Part 17 (1/2)
”They were afraid that they would have to make good for the coins, and felt that they must blame somebody,” Janice replied with a sigh.
”Of course, Hopewell went right over to tell the schoolmaster what he thought about it as soon as the story reached us. Hopewell thinks highly of the young man, you know.”
”Until this thing happened, I thought almost everybody thought highly of him,” said Janice, with a sob.
”Oh, my dear!” cried 'Rill, tearful herself, ”there is such gossip in Polktown. So many people are ready to make ill-natured and untruthful remarks about one----”
Janice knew to what secret trouble the storekeeper's wife referred. ”I know!” she exclaimed, wiping away her own tears. ”They have talked horridly about Mr. Drugg.”
”It is untruthful! It is unfair!” exclaimed Hopewell Drugg's wife, her cheeks and eyes suddenly ablaze with indignation. To tell the truth, she was like an angry kitten, and had the matter not been so serious, Janice must have laughed at her.
”They have told all over town that Hopewell came home intoxicated from that last dance,” continued the wife. ”But it is a story--a wicked, wicked story!”
Janice was silent. She remembered what she and Marty and Mrs.
Scattergood had seen on the evening in question--how Hopewell Drugg had looked as he staggered past the street lamp on the corner on his way home with the fiddle under his arm.
She looked away from 'Rill and waited. Janice feared that the poor little bride would discover the expression of her doubt in her eyes.
CHAPTER XII
AN UNEXPECTED EMERGENCY
'Rill seemed to understand what was in Janice's mind and heart. She kept on with strained vehemence:
”I know what they all say! And my mother is as bad as any of them.
They say Hopewell was intoxicated. He was sick, and the bartender mixed him something to settle his stomach. I think maybe he put some liquor in it unbeknown to Hopewell. Or something!
”The poor, dear man was ill all night, Janice, and he never did remember how he got home from the dance. Whatever he drank seemed to befuddle his brain just as soon as he came out into the night air.
That should prove that he's not a drinking man.”
”I--I am sorry for you, dear,” Janice said softly. ”And I am sorry anybody saw Mr. Drugg that evening on his way home.”
”Oh, I know you saw him, Janice--and Marty Day and my mother. Mother can be as mean as mean can be! She has never liked Hopewell, as you know.”
”Yes, I know,” admitted Janice.
”She keeps throwing such things up to me. And her tongue is never still. It is true Hopewell's father was a drinking man.”
”Indeed?” said Janice, curiously.
”Yes,” sighed 'Rill Drugg. ”He was rather s.h.i.+ftless. Perhaps it is the nature of artists so to be,” she added reflectively. ”For he was really a fine musician. Had Hopewell had a chance he might have been his equal. I often think so,” said the storekeeper's bride proudly.
”I know that the elder Mr. Drugg taught the violin.”
”Yes. And he used to travel about over the country, giving lessons and playing in orchestras. That used to make Mrs. Drugg awfully angry.
She wanted him to be a storekeeper. She made Hopewell be one. How she ever came to marry such a man as Hopewell's father, I do not see.”
”She must have loved him,” said Janice wistfully.