The hardware man nodded, his eyes reading her face.
“You were quite right to turn him down,” he asserted.
“It was the only thing to do,” responded the girl, wondering how he knew.
“But Boglin is a dangerous man,” resumed West. “Look out for him. Miss
Doyle.”
“Yes; he told me to do that, and I will,” said she, more quietly. “He is
Skeelty’s partner.”
“And you’re not afraid of him?”
“Why should I be, Mr. West?”
He smiled.
“I’m justice of the peace here. If there’s a hint of trouble from Boglin or Skeelty, come directly to me.”
“Thank you, Mr. West. I will.”
With this he nodded cheerfully and went away.
CHAPTER XII
MOLLY SIZER’S PARTY
The people of Chazy County were very proud of the Millville Tribune, the only daily paper in that section of the state. It was really a very good newspaper, if small in size, and related the news of the day as promptly as the great New York journals did.
Arthur Weldon had not been very enthusiastic about the paper at any time, although he humored the girls by attending in a good-natured way to the advertising, hiring some of the country folk to get subscriptions, and keeping the books. He was a young man of considerable education who had inherited a large fortune, safely invested, and therefore had no need, through financial necessity, to interest himself in business of any sort. He allowed the girls to print his name as editor in chief, but he did no editorial work at all, amusing himself these delightful summer days by wandering in the woods, where he collected botanical specimens, or sitting with Uncle John on the lawn, where they read together or played chess. Both the men were glad the girls were happy in their work and enthusiastic over the success of their audacious venture. Beth was developing decided talent as a writer of editorials and her articles were even more thoughtful and dignified than were those of Patsy. The two girls found plenty to occupy them at the office, while Louise did the reportorial work and flitted through Millville and down to Huntingdon each day in search of small items of local interest. She grew fond of this work, for it brought her close to the people and enabled her to study their characters and peculiarities. Her manner of approaching the simple country folk was so gracious and winning that they freely gave her any information they possessed, and chatted with her unreservedly.
Sometimes Louise would make her rounds alone, but often Arthur would join her for an afternoon drive to Huntingdon, and it greatly amused him to listen to his girl-wife’s adroit manner of “pumping the natives.”
About halfway to Huntingdon was the Sizer Farm, the largest and most important in that vicinity. Old Zeke Sizer had a large family — five boys and three girls — and they were noted as quite the most aggressive and disturbing element in the neighborhood. Old Zeke was rude and coarse and swore like a trooper, so his sons could not be expected to excel him in refinement. Bill Sizer, the eldest, was a hard drinker, and people who knew him asserted that he “never drew a sober breath.” The other sons were all quarrelsome in disposition and many a free fight was indulged in among them whenever disputes arose. They were industrious farmers, though, and the three girls and their mother worked from morning till night, so the farm prospered and the Sizers were reputed to be “well-off.”
Molly, the eldest girl, had attracted Louise, who declared she was pretty enough to arrest attention in any place. Indeed, this girl was a “raving beauty” in her buxom, countrified way, and her good looks were the pride of the Sizer family and the admiration of the neighbors. The other two were bouncing, merry girls, rather coarse in manner, as might be expected from their environment; but Molly, perhaps fully conscious of her prettiness, assumed certain airs and graces and a regal deportment that brought even her big, brutal brothers to her feet in adoration.
The Sizers were among the first subscribers to the Millville Tribune and whenever Louise stopped at the farmhouse for news the family would crowd around her, ignoring all duties, and volunteer whatever information they possessed. For when they read their own gossip in the local column it gave them a sort of proprietary interest in the paper, and Bill had once thrashed a young clerk at Huntingdon for questioning the truth of an item the Sizers had contributed.
One day when Louise and Arthur stopped at the farm, Mollie ran out with an eager face to say that Friday was her birthday and the Sizers were to give a grand party to celebrate it.
“We want you to come over an’ write it up, Mrs. Weldon,” said the girl. “They’re comin’ from twenty mile around, fer the dance, an’ we’ve got the orchestry from Malvern to play for us. Pop’s goin’ to spend a lot of money on refreshments an’ it’ll be the biggest blow-out Chazy County ever seen!”
