CHAPTER IX

A SLIP OF A GAL

When Abner had closed the door behind him, he stood in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at his watch. He had half an hour to spare before the arrival of the train, and that would allow him plenty of time to visit the dump, and give it a thorough inspection. He was mad, and to look again upon the mass of rubbish collected there would afford him considerable satisfaction.

It took him but ten minutes to reach the place. Here he stopped and viewed the locality. He longed to have Henry Whittles by his side that he might give expression to the feeling of indignation which was agitating his soul. But not a person could he behold. It was a most unsavoury spot, and the only living creatures there were several crows feasting upon some carrion not far off.

"An' so this is where they want to build the Home!" he growled. "Good Lord! what a place! Why, it's nuthin' more'n the Toefat of the Bible, which I've heard old Parson Shaw speak about. He said it was the place where them ancient divils sacrificed their children to their god Mulick. But I guess we've got jist as big divils now as they had then, an' mebbe a darn sight bigger. Them old fellers didn't know any better. It was a part of their religion, so I understand. But these modern cusses want to sacrifice poor little orphan kids in a hole like this, when they know better, an' have lots of other land where they kin build that Home. An' they call it 'charity.' Holy Smoke! It makes me mad. I want to hit somebody, an' I'd like that somebody to be Hen Whittles. An' him pertendin' to be a Christian. Bah!"

So intense were Abner's feelings that he forgot all about the train. He could think only of the meanness of Henry Whittles and those who were in league with him. Not a cent of money would he give, so he vowed, if they persisted in placing the Home in such a vile place. He knew that it could be levelled off, and cleaned up to a certain extent. But that would take much of the money needed for the erection of the building. Then he thought of Lawyer Rackshaw and his contemptible dealings with Widow Denton. He was glad that his nose had been scorched, and that he had tumbled backwards upon the floor.

"Pity he hadn't broken his neck," he muttered. "This town could well do without sich a thing as that."

Abner was aroused from his reverie by the screech of the train as it approached a crossing about half a mile from the station. He glanced at his watch in astonishment, and then hurried back through the town.

"I had no idea it was train time," he mused. "But I guess Sam'll look after the gal all right. Not bein' there will save me a lot of fussin'. Sam likes that kind of thing, 'specially when a pretty gal's consarned."

Abner was about one hundred yards from the station when he saw a horse, drawing an express waggon, coming toward him. As it approached, he noticed that a woman held the reins, and that she was bareheaded. In a twinkling the truth flashed upon him, and he paused, uncertain what to do. He knew that it was Belle Rivers driving Jerry at an unusually fast clip. She was using the whip, too, and it was quite evident that Jerry was receiving the surprise of his life.

At first Abner was astonished. Then he grew indignant, and sprang into the middle of the street as Jerry drew near. He reached out to grasp the horse by the bridle, but as he did so the fair driver brought the whip stingingly down upon his head. With a roar Abner made for the waggon, but was met with another and yet another well-aimed blow.

This excitement, combined with the flourishing of the whip, was more than Jerry could stand. With lowered head, he sped along the street, leaving a huge cloud of dust in his wake. Abner had just time to leap and seize the end of the express as it dashed by, and to pull himself partly aboard. He sprawled across the tailboard, holding on by his elbows, and balancing himself upon his stomach, with his feet beating a tattoo upon the ground. He tried to clutch at something, but the rattle of the waggon, and the steady rain of blows upon his head and shoulders, prevented him from making any progress. And there he hung, speechless and helpless.

The people on the main street of Glucom were greatly excited at the strange spectacle they beheld. They could only stand and stare, unable to do anything. But one of the few policemen of which the town boasted happened to be coming along that very moment, and sprang into the middle of the street to intercept what he believed was a runaway horse. The driver saw him and, with considerable difficulty, reined up Jerry by his side.

"Arrest that man," she ordered, turning around and pointing to Abner, who had just tumbled off the waggon.

"Arrest her," Abner shouted, struggling unsteadily to his feet.

