How Janice Day Won Part 41

"I'm a poor lone woman--loner and lorner than I've felt since my poor, sainted Charles pa.s.sed away. Oh, Janice! it seems a pitiful shame that such a one as Mr. Haley should have to go to work on a farm when he can do such a lot of other things--and better things."

"I don't know about there being anything much better than farming--if one has a taste for it," said Janice cheerfully.

"But an educated man--a teacher!" groaned Mrs. Beaseley. "An' I felt like he was my own son--'specially since Cross Moore and them others been houndin' him about that money. Cross Moore come to me, an' says he: 'Miz Beaseley, 'tis your duty to let me look through that young man's things when he's out. We'll either clear him or clench it on him.'

"An' says I: 'Cross Moore, if you put your fut across my threshold I'll sartain sure take the broom to you--an' ye'll find _that's_ clenched, a'ready!'"

"Oh, Mrs. Beaseley!" gasped Janice, yet inclined to laugh, too.

"Oh, I'd ha' done it," threatened the widow, the tears still on her cheeks. "Think o' them, houndin' poor Mr. Haley so! Why! if my poor sainted Charles was alive, he'd run Cross Moore clean down to the lake--an' inter it, I expect, like Walky Dexter's boss.

"And if he warn't so proud----"

"_Who_ is so proud, Mrs. Beaseley?" asked Janice, who had some difficulty at times in following the good woman's line of talk.

"Why--Mr. Nelson Haley. I did make him leave his books here, and ev'rything he warn't goin' ter use out there at the elder's. And I'm going to keep them two rooms jest as he had 'em, and he sh.e.l.l come back here whenever he likes. Money! What d' I keer whether he pays me money or not? My poor, sainted Charles left me enough to live on as long as a poor, lorn, lone creeter like me wants ter live. Nelson Haley is welcome ter stay here for the rest of his endurin' life, if he wants to, an' never pay me a cent!"

"I don't suppose he could take such great favors as you offer him, Mrs.

Beaseley," said Janice, kissing her. "But you are a _dear_! And I know he must appreciate what you have already done for him."

"Wish't 'twas more! Wish't 'twas more!" sobbed Mrs. Beaseley. "But he'll come back ter me nex' Fall. I know! When he goes ter teachin'

ag'in, he _must_ come here to live."

"Oh, Mrs. Beaseley! do you think they will _let_ Nelson teach again in the Polktown school?" cried the girl.

"My mercy me! D'yeou mean to tell me Cross Moore and Ma.s.sey and them other men air perfect fules?" cried the widow. "Here 'tis 'most time for school to close, and they tell me the graduatin' cla.s.s ain't nowhere near where they ought to be in their books. The supervisor come over himself, and he says he never seen sech ridiculous work as this Mr. Adams has done here. He--he's a _baby_! And he ought to be teachin' babies--not bein' princ.i.p.al of a graded school sech as Mr.

Haley built up here."

There were plenty of other people in Polktown who spoke almost as emphatically against the present state of the school and in Nelson's favor. Three months or so of bad management had told greatly in the discipline and in the work of the pupils.

A few who would graduate from the upper grade were badly prepared, and would have to make up some of their missed studies during the Summer if they were to be accepted as pupils in their proper grade at the Middletown Academy.

Mr. Haley's record up to the very day he had withdrawn from his position of teacher was as good as any teacher in the State. Indeed, several teachers from surrounding districts had met with him in Polktown once a month and had taken work and instructions from him.

The State Board of Education and the supervisors had appreciated Nelson's work. Mr. Adams had been the only subst.i.tute they could give Polktown at such short notice. He was supposed to have had the same training, as Mr. Haley; but--"different men, different minds."

"Ye'd oughter come over to our graduation exercises, Janice," said Marty, with a grin. "We're goin' to do ourselves proud. Hi tunket!

that Adams is so green that I wonder Walky's old Josephus ain't bit him yet, thinkin' he was a wisp of gra.s.s."

"Now Marty!" said his mother, admonis.h.i.+ngly.