“I think I can write up the party without being present, Mollie,” suggested Louise.
“No; you come over. I read once, in a novel, how an editor come to a swell party an’ writ about all the dresses an’ things — said what everybody wore, you know. I’m goin’ to have a new dress, an’ if ever’thing’s described right well we’ll buy a lot of papers to send to folks we know in Connecticut.”
“Well,” said Louise, with a sigh, “I’ll try to drive over for a little while. It is to be Saturday, you say?”
“Yes; the birthday’s Friday and the dance Saturday night, rain or shine. An’ you might bring the chief editor, your husband, an’ try a dance with us. It wouldn’t hurt our reputation any to have you folks mingle with us on this festive occasion,” she added airily.
They had a good laugh over this invitation when it was reported at Mr. Merrick’s dinner table, and Patsy insisted that Louise must write up the party.
“It will be fun to give it a ‘double head’ and a big send-off,” she said. “Write it up as if it were a real society event, dear, and exhaust your vocabulary on the gowns. You’ll have to invent some Frenchy names to describe those, I guess, for they’ll be wonders; and we’ll wind up with a list of ‘those present.’“
So on Saturday evening Arthur drove his wife over to the Sizer farm, and long before they reached there they heard the scraping of fiddles, mingled with shouts and boisterous laughter. It was a prohibition district, to be sure, but old Sizer had imported from somewhere outside the “dry zone” a quantity of liquors more remarkable for strength than quality, and with these the guests had been plied from the moment of their arrival. Most of them were wholly unused to such libations, so by the time Arthur and Louise arrived, the big living room of the farmhouse presented an appearance of wild revelry that was quite deplorable.
Molly welcomed them with wild enthusiasm and big Bill, her adoring brother, demanded in a loud voice if Arthur did not consider her the “Belle of Chazy County.”
“They ain’t a stunner in the state as kin hold a candle to our Molly,” he added, and then with uncertain gait he left the “reporters” with the promise to “bring ‘em a drink.”
“Come, Louise,” said Arthur, quietly, “let’s get out of here.”
He drew her to the door and as a dance was just starting they managed to escape without notice.
“What a disgraceful scene!” cried Louise, when they were on their way home; “and to think of such a shocking carousal being held in good old Chazy County, where morals are usually irreproachable! I shall not mention the affair in the Tribune at all.”
But Patsy, who had a managing editor’s respect for news of any sort, combatted this determination and begged Louise to write up Molly Sizer’s party without referring to its deplorable features.
“It isn’t policy to offend the Sizers,” she said, “for although they are coarse and common they have shown a friendly spirit toward the paper. Moreover, the enmity of such people — which would surely result from our ignoring the birthday party — would keep us in hot water.”
So Louise, though reluctantly, wrote up the party and the manuscript was sent over to Mis
s Briggs Sunday afternoon, so it would get a place in Monday morning’s Tribune.
Uncle John had the paper at breakfast on Monday, and he gave an amused laugh as his eye caught the report of the Sizer party.
“This is a good one on you, Louise,” he exclaimed. “You say that Miss Molly, ‘looking more lovely than ever in her handsome new gown, greeted her guests with a roughish smile.’“
“A what?” demanded Louise, horrified.
“A ‘roughish’ smile.”
“Oh; that’s a mistake,” she said, glancing at the item. “What I said was a ‘roguish’ smile; but there’s been a typographical error which Miss Briggs must have overlooked in reading the proof.”
“Nevertheless,” remarked Arthur, “the statement isn’t far wrong. Everything was rough, including the smiles, as far as I noted that remarkable gathering.”
“But — see here!” cried Patsy; “that’s a dreadful mistake. That spoils all the nice things you said about the girl, Louise. I hope the Sizers won’t notice it.”
