Part 41 (2/2)

”Nev' mind,” grunted his father. ”There'll be a change before next Fall.”

”There'd better be--or I don't go back for my last year at school.

Now, you can bet on that!” cried Marty, belligerently. ”Hi tunket!

I'd jest as soon be taught by an old maid after all as Adams.”

Differently expressed, the whole town seemed of a mind regarding the school and the failure of Mr. Adams. The committee got over that ignominious graduation day as well as possible. Mr. Middler did all he could to make it a success, and he made a very nice speech to the pupils and their parents.

The minister could not be held responsible in any particular for the failure of the school. Of all the committee, he had had nothing to do with Nelson Haley's resignation. As Walky Dexter said, Mr. Middler ”flocked by himself.” He had little to do with the other four members of the school committee.

”And when it comes 'lection,” said Walky, dogmatically, ”there's a hull lot on us will have jest abeout as much to do with Cross Moore and Ma.s.sey and old Crawford and Joe Pellett, as Mr. Middler does.

Jefers-pelters! If they don't put n.o.body else up for committeemen, I'll vote for the taown pump!”

”Ya-as, Walky,” said Uncle Jason, slily. ”That'd be likely, I reckon.

I hear ye air purty firmly seated on the water wagon.”

CHAPTER XXVII

THE TEMPEST

Mr. Cross Moore was not a man who easily or frequently recanted before either public or private opinion. As political ”boss” of the town he had often found himself opposed to many of his neighbors' wishes.

Neither sharp tongue nor sharp look disturbed him--apparently, at least.

Besides, Mr. Moore loved a fight ”for the fight's sake,” as the expression is. He had backed Lem Parraday in applying for a liquor license, to benefit his own pocket. It had to be a good reason indeed, to change Mr. Moore's att.i.tude on the liquor selling question.

The hotel barroom held great attractions for many of Cross Moore's supporters, although Mr. Moore himself seldom stepped into that part of the hotel. The politician did not trust Lem Parraday to represent him, for Lem was ”no wiser than the law allows,” to quote his neighbors.

But Joe Bodley, the young barkeeper, imported from the city, was just the sort of fellow Cross Moore could use.

And about this time Joe Bodley was in a position where his fingers ”itched for the feel of money.” Not other people's money, but his own.

He had sc.r.a.ped together all he had saved, and drawn ahead on his wages, to make up the hundred dollars paid Hopewell Drugg for the violin, and----

”Seems ter me that old fiddle is what they call a sticker, ain't it, 'stead of a Straddlevarious?” chuckled Walky Dexter, referring to the instrument hanging on the wall behind Joe's head.

”Oh, I'll get my money back on it,” Bodley replied, with studied carelessness. ”Maybe I'll raffle it off.”

”Not here in Polktown ye won't,” said the expressman. ”Yeou might as well try ter raffle off a white elephant.”

”Pshaw! of course not. But a fine fiddle like that--a real Cremona--will bring a pretty penny in the city. There, Walky, roll that barrel right into this corner behind the bar. I'll have to put a spigot in it soon. Might's well do it now. 'Tis the real Simon-pure article, Walky. Have a snifter?”

”On the haouse?” queried Walky, briskly.

”Sure. It's a tin roof,” laughed Bodley.

”Much obleeged ter ye,” said Walky. ”As yer so pressin'--don't mind if I do. A gla.s.s of sars'p'rilla'll do me.”

”What's the matter with you lately, Walky?” demanded the barkeeper, pouring the non-alcoholic drink with no very good grace. ”Lost your taste for a man's drink?”

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