"Why, what's the meaning of all this, Mr. Andrews?" the policeman enquired.

"She stole my hoss an' waggon, an' beat me black an' blue; that's what's the matter."

A startled expression suddenly overspread Belle Rivers' face, and she dropped the reins upon her lap.

"Mr. Andrews!" It was all she could say, as her eyes swiftly scanned Abner's unshaven face, rough, dust-covered clothes, and coarse unblackened boots.

"Yes, it's Abner Andrews, of Ash Pint," he chuckled, noting the girl's embarrassment.

"But I didn't know, that is, I didn't expect——" the girl stammered.

"Oh, no, ye didn't know him. Expected to find him a reg'lar country gentleman, eh? With tan shoes, pants all creased down in front, big panyma hat, an' smokin' a ten-cent cigar."

The girl's cheeks were scarlet as she listened to this charge, which she knew was absolutely true. Then the humor of the situation dawned upon her, and a smile wreathed her face.

"Will you forgive me, Mr. Andrews?" she asked. "I have been cruelly rude."

"But what about me head and shoulders?" Abner queried. "Will ye'r sweet apology cure the lumps ye made with that confounded whip?"

"Perhaps not, but when we get home I shall attend to your bruises with my own hands."

"Ye'll only make 'em worse," Abner growled.

"Say, Mr. Andrews," the policeman interposed, "I've a good mind to arrest you."

"Arrest me! Why?"

"As an idiot."

"Idiot!" Abner was staring hard now at the guardian of the law.

"Yes, as an idiot. You must surely be one, or you'd jump at the chance of having your head and shoulders attended to by the likes of her. I wish it had been me she threshed."

This view of the situation appealed to Abner, and he squinted an eye at the policeman.

"I see ye'r pint, Tom, an' it's a good one. Guess I'd better hustle home, fer I do feel mighty sore."

Scrambling up over the wheel, he flopped himself down by Belle's side and picked up the reins.

"Well, s'long, Tom. Much obliged fer ye'r help an' advice. Will see ye later. Gid-dap, Jerry."

After they had fairly started on the homeward way, Abner pulled out his pipe and tobacco.

"De ye mind smokin'?" he asked.

"No, not at all," the girl replied. "I enjoy the smell of tobacco."

"That's good. Me nerves are a bit upsot to-day, an' terbaccer allus steadies 'em."

"I am afraid that I am the cause of your trouble, Mr. Andrews. I had no idea that it was you I was whipping, but thought it was a scoundrel wishing to harm me."

"Ye didn't know me, eh? Well, where in the name of all creation was ye goin' with Jerry?"

"Merely for a drive. I didn't want to sit in the waggon with the young men at the station staring at me, so I thought I would drive around for a while until you came back. That was all."

"H'm, so that was the way of it, eh? But I do admire ye'r pluck. The way ye walloped me was sartinly wonderful, an' you only a slip of a gal at that."

"I'm used to taking care of myself, Mr. Andrews. In fact, I like an adventure once in a while, for it adds a little spice to life."

"Sure, sure, ye'r right, Miss. Guess we must be somethin' alike as fer's that's consarned."

"And you are fond of adventure, too; of real exciting experiences?" the girl eagerly asked.

"Yes; it's meat an' drink to me."

"But you don't find much adventure on a quiet farm, do you?"

"Adventure! Well, I guess ye don't know Ash Pint yit. Why, my old farm is so light that I have to keep it anchored down fer fear it'll go up like a balloon."

"Oh!"

"Yep; that's Gospel truth. G'long, Jerry. Then, there's a gravel hill on my place which makes the earth top heavy, an' so the Government is goin' to take it away."

"You don't say so! Why, Jess never told me anything about such things."

"Oh, she's used to 'em. Anyway, she's so sot on Social Service that she can't come down to common things. Say, de you swaller all that stuff?"

"What stuff?"

"Social Service gas, an' what it'll do fer the world, sich as elevatin' pigs into hogs an' sich like."

