he stopped. An aphorism of his late lamented dad occurred to him.

"Ef I had a grain of gumption," said dad, during an enforced session of his family's society, "I would 'a' went to work in my daddy's printin'

office, instid of runnin' away when I was ten year old. I might 'a'

had money, aplenty, 'stid of bein' c.u.mbered and helt down by you and these brats."

j.a.p straggled irregularly inside and heard the old Was.h.i.+ngton hand press groan and grunt its weary way through the weekly edition of the _Herald_. After the last damp sheet had been detached from the press, and the papers were being folded by the weary-eyed, inky demon who had manipulated the handle, he slouched forward.

"Say, Mister," he asked confidently, "do you do that every day?"

indicating the press, "'cause I'm goin' to work for you."

The editor, pressman and janitor looked upon him in surprise and pity.

"I appreciate your ambition," he said, more in sorrow than anger, "but I have become so attuned to starving alone that I don't think I could adjust myself to the shock of breaking my fast on you."

j.a.p was unmoved.

"My dad onct thought he'd be a editor, but he got married," he said calmly.

"Sensible dad," commented the editor, with more truth than he dreamed.

"I suppose that he had three meals a day, and a change of socks on Sunday."

"But Ma had to get 'em," argued j.a.p. "I want to be a editor, and I am agoin' to stay." And stay he did.

CHAPTER II

"Run out and get a box of sardines," ordered the boss of the Was.h.i.+ngton press. "I've got a nickel. I can't let you starve. I lived three months on them--look at me!"

j.a.p surveyed him apprehensively.

"I'd hate to be so thin," he complained, "and I don't like sardines nor any fishes. My dad fed us them every day. Allus wanted to taste doughnuts. Can I buy them?"

Ellis Hinton laughed shortly, and spun the nickel across the imposing stone. j.a.p caught it deftly. An hour later he appeared for work, smiling cheerfully.

"Why the s.h.i.+ner?" queried Ellis, indicating a badly swollen and rapidly discoloring eye.

"Kid called me red-top," said j.a.p bluntly.

"Love o' gracious," Ellis exclaimed, "what is the shade?"

"It's red," quoth j.a.p, "but it ain't his business. If I am agoin' to be a editor, n.o.body's goin' to get familiar with me."

This was j.a.p's philosophy, and in less than a week he had mixed with every youth of fighting age in town. The office took on metropolitan airs because of the rush of indignant parents who thronged its portals.

Ellis pacified some of the mothers, outtalked part of the fathers and thrashed the remainder. After he had mussed the outer office with "Judge" Bowers, and tipped the case over with the final effort that threw him, j.a.p said, solemnly surveying the wreck:

"If I had a dad like you, I'd 'a' been the President some day."

Ellis gazed ruefully into the mess of pi, and kicked absently at the h.e.l.l-box.