“TOWN-MEETIN'”
“This is goin' to be a meMOriable town meetin'!” declared Sylvanus
Cahoon, with unction, rising from the settee to gaze about him over the
heads of the voters in the townhall. “I bet you every able-bodied man
in Bayport 'll be here this forenoon. Yes, sir! that's what I call it, a
me-MO-riable meetin'!”
“See anything of Cy?” inquired Josiah Dimick, who sat next to Sylvanus.
“No, he ain't come yet. And Heman ain't here, neither. Hello! there's
Tad. Looks happy, seems to me.”
Captain Dimick stood up to inspect Mr. Simpson.
“Humph!” he muttered. “Well, unless my count's wrong, he ain't got much
to be happy about. 'Lonzo Snow's with him. Tad does look sort of joyful,
don't he? Them that laughs last laughs best. When the vote for school
committee's all in we'll see who does the grinnin'. But I can't
understand--Hello! there's Tidditt. Asaph! Ase! S-s-t-t! Come here a
minute.”
Mr. Tidditt, trembling with excitement, and shaking hands effusively
with everyone he met, pushed his way up the aisle and bent over his
friend.
“Say, Ase,” whispered Josiah, “where's Whit? Why ain't he on hand?
Nothin's happened, has it?”
“No,” replied the town clerk. “Everything seems to be all right. I
stopped in on the way along and Cy said not to wait; he'd be here on
time. He's been kind of off his feed for the last day or so, and I
cal'late he didn't feel like hurryin'. Say, Joe, now honest, what do you
think of my chances?”
Such a confirmed joker as Dimick couldn't lose an opportunity like
this. With the aid of one trying to be cheerful under discouragement he
answered that, so far, Asaph's chances looked fair, pretty fair, but of
course you couldn't always sometimes tell. Mr. Tidditt rushed away to
begin the handshaking all over again.
From this round of cordiality he was reluctantly torn and conducted to
the platform. After thumping the desk with his fist he announced that
the gathering would “come to order right off, as there was consider'ble
business to be done and it ought to be goin' ahead.” He then proceeded
to read the call for the meeting. This ceremony was no sooner over than
Abednego Small, “Uncle Bedny,” was on his feet loudly demanding to
be informed why the town “hadn't done nothin'” toward fixing up the
Bassett's Hollow road. Uncle Bedny's speech had proceeded no further
than “Feller citizens, in the name of an outrageous--I should say
outraged portion of our community I--” when he was choked off by a
self-appointed committee who knew Mr. Small of old and had seated
themselves near him to be ready for just such emergencies. The next
step, judged by meetings of other years, should have been to unanimously
elect Eben Salters moderator; but as Captain Eben refused to serve,
owing to his interest in the Whittaker campaign, Alvin Knowles was, by a
small majority, chosen for that office. Mr. Knowles was a devout admirer
of the great Atkins, and his election would have been considered a
preliminary victory for the opposition had it not been that many of
Captain Cy's adherents voted for Alvin from a love of mischief, knowing
from experience his ignorance of parliamentary law and his easy-going
rule. “Now there'll be fun!” declared one delighted individual.
“Anything's in order when Alvin's chairman.”
The proceedings of the first half hour were disappointingly tame. Most
of us had come there to witness a political wrestling match between
Tad Simpson and Cyrus Whittaker. Some even dared hope that Congressman
Atkins might direct his fight in person. But neither the Honorable
nor Captain Cy was in the hall as yet. Solon Eldridge was re-elected
selectman and so also was Asaph Tidditt. Nobody but Asaph seemed
surprised at this result. His speech of acceptance would undoubtedly
have been a triumph of oratory had it not been interrupted by Uncle
Bedny, who rose to emphatically protest against “settin' round and
wastin' time” when the Bassett's Hollow road “had ruts deep enough to
drown a cat in whenever there was a more'n average heavy dew.”
The Bassett's Hollow delegate being again temporarily squelched,
Moderator Knowles announced that nominations for the vacant place on
the school committee were in order. There was a perceptible stir on the
settees. This was what the meeting had been waiting for.
“No sign of Cy or Heman yet,” observed Mr. Cahoon, craning his neck in
the direction of the door. “It's the queerest thing ever I see.”
“Queer enough about Cy, that's a fact,” concurred Captain Dimick. “I
ain't so surprised about Heman's not comin'. Looks as if Whit was right;
he always said Atkins dodged a row where folks could watch it. Does most
of his fightin' from round the corner. Hello! there's Tad. Now you'll
see the crown of glory set on 'Lonzo Snow's head. Hope the crown's
padded nice and soft. Anything with sharp edges would sink in.”
But Mr. Simpson, it seemed, was not yet ready to proceed with the
coronation. He had risen to ask permission of the meeting to defer the
school committee matter for a short time. Persons, important persons,
who should be present while the nominating was going on, had not yet
arrived. He was sure that the gathering would wish to hear from these
persons. He asked for only a slight delay. Matters such as this,
affecting the welfare of our posterity, ought not to be hurried, etc.,
etc.
Mr. Simpson's request was unexpected. The meeting, apparently, didn't
know how to take it. Uncle Bedny was firmly held in his seat by those
about him. Lemuel Myrick took the floor to protest.
“I must say,” he declared, “that I don't see any reason for waitin'. If
folks ain't here, that's their own fault. Mr. Moderator, I demand that
the nominatin' go ahead.”
Tad was on his feet instantly.
“I'm goin' to appeal,” he cried, “to the decency and gratitude of the
citizens of the town of Bayport. One of the persons I'm--that is, we're
waitin' for has done more for our beautiful village than all the rest
of us put together. There ain't no need for me to name him. A right
up-to-date town pump, a lovely memorial window, a--”
“How about that harbor appropriation?” cried a voice from the settees.
