Jap Herron Part 6

"Dad allus cussed that day," remarked j.a.p, wiping the blackberry juice from his freckled face. "Gee, I never guessed that there was such grub as this," regretfully gazing at the generous blackberry cobbler--regretfully, because his exhausted stomach refused to give another st.i.tch.

"Cussed it?" queried Ellis, who was beginning to fat up a bit.

"He said that I was the first nail in the coffin of his troubles,"

replied j.a.p cheerfully.

"How dreadfully inhuman," exclaimed Flossy, sc.r.a.ping the sc.r.a.ps to the chickens. "Well, j.a.ppie," she bustled back to the dining-room where her little family lingered, "we are going to begin making your birthdays pleasant. What do you want most?"

She had her mind's eye on the discarded ties of gorgeous hue, bought while Ellis was courting, and still brand new.

"Ca-can I have just what I want?" stuttered j.a.p, excitedly.

"Why, certainly, j.a.ppie. That is, if we can afford it."

"Well--well," floundered j.a.p, astounded at his own temerity, "I allus wanted a pair of knee pants. Ma thought that some time she could get 'em; but the folks that she washed for allus kept giving her pants of their menfolks. I had to wear 'em. Can I have knee pants?"

Flossy stared dazedly after Ellis, whose vision of j.a.p in knee trousers was most unsettling. Before the momentous request had been granted, he was already half way down the alley. He was still convulsed with laughter when he reached the side door of the _Herald_ office. But his mental picture paled into dull commonplace, by comparison with the reality that was in store for him.

j.a.p bought the cherished pants!

Bloomtown had seen the circus, the Methodist church fire and Judge Lesley's funeral, the greatest in the history of the county; but none of these created the interest that j.a.p brought out when he traveled the length of Spring street, rounded the corner at Blanke's drug store and walked solemnly along Main street to the office.

Ellis was looking out of the window when he appeared, and despite his effort at composure, was writhing on the floor in agony when j.a.p entered. Bill looked up, as the vision crossed the threshold, and he involuntarily swallowed four type he was holding in his lips while he adjusted a pied stickful of "More Anon's" communication from Pluffot.

j.a.p was so interested in himself that these things pa.s.sed him by. He sat solemnly on his stool and looked vacantly into the e-box. Poking absently among the dusty types, he said, with profound solemnity:

"Bill, did you ever want anything right bad?"

Bill swallowed the last type with difficulty. It was the last capital Z, and they were getting five dollars for the announcement of Zachariah Zigler's daughter, Zella Zena's graduation into matrimony, and Bill had been picking enough Z's out of the "More Anon" to spell it, when the pi happened. His mind feebly recognized the calamity. He stared at the apparition before him, too stunned by the catastrophe to apprehend j.a.p's appearance further. j.a.p pressed him for reply.

"Once," he admitted gloomily. "I wanted to eat musherroons."

"Did you like 'em--when you got them?" asked j.a.p wanly.

"Naw! Tasted nasty. Never could see why folks keened after 'em."

j.a.p sighed.

"I allus wanted knee pants," he said plaintively. "But seems like I wa'n't made for that kind of luxury. I ain't a bit happy, like I thought. Seems kind of indecent to show your legs, when you never done it before."

And j.a.p donned his long trousers again, much to the relief of Bloomtown. Ellis afterward declared that the three-and-a-half feet of spindling legs that dangled along under the buckled bands of those short trousers were the most remarkable things he had ever seen. They resembled nothing more than the legs of a spring lamb, cavorting in knee pants, in the butcher's window.

When we have achieved our heart's desire, we often taste the ashes of illusion.

j.a.p did not worry further about his appearance, but, dressed in the neat jumpers that Flossy provided, he seemed content. The memory of the episode was beginning to lose some of its sting when Dame Fortune gave a mighty turn to her wheel. He was in the alley with Bill, playing marbles, when Wat Harlow came rushing out.

"Where is Ellis?" he gasped. "There's h.e.l.l afloat."

"Ellis and Flossy have gone to Birdtown to stay till Monday,"

vouchsafed Bill. "It's goin' to be big doin's at an anniversary, Sunday."

"Good G.o.d!" cried Wat, "what can I do?"

j.a.p arose and dusted himself.

"Is it a dark secret?" he inquired. "Did Ellis owe you a bill?

Lordee, man, you can find plenty more in your fix. Forget it."

Wat continued to tear up and down the narrow alley.

"I'm ruined," he groaned. "They've got an infernal lie out about me, and it's going to kill me out."

j.a.p was interested.

"Maybe I know what Ellis could do," he suggested.

"I am running for the Legislature again," Wat said, pacing wildly over the marbles. "The Morgan crowd have got it out that I sold myself to the crowd that are trying to lobby a bill for a big appropriation for the State University. The county is solid against it, and they will vote me out of politics forever."

"What could Ellis do?" asked j.a.p, sympathetically.

"I thought that he could print the truth in handbills that could be sent out. It is now Friday, and Tuesday is election day. There will be no chance for help after Monday. They would have to have time to get all over the county." He sat down and wiped his forehead.

"What is your defense?" asked j.a.p judicially.

"They said that I was in the headquarters of the University gang--and I was," he said bitterly. "They said I shook hands with Barks--and I did. They said that he walked with me down the steps, with his arm around my shoulder--and he did."

"Love of Mike!" exploded Bill, "What do you want to talk about it for, then?"

"The University headquarters are in Bolton's furniture store,"

explained Wat. "My--my baby died last night, and I went there for her little coffin." He choked and walked over to the gate. After a moment he turned back. "Barks was there. When he found why I came, he walked out with me. He put his arm around my shoulder. He--he was telling me that he buried his youngest, a few weeks ago. And now, while I am tied here, and the time is so short, Ellis is gone. And I'll be ruined!"

He leaned heavily on the rickety gate. Bill wiped his snub nose, openly, but j.a.p straightened up. The fire of battle was in his eyes.

"Come inside," he cried valiantly. "Ellis is gone, but the office is here. Come on, Bill. We have great things to do."

All night long the two boys labored. After the story was in type, they printed it on the Washington press. It was Bill's suggestion that brought forth a can of vermilion, to lend color to the heart story.

Wat was in and out all night, but there was no "in and out" for the boys. At daybreak they flung the last handbill upon the stack of bills and sank exhausted upon them. Wat carried a mail pouch full of them to the stage that started on its daily trip to Faber, at seven o'clock, and the pathetic story saved the day for Legislator Harlow.

"Boys, I will never forget it," he declared.

Ellis saw one of the badly spelled, ink-smeared agonies on Sat.u.r.day evening, and took the next stage for home, wrathful enough to thrash both boys. They had adorned the bill with the cut that Ellis had had made for Johnson, the tombstone cutter, a weeping angel drooping its long wings over a stately head-stone. A rooster and two prancing stallions at the bottom presaged victory for the vilified Wat.

It was midnight when Ellis slammed the door open. The two boys were asleep in the midst of the litter of torn, ink-gaumed and otherwise spoiled copies of that hideous handbill. The last pull on the lever of the press had let it fly back too quickly, and it had flapped its handle loose and lay wrecked on the floor. The office had the appearance of a battleground. The ink was blood, and the press and scattered type, casualties. He stirred the boys with an angry kick.

j.a.p sat up and peered through the ink over his eyes at his angry employer.

"We fixed him solid," he declared jubilantly. "There can't nothing beat Wat now. We opened the eyes of the county."

"You surely did," groaned Ellis. "When the Press a.s.sociation add to their Hall of Fame, they will shroud me in the folds of that dad-blamed bit of art!"