But the Sizers did, and were frantic with rage over what they deemed was a deliberate insult to Molly. Several young men who had come from distances to attend the birthday party had stayed over Sunday at the farmhouse, where the revelry still continued in a fitful way, due to vain attempts to relieve racking headaches by further libations. Monday morning found the dissipated crew still the guests of the Sizers, and when big Bill slowly spelled out the assertion made by the Tribune that his sister had “a roughish smile” loud cries of indignation arose. Molly first cried and then had hysterics and screamed vigorously; Bill swore vengeance on the Millville Tribune and all connected with it, while the guests gravely asserted it was “a low-down, measly trick” which the Sizers ought to resent. They all began drinking again, to calm their feelings, and after the midday dinner Bill Sizer grabbed a huge cowhide whip and started to Millville to “lick the editor to a standstill.” A wagonload of his guests accompanied him, and Molly pleaded with her brother not to hurt Mrs. Weldon.
“I won’t; but I’ll cowhide that fresh husband of hers,” declared Bill.
“He’s the editor — the paper says so — and he’s the one I’m after!”
CHAPTER XIII
BOB WEST INTERFERES
It was unfortunate that at that time Thursday Smith had gone up the electric line toward Royal, to inspect it. In the office were Patsy, Hetty Hewitt — who was making a drawing — Arthur Weldon, engaged upon his books, and finally, seated in an easy-chair from which he silently watched them work, old Bob West, the hardware man. Louise and Beth had driven over to the Junction to write up an accident, one of the trainmen having caught his hand in a coupling, between two freight cars.
Bob West often dropped into the office, which was next door to his own place of business, but he was a silent man and had little to say on these visits. In his early days he had wandered pretty much over the whole world, and he could relate some interesting personal adventures if he chose. In this retired village West was the one inhabitant distinguished above his fellows for his knowledge of the world. In his rooms over the store, where few were ever invited, he had a fine library of unusual books and a rare collection of curios gathered from foreign lands. It was natural that such a man would be interested in so unique an experiment as the Millville Tribune, and he watched its conduct with curiosity but a constantly growing respect for the three girl journalists. No one ever minded when he came into the office, nodded and sat down. Sometimes he would converse with much freedom; at other times the old gentleman remained an hour without offering a remark, and went away with a brief parting nod.
It was West who first saw, through the window, the wagonload of men from the Sizer farm come dashing up the street at a gallop. Instinctively, perhaps, he knew trouble was brewing, but he never altered his expression or his attitude, even when the wagon stopped at the printing office and the passengers leaped out.
In marched Bill Sizer at the head of his following, cowhide in hand.
Patsy, her face flushing scarlet, stood up and faced the intruders.
“Stand back, girl!” cried Sizer in a fierce tone; “it’s that coward editor I’m after,” pointing his whip with trembling hand at Arthur. “My sister Molly may be rough, an’ hev a rough smile, but I’ll be dinged ef I don’t skin the man thet prints it in a paper!”
“Good fer you, Bill!” murmured his friends, approvingly.
Arthur leaned back and regarded his accuser in wonder. The big table, littered with papers, was between them.
“Come out o’ there, ye measly city chap, an’ take yer medicine,” roared Bill, swinging his whip. “I’ll larn ye to come inter a decent neighborhood an’ slander its women. Come outer there!”
West had sat quietly observing the scene. Now he inquired, in composed tones:
“What’s the trouble, Bill?”
“Trouble? Trouble, West? Why, this lyin’ scroundrel said in his paper thet our Molly had a rough smile. That’s the trouble!”
“Did he really say that?” asked West.
“‘Course he did. Printed it in the paper, for all to read. That’s why
I’ve come to cowhide the critter within an inch o’ his life!”
“Good fer you, Bill!” cried his friends, encouragingly.
“But — wait a moment!” commanded West, as the maddened, half drunken young farmer was about to leap over the table to grasp his victim; “you’re not going at this thing right, Bill Sizer.”
“Why ain’t I, Bob West?”
“Because,” answered West, in calm, even tones, “this insult is too great to be avenged by a mere cowhiding. Nothing but blood will wipe away the dreadful stain on your sister’s character.”
