Part 47 (1/2)

”I'm a-savin' of us from the wrath to come!” returned the woman, sternly, and swung her axe again.

The spigot flew from the whiskey barrel in the corner and the next blow of the axe knocked in the head of the barrel. The acrid smell of liquor filled the place.

Not a bottle of liquor was left. The barroom of the Lake View Inn promised to be the driest place in town.

Up went the axe again. Lem yelled loud enough to be heard a block:

”Not that barrel, Marm! For the good Land o' Goshen! don't bust in _that_ barrel.”

”Why not?” demanded his breathless wife, the axe poised for the stroke.

”Cause it's merla.s.ses! If ye bust thet in, ye will hev a mess here, an' no mistake.”

”Jefers-pelters!” chuckled Walky Dexter, telling of it afterward, ”I come away then an' left 'em erlone. But you kin take it from me--Marm Parraday is quite in her us'al form. Doc. Poole's a wonderful doctor--ain't he?

”But,” pursued Walky, ”I had a notion that old fiddle of Hopewell's would be safer outside than it was in Marm Parraday's way, an' I tuk it down 'fore I fled the scene of de-vas-ta-tion! Haw! haw! haw!

”I run inter Joe Bodley on the outside. 'Joe,' says I, 'I reskered part of your belongin's. It looks ter me as though yeou'll hev time an' to spare to take this fiddle to the city an' raffle it off. But 'fore ye do that, what'll ye take for the fiddle--lowest cash price?'

”'Jest what it cost me, Walky,' says Joe. 'One hundred dollars.'

”'No, Joe; it didn't cost ye that,' says I. 'I mean what _yeou_ put into it yerself. That other feller that backed out'n his bargain put in some. How much?'

”Wal,” pursued the expressman, ”he hummed and hawed, but fin'ly he admitted that he was out only fifty dollars. 'Here's yer fifty, Joe,'

says I. 'Hopewell wants his fiddle back.'

”I reckon Joe needed the money to git him out o' taown. He can take a hint as quick as the next feller--when a ton of coal falls on him!

Haw! haw! haw! He seen his usefulness in Polktown was kind o' pa.s.sed.

So he took the fifty, an' here's the vi'lin, Janice Day. I reckon ye paid abeout forty-seven-fifty too much for it; but ye told me ter git it at _any_ price.”

To Hopewell and 'Rill, Janice, when she presented the storekeeper with his precious fiddle, revealed a secret that she had _not_ entrusted to Walky Dexter. By throwing the strong ray of an electric torch into the slot of the instrument she revealed to their wondering eyes a peculiar mark stamped in the wood of the back of it.

”That, Mr. Drugg,” the girl told him, quietly, ”is a mark to be found only in violins manufactured by the Amati family. The date of the manufacture of this instrument I do not know; but it is a genuine Cremona, I believe. At least, I would not sell it again, if I were you, without having it appraised first by an expert.”

”Oh, my dear girl!” cried 'Rill, with streaming eyes, ”Hopewell won't ever sell it again. I won't let him. And we've got the joyfulest news, Janice! You have doubled our joy to-day. But already we have had a letter from Boston which says that our little Lottie is in better health than ever and that the peril of blindness is quite dissipated.

She is coming home to us again in a short time.”

”Joyful things,” as Janice said, were happening in quick rotation nowadays. With the permanent closing of the Lake View Inn bar, several of the habitues of the barroom began to straighten up. Jim Narnay had really been fighting his besetting sin since the baby's death. He had found work in town and was taking his wages home to his wife.