Elizabeth Hobart at Exeter Hall Part 18

CHAPTER IX.

JOE'S MESSAGE.

After breakfast the following morning, Elizabeth was summoned to the reception-hall where Joe Ratowsky awaited her. He stood twisting his hat about as she entered. The expansive smile which covered his swarthy face was not so much one of goodwill as embarra.s.sment. He stood in the center of the room so that by no possible chance could he touch any article of furniture. Joe was no coward. He had performed heroic parts when mobs of miners and the militia, during the big strikes, met in conflict. But the thought of sitting down on chairs upholstered in satin of dainty colors made the cold chills run up and down his spine.

It was cruel in Elizabeth to shake his hand so long and so vigorously, even though she was glad to see him. And it was worse than cruel to keep pushing easy chairs before him and insisting upon him sitting down.

Elizabeth insisted, and in desperation Joe took a letter from his pocket and thrust it before her.

"Mees-ter Hobart, he write--he write heap--b'gosh."

"He isn't sick, Joe, is he?"

"Sick!" Joe grunted his disgust at the thought of anyone being sick. "He well, so well--he get fat, b'gosh, so fat, Meester O'Day, he look like pole he come long Meester Hobart, b'gosh."

Joe nodded his head vigorously, a habit he had of emphasizing any statement he wished to make particularly strong. Elizabeth could not restrain a smile at the comparison.

"Is mother well, too, Joe?" Joe nodded vigorously while he wiped his brow.

"She well like the tivil, b'gosh. Yes, b'gosh, she so well as that."

"Well, then, Joe, why is it they do not wish me to go home?"

Joe flung out his hand as though what he was about to say was a mere trifle, not worthy her consideration.

"The miner--not so glad, b'gosh. They no work--no--no work. They say they tear up railroad, b'gosh. Meester Hobart, he say, 'No tear up road.' Joe Ratowsky, he say, 'No tear up road.' All time keep watch so no tear up road. You not come. Mebbe no road, mebbe all right, b'gosh."

"A strike, Joe? Do you mean the miners threaten to destroy the road?" He nodded.

"No strike now, b'gosh. Colowski, he say, 'Strike.' Then all say, 'Strike.' Joe Ratowsky, he give him one between his eyes like this." He doubled up his fist, showing how peace had been restored. "He no say strike then. He crawl off. He no come round for day and day."

"Did they go back to work then?" Elizabeth was excited. All her life she had heard of the horrors of a prolonged strike. From childhood she had a dim recollection of someone taking her from her warm bed, and running across fields, seeking safety miles away. As in a dream, she could hear the roar of hoa.r.s.e voices and see the flickering torches of the mob.

Joe shook his head slowly. "No, b'gosh. They mad like the tivil. They go back some day, so many tollars, every day for work. No more," shaking his head in negation, "No, no more, b'gosh."

Elizabeth grew anxious. She seized Mr. Ratowsky's coat sleeve.

"But, Joe, tell me truly, is my father in danger? They won't hurt him?"

"B'gosh, no. He safe like anything. They no mad like the tivil at him.

Emery they mad at."

"Is Mr. Emery there?" Again Joe shook his head. "Meester Emery, he go over ocean. He no come back, mebbe so long till summer. When he come back, the miners so mad they treat him like the tivil, b'gosh."

This Mr. Emery, of whom he spoke, was one of the operators of the soft-coal region; a man who visited the miners once in a dozen years and of whom his workmen knew little.

Joe had evidently been instructed how much to tell Elizabeth in regard to the trouble. Being a.s.sured that her father was not in danger, her mind turned toward the letter, her eyes following her thoughts.

"I go back quick. I tell Meester Hobart you look well like everything." He shook his head vigorously to a.s.sure her how fine a message he would carry.

"I will, b'gosh," he repeated.

He made his way to the door, keeping his eyes upon the chairs and tables in his path. He sighed with relief when he had pa.s.sed them, and saw a line of retreat open before him. He continued to repeat the message he would carry to her father.

"Grow so tall likes nothing. He will be so glad like the tivil. I tells him so. Yes, he will, b'gosh." These were his parting words as the door closed upon him.

