The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories

by George Barr McCutcheon

  It required all of Anderson’s social and official diplomacy to forestall an indignation meeting when it was announced that a stranger, Miss Banks, had been selected to teach school No. 5. There was some talk of mobbing the township trustee and Board of County Commissioners, but Anderson secured the names of the more virulent talkers and threatened to “jail” them for conspiracy.

  “Why, Anderson,” almost wailed George Ray, “that girl’s from the city. What does she know about grammar an’ history an’ all that? They don’t teach anything but French an’ Italian in the cities an’ you know it.”

  “Pshaw!” sniffed Anderson. “I hate grammar an’ always did. I c’n talk better Italian than grammar right now, an’ I hope Miss Banks will teach every child in the district how to talk French. You’d orter hear Rosalie talk it. Besides, Rosie says she’s a nice girl an’—an’ needs the job.” Anderson lied bravely, but he swallowed twice in doing it.

  September brought Elsie Banks to make life worth living for Rosalie. The two girls were constantly together, talking over the old days and what the new ones were to bring forth, especially for Miss Gray, who had resumed wood carving as a temporary occupation. Miss Banks was more than ever reluctant to discuss her own affairs, and Rosalie after a few trials was tactful enough to respect her mute appeal. It is doubtful if either of the girls mentioned the name of big, handsome Tom Reddon—Tom, who had rowed in his college crew; but it is safe to say that both of them thought of him more than once those long, soft, autumn nights—nights when Tinkletown’s beaux were fairly tumbling over themselves in the effort to make New York life seem like a flimsy shadow in comparison.

  CHAPTER XI

  Elsie Banks

  Aderson Crow stood afar off—among the bleak, leafless trees of Badger’s Grove—and gazed thoughtfully, even earnestly, upon the little red schoolhouse with its high brick chimney and snow-clad roof. A biting January wind cut through his whiskers and warmed his nose to a half-broiled shade of red. On the lapel of his overcoat glistened his social and official badges, augmented by a new and particularly shiny emblem of respect bestowed by the citizens of Tinkletown.

  At first it had been the sense of the town to erect a monument in recognition of his part in the capture of the Bramble County horse-thief gang, but a thrifty and considerate committee of five substituted a fancy gold badge with suitable inscriptions on both sides, extolling him to the skies “long before he went there hisself” (to quote Uncle Gideon Luce, whose bump of perception was a stubborn prophet when it came to picking out the site of Mr. Crow’s heaven). For a full half hour the marshal of Tinkletown had been standing among the trees surveying the schoolhouse at the foot of the slope. If his frosted cheeks and watery eyes ached for the warmth that urged the curls of smoke to soar away from the chimney-top, his attitude did not betray the fact. He was watching and thinking, and when Anderson thought of one thing he never thought of another at the same time.

  “It’ll soon be recess time,” he reflected. “Then I’ll step down there an’ let on to be makin’ a social call on the schoolma’am. By gum, I believe she’s the one! It’ll take some tarnation good work to find out the truth about her, but I guess I c’n do it all right. The only thing I got to guard ag’inst is lettin’ anybody else know of the mystery surroundin’ her. Gosh! it’ll surprise some of the folks ’round here, ’specially Rosalie. An’ mebby the township trustee won’t be sorry he give the school this year to a strange girl instid o’ to Jane Rankin er Effie Dickens! Congressman Ritchey hadn’t no business puttin’ his nose into our affairs anyhow, no matter if this here teacher is a friend of his fambly. He’s got some kind a holt on these here trustees—’y gosh, I’d like to know what ’tis. He c’n jest wrap ’em round his finger an’ make ’em app’int anybody he likes. Must be politics. There, it’s recess! I’ll jest light out an’ pay the schoolhouse a little visit.”

  Inside a capacious and official pocket of Mr. Crow’s coat reposed a letter from a law firm in Chicago. It asked if within the last two years a young woman had applied for a position as teacher in the township schools at Tinkletown. A description accompanied the inquiry, but it was admitted she might have applied under a name not her own, which was Marion Lovering. In explanation, the letter said she had left her home in Chicago without the consent of her aunt, imbued with the idea that she would sooner support herself than depend upon the charity of that worthy though wealthy relative. The aunt had recently died, and counsel for the estate was trying to establish proof concerning the actions and whereabouts of Miss Lovering since her departure from Chicago.

