Sunny Slopes

by Ethel Hueston

  CHAPTER V

  A MINISTER'S SON

  "Centerville, Iowa.

  "Dear Carol and David:

  "I am getting very, exceptionally wise. I am really appalled atmyself. It seems so unnecessary in one so young. You will remember,Carol, that I used to say it was unfair that ministers' children shouldbe denied so much of the worldly experience that other ordinary humansfall heir to by the natural sequence of things. I resented thedeprivation. I coveted one taste of every species of sweet, satanic orotherwise.

  "I have changed my mind. I have been convinced that ordinaries maydabble in forbidden fires, and a little cold ointment will banish everytrace of the flame, but ministers' children stay scarred and charredforever. I have decided to keep far from the worldly blazes and letothers supply the fanning breezes. For you know, Carol, that thewickedest fires in the world would die out if there were not somewilling hands to fan them.

  "There is the effect. The cause--Kirke Connor.

  "Carol, has David ever explained to you what fatal fascination asemi-satanic man has for nice, white women? I have been at father manytimes on the subject, and he says, 'Connie, be reasonable, what do Iknow about semi-satanics?' Then he goes down-town. See if you can getanything out of David on the subject and let me know.

  "Kirke is a semi-satanic. Also a minister's son. He has been introuble of one kind or another ever since I first met him, when he wasfourteen years old. He fairly seethed his way through college. Mr.Connor has resigned from the active ministry now and lives in MountMark, and Kirke bought a partnership in Mr. Ives' furniture store andgoes his troubled, riotous way as heretofore. That is, he did untilrecently.

  "A few weeks ago I missed my railway connections and had to lay overfor three hours in Fairfield. I checked my suit-case and started outto look up some of my friends. As I went out one door, I glimpsed thevanishing point of a man's coat exiting in the opposite direction. Istarted to cut across the corner, but a backward glance revealed aman's hat and one eye peering around the corner of the station. Was Ibeing detected? I stopped in my tracks, my literary instinct on thealert. The hat slowly pivoted a head into view. It was Kirke Connor.He shuffled toward me, glancing back and forth in a curious, furtiveway. His face was harrowed, his eyes blood-shot. He clutched my handbreathlessly and clung to me as to the proverbial straw.

  "'Have you seen Matters?' he asked.

  "'Matters?'

  "'You know Matters,--the sheriff at Mount Mark.'

  "I looked at him in a way which I trust became the daughter of adistrict superintendent of the Methodist Episcopal Church.

  "He mopped his fevered brow.

  "'He has been on my trail for two days.' Then he twinkled, more likehimself. 'It has been a hot trail, too, if I do say it who shouldn't.If he has had a full breath for the last forty-eight hours, I amashamed of myself.'

  "'But what in the world--'

  "'Let's duck into the station a minute. I know the freight agent andhe will hide me in a trunk if need be. I will tell you about it. Itis enough to make your blood run cold.'

  "Honestly, it was running cold already. Here was literature for theasking. Kirke's wild appearance, his furtive manner, the searchingsheriff--a plot made to order. So I tried to forget the M. E.Universal, and we slipped into the station and seated ourselvescomfortably on some egg boxes in a shadowy corner where he told hissad, sad tale.

  "'Connie, you keep a wary eye on the world, the flesh and the devil. Iknow whereof I speak. Other earth-born creatures may flirt with sinand escape unscathed. But the Lord is after the minister's son.'

  "'I thought it was the sheriff after you?' I interrupted.

  "'Well, so it is, technically. And the devil is after the sheriff, butI think the Lord is touching them both up a little to get even with me.Anyhow, between the Lord and the devil, with the sheriff thrown in,this world is no place for a minister's son. And the rule works ondaughters, too.

  "'You know, Connie, I have received the world with open hands, a lovingheart, a receptive soul. And I got gloriously filled up, too, let metell you. Connie, shun the little gay-backed cards that bear diamondsand hearts and spades. Connie, flee from the ice-cold bottles thatbubble to meet your lips. Connie, turn a cold shoulder to the gildedyouths who sing when the night is old.'

  "'For goodness' sake, Kirke, tell me the story before the sheriff getsyou.'

  "'Well, it is a story of bottles on ice.'

  "'Mount Mark is dry.'