"I try to be interested," and Belle gave a deep sigh. "Jess is so wrapped up in her work that I do all I can to help her. But I ani afraid that I'm too light-headed for such things."

"Light-headed, be fiddled," Abner growled. "Ye may be light-headed as fer as the color of ye'r hair goes, but no further, skiddy-me-shins if ye are. Ye'r all right, an' I'm mighty glad ye'r not luney over that Social Service bizness."

"You are!"

"'Deed I am, an' I wish to goodness that Jess 'ud git sich nonsense knocked out of her head."

"But it doesn't hurt her, does it?" Belle queried. "I don't believe anything could change Jess from the sweet, jolly girl that she always is."

"Oh, no, Jess is all right that way. But, ye see, she wants to go away to some big city instead of stayin' at home where there's a darn sight of elevatin' to be done. That's what riles me."

"Oh, I see," Belle meditatively replied. "You wish her to remain with you?"

"That's jist it, Miss. There's only me an' Tildy, an' it needs someone to brighten up the house a bit. I tell ye our house doesn't allus have a heavenly atmosphere when we're alone, not by a jugful. The best wheel an' axle will git hot an' make an unholy noise if they run too long together without bein' greased. I guess most married folks are that way."

"I understand," and Belle smiled. "Jess acts as a go-between to make affairs run smoothly.

"Yep, that's jist it. She's the grease, an' she sartinly works wonders in stoppin' the creakin' in our house. That's why I want her to stay with us."

"Have you spoken to Jess about it?" Belle asked.

"Sure. Had a long talk with her."

"And what did she say?"

"Said there wasn't enough to do at home; that she needed more sailin' room. I wish to goodness she'd lower her sail, an' drop anchor at Ash Pint. It 'ud make all the difference in the world to me an' Tildy."

"Then you must see that she does," was the emphatic reply.

"Does what? Lower her sail and drop anchor at home?"

"Yes."

"But how kin I do it?"

"Get something important for her to do along Social Service lines. That will keep her for a while at least."

"But what kin she do?"

"I cannot say now, but perhaps something will turn up. We must try to work out a plan which will prove attractive."

"Say, you've got a shrewd head on ye'r shoulders, Miss. I guess you've hit the bull's-eye, all right. Yes, we must git an anchor of some kind that'll hold solid."

These two were now becoming firm friends, and they talked about various matters. Belle explained about her life at the Seminary, and Abner told about the proposed Orphan Home, and his conversation that morning with Lawyer Rackshaw. He was somewhat surprised with himself for talking in such a free and easy manner. But the girl was so sympathetic and willing to listen, that he found it a great comfort to confide in her.

"Ye won't say a word about this to Tildy an' Jess, will ye?" he asked. "They don't seem to understand sich things. But you do, an' that's why I've said more to you than to anyone else."

"I'm good at keeping secrets, Mr. Andrews," was the reply, "and I thank you for your confidence."

"It's them Denton kids I'm worryin' about," Abner explained. "They should be put into a good home at once. I really don't know what will become of 'em, to say nuthin' about the widder."

They were in sight of Ash Point now, and Abner directed Belle's attention to his house some distance ahead, nestling among the trees.

"It ain't much of a place," he apologized, "but ye'll git a hearty welcome, lots of room, an' plenty of fresh air. It's a mighty healthy place, if I do say it."

He paused and a peculiar expression suddenly lightened his face. He straightened himself up with a jerk, and brought the palm of his hand down upon his knee with a whack.

"Anything wrong?" Belle enquired.

"Nuthin' but a kink. I have it sometimes an' it makes me kinder queer."

"Where does it affect you?"

"Ginerally in me head."

"That's serious, isn't it? What do you do for it?"

"Jist git out an' make it hustle."

"Make what hustle? The kink?"

"That's it, 'specially if it's a dandy."

"A dandy!"

"Yep; a dandy idea. That's what I've got. But here we are at home, an' there's Tildy an' Jess waitin' at the door."