“Oh, Mr. West!” cried Patsy, horrified by such a statement.
“Eh? Blood?” said Bill, stupefied by the suggestion.
“Of course,” returned West. “You mustn’t thrash Mr. Weldon; you must kill him.”
A delighted chorus of approval came from Sizer’s supporters.
“All right, then,” said the bully, glaring around, “I — I’ll kill the scandler!”
“Hold on!” counselled West, seizing his arm. “This affair must be conducted properly — otherwise the law might cause us trouble. No murder, mind you. You must kill Weldon in a duel.”
“A — a what? A duel!” gasped Sizer.
“To be sure. That’s the way to be revenged. Hetty,” he added, turning to the artist, who alone of the observers had smiled instead of groaned at the old gentleman’s startling suggestion, “will you kindly run up to my rooms and get a red leather case that lies under the shell cabinet? Thank you, my dear.”
Hetty was off like a flash. During her absence an intense silence pervaded the office, broken only by an occasional hiccough from one of Mr. Sizer’s guests. Patsy was paralyzed with horror and had fallen back into her chair to glare alternately at Bob West and the big bully who threatened her cousin’s husband. Arthur was pale and stern as he fixed a reproachful gaze on the hardware merchant. From Miss Briggs’ little room could be heard the steady click-click of the telegraph instrument.
But the furious arrival of the Sizer party had aroused every inhabitant of Millville and with one accord they dropped work and rushed to the printing office. By this time the windows were dark with groups of eager faces that peered wonderingly through the screens — the sashes being up — and listened to the conversation within.
While Hetty was gone not a word was spoken, but the artist was absent only a brief time. Presently she reentered and laid the red leather case on the table before Bob West. The hardware man at once opened it, displaying a pair of old-fashioned dueling pistols, with long barrels and pearl handles. There was a small can of powder, some bullets and wadding in the case, and as West took up one of the pistols and proceeded to load it he said in an unconcerned voice:
“I once got these from an officer in Vienna, and they have been used in more than a score of duels, I was told. One of t
he pistols — I can’t tell which it is — has killed a dozen men, so you are going to fight with famous weapons.”
Both Arthur and Bill Sizer, as well as the groups at the window, watched the loading of the pistols with fascinated gaze.
“Bob’s a queer ol’ feller,” whispered Peggy McNutt to the blacksmith, who stood beside him. “This dool is just one o’ his odd fancies. Much he keers ef they kills each other er not!”
“Mr. West,” cried Patsy, suddenly rousing from her apathy, “I’ll not allow this shameful thing! A duel is no better than murder, and I’m sure there is a law against it.”
“True,” returned West, ramming the bullet into the second pistol; “it is quite irregular and — er — illegal, I believe. Perhaps I shall go to jail with whichever of the duelists survives; but you see it is a point of honor with us all. Molly Sizer has seemingly been grossly maligned in your paper, and the editor is responsible. Are you a good shot, Bill?”
“I — I guess so,” stammered Sizer.
“That’s good. Weldon, I hear, is an expert with the pistol.”
Arthur did not contradict this statement, although he was positive he could not hit a barn at twenty yards.
“Now, then, are we ready?” staid West, rising. “Come with me, gentlemen.”
“What ye goin’ to do, Bob?” asked Sizer, anxiously.
“I’ll explain,” replied the hardware man, leading the way to the street. Everyone followed him and the crowd at the windows joined the group outside. “Of course you mustn’t shoot in the main street, for you might hit some one, or break windows; but back of this row of buildings is a lane that is perfectly clear. You will stand back to back in the center of the block and then, at my word, you will each march to the end of the block and pass around the buildings to the lane. As soon as you come in sight of one another you are privileged to fire, and I suppose Bill Sizer will try to kill you, Mr. Weldon, on the spot, and therefore you will try to kill him first.”
“But — look a-here, Bob!” cried Sizer; “it ain’t right fer him to take a shot at me. You said fer me to kill him, but ye didn’t say nuth’n about his shootin’ at me.”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 483