  "'Yes, like other towns, Mount Mark is dry for those who want it dry,but it is wet enough to drown any misguided soul who loves the damp. Iloved it,--but, with the raven, nevermore. Connie, there is one thingeven more fatal to a minister's son than bottles of beer. That thingis politics. If I had taken my beer straight I might have escaped.But I tried to dilute it with politics, and behold the result. Myfather walking the floor in anguish, my mother in tears, my futureblasted, my hopes shattered.'

  "'Kirke, tell me the story.'

  "'Matters is running for reelection. I do not approve of Matters. Heis a booze fighter and a card shark and a lot of other unscripturalthings. As a Methodist and a minister's son I felt called to battlehis return to office. So I went out electioneering for my friend andally, Joe Smithson. You know, Connie, that in spite of my wanderingways, I have friends in the county and I am a born talker. I took myfaithful steed and I spent many hours, which should have been devotedto selling furniture, decrying the vices of Matters, extolling thevirtues of Smithson. Matters got his eye on me.

  "'He had the other eye on that office. He saw he must make a strongbid for county favor. The easiest way to do that in Mount Mark is toget after a boot-legger. There was Snippy Brown, a poor old harmlessnigger, trying to earn an honest living by selling a surreptitiousbottle from a hole in the ground to a thirsting neighbor in the dead ofnight. Plainly Snippy Brown was fairly crying to be raided. Mattersraided him. And he got a couple of hundred of bottles on ice.'

  "'Served him right,' I said, in a Sabbatical voice.

  "'To be sure it did. And Matters put him in jail and made a great fussgetting ready for his trial. I had a friend at court and he tipped meoff that Matters was going to disgrace the Methodist Church in generaland the Connors in particular by calling me in as a witness, making metell where I bought sundry bottles known to have been in my possession.Picture it to yourself, sweet Connie,--my white-haired mother, mysad-eyed father, the condemning deacons, the sneering Sunday-schoolteachers, the prim-lipped Epworth Leaguers,--it could not be. I lefttown. Matters left also,--coming my way. For two days we have been atit, hot foot, cold foot. We have covered most of southeastern Iowa inforty-eight hours. He has the papers to serve on me, but he's got togo some yet.'

  "Kirke stood up and peered about among the trunks. All serene.

  "'I am nearly starved,' he said plaintively. 'Do you suppose we couldsneak into some quiet joint and grab a ham sandwich and a cup ofcoffee?'

  "I was willing to risk it, so we sashayed across the Street, I swirlingmy skirts as much as possible to help conceal unlucky Kirke.

  "But alas! Kirke had taken just one ravenous gulp at his sandwich whenhe stopped abruptly, leaning forward, his coffee cup upraised. Ifollowed his wide-eyed stare. There outside the window stood Matters,grinning diabolically. He pushed open the door, Kirke leaped acrossthe counter and vaulted through the side window, crashing the screen.Matters dashed around the house in hot pursuit, and I--well, considerthat I was a reporter, seeking a scoop. They did not beat me by sixinches. Only I wish I had dropped the sandwich. I must have lookedfunny.

  "Kirke flashed behind a shed, Matters after him, I after Matters.Kirke zigzagged across a lawn dodging from tree to tree,--Matters andI. Kirke turned into an alley,--Matters and I. Woe to the erring sonof a minister! It was a blind alley. It ended in a garage and thegarage was locked.

  "Matters pulled out a revolver and yelled, 'Now stop, you fool; stop,Kirke!' Kirke looked back; I
think he was just ready to shin up thelightning rod but he saw the revolver and stopped. Matters walked up,laughing, and handed him a paper. Kirke shoved it in his pocket. Iclasped my sandwich in both hands and looked at them tragically,--sobelement. Then Matters turned away and said, 'See you later, Kirke. Icongratulate the county on securing your services. Just the kind ofwitness we like, nice, respectable, good family, and all. Makes itsize up big, you know. Be sure and invite your friends.'

  "For a second I thought Kirke would strike him. I shook the sandwichat him warningly and he answered with a wave of his own,--yes, he hadhis sandwich, too. Then he said in a low voice, 'All right, Matters.But you call me in that trial and I'll get you.'

  "'Oh, oh, Sonny, you must not threaten an officer of the law,' saidMatters, in a hateful, chiding voice. He turned and sauntered away.Kirke and I watched him silently until he was out of sight. Then weturned to each other sympathetically.

  "'Let's go back after that coffee,' said Kirke bravely.

  "He took a bite of his sandwich thoughtfully, and I did of mine, tryingto eat the lump in my throat with it. An hour later we went ourseparate ways.

