Part 18 (2/2)
”Never mind! Never mind!” cried Anderson, recovering himself. ”If it's as bad as all that, we just got to keep still about it. I wouldn't allow you to throw mud at her if she's been carryin' on with only _one_ man, but if there's fifty or--But, gosh a' mighty, Harry, it ain't possible.
A woman as homely as Minnie--why, dog-gone it, a woman as homely as she is simply couldn't be bad no matter how much she wanted to. It ain't human nature. She--”
”Hold your horses, Anderson,” broke in Harry, after a perplexed stare.
”I guess you're jumping at conclusions. I didn't say--”
”There ain't going to be no scandal in this campaign. If Minnie St.i.tzenberg--German or no German--has been--”
”It isn't the kind of scandal you think it is,” protested Harry. ”What I'm trying to tell you is that it was Minnie St.i.tzenberg who got that guy up here from New York two years ago to sell stock in the Salt Water Gold Company, and stung fifty or sixty of our wisest citizens to the extent of thirty dollars apiece. I happen to know that Minnie got five dollars for every sucker that was landed. That guy was her cousin and she gave him a list of the easiest marks in town. If I remember correctly, you were one of them, Anderson. She got something like two hundred dollars for giving him the proper steer, and that's what I meant when I said there were fifty or sixty men in the case.”
”Well, I'll be ding-blasted!”
”And do you know what she did with her ill-gotten gains?”
Anderson could only shake his head.
”She went up to Boggs City and took singing lessons. Now you know the worst.”
The marshal found his voice. ”An' it went on for nearly six months, too--people had to keep their windows shut so's they couldn't hear her yellin' as if somebody was tryin' to murder her. An' when I went to her an' respectfully requested her to quit disturbin' the peace, she--do you know what she said to me?”
”I've got a sneaking idea.”
”Well, you're wrong. She said I was a finicky old jacka.s.s.” The memory of it brought an apoplectic red to his face.
”And being a gentleman, you couldn't deny it,” said Harry soberly.
”What's that?”
”I mean, you couldn't call her a liar. What did you say?”
”I looked her right in the eyes an' I said I'd been neutral up to that minute, but from then on I'd be derned if I'd try any longer. By gosh, I guess she knowed what I meant all right.”
”Well, as I was saying, all you've got to do is to tell the voters of this town that she helped put up that job on them, and--”
Anderson held up his hand and shook his head resolutely.
”Nope! I'm through. I'm not goin' to run. I mean to withdraw my name tonight.”
Considering the matter closed, he sauntered to the middle of the street where he held up his hand and stopped a lame and venerable Ford driven--or as Mr. Squires was in the habit of saying, urged--by Deacon Rank.
”What's your speedo-_meter_ say, Deacon?” inquired the marshal blandly.
”It don't say anything,” snapped the deacon.
Anderson saw fit to indulge in sarcasm. ”Well, by gum, I'd 'a' swore your old machine was movin'. Is it possible my eyes deceived me?”
”Course it was movin'--movin' strictly accordin' to law, too. Six miles an hour. What you holdin' me up for?”
”So's I could get in and take a little joy ride with you,” said Mr. Crow affably. ”Drop me at the post office, will you?” He stepped up beside the deacon and calmly seated himself.
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