Otherwise Phyllis Part 10

Her name, she testified, was Phil Kirkwood. (She always signed herself Phil at school, distrusting Phyllis as high-falutin'.)

"Otherwise Phyllis," interposed the judge soberly. "It is essential that the record identify all witnesses beyond per-adventure."

The audience t.i.ttered. Phil began her story. She had been spending the Fourth of July at her Uncle Amzi's farm, but wanted to return home before her uncle was ready, to attend a party. There was no question of the time, as she had walked across the fields to that particular stop to meet the car on its scheduled hour. She had stood upon the track and waved the flag placed in the shed at the stop for that purpose, but to her disgust the car had rushed by at full speed. She had heard the hissing of the air as the car whirled by, and there being no other car for an hour she had been obliged to return to the farm and wait for her uncle to drive her in.

Counsel for defendant, a stranger to the ways of Montgomery, who had come from Indianapolis to try the case, asked Phil ironically if she were an expert in the management of a trolley car.

"Oh, I shouldn't say that," said Phil; "but I used to ride with motormen sometimes, back and forth to the farm, and they let me stop and start the car."

She explained that she knew from the sound as the air went on that the brake was out of order. The twelve good men and true in the jury box bent forward attentively as she met the lawyer's questions. He was a young man and Phil was undeniably pretty. In her calling clothes she did not look like a girl who would chum with motormen. His manner was elaborately deferential.

"Miss Kirkwood, may I trouble you to tell the jury whether you ever rode in the car of this particular motorman?" he asked.

"No, sir," replied Phil.

"You never saw him before, and after all you're not sure he's the man who was in charge of that car that day, are you?"

Phil dangled the cardcase from her white-gloved fingers carelessly.

"Perfectly confident of it," she answered.

"If you are sure of it, will you kindly tell the jury just how it is you remember him--how you identify him as the motorman on this car on that particular afternoon?"

"Oh! Do you really want me to tell that?" asked Phil.

"Answer the question!" the attorney returned sharply, misreading her apparent reluctance.

"Why," began Phil, speaking rapidly and distinctly and turning toward the jurors,--"why, it's because I had noticed him all that summer pa.s.sing our house and he always ran faster than the other motormen,--you could tell his car at night if you didn't see it because it ran so fast,--and he's the same man who ran into Bernstein's delivery wagon--the one with the lame horse--at the corner of Monon Street about a week before the Fourth of July. I saw that, too!"

"If Your Honor please," said Waterman, rising as the court ruled that Phil's last answer, which the defendant's counsel had sought vainly to interrupt, should be stricken out, "the plaintiff rests. We will waive argument in this case," he added impressively, putting from him, with unprecedented self-denial, the chance of pillorying the unfeeling defendant corporation.

Judge Walters looked down at Phil solemnly.

"The court is unable to determine whether the witness is also a.s.sociate counsel for plaintiff, but in any event, I suggest that she claim the usual witness fee at the clerk's office."

Phil left the court-room and resumed her walk toward Buckeye Lane.

Paul Fosd.i.c.k, just coming down from his office, arrested her. Fosd.i.c.k, whose blithe spirit was never greatly disturbed by the failure of his enterprises, greeted Phil gayly. He entertained a high opinion of Phil.

At family gatherings, which his wife and sisters-in-law made odious by petty bickerings, Phil was always a refuge. It was nothing to Phil which of her aunts wore the best hat, or that Mrs. Hastings had been abroad and to New York while the others had been denied these recreations and delights. If his wife's faith in him had been shaken by his inability to grasp the fortune which always seemed just within reach; and if, on Christmas and New Year's and Thanksgiving Day, when they met at Amzi's, he was a bit uncomfortable, knowing that his wife's share of the Montgomery money had gone into many ventures without ever coming out again, Phil could be depended upon to infuse cheer into those somber occasions. He frequently discussed his schemes with Phil, who was usually sympathetic; and now and then she made a suggestion that was really worth considering. Where other members of the family criticized him harshly behind his back, Phil delivered her criticisms face to face.

"Lo, Phil!"

"Lo, Paul!"

"Phil, what's new about Sycamore Traction? They say your pa's going to have a receiver appointed."

"If he does they will print it in the papers. How do you like my hat?"

"It's a dream, but I hope you're not going to make trouble for your dear aunts' husbands by going in for clothes. The compet.i.tion in the family is hot enough now without you b.u.t.ting in. Hastings is in mourning at the bank and Waterman is sad over his last political licking and my billions are coming by slow freight."

"By the way, Paul, I fell over that busted brickyard of yours out by the flour mill the other day when I was walking for my health. There ought to be money in bricks," she ended meditatively.

"There ought, Phil, but there ain't. I'm still hoping to pull that scheme out, but it takes time. You know this town doesn't know how to back up its enterprises."

"Cease knocking! What you want to do is to stop trying to organize an undertakers' trust in this town where everybody lives to a green old age and get busy with brick. The last time I was in Indianapolis I saw a lot of new houses built out of brick that looked just about like those pink-and-yellow effects you started in on. They came from over in Illinois somewhere, and I guess the clay's off the very same stratum.