  "I heard nothing further for two weeks, then Mr. Nesbitt was calledEast on business and said I might go home if I liked. Imagine myecstasy. I found the family, as well as all Methodists in general,quite uplifted over the strange case of Kirke Connor. From asemi-satanic, he had suddenly evoluted into a regular pillar, as becamethe son of his saintly mother and his orthodox father. He attendedchurch, he sang in the choir, he went to Sunday-school, he wasprominent at prayer-meeting. Every one was full of pious satisfactionand called him 'dear old Kirke,' and gave him the glad hand and invitedhim to help at ice-cream socials. No one could explain it, theythought he was a Mount Mark edition of Twice Born Men in the flesh.

  "So the first afternoon when he drove around with his speedy littlebrown horse and his rubber tired buggy and asked me to go for a drive,father smiled, and Aunt Grace demurred not. Maybe I could give him alittle more light. I watched him pretty closely the first mile or so.He had nothing to say until we were a mile out of town. He is agood-looking fellow, Carol,--you remember, of course, because you neverforget the boys, especially the good-looking ones. His eyes were clearand slightly humorous, as if he knew a host of funny things if he onlychose to tell. Finally in answer to my reproachful gaze, he said:

  "'Well, I didn't have anything to say about it, did I? I did not askto be born a minister's son. It was foreordained, and now I've got tolive up to it in self-defense. There may be forgiveness for othererring ones, but I tell you our crowd is spotted.'

  "I had nothing to say.

  "'Well, you might at least say, "Good for you, my boy. Here's luck?"'he complained.

  "I was still silent.

  "'It is good business, too,' he continued belligerently. 'I am sellinglots of furniture. I have burned the black and white cards. I havebroken the ice-cold bottles. I have shunned the gilded youths withmellow voices. I go to church. I sell furniture. I sleuth Matters.'

  "'You what?'

  "'I am trailing Matters. Turn about. Where he goeth, I goeth. Wherehe lodgeth, I lodgeth. His knowledge is my knowledge, and his tricks,my salvation.'

  "'You make me sick, Kirke. Why don't you talk sense?'

  "'He is crooked, Connie, and everybody knows it. But it is no cinchcatching him at it. Smithson is going to be elected and Matters knowsit. But the only way I can keep out of that trial is to get somethingon Matters. So whenever he is out, I am out on the same road. He isgoing toward New London this afternoon and so are we. I have got justfive more days and you must be a good little scout and go driving withme, so he won't catch on that I am sleuthing him. He will think I amjust beauing you around in the approved Mount Mark style.'

  "Sure enough after a while we came across Matters talking to a coupleof farmers on the cross roads, and Kirke and I stopped a quarter of amile farther down and ate sandwiches and told stories, and when Matterspassed us a little later he could have sworn we were there just for ourjoy in each other's company. But we did not learn anything.

  "The next day we were out again, with no better luck. But the thirdday about four in the afternoon, Kirke called me on the telephone.There was subtle excitement in his voice.

  "'Come for a drive, Connie?' he asked; common words, but there was aworld of hidden invitation, of secret lure, in his voice for me.

  "'Yes, gladly,' I said. Father did not nod approvingly and Aunt Gracedid not smile this time. Three days in succession was a little toowarm even for a newly made pillar, but they said nothing and Kirke andI set out.

  "'He raided Jack Mott's last night and has about three hundred bottlesto smash this afternoon. The old fellow is pretty fond of the ice-coldbottles himself and it is common report that he raids just often enoughto keep himself supplied. So I think I'll keep an eye on him to-day.He started half an hour ago, south road, and he has Gus Waldron withhim,--his boon companion, and the most notoriously ardent devotee ofthe bottles in all dear dry Mount Mark. Lovely day for a drive, isn'tit?'

  "'Yes, lovely.' I was very happy. I felt like a princess of old,riding off into danger, and I felt very warm and friendly toward Kirke.Remember that he is very good-looking and just bad enough in spite ofhis new pillar-hood, to be spell-binding, and--it was lots of fun.Kirke grabbed my hand and squeezed it chummily, and I smiled at him.

  "'You are a glorious girl,' he said.

  "I suppose I should have reminded him and myself that he was asemi-satanic, but I did not. I laughed and rubbed the back of his handsoftly with the tips of my nice pink finger nails, and laughed again.