  The young woman often had said she would become a teacher, a tutor, a governess, or a companion, and it was known that she had made her way to that section of the world presided over by Anderson Crow—although the distinguished lawyers did not put it in those words. A reward of five hundred dollars for positive information concerning the “life of the girl” while in “that or any other community” was promised.

  Miss Banks’s appointment came through the agency of the district’s congressman, in whose home she had acted as governess for a period. Moreover, she answered the description in that she was young, pretty, and refined. Anderson Crow felt that he was on the right track; he was now engaged in as pretty a piece of detective business as had ever fallen to his lot, and he was not going to spoil it by haste and overconfidence.

  Just why Anderson Crow should “shadow” the schoolhouse instead of the teacher’s temporary place of abode no one could possibly have known but himself—and it is doubtful if he knew. He resolved not to answer the Chicago letter until he was quite ready to produce the girl and the proof desired.

  “I’d be a gol-swiggled fool to put ’em onter my s’picions an’ then have ’em cheat me out of the reward,” he reflected keenly. “You cain’t trust them Chicago lawyers an inch an’ a half. Doggone it, I’ll never fergit that feller who got my pockit-book out to Central Park that time. He tole me positively he was a lawyer from Chicago, an’ had an office in the Y.M.C.A. Building. An’ the idee of him tellin’ me he wanted to see if my pockit-book had better leather in it than hisn!”

  The fact that the school children, big and little, loved Miss Banks possessed no point of influence over their elders of the feminine persuasion. They turned up their Tinkletown noses and sniffed at her because she was a “vain creature,” who thought more of “attractin’ the men than she did of anything else on earth.” And all this in spite of the fact that she was the intimate friend of the town goddess, Rosalie Gray.

  Everybody in school No. 5 over the age of seven was deeply, jealously in love with Miss Banks. Many a frozen snowball did its deadly work from ambush because of this impotent jealousy.

  But the merriest rivalry was that which developed between Ed Higgins, the Beau Brummel of Tinkletown, and ’Rast Little, whose father owned the biggest farm in Bramble County. If she was amused by the frantic efforts of each suitor to outwit the other she was too tactful to display her emotion. Perhaps she was more highly entertained by the manner in which Tinkletown femininity paired its venom with masculine admiration.

  “Mornin’, Miss Banks,” was Anderson’s greeting as he stamped noisily into the room. He forgot that he had said good-morning to her when she stopped in to see Rosalie on her way to the schoolhouse. The children ceased their outdoor game and peered eagerly through the windows, conscious that the visit of this dignitary was of supreme importance. Miss Banks looked up from the papers she was correcting, the pucker vanishing from her pretty brow as if by magic.

  “Good-morning, Mr. Crow. What are you doing away out here in the country? Jimmy”—to a small boy—”please close the door.” Anderson had left it open, and it was a raw January wind which followed him into the room.

  “’Scuse me,” he murmured. “Seems I ain’t got sense enough to shet a door even. My wife says—but you don’t keer to hear about that, do you? Oh, I jest dropped in,” finally answering her question. He took a bench near the big stove and spread h
is hands before the sheet-iron warmth. “Lookin’ up a little affair, that’s all. Powerful chilly, ain’t it?”

  “Very.” She stood on the opposite side of the stove, puzzled by this unexpected visit, looking at him with undisguised curiosity.

  “Ever been to Chicago?” asked Anderson suddenly, hoping to catch her unawares.

  “Oh, yes. I have lived there,” she answered readily. He shifted his legs twice and took a hasty pull at his whiskers.

  “That’s what I thought. Why don’t you go back there?”

  “Because I’m teaching school here, Mr. Crow.”

  “Well, I reckon that’s a good excuse. I thought mebby you had a different one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I dunno. I jest asked.”

  “You are a detective, are you not?” asked Miss Banks, smiling brightly and with understanding.

  “Oh, off an’ on I do a little detectin’. See my badge?”

