Westerfelt Part 5

"Don't you know him?" she asked, in surprise. "Why, that's Toot Wambush, Sarah's brother."

"Why don't he take off his hat?"

"For want of better sense, I reckon." Then she laughed, impulsively.

"I'll tell you why he always keeps it on in the house. He was at a party over at Sand Bank last spring, an'--"

"Han's to yo' pahtners!" cried out Uncle Mack, as he drew his bow across three or four strings at once, producing a harmony of ba.s.s, alto, and treble sounds. "Salute de lady on yo' right!"

Whack!

The bridge of the fiddle had fallen. Everybody laughed over Uncle Mack's discomfiture, as he rubbed the rosin out of his eyes and grunted, half amused, half vexed at the accident. He held the violin between his knees and proceeded to adjust the bridge.

"You were telling me why that fellow keeps on his hat," Westerfelt reminded his partner.

"Oh yes!" laughed the girl, "that's so. Toot's never satisfied if he ain't in a row o' some sort. He will always manage to pick a quarrel out of something. He's mighty troublesome, especially when he's drinkin'. He was pretty full over there that night, an' kept dancin'

with his hat on. Mis' Lumpkin, who give the dance, asked 'im quietly to take it off an' behave like a gentleman. That made 'im mad, an' he swore he'd die first. Then some o' the boys tuk Mis' Lumpkin's part, an' tol' 'im the hat would come off ur he'd go out. It 'ud be a treat to see Toot Wambush mad if you could feel sure you wouldn't get hit.

He clamped his hands together behind 'im an' yelled to Uncle Mack to stop fiddlin'; then he 'lowed ef any man thar tried to oust 'im he'd put windows in 'im. Frank Hansard, Lum Evans, and Andy Treadwell made signs at one another an' closed in on 'im. They didn't fully realize who they had to deal with, though. I hain't got much use for Toot, but he'll fight a circular saw bare-handed. He backed into a corner over a pile o' split pine-knots an' grabbed one that Thad Muntford declared wuz shaped like the jaw-bone o' Samson's a.s.s. It had a long handle an'

weighed about fifteen pounds. On my word, it seemed to me he slugged Frank and Andy at exactly the same time. You could 'a' heerd the'r skulls pop to the gate. They both fell kerflop in front of 'im. That left jest Lum Evans facin' 'im 'thout a thing in his hands. He dodged Toot's pine-knot when he swung it at 'im an' then Toot laughed an'

thowed it down and shook his fists at 'im, an' tol' 'im to come on for a fair fisticuff. Jest then Frank come to an' started to rise, but Toot sent 'im back with a kick in the face, an' helt 'im down with 'is boot on 'is neck. Andy backed out of the door, an' then Toot ordered Uncle Mack to play, an' tried to get the girls to dance with 'im, but n.o.body would, so he danced by 'isse'f, while Doc White an' Mis' Lumpkin worked on the wounded men in the next room. Since then Toot has al'ays wore his hat at dances. He swore he never would go to one unless he did."

Westerfelt laughed. "Who's the young lady?" he asked.

"Harriet Floyd. Her mother keeps the hotel. They 'ain't been here so mighty long; they're Tennessee folks."

"Sweethearts?"

"Don't know. He's 'er very shadder. I reckon she likes that sort of a man; she's peculiar, anyway."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't know, but she is." Jennie shrugged her shoulders. "She don't git on with us. In a crowd o' girls she never has much to say; it always seemed to me she was afraid somebody would find out some'n'

about 'er. She never mentions Tennessee. But she's a great favorite with all the boys. They'd be a string o' 'em round 'er now, but they don't want to make Toot mad."

"Right han' ter yo' pahtners," called out Uncle Mack, rapping on the back of his fiddle with his bow. "Salute yo' pahtners; balance all!"

and the dance began. "Swing corners! Fust fo' for'ards, en back agin!"