  "Then here came a light wagon,--Matters and Waldron,--going home, andwe realized we had been loitering on the job. Kirke shook his headimpatiently.

  "'You distracted me,' he said. 'I forgot my reputation's salvation inthe smile of your eye.'

  "But we drove on to look the field over. Less than half a mile downthe road we came to a low creek with rocky rugged banks. The bankswere splashed and splattered with bits of glass, and over the glass andover the rocks ran thin trickling streams of a pale brown liquid thathad a perfectly sickening odor. I sniffed disgustedly as we walkedover to reconnoiter.

  "'I guess he made good all right,' said Kirke in a disappointed voice,inspecting the glass-splattered banks of the creek. Then he leapedacross and walked lightly up the bank on the opposite side. Stoopingdown, he lifted an unbroken bottle and waved it at me, laughing.

  "'They missed one. Never a crack in it and still cold.' He looked atit curiously, affectionately, then with resignation. 'I am aminister's son,' he reminded himself sternly. He lifted the bottleabove his head, and with his eye selected a nice rough rock half waydown the bank. 'Watch the bubbles,' he called to me.

  "'Hay, mister,' interposed a voice, 'gimme half a dollar an' I'll showyou a whole pile of 'em that ain't broke.'

  "Slowly we rallied from our stupefaction as we gazed at the slim,brown, barefooted lad of the farm who was proudly brandishing aforbidden cigarette of corn-silks.

  "'A whole pile of 'em. On the square?' asked Kirke with glitteringeyes.

  "'Yes, sir. A couple o' fellows come out in a light wagon a while agoan' had a lot of bottles in boxes. First they throwed one on therocks, an' then they throwed one up in the tall grass, one up an' onedown. There's a whole pile of 'em that ain't broke at all. An' thelittle dark fellow says, "A good job, Gus. We'll be Johnny-on-the-spotas soon as it gets dark."'

  "Kirke was standing over him, his eyes bright, his hands clenched. 'Onthe level?' he whispered.

  "'Sure, but gimme the half first.' Kirke passed out a silver dollarwithout a word and the boy snatched it from him, giggling to himselfwith rapture.

  "'Right up there, mister, in that pile of weeds.'

  "Kirke took my hand and we scrambled up the bank, pulling back the tallgrass,--no need to stoop and look. Bottle after bottle, bottle afterbottle, lay there snugly and
securely, waiting for the sheriff and hisfriend to rescue them after dark.

  "The lad had already disappeared, smoking his corn-silks rapturously,his dollar snug in the palm of his hand. And Kirke and I, without aword, began patiently carrying the bottles to the buggy. Again andagain we returned to the clump of weeds, counting the bottles as wecarried them out,--a hundred and fifty of them, even.

  "Then we got into the buggy, feet outside, for the bed of the buggy wasfilled and piled high, covered with the robe to discourage prying eyes,and turned the little brown mare toward town.

  "'Connie, would you seriously object to kissing me just once? I feelthe need of it this minute,--moral stimulus, you know.'

  "'Ministers' daughters have to be very, very careful,' I told him in aneven voice.

  "We were both silent then as we drove into town. When he pulled up infront of the house he looked me straight in the face, and he uses hiseyes effectively.

  "'You are a darling,' he said.

  "I said 'Thanks,' and went into the house.

  "He told me next morning what happened that evening. Of course he wasthere to witness Matters' discomfiture. He did not put in appearanceuntil the sheriff and his friend were climbing anxiously and sadly intothe light wagon to return home empty-handed. Then he sauntered frombehind a hedge and lifted his hat in his usual debonair manner.

  "'By the way, Mr. Sheriff,' he began in a quiet, ingratiating voice, 'Ihope I am not to be called as a witness in that boot-legging case.'

  "Matters snarled at him. 'Pooh,' he said angrily, 'you can't blackmailme like that. You can't prove anything on me. I reckon the peoplearound here will take the word of the sheriff of their county againstthe booze fightin' son of a Methodist preacher.'

  "Kirke waved his hand airily. 'Far be it from me to enter into anydefense of my father's son. But a hundred and fifty bottles are prettygood evidence. And speaking of witnesses, I have a hunch that thepeople of this county will fall pretty hard for anything that comesfrom the lips of the baby daughter of the district superintendent ofthe Methodist Church.'

  "Matters hunched forward in his seat. 'Connie Starr,' he said, in ahollow voice.

  "Kirke swished the weeds with his cane,--he has all those gracefulaffectations.

