Part 15 (1/2)

He would sacrifice the little sleek, stuck-up, big-headed, pop-eyed, Roman-nosed Yankee between his thumb nails as he would a flea. Blodgett was a predestinarian of the old school, and was firmly imbedded in the belief that from all eternity it had been fore-ordained that he was to attend to just such fellows as the editor.

Still, the little lady from Louisville took up so much of his time, and so distracted his mind, that no well laid plan of attack could be matured by the pedagogue. But when nations wish to fight it is easy to find a pretext for war. So with individuals. So with the editor and Blodgett. They soon came to open hostilities and raised the black flag.

What an uproar it did make in the county!

This war seemed to come about quite naturally. It had its beginning in a debating society, where Blodgett and the editor were leading antagonists. The question debated was, ”Which has done more for the cause of human liberty, Napoleon or Wellington?”

Two village men and two countrymen were the jury to decide which side offered the best argument. The jury was out all night and finally returned a split verdict, two of them standing for Blodgett and two for the editor. Of course it was town against country--the villagers for the editor, the country folk for the pedagogue.

”Huzza for the little editor!” cried the town people.

”'Rah for Blodgett!” bawled the l.u.s.ty country folk.

The matter quickly came to blows at certain parts of the room. Jim Dowder caught Phil Gates by the hair and s.n.a.t.c.hed him over two seats.

Sarah Jane Beaver hit Martha Ann Randall in the mouth with a reticule full of hazel nuts. Farmer Heath choked store-keeper Jones till his face was as blue as moderate-like indigo. Old Mrs. Baber pulled off Granny Logan's wig and threw it at 'Squire Hank. But Pete Develin wound the thing up with a most disgraceful feat. He seized a bucket half full of water and deliberately poured it right on top of the editor's head.

This was the beginning of trouble and fun. Some lawsuits grew out of it and some hard fisticuffs. All the country-folk sided with Blodgett--the towns-folk with the editor. The _Star_ began to get dim, but the editor, shrewd dog, when he saw how things were turning, at once took up the question of Napoleon _vs._ Wellington in his journal, kindly and condescendingly offering his columns to Blodgett for the discussion.

The pedagogue foolishly accepted the challenge, and thus laid the stones upon which he was to fall. So the antagonists sharpened their goose quills and went at it. In sporting circles the proverb runs: never bet on a man's own trick. Blodgett ought to have known better than to go to the editor's own ground to fight.

I have always suspected that Miss Holland did much to shear our Samson of his strength. She certainly did, wittingly or unwittingly, occupy too much of his time and thought. Poor fellow! he would have given his life for her. He often looked at her, with his head turned a little one side, sadly, thoughtfully, as I have seen a terrier look at a rat hole, as though he half expected disappointment.

The battle in the _Star_ began in very earnest. It was a harvest for the shrewd journalist. Everybody took the _Star_ while the discussion was going on. Everybody took sides, everybody got mad, and almost everybody fought more or less. Even Parson Holland and the village preacher had high words and ceased to recognize each other. As for the young lady from Louisville, she had little to say about the discussion, though Blodgett always read to her each one of his articles first in MS. and then in the _Star_ after it was printed.

Well, finally, in the very height of the war of words, the editor, in one of his articles, indulged in Latin. As you are aware, when an editor gets right down to pan-rock Latin, it's a sure sign he's after somebody.

This instance was no exception to the general rule. He was baiting for the pedagogue. The pedagogue swallowed hook and all.

”_Nil de mortuis nisi bonum_,” said the editor, ”is my motto, which may be freely translated: 'If you can't say something good of the dead, keep your tarnal mouth shut about them!'”

Blodgett started as he read this, and for a full minute thereafter gazed steadily and inquiringly on vacancy. At length his great bony right hand opened slowly, then quickly shut like a vice.

”I have him! I have him!” he muttered in a murderous tone, ”I'll crush him to impalpable dust!” He forthwith went for a small Latin lexicon and began busily searching its pages. It was Sat.u.r.day evening, and so busily did he labor at what was on his mind, he came near forgetting his regular weekly visit to Miss Holland.

He did not forget it, however. He went; without pointing out to her the exact spot so vulnerable to his logical arrows, he told her in a confidential and confident way that his next letter would certainly make an end of the editor. He told her that, at last, he had the shallow puppy where he could expose him thoroughly. Of course Miss Holland was curious to know more, but, with a grim smile, Blodgett shook his head, saying that to insure utter victory he must keep his own counsel.

The next day, though the Sabbath, was spent by the pedagogue writing his crusher for the _Star_. He wrote it and re-wrote it, over and over again. He almost ruined a Latin grammar and the afore-mentioned lexicon.

He worked till far in the night, revising and elaborating. His gray eyes burned like live coals--his jaws were set for victory.

That week was one of intense excitement all over the county, for somehow it had come generally to be understood that the pedagogue's forthcoming essay was to completely defeat and disgrace the editor. Work, for the time, was mostly suspended. The school children did about as they pleased, so that they were careful not to break rudely in upon Blodgett's meditations.

On the day of its issue the _Star_ was in great demand. For several hours the office was crowded with eager subscribers, hungry for a copy.

The 'Squire and two constables had some trouble to keep down a genuine riot.

The following is an exact copy of Blodgett's great essay:

MR. EDITOR--SIR: This, for two reasons, is my last article for your journal. Firstly: My time and the exigencies of my profession will not permit me to further pursue a discussion which, on your part, has degenerated into the merest twaddle.

Secondly: It only needs, at my hands, an exposition of the false and fraudulent claims you make to cla.s.sical attainments, to entirely annihilate your unsubstantial and wholly undeserved popularity in this community, and to send you back to peddling your ba.s.s wood hams and maple nutmegs. In order to put on a false show of erudition, you lug into your last article a familiar Latin sentence. Now, sir, if you had sensibly foregone any attempt at translation, you might, possibly, have made some one think you knew a shade more than a horse; but ”whom the G.o.ds would destroy they first make mad.”

You say, ”_De mortuis nil nisi bonum_” may be freely translated, ”If you can't say something good of the dead, keep your tarnal mouth shut about them!” Shades of Horace and Praxiteles! What would Pindar or Caesar say? But I will not jest at the expense of sound scholars.h.i.+p. In conclusion, I simply submit the following _literal translation_ of the Latin sentence in question: ”_De_--of, _mortuis_--the dead, _nil_--nothing, _nisi_--but, _bonum_--goods,” so that the whole quotation may be rendered as follows--”Nothing (is left) of the dead but (their) goods.” This is strictly according to the dictionary. Here, so far as I am concerned, this discussion ends.

Your ob't serv't, T. BLODGETT.