"Faster, Unc' Mack!" cried Sarah Wambush, as she swung past the old negro. "That hain't the right time!"

"Wait till he gets limbered up," cried Frank Hansard across to her.

"He hain't drawed a bow in two weeks, an' has been ploughin' a two-hoss turnover."

Louder and louder grew the music and the clatter of shoes and boots.

The air was filled with dust; old Mack's fiddle could hardly be heard above his shouts and the laughter of the dancers. Luke and Mrs.

Bradley stood in the open door leading to the kitchen, both smiling.

Mrs. Bradley seemed pleased with the ease with which Westerfelt appeared to be adapting himself to the company.

"Git the straws, Luke!" urged Frank Hansard, as the "grand chain"

brought him near Bradley. "Give it to us lively."

"I can't beat straws," said Luke.

Hearing this, old Mack uttered a contradictory guffaw, and shook his gray wool in high amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Go on, Luke," said his wife, as she pushed him towards the fiddler; "you kin, you know you kin."

Luke edged round between the dancers and the fire, and took two smooth sour-wood sticks from Mack's coat-pocket. The old negro laughed and sang all the louder as he held his head to one side and Luke began to thrum the strings in time to the music.

"Whoo-ee!" shouted Frank, and the dance waxed faster and more noisy, till the exhausted fiddler brought it to an end by crying out:

"Seat yo' pahtners."

Jennie sat down in a row of girls against the wall, and Mrs. Bradley came to Westerfelt.

"You must stir round," she said; "I want you to git acquainted. Come over here an' talk to Sarah Wambush." He followed her across the room.

Sarah was seated next to Harriet Floyd. As he sat down near Sarah, he fancied that Harriet, whose profile was towards him, gave him a glance out of the corner of her eye, but she turned her head and continued talking to Toot Wambush. There was something he liked in the ease of her position as she sat, balling her handkerchief in a hand hidden half in the pocket of her jacket. He thought her easily the prettiest girl in the room, and he vaguely resented the fact that she was receiving marked attention from a man of Wambush's character.

He wanted to knock the fellow's hat off, and tell him that a new man had come into the settlement who could not, and would not, stand such nonsense in the presence of ladies.

He listened to Sarah's prattle with only half an ear, adding a word now and then to keep her tongue going, till another dance was called.

Nelse Baker asked Sarah to be his partner, and she rose. Finding himself alone, Westerfelt got up. As he did so, he caught another glance from the corner of Harriet Floyd's eye, but she looked away quickly. She thought he was going to ask her to dance with him when he turned towards her, but he had decided to invite a little plain girl who sat next the wall, hemmed in by the crossed legs of Wambush. The girl flushed over the unexpected attention and rose at once.

"That couple don't seem to be dancing," Westerfelt remarked, with a glance at Wambush and Harriet, as he and his partner took a place in front of the fire.

"No," she answered. "Toot sorter sprained his foot at a log-rollin'

to-day."

"And she won't dance without him, is that it?"

"She would, but none o' the boys won't ask her when Toot's on hand."

"Ah, I see--engaged?"

"No. I reckon not; but Toot sorter lays claim to 'er though."

"And she don't object?"

She looked up and laughed. "It don't look much like it, does it?"

"I don't know; I never saw them together before."

"Oh, I see; well, he's her regular stand-by; he takes 'er to all the frolics, an' the picnics, an' to meetin'. He lives out at his father's, a mile or so from town, but he gets meals mighty often at the hotel."

As the dance began Westerfelt glanced again at Harriet Floyd. He could not explain the interest he had in her. She was looking straight into his eyes, as if she had divined that he was talking about her. He was almost certain that she colored slightly as she glanced on to Mrs.

Bradley.

Mrs. Bradley smiled and moved towards her, between the wall and the flying heels of the revolving circle. Westerfelt, in turning his "lady on the right," came near them as Mrs. Bradley was saying:

"I want you to get acquainted with my Fannin young man, Harriet. He's mighty nice."