  “Am I suspected of a heinous crime?” she asked so abruptly that he gasped. “Won’t you take off your cap, Mr. Crow?” He removed it sheepishly.

  “Lord, no!” he exclaimed in confusion. “I mean the crime—not the cap. Well, I guess I’ll be goin’. School’s goin’ to take up, I reckon. See you later, Miss Banks.” He restored his cap to its accustomed place and was starting toward the door, a trifle dazed and bewildered.

  “What is it that you wish to find out, Mr. Crow?” she suddenly called to him. He halted and faced about so quickly that his reply came like a shot out of a gun.

  “I’m on the lookout fer a girl—an’ she’ll be’s rich’s Crowses if I c’n only find ’er. I dassent tell ’er name jest now,” he went on, slowly retracing his steps, “’cause I don’t want people—er her either, fer that matter—to git onter my scheme. But you jest wait.” He was standing very close to her now and looking her full in the face. “You’re sure you don’t know anythin’ ’bout her?”

  “Why, how should I know? You’ve told me nothing.”

  “You’ve got purty good clothes fer a common school-teacher,” he flung at her in an aggressive, impertinent tone, but the warm colour that swiftly rose to her cheeks forced him to recall his words, for he quickly tempered them with, “Er, at least, that’s what all the women folks say.”

  “Oh, so some one has been talking about my affairs? Some of your excellent women want to know more about me than—”

  “Don’t git excited, Miss Banks,” he interrupted; “the women ain’t got anythin’ to do with it—I mean, it’s nothin’ to them. I—”

  “Mr. Crow,” she broke in, “if there is anything you or anybody in Tinkletown wants to know about me you will have to deduce it for yourself. I believe that is what you call it—deduce? And now good-bye, Mr. Crow. Recess is over,” she said pointedly; and Mr. Crow shuffled out as the children galloped in.

  That evening Ed Higgins and ’Rast Little came to call, but she excused herself because of her correspondence. In her little upstairs room she wrote letter after letter, one in particular being voluminous. Mrs. Holabird, as she passed her door, distinctly heard her laugh aloud. It was a point to be recalled afterward with no little consideration. Later she went downstairs, cloaked warmly, for a walk to the post-office. Ed Higgins was still in the parlour talking to the family. He hastily put in his petition to accompany her, and it was granted absently. Then he surreptitiously and triumphantly glanced through the window, the scene outside pleasing him audibly. ’Rast was standing at the front gate talking to Anderson Crow. Miss Banks noticed as they passed the confused twain at the gate that Anderson carried his dark lantern.

  “Any trace of the heiress, Mr. Crow?” she asked merrily.

  “Doggone it,” muttered Anderson, “she’ll give the whole snap away!”

  “What’s that?” asked ’Rast.

  “Nothin’ much,” said Anderson, repairing the damage. “Ed’s got your time beat tonight, ’Rast, that’s all!”

  “I could ’a’ took her out ridin’ tonight if I’d wanted to,” lied ’Rast promptly. “I’m goin’ to take her to the spellin’-bee tomorrow night out to the schoolhouse.”

  “Did she say she’d go with you?”

  “Not yet. I was jest goin’ to ast her tonight.”

  “Mebby Ed’s askin’ her now.”

  “Gosh dern it, that’s so! Maybe he is,” almost wailed ’Rast; and Anderson felt sorry for him as he ambled away from the gate and its love-sick guardian.

  CHAPTER XII

  The Spelling-Bee

  Young Mr. Higgins found his companion bubbling over with vivacity. Her pretty chin was in the air and every word bore the promise of a laugh. He afterward recalled one little incident of their walk through the frosty night, and repeated it to Anderson Crow with more awe than seemed necessary. They were passing the town pump on their way to the post-office. The street was dark and deserted.

  “Gosh!” said Ed, “I bet the town pump’s froze up!”

  “It doesn’t seem very cold,” she said brightly.

  “Gee! it’s below zero! I bet ’Rast thinks it’s pretty doggone cold up there by your gate.”

  “Poor ’Rast! His mother should keep him indoors on nights like this.” Ed laughed loud and long and a tingle of happiness shot through his erstwhile shivering frame. “I’m not a bit cold,” she went on. “See—feel my hand. I’m not even wearing mittens.”

