A Romance of Billy-goat Hill
Copyright© 2024 by Alice Caldwell Hegan Rice
Chapter 29
The Flathers’ family was indulging in a birthday party. The table, set in the bedroom so that Chick might participate, was decorated at one end by a gorgeous pink cake, bearing a single candle, and at the other by Loreny herself, blue of eye, and chubby of cheek, who crawled triumphantly about among the dishes, bestowing equal attention on the sugar bowl and the molasses jug, only pausing to emit ecstatic screams when a rough, red head appeared above the table rim.
In the bed, propped on pillows and with throat bandaged, Chick executed a lively tune with knife and fork on his plate, while Maria Flathers dedicated herself to the task of preventing Loreny May from putting her blue-slippered foot in the butter.
Without, the sleet pelted the windows, and the red top of Mr. Iseling’s wagon waiting at the gate. It whistled and rattled down Bean Alley and converted the telegraph wires into cables of ice. But the Flathers family, luxuriating in the unusual extravagance of an open fire, and cheered by the hilarity of the occasion, was happily oblivious to the storm until a sharp rap at the door brought the redheaded bear from under the table to answer the summons.
“Well, if it ain’t Mis’ Squeerington!” cried Phineas Flathers effusively. “Out in all this storm! But I ain’t surprised. Didn’t I tell you, Maria, that I knowed she’d bring the baby a birthday present? Come up to the fire, mam. Maria git her a rocker.”
“No, no!” cried Miss Lady breathlessly. “I can’t stay. I must get to town. My horse broke down in the bridge, and I’m on my way to the Junction to see if I can’t get on the next train when it stops for water. I want you to go over and help me on.”
“Next train don’t stop. It’s a express. The local ain’t due fer a hour an’ a half. You ain’t fit to go on yit, mam, nohow. I never seen you all in like this before! Maria, can’t you fix her up a cup of coffee or somethin’?”
Miss Lady shook her head, and leaned wearily against the mantel.
“I’ll be all right. Are you sure about the trains?”
“Sure az the taxes. You’re in fer a wait, an’ we’ll git a nice little visit out of you. Guess you are ‘sprised to see me home this time of day?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, you see it’s her birthday, an’ tormadoes couldn’t ‘a’ kept me from bringin’ her a cake. Ain’t she the purties’ object you ever set yer two optics on? Say ‘Da-da,’ Loreny, —leave off talkin’ to her, Chick. Go on, Loreny, say, ‘Da-da’ fer de purty lady!”
“He’s that silly about her,” said Maria Flathers, trying to conceal her own pride. “He won’t leave me put anything but white dresses and blue shoes on her, an’ he works extra time to pay fer ‘em. Myrtella says there ain’t no fools like old ones.”
“That’s all right,” said Phineas; “she’ll have more to say when I give Loreny a diamond ring on her next birthday. Iseling’ll be givin’ me a raise soon. He’s as good as said so. He knows I’m good fer everything from bossin’ a big job to drivin’ a wagon; then look at the trade I command! Why, Mis’ Squeerington, them Ladies’ Aiders in the Immanuel Church, follered me solid, an’ Mrs. Ivy an’ the Anti-Tobacs—Shoo, I could start out fer myself tomorrow.”
“It’s one o’clock!” warned Maria, anxious to speed her master on his way in order that she might come in for a few conversational crumbs.
“One o’clock! Holy Moses! I must be hiking, if I want to hear the rest of the trial.”
“The trial?” repeated Miss Lady instantly alert; “were you at the courthouse this morning?”
“Yes, mam, I was. Everybody was. Court room packed to the doors. I sez to Iseling this morning, I sez, ‘I’ll make the noon delivery all right, but the rest of the day’s my own. It ain’t only because of my former connection with the Sequin family,’ sez I; ‘it’s because Mr. Don Morley is a personal friend of mine. He’s white an’ he’s square,’ sez I, ‘an’ the open-handedest young gent I ever done a favor for. If it’s a case of standin’ by him in trouble, or losin’ my job,’ I sez, ‘why ta-ta to the job!’”
“But when you left,” urged Miss Lady, “what were they doing? How did people feel about it?”
“Mighty shaky, mam. They ain’t got a scrap of good evidence fer him, an’ enough ag’in him to sink a ship. Old man Wicker’s son is puttin’ up a stiff fight, but he’s up aginst Kinner, an’ Kinner could convict St. Peter hisself!”
“But can’t they get the truth out of Sheeley? Can’t they force him to tell what happened?”
Phineas shrugged contemptuously: “Sheeley lost his memory when he lost his eye. One was put out with lead, an’ the other with silver. Says now he wasn’t in the fight at all.”
“It’s a lie! He wuz!” Chick had risen from his pillow, and was leaning forward excitedly.
“What do you mean, Chick? How do you know?”
“He wuz in the fight!” he cried huskily. “It was ‘tween him an’ the drunk. Sheeley ketched him fakin’ a ace, an’ he calls Sheeley a liar, an’ they fit all over the floor. The big one wasn’t in it! He kep’ tryin’ to stop ‘em, buttin’ in with his whip.”
“But how do you know all this, Chick?” cried Miss Lady almost fiercely; “did the Sheeley boy tell you?”
“Skeeter? Shucks, he don’t know nothin’ ‘ceptin’ what his paw tole him.”
“But who told you?”
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