What you ought to do is to nail close to some of the city architects and hypnotize them into using your goods."

"We tried all that, Phil; but they wouldn't listen."

"Let me see; what name did you give those bricks?"

"We called 'em the 'Gold Finish.' Nothing the matter with that, is there?"

"'Most everything's the matter with that name. Anything that suggests a gold brick is bound to scare sensible people. Think of living in a house that people would laugh at and call the 'gold-brick' house! You've got to get a lot better, Paul. Try once more and call 'em the 'Daffodil' or the 'Crocus'--something that sounds springlike and cheerful. And play up local pride--a Hoosier product for Hoosier people. Then when you've done that, fly to Chicago and give away enough to build a house in one of the new suburbs and daffodils will spring up all over the prairie. Am I lucid?"

"There may be something in giving an old dog a new name. I've a good notion to give it a try, and if--"

"Oh, there's no charge! You might send me up a couple of those brick; I can use 'em for nut-crackers."

Judge Walters once said of Phil that if she would keep a diary and write down honestly everything that happened to her if would some day put Pepys to the blush. Not every day was as rich in adventure as this; but this is not a bad sample. If Phil had been a prig or fresh or impertinent, she would not have been the idol of Main Street. A genius for being on the spot when events are forward must be born in one, and her casual, indifferent air contributed to a belief in Main Street that she was leagued with supernatural agencies. If there was a fire, Phil arrived ahead of the department; and if a prisoner broke out of jail, Phil knew it before the "Evening Star" could print the fact.

"Some one told me," Captain Wilson would begin, addressing Judge Walters; and the judge would answer, "Otherwise Phyllis." And the judge would say, "I'm going to quit taking the 'Star' and subscribe for Phil."

Phil had, on the whole, a pretty good time.

CHAPTER VI

THE SMOKING-OUT OF AMZI

Although a Holton had brought scandal upon the house of Montgomery by eloping with one of its duly married daughters, or perhaps because of that disagreeable circ.u.mstance, Mrs. Hastings, Mrs. Fosd.i.c.k, and Mrs.

Waterman were constantly exercised over the affairs of the Holtons. The Holtons prospered, as witness the fashion in which William (the wicked Jack's brother) had built up the First National Bank after the dissolution of the old Montgomery & Holton partnership. And there was Samuel, who had varied his political activities by organizing companies to raise vanilla beans or sarsaparilla, or to dig silver in Mexico--a man of affairs, unquestionably, who had outgrown Montgomery and moved to the state capital where he died. Even Samuel's paltry achievements were touched with a certain magnificence in the eyes of these ladies; Samuel had escaped from Montgomery and this was a consummation that had long been the burden of their prayers. The very existence of the First National Bank was offensive to the sisters of Amzi Montgomery. They had wanted Amzi to "nationalize" his bank when the break occurred and it had been "just like" their stubborn brother to continue in the old rut.

Mrs. William Holton lived in a modern house that was superior to anything the Montgomerys could boast. It had two bathrooms, a music-room, and electric lights. In Montgomery one bathroom had long been a summit-crowning achievement, to which the fortunate possessor might point with pride; and as for dedicating a room to music, and planting in it a grand piano flanked by a bust of Mozart, and shedding upon it a dim opalescent glow from concealed lights--no one in the community had ever before scaled such heights of grandeur.

For half a dozen years after their sister's escapade the Montgomery sisters had not spoken to a Holton; but in such communities as theirs the "cutting" of persons with whom one has been brought up is attended with embarra.s.sments. William Holton had married, a little late, a Memphis woman he had met on a trip to Mexico to inspect the plantations in which he and his brother Samuel were interested. She was "a Southern woman," with a charming accent, as every one admitted. The accent was greatly admired. Several young girls sought to soften the vowels of their native Hoosier speech in conformity with the models introduced by Mrs. Holton. The coming of this lady, the zest with which she entered into the social life of the town, the vacillations of certain old friends of the Montgomerys who had taken sides against the Holtons after the Kirkwood incident, had given the three sisters an excuse for abandoning the feud in so far at least as it applied to William Holton.

In any view of the case, no matter how base the Holtons might be, there was no reason why the family sins should be visited upon the lady with the aforesaid accent, whose taste in dress was una.s.sailable and who poured tea with such an air.

Amzi read his newspaper in the little back room of the bank on a November afternoon and awaited the coming of his sisters. The necessity for any business discussions between them had steadily diminished. Their father's estate had long ago been distributed, and Amzi had not troubled himself as to the subsequent fate of the money he had paid to his sisters. They were all blessed with husbands, and if these gentlemen did not safeguard their wives' property it was no affair of his. There had been about half a million dollars, which meant in round figures a hundred thousand dollars apiece, and this in Montgomery is a great deal of money.

When his sisters arrived, Amzi rose with the nice courtesy that lay in him and placed chairs for them about the table. Then panting from his exertion he pulled a cigar from his waistcoat and dry-smoked it. They were unwontedly grave, suggesting the gloom of a committee appointed to perfect funeral arrangements for a poor relation.

"You have talked to Phil about the party, I suppose," said Mrs.

Waterman.