Part 28 (2/2)

”It is too bad about young Besmith,” Janice said, shaking her head.

”He is only a boy.”

”Yep. But a month or so in the woods without drink will do him a heap of good.”

That very evening, however, Janice saw Jack Besmith in town. From Marty she learned that he did not stay long.

”He came in for booze--that's what he come for,” said her cousin, in disgust. ”He started right back for the woods with a two-gallon demi-john.”

”And I thought they had no money up there,” Janice reflected. ”Can it be that Lem Parraday or his barkeeper would trust them for drink?”

Marty was nursing a lump on his jaw and a cut lip. The morning's battle, had not gone all his way, although he said to Janice with his usual impish grin when she commented upon his battered appearance: ”You'd orter see the other feller! If Nelson Haley hadn't got in betwixt us I'd ha' whopped Sim Howell good and proper. I was some excited, I allow. If I hadn't been I needn't never run ag'inst Sim's fist a-_tall_. He's a clumsy kid, if ever there was one--and I reckon he's got enough of me for a spell. Anyway, he won't get fresh with Mr.

Haley again--nor none of the rest of 'em.”

”Dear me, Marty! it seems too bad that any of the boys should feel so unkindly toward Mr. Haley, after all he's done for them.”

”They're a poor lot--fellers like Sim Howell. Hang around the tavern hoss sheds all the time. Can't git 'em to come up to the Readin' Room with the decent fellers,” Marty said belligerently.

Marty had forgotten that--not so long before--he had been a frequenter of the tavern ”hoss sheds” himself. That was before Janice had started the Public Library a.s.sociation and the boys' club.

Janice did not see Nelson that evening, and she wondered what he was doing with his idle time. So the following afternoon she came home by the Lower Road, meaning to call on the schoolmaster. She stopped her car before Hopewell Drugg's store and ran in there first.

'Rill was behind the counter; but from the back room the wail of the violin announced Hopewell's presence. The lively tunes which the storekeeper had played so much through the Winter just past--such as ”Jingle Bells” and ”Aunt Dinah's Quilting Party”--seemed now forgotten.

Nor was Hopewell in a sentimental mood and his old favorite, ”Silver Threads Among the Gold,” could not express his feelings.

”Old Hundred” was the strain he played, and he drew it lingeringly out of the strings until it fairly rasped the nerves. No son of Israel, weeping against the wall in old Jerusalem, ever expressed sorrow more deeply than did Hopewell's fiddle at the present juncture.

”Oh, dear, Janice! that's the way he is all day long,” whispered the bride, the tears sparkling in her eyes. ”He says Lottie _must_ go to Boston, and I guess he's right. The poor little thing doesn't see anywhere near as good as she did.”

”Oh, my dear!” cried Janice, under her breath. ”I wish I could help pay for her trip.”

”No. You've done your part, Janice. You paid for the treatment before----”

”I only helped,” interrupted Janice.

”It was a great, big help. Hopewell can never repay you,” said the wife. ”And he can accept no more from you, dear.”

”But I haven't got it to offer!” almost wailed Janice. ”Daddy's mine is shut down again. I--I could almost wish to sell my car--only it was a particular present from daddy----”

”No, indeed! There is going to be something else sold, I expect,”

'Rill said gravely. ”Here! let us go back. I don't like even to see this fellow come in here. Hopewell must wait on him.”

Janice turned to see Joe Bodley, the fat, smirking bartender from the Lake View Inn, now entering the store.

”Afternoon, Mrs. Drugg!” he called after the storekeeper's retreating wife. ”I won't bite ye.”

”Mr. Drugg will be right in,” said 'Rill, beckoning Janice away.

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