The Sherrods Part 23

"I--I should like to come, but--I am not sure that I can," said Justine, doubtfully. She was thinking of her scant wardrobe.

"Oh, you must come. I won't take 'no' for an answer," cried Mrs.

Harbaugh, who hoped in her heart that Justine would not come. For the first time she bethought herself of the expense, then of her husband's wrath when he heard of the project. Next to the Grimeses, the Harbaughs were the "closest" people in the township.

While Justine was trying to frame excuses for not attending the party, Mrs. Harbaugh was just as earnestly explaining that "bad weather,"

"sickness," "unforeseen acts of Providence," and a lot of other emergencies might necessitate a postponement, but, in case nothing happened to prevent, the "sociable" would take place on "Friday night a week." Mrs. Grimes came in while the discussion was still on. When she was told of Mrs. Harbaugh's plan to entertain the "best people in the neighborhood," Mrs. Grimes made a remark that promptly decided the giving of the party.

"My sakes, Mrs. Harbaugh, how c'n you afford it? We couldn't, I know, an' I guess Martin's 'bout as well off as the next one 'round about here," she said superciliously.

Mrs. Harbaugh bridled. "Oh, I guess we c'n afford it an' more, too, Mrs. Grimes, if we'd a mind to. I know that most people 'bout here is mighty hard up, but who's to give these pleasant little entertainments unless it's them that's in good circ.u.mstances? That's the way Mr.

Harbaugh an' me feels about it."

Mrs. Harbaugh was hopelessly committed to the "sociable." Other women came in and they soon were in a great flutter of excitement over the coming event. Justine was amazed by this exhibition of interest and friendship on the part of her rich neighbors. She did not understand the significant smiles that went among the visitors as each new arrival swelled the crowd in the "front room." The look of surprise that marked each face on entering the room was succeeded almost instantly by one best described as "sheepish." Not a woman there but felt herself ashamed to be caught in the act of obeying 'Gene Crawley's injunction so speedily.

Bewildered, Justine promised to attend the "sociable." The meaning expressed in the sly glances, smirks, and poorly concealed sniffs escaped her notice. She did not know what every one else knew perfectly well--that Mrs. Harbaugh's party was a peace-offering--and a sacrifice that almost drew blood from the calloused heart of the "chairman."

That evening she told 'Gene of the visitation from the "high an'

mighty" (as Crawley termed the Clay "aristocrats"), and she made no effort to conceal her distress.

"How can I go to the party, 'Gene?" she said in despair. "I have nothing to wear--absolutely nothing----"

"Now, that's the woman all over," scoffed Crawley, resorting to badinage. "I wouldn't let that worry me, Justine. Go ahead an' have a good time. The clothes you've got are a heap sight more becomin' th'n the fine feathers them hens wear. Lord 'a' mercy, I think they're sights!"

"But, 'Gene, it's the first time any one of them has been to see me in months," she protested, dimly conscious of distrust.

"Well, I--I guess they've been purty busy," said he, lamely. Crawley was a poor dissembler.

"Besides, I don't care to go. Jud isn't here, and--and, oh, I can't see how it could give me any pleasure."

'Gene shifted from one foot to the other. He was beginning to accuse himself of adding new tribulation to Justine's heavy load. He had not antic.i.p.ated such quick results from his onslaught of the night before, nor had he any means of knowing to what length the women might go in their abas.e.m.e.nt. That they had surrendered so abjectly had given him no little satisfaction until he had seen that Justine was distressed.

"You'll have a good time, Justine. Ever'body does, I reckon. Seems like they want you to come purty bad, too," he said encouragingly.

"They really did insist," she agreed, smiling faintly. Crawley's gaze wavered and then fell. Out in the barn-lot, later in the evening, he worked himself into a rare state of indignation.

"If them folks don't treat her right over at the 'sociable' they'd oughter be strung up," he was growling to himself. "If I thought they wuz just doin' this to git a chanct to hurt her feelin's some way, I'd--I'd----" But he could think of nothing severe enough to meet the demand.

Mr. Harbaugh did just as his wife expected he would do when she broke the news to him. He stormed and fumed and forgot his position as a deacon of the church. Two days pa.s.sed before he submitted, and she was free to issue her invitations. Their social standing in the neighborhood was such that only the "best people" could be expected to enjoy their hospitality.

"How air you goin' to invite 'Gene Crawley 'thout astin' all the other hired men in the township? He ain't no better'n the rest," argued Mr.

Harbaugh sarcastically.

"I'm not goin' to invite Mr. Crawley," said his wife firmly.

"Well, then, what air you givin' the shindig fer? I thought it was fer the purpose o' squarin' things regardin' them two."

"We are under no obligations to 'Gene. Besides, he's no gentleman. He ain't fit to step inside the parlor."

"I noticed he stepped into one t'other night, all right," grinned Mr.

Harbaugh.

"I s'pose you are defending him," snapped his wife.

"'Pears to me he c'n keer fer himse'f purty well. He don't need no defendin'. But, say--don't you think he'll rare up a bit if he don't git a bid to the party?"

"Well, he won't take it out o' me," she spoke, meaningly.

