Part 47 (2/2)
Trimmins was working steadily for Elder Concannon. And being so far away from any place where liquor was dispensed, he was doing very well.
Really, with the abrupt closing of the bar, the cause of the ”wets” in Polktown rather broke down. They had no rallying point, and, as Walky said, ”munitions of war was mighty scurce.”
”A feller can't re'lly have the heart ter _vote_ for whiskey 'nless ther's whiskey in him,” said Walky, at the close of the voting on Town Meeting Day. ”How about that, Cross Moore? We dry fellers have walked over ye in great shape--ain't that so?”
”I admit you have carried' the day, Walky,” said the selectman, grimly.
”He! he! I sh'd say we had! Purty near two ter one. Wal! I thought ye said once that no man in Polktown could best ye--if ye put yer mind to it?”
Cross Moore chewed his straw reflectively. ”I don't consider I have been beaten by a man,” he said.
”No? Jefers-pelters! what d'ye call it?” bl.u.s.tered Walky.
”I reckon I've been beaten by a girl--and an idea,” said Mr. Cross Moore.
”Wal,” sighed Aunt 'Mira, comfortably, rocking creakingly on the front porch of the old Day house in the glow of sunset, ”Polktown does seem rejoovenated, jest like Mr. Middler preached last Sunday, since rum sellin' has gone out. And it was a sight for sore eyes ter see Marm Parraday come ter church ag'in--an' that poor, miser'ble Lem taggin'
after her.”
Janice laughed, happily. ”I know that there can be n.o.body in town as glad that the vote went 'no license' as the Parradays.”
”Ya-as,” agreed Aunt 'Mira, rather absently. ”Did ye notice Marm's new bonnet? It looked right smart to me. I'm a-goin' ter have Miz Lynch make me one like it.”
”Say, Janice! want anything down town?” asked Marty coming out of the house and starting through the yard.
”It doesn't seem to me as though I really wanted but one thing in all this big, beautiful world!” said his cousin, with longing in her voice.
”What's that, child?” asked her aunt.
”I want daddy to come home.”
Marty went off whistling. Aunt 'Mira rocked a while, ”Ya-as,” she finally said, ”if Broxton Day would only let them Mexicaners alone an'
come up here to Polktown----”
Janice suddenly started from her chair; her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. ”Oh! here he is!” she murmured.
”Here _who_ is? Who d'ye mean, Janice Day? _Not yer father?_” gasped Aunt 'Mira, staring with near-sighted eyes down the shadowy path.
Janice smiled. ”It's Nelson,” she said softly, her gaze upon the manly figure mounting the hill.
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