  "Matters swallowed a few times. 'Old man Starr is too smart a man toget his family mixed up in politics,' he finally brought out.

  "'Baby Con is of age, I think,' said Kirke lightly. 'And she is veryadvanced, you know, something of a reformer, has all kinds ofemancipated notions.'

  "Matters whipped up and disappeared, and Kirke went to prayer-meeting.Aunt Grace saw him; I wasn't there.

  "The next day, I met Matters on the street. Rather, he met me.

  "'Miss Connie,' he said in a friendly, inviting voice, 'you know thereare a lot of things in politics that girls can't get to the bottom of.You know my record, I've been a good Methodist since before you wereborn. Sure you wouldn't go on the witness stand on circumstantialevidence to make trouble for a good Methodist, would you?'

  "I looked at him with wide and childish eyes. 'Of course not, Mr.Matters,' I said quickly. He brightened visibly. 'But if I am calledon a witness stand I have to tell what I have seen and heard, haven'tI, whatever it is?' I asked this very innocently, as one seekinginformation only.

  "'Your father wouldn't let a young girl like you get mixed up in anydirty county scandal,' he protested.

  "'If I was--what do you call it--subpoenaed--is that the word?' Heforgot that I was working in a lawyer's office. 'If I was subpoenaedas a witness, could father help himself?'

  "Mr. Matters went forlornly on his way and that night Kirke came aroundto say that the sheriff had informed him casually that he thought hisservices would not be needed on that boot-legging case,--they hadplenty of other witnesses,--and out of regard for the family, etc., etc.

  "Kirke smiled at him. 'Thank you very much. And, Matters, I have ahundred and fifty nice cold bottles in the basement,--if you get toowarm some summer evening come around and I'll help you cool off.'

  "Matters thanked him incoherently and went away.

  "That day Kirke and I had a confidential conversation. 'Connie Starr,I believe I am half a preacher right now. You marry me, and I willstudy for the ministry.'

  "'Kirke Connor,' I said, 'if any fraction of you is a minister, itisn't on speaking terms with the rest of you. That's certain. And Iwouldn't marry you if you were a whole Conference. And I don't want tomarry a preacher of all people. And anyhow I am not going to getmarried at all.'

  "At breakfast the next morning father said, 'I believe Kirke Connor isheaded straight, for good and all. Now if some nice girl could justmarry him he would be safe enough.'

  "Aunt Grace looked at him warningly. 'But of course no nice girl coulddo it, yet,' she interposed quickly. 'It wouldn't be safe. He can'tmarry until he is sure of himself.'

  "'Oh, I don't know,' I said thoughtfully. 'Provided the girl wereclever as well as nice, she could handle Kirke easily. Now I may notbe the nicest girl in the world, but no one can deny that I am clever.'

  "Father swallowed helplessly. Then he rallied. 'By the way, Connie,won't you come down to Burlington with me for a couple of days? I havea lot of work to do there, and we can have a nice little honeymoon allby ourselves. What do you say?'

  "'Oh, thank you, father, that is lovely. Let's go on the noon train,shall we? I can be ready.'

  "'All right, just fine.' He flashed a triumphant glance at Aunt Graceand she dimpled her approval.

  "'Now don't tell any one we are going, father,' I cautioned him. 'Iwant to surprise Kirke Connor. He is going to Burlington on that trainhimself, and it will be such a joke on him to find us there ready to beentertained. He is to be there several days, so he can amuse me whileyou are busy. Isn't it lovely? He really needs a little boosting now,and it is our duty, and--will you press my suit, Auntie? I must fly orI won't be ready.'

  "Aunt Grace looked reproachfully at father, and father lookeddespairingly at Aunt Grace. But we had a splendid time in Burlington,the three of us, for father never did one second's work all the time,he was so deathly afraid to leave me alone with Kirke.

  "Isn't it lots of fun to be alive, Carol? So many thrilling andinteresting and happy things come up every day,--I love to dig in andwork hard, and how I love to drop my work at five thirty and run homeand doll up, and play, and flirt--just nice, harmless flirting,--andsing, and talk,--really, it is a darling little old world, isn't it?

  "Oh, and by the way, Carol, when you want a divorce just write me aboutit. Mr. Nesbitt and I specialize on divorces, and I can do the wholething myself and save you lots of trouble. Just tell me when, and Iwill furnish your motive.

  "Lovingly as always,

  "Connie."