The greater number of the girls in the dormitory hall had packed or were packing their trunks. The hallway was obstructed with baggage of all descriptions, awaiting the coming of Jimmy Jordan and his train of helpers.

Mary Wilson was to leave Exeter immediately after lunch. She had begun her preparations before breakfast. Elizabeth, taking it for granted that their rooms would yet be in confusion, went down to the window-seat where she and Nora had sat the night before, in order to read her letter in quiet.

There was nothing unusual in it--nothing to startle her, at least; the home news was told with her father's usual buoyant spirit. If he were hara.s.sed or annoyed, his letter writing did not show it. It was not until all the bright little bits of home life had been related that he mentioned the trouble at the mines--just a little local trouble, nothing general.

Both her mother and he thought it best that she should not go up the mountain railroad this time of year. There was nothing at all to alarm her. She was to spend her holidays with any one of the girls whom Dr.

Morgan advised. It was difficult on account of the snow to get the mails through. She must not be anxious if her accustomed letter did not arrive on time.

As was her habit with home letters, Elizabeth read and re-read it. She was slipping it back into its envelope when Landis and Min appeared. Both were dressed for traveling. They stopped to enquire of Elizabeth when she expected to leave Exeter, being surprised to see her sitting there in her school dress when the others were either packing or already leaving. She told them the possibility of her remaining at the Hall for the holiday season. At this Landis wrinkled her brow in perplexity, and pondered awhile in deep thought.

"I was trying to see my way clear to ask you to go with me to The Beeches--my home, so called because of the magnificent trees which grow near our residence. But I do not see how I can manage it now. I do wish I had known about this sooner. I might have been able to arrange matters somehow. I do not like the idea of your being here alone. Exeter is dull with the girls gone. It's really unbearable. But I have arranged to go home with Min until the day before Christmas. We always have a big family party for that day, and our home is filled. I suppose we could tuck you in somewhere--if you do not object to the third floor."

"Oh, do not think of it, I beg you," began Elizabeth hurriedly. Somehow Exeter without company seemed better to her than The Beeches with Landis.

"I would not for the world cause you any inconvenience. Besides, the matter is in the hands of Dr. Morgan. I must do as she decides."

"Well, I hope she will see fit to send you off somewhere. Come to think of it, I do believe I could not let you have even a third floor room. Our cook always takes the privilege of asking in some of her relations, and that leaves no s.p.a.ce unfilled. I wish it were otherwise."

"You are kind to think of it. But I could not go in any event. I must go back to my room now. Mary is deep in her packing and will need me. When do you leave?"

"Not until afternoon. But we are going into the city. Shall we see you before we leave?"

"I think not."

Good-byes were said, and Elizabeth went to her room. She was disappointed at not being able to go home, but had no fear of a possible strike, or any danger to her father. Joe Ratowsky had rea.s.sured her, and besides her faith in her own father made her confident. There was no question in her mind about his being popular with the miners. He had been not only their superintendent, but physician, friend and banker.

Having packed her trunk so full that the lid would not close, Mary was jumping up and down on it when Elizabeth entered. She hailed her with an exclamation of delight. "I'm so glad you weigh something! Come, sit on my trunk while I turn the key. I can get the lid down, but it springs open the instant I get off, and I cannot stand up there and turn the key at the same time. I have been bouncing on it for the last half-hour."

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright from her strenuous efforts.

Elizabeth did as requested. The trunk closed with a snap.

"And now," asked Mary, "when do you begin to pack? I suppose your Polish friend brought you news from home. I hurried to get my belongings out of the way that you might begin."

"Not until next June," was the reply. Then sitting down on the trunk beside Mary, she related the messages which Joe had brought, and the advice which her father's letter contained.

Mary listened without comment until the story was finished. Then she tossed back her hair, and without a word hurried to the door, flung it open with a great disregard for the amount of noise she was making and began hauling in Elizabeth's trunk.

"You have just three hours to pack, dress, eat and get down to the station," she said, unbuckling straps and removing trays as she spoke.

"But--"

"Don't stop to talk or ask questions, or say you can't." Mary stopped long enough to stamp her foot in order to emphasize her words. "You're going home with me. We'll talk it over afterward. We haven't time now. I'll hear the objections to-morrow. Put on your duds, and I'll pack, while you get yourself ready."