"Fact," said her son. "Adams wants me to speak a piece on that great day. I told him I couldn't--m' lip's cracked!" and Marty giggled.

"But Sally Prentiss is going to recite 'A Psalm of Life,' and Peke Ringgold is going to tell us all about 'Bozzar--Bozzar--is'--as though we hadn't been made acquainted with him ever since Hector was a pup.

And Hector's a big dog now!"

"You're one smart young feller, now, ain't ye?" said his father, for this information was given out by Marty at the supper table one evening just before the "great day," as he called the last session of school for that year.

"I b'lieve I'm smart enough to know when to go in and keep dry,"

returned his son, flippantly. "But I've my doubts about Mr. Adams--for a fac'."

"Nev' mind," grunted his father. "There'll be a change before next Fall."

"There'd better be--or I don't go back for my last year at school.

Now, you can bet on that!" cried Marty, belligerently. "Hi tunket!

I'd jest as soon be taught by an old maid after all as Adams."

Differently expressed, the whole town seemed of a mind regarding the school and the failure of Mr. Adams. The committee got over that ignominious graduation day as well as possible. Mr. Middler did all he could to make it a success, and he made a very nice speech to the pupils and their parents.

The minister could not be held responsible in any particular for the failure of the school. Of all the committee, he had had nothing to do with Nelson Haley's resignation. As Walky Dexter said, Mr. Middler "flocked by himself." He had little to do with the other four members of the school committee.

"And when it comes 'lection," said Walky, dogmatically, "there's a hull lot on us will have jest abeout as much to do with Cross Moore and Ma.s.sey and old Crawford and Joe Pellett, as Mr. Middler does.

Jefers-pelters! If they don't put n.o.body else up for committeemen, I'll vote for the taown pump!"

"Ya-as, Walky," said Uncle Jason, slily. "That'd be likely, I reckon.

I hear ye air purty firmly seated on the water wagon."

CHAPTER XXVII

THE TEMPEST

Mr. Cross Moore was not a man who easily or frequently recanted before either public or private opinion. As political "boss" of the town he had often found himself opposed to many of his neighbors' wishes.

Neither sharp tongue nor sharp look disturbed him--apparently, at least.

Besides, Mr. Moore loved a fight "for the fight's sake," as the expression is. He had backed Lem Parraday in applying for a liquor license, to benefit his own pocket. It had to be a good reason indeed, to change Mr. Moore's att.i.tude on the liquor selling question.

The hotel barroom held great attractions for many of Cross Moore's supporters, although Mr. Moore himself seldom stepped into that part of the hotel. The politician did not trust Lem Parraday to represent him, for Lem was "no wiser than the law allows," to quote his neighbors.

But Joe Bodley, the young barkeeper, imported from the city, was just the sort of fellow Cross Moore could use.

And about this time Joe Bodley was in a position where his fingers "itched for the feel of money." Not other people's money, but his own.

He had sc.r.a.ped together all he had saved, and drawn ahead on his wages, to make up the hundred dollars paid Hopewell Drugg for the violin, and----

"Seems ter me that old fiddle is what they call a sticker, ain't it, 'stead of a Straddlevarious?" chuckled Walky Dexter, referring to the instrument hanging on the wall behind Joe's head.

"Oh, I'll get my money back on it," Bodley replied, with studied carelessness. "Maybe I'll raffle it off."

"Not here in Polktown ye won't," said the expressman. "Yeou might as well try ter raffle off a white elephant."

"Pshaw! of course not. But a fine fiddle like that--a real Cremona--will bring a pretty penny in the city. There, Walky, roll that barrel right into this corner behind the bar. I'll have to put a spigot in it soon. Might's well do it now. 'Tis the real Simon-pure article, Walky. Have a snifter?"

"On the haouse?" queried Walky, briskly.

"Sure. It's a tin roof," laughed Bodley.

"Much obleeged ter ye," said Walky. "As yer so pressin'--don't mind if I do. A gla.s.s of sars'p'rilla'll do me."

"What's the matter with you lately, Walky?" demanded the barkeeper, pouring the non-alcoholic drink with no very good grace. "Lost your taste for a man's drink?"