"Course not," he exclaimed. "That's the tarnation trouble of it; he'll take it out o' me." Mr. Harbaugh involuntarily glanced over his shoulder as though expecting Crawley to appear in the doorway as mysteriously as he had appeared on the night of the "meeting."

"It don't make any difference. You'll have to stand it, that's all.

I'm not goin' to have that low-down fool in _my_ house," was Mrs.

Harbaugh's parting shot. The result was that Crawley was not invited--he had not expected to be--and Harbaugh felt obliged to "dodge" him carefully for the next two or three months.

The "Harbaugh oyster supper" was the talk of an expectant community for a full and busy week. Justine Sherrod apparently was the only person in the whole neighborhood who did not know the inside facts concerning the affair. Generally, it was said to be a "mighty nice thing in the Harbaughs," but every one interested knew that the influence of Eugene Crawley prompted the good intentions.

Half-heartedly, the unconscious guest of honor prepared for the event.

Her ever-neat though well-worn garments were gone over carefully, not to her satisfaction but to the delight of Mrs. Crane. Mr. and Mrs.

Grimes stopped for her on their way over to Harbaugh's on the night of the party. Trim and straight and graceful in the old black dress that looked new, Justine sat beside the fluttering Mrs. Grimes on the "back seat" of the "canopy top." There was a warm flush in her cheek, a half-defiant gleam in her eyes. She went to the party with the feeling in her breast that every woman there would "tear the old black dress to shreds" and in secret poke fun at her poverty. Crawley stood in the barn-door as she drove away with the Grimeses. There was something bitterly triumphant in the slow smile that uncovered the gleaming teeth as he waved a farewell to her--not to Mrs. Grimes, who was responding so eagerly.

"I'd like to be there,--just to see how much purtier she looks than the rest," he murmured, wistfully, as he turned away to finish the evening's ch.o.r.es.

Despite her illness, suffering, and never-ceasing longing for Jud, she was by far the prettiest woman in the motley crowd. The men unhesitatingly commented on her "good looks," and not one of them seemed to notice that her dress was old and simple. Many a woman went home that night envious and jealous of Justine's appealing beauty.

Hard as they felt toward her, they were compelled to admit that she was "quality." She was a Van--were she ever so poor.

She was young. The heartiness with which she was received, the gaiety into which she was almost dragged, beat down the shyness that marred her first half-hour. Pride retreated before good spirits, and, to her own surprise, she came to enjoy the festivities of the night.

Glenville supported one newspaper--a weekly. Its editor and publisher and general reporter was a big man in the community. He was a much bigger man than his paper. Few people in Clay township did not know the indefatigable and ubiquitous Roscoe Boswell, either personally or by reputation. His _Weekly Tomahawk_, made up largely of "boiler-plate matter" and advertis.e.m.e.nts in wonderful typography, adorned the pantry-shelves of almost every house in the township. Jim Hardesty once ironically remarked that he believed more housewives read the paper in the pantry than they did in the parlor. For his own part, he frequently caught himself spelling out the news as he "wrapped up bacon and side-meat" with sections of the _Tomahawk_. But Mr. Boswell was a big man politically and socially. His "local and personal" column and his "country correspondence" column were alive with the gossip of the district. If 'Squire Higgins painted his barn, the "news" came out in the _Tomahawk_; if Miss Phoebe Baker crossed the street to visit Mrs.

Matlock the fact was published to the world--or, at least, to that part of it bounded by the Clay township lines; if our old friend and subscriber George Baughnacht drove out into the country with his new "side-bar" buggy the whole community was given to understand that it "looked suspicious" and that a "black-haired girl was fond of buggy-riding."

Mrs. Harbaugh's party would not have been complete without the presence of Roscoe Boswell. He came with his paper-pad, his pencil and his jokes. Incidentally, Mrs. Boswell came. She described the dresses of the ladies. Every one was nice to Roscoe. The next issue of the _Tomahawk_ was carefully read and preserved by the guests at the "sociable," for it contained a glowing account of the "swell affair,"

and it also had a complete list of names, including those of the children.

Now, Mr. Boswell, besides being a big man, was an observing person. He had seen a Chicago paper containing the news of the Wood-Sherrod wedding, but, like others, he was convinced that the groom was not the old Clay township boy. Nevertheless, he made up his mind to question Justine, when he saw her at the "sociable."

"How do you do, Mrs. Sherrod?" he greeted, just before the oysters were served. She was pa.s.sing through the parlor in search of Mrs. Harbaugh.

"Why, Mr. Boswell," she said gaily. "It is quite an honor to have you with us. Is Mrs. Boswell here?"

"Yes--she'll be getting a description of your dress pretty soon," he said, glancing at the plain black. "My, but you look fine to-night,"

he added, observing the embarra.s.sed look in her eyes. "Black's my favorite color. Always sets a woman off so. What do you hear from Jud?"

"He has been in Paris, Mr. Boswell, studying art, and he is very well.

I heard from him a day or so ago."

Roscoe Boswell breathed a sigh of relief.

"How long will he be over there?" he asked.

"He is expected back this week. Perhaps I'll get a letter from him in a day or two."