  Ed Higgins gingerly clasped the little hand, but it was withdrawn at once. He found it as warm as toast. Words of love surged to his humble lips; his knees felt a tendency to lower themselves precipitously to the frozen sidewalk; he was ready to grovel at her feet—and he wondered if they were as warm as toast. But ’Rast Little came up at that instant and the chance was lost.

  “Doggone!” slipped unconsciously but bitterly from Ed’s lips.

  “Can I be your company to the spellin’-bee tomorrow night, Miss Banks?” burst unceremoniously from the lips of the newcomer.

  “Thank you, ’Rast. I was just wondering how I should get out to the schoolhouse. You are very kind. We’ll go in the bob-sled with the Holabirds.”

  “Doggone!” came in almost a wail from poor Ed. He could have killed ’Rast for the triumphant laugh that followed.

  In the meantime Anderson Crow was preparing to crawl in between the icy sheets at home. Mrs. Crow was “sitting up” with old Mrs. Luce, who was ill next door.

  “She’s a girl with a past,” reflected Anderson. “She’s a mystery, that’s what she is; but I’ll unravel her. She had a mighty good reason fer sawin’ me off out there today. I was gittin’ too close home. She seen I was about to corner her. By gum, I hope she don’t suspect nothin’! She’s found out that Ed Higgins has a good job down to Lamson’s store, an’ she’s settin’ her cap fer him. It shows she’d ruther live in the city than in the country—so it’s all up with ’Rast. That proves she’s from Chicago er some other big place. Ed’s gettin’ eight dollars a week down there at Lamson’s. By gum, that boy’s doin’ well! I used to think he wouldn’t amount to nothin’. It shows that the best of us git fooled in a feller once in a while. Tomorrow night I’ll go out to the spellin’-match, an’ when the chanct comes I’ll sidle up to her an’ whisper her real name in her ear. I bet four dollars an’ a half that’ll fetch her purty prompt. Doggone, these here sheets air cold! It’s forty below zero right here in this bed.”

  Anderson Crow soon slept, but he did not dream of the tragedy the next night was to bring upon Tinkletown, nor of the test his prowess was to endure.

  The next night and the “spellin’-bee” at school No. 5 came on apace together. It was bitterly cold and starlight. By eight o’clock the warm schoolhouse was comfortably filled with the “spellers” of the neighbourhood, their numbers increased by competitors from Tinkletown itself. In the crowd were men and women who time after time had “spelled down” whole companies, and who were eager for the conflict. They had “studied up” on their spelling for days in anticipation of a hard battle in th
e words. Mrs. Borum and Mrs. Cartwill, both famous for their victories and for the rivalry that existed between them, were selected as captains of the opposing sides, and Miss Banks herself was to “give out” the words. The captains selected their forces, choosing alternately from the anxious crowd of grown folks. There were no children there, for it was understood that big words would be given out—words children could not pronounce, much less spell.

  The teacher was amazingly pretty on this eventful night. She was dressed as no other woman in Bramble County, except Rosalie Gray, could have attired herself—simply, tastefully, daintily. Her face was flushed and eager and the joy of living glowed in every feature. Ed Higgins and ’Rast Little were struck senseless, nerveless by this vision of health and loveliness. Anderson Crow stealthily admitted to himself that she was a stranger in a strange land; she was not of Tinkletown or any place like it.

  Just as the captains were completing their selections of spellers the door opened and three strangers entered the school-room, overcoated and furred to the tips of their noses—two men and a woman. As Miss Banks rushed forward to greet them—she had evidently been expecting them—the startled assemblage caught its breath and stared. To the further amazement of every one, Rosalie hastened to her side and joined in the effusive welcome. Every word of joyous greeting was heard by the amazed listeners and every word from the strangers was as distinct. Surely the newcomers were friends of long standing. When their heavy wraps were removed the trio stood forth before as curious an audience as ever sat spellbound. The men were young, well dressed and handsome; the woman a beauty of the most dashing type. Tinkletown’s best spellers quivered with excitement.