Mr. Simpson was taken aback. His face flushed and he angrily turned
toward the interrupter.
“That's you, Joe Dimick!” he shouted, pointing an agitated forefinger.
“You needn't scooch down. I know your tongue. The idea of you findin'
fault because a big man like Congressman Atkins don't jump when you
holler 'Git up!' What do YOU know about doin's at Washington? That
harbor appropriation 'll go through if anybody on earth can get it
through. There's other places besides Bayport to be provided for and--”
“And their congressmen provide for 'em,” called another voice. Tad
whirled to face his new tormentor.
“Huh!” he grunted with sarcasm. “That's Lem Myrick, _I_ know. Lem, the
great painter, who votes where he paints and gets paid accordin'.”
“Order!” cried several.
“Oh, all right, Mr. Moderator! I'll keep order all right. But I say to
you, Lem, and you, Joe Dimick, that I know who put these smart notions
into your heads. We all know, unless we're born fools. Who is it that's
been sayin' the Honorable Heman Atkins was shirkin' that appropriation?
Who was it said if HE was representative the thing would have gone
through afore this? Who's been makin' his brags that he could get it
through if he had the chance? You know who! So do I! I wish he was here.
I only wish he was here! I'd say it to his face.”
“Well, he is. Heave ahead and say it.”
Everyone turned toward the door. Captain Cy had entered the hall. He was
standing in the aisle, and with him was Bailey Bangs. The captain looked
very tired, almost worn out, but he nodded coolly to Mr. Simpson,
who had retired to his seat with surprising quickness and apparent
discomfiture.
“Here I am, Tad,” continued the captain. “Say your piece.”
But Tad, it appeared, was not anxious to “say his piece.” He was
whispering earnestly with a group of his followers. Captain Cy held up
his hand.
“Mr. Moderator,” he asked, “can I have the floor a minute? All I want to
say is that I cal'late I'm the feller the last speaker had reference to.
I HAVE said that I didn't see why that appropriation was so hard to get.
I say it again. Other appropriations are got, and why not ours? I DID
say if I was a congressman I'd get it. Yes, and I'll say more,” he
added, raising his voice, “I'll say that if I was sent to Washin'ton
by this town, congressman or not, I'd move heaven and earth, and all
creation from the President down till I did get it. That's all. So would
any live man, I should think.”
He sat down. There was some applause. Before it had subsided Abel
Leonard, one of the quickest-witted of Mr. Simpson's workers, was on his
feet, gesticulating for attention.
“Mr. Moderator,” he shouted, “I want to make a motion. We've all heard
the big talk that's been made. All right, then! I move you, sir,
that Captain Cyrus Whittaker be appointed a committee of one to GO to
Washin'ton, if he wants to, or anywheres else, and see that we get the
appropriation. And if we don't get it the blame's his! There, now!”
There was a roar of laughter. This was exactly the sort of “tit-for-tat”
humor that appeals to a Yankee crowd. The motion was seconded half a
dozen times. Moderator Knowles grinned and shook his head.
“A joke's a joke,” he said, “and we all like a good one. However, this
meetin' is supposed to be for business, not fun, so--”
“Question! Question! It's been seconded! We've got to vote on it!”
shouted a chorus.
“Don't you think--seems to me that ain't in order,” began the moderator,
but Captain Cy rose to his feet. The grim smile had returned to his face
and he looked at the joyous assemblage with almost his old expression of
appreciative alertness.
“Never mind the vote,” he said. “I realize that Brother Leonard has
rather got one on me, so to speak. All right, I won't dodge. I'll BE
a committee of one on the harbor grab, and if nothin' comes of it I'll
take my share of kicks. Gentlemen, I appreciate your trustfulness in my
ability.”
This brief speech was a huge success. If, for a moment, the pendulum
of public favor had swung toward Simpson, this trumping of the latter's
leading card pushed it back again. The moderator had some difficulty in
restoring order to the hilarious meeting.
Then Mr. Myrick was accorded the privilege of the floor, in spite of
Tad's protests, and proceeded to nominate Cyrus Whittaker for the school
committee. Lem had devoted hours of toil and wearisome mental struggle
to the preparation of his address, and it was lengthy and florid.
Captain Cy was described as possessing all the virtues. Bailey,
listening with a hand behind his ear, was moved to applause at frequent
intervals, and even Asaph forgot the dignity of his exalted position on
the platform and pounded the official desk in ecstasy. The only person
to appear uninterested was the nominee himself. He sat listlessly in his
seat, his eyes cast down, and his thoughts apparently far away.
Josiah Dimick seconded the captain's nomination. Then Mr. Simpson
stepped to the front and, after a wistful glance at the door, began to
speak.
“Feller citizens,” he said, “it is my privilege to put in nomination for
school committee a man whose name stands for all that's good and clean
and progressive in this township. But afore I do it I'm goin' to ask
you to let me say a word or two concernin' somethin' that bears right on
this matter, and which, I believe, everyone of you ought to know. It's
somethin' that most of you don't know, and it'll be a surprise, a big
surprise. I'll be as quick as I can, and I cal'late you'll thank me when
I'm done.”
He paused. The meeting looked at each other in astonishment. There was
whispering along the settees. Moderator Knowles was plainly puzzled. He
looked inquiringly at the town clerk, but Asaph was evidently quite as
much in the dark as he concerning the threatened disclosure.
“Feller Bayporters,” went on Tad, “there's one thing we've all agreed
on, no matter who we've meant to vote for. That is, that a member of our
school committee should be an upright, honest man, one fit morally to
look out for our dear children. Ain't that so? Well, then, I ask you
this: Would you consider a man fit for that job who deliberately came
between a father and his child, who pizened the mind of that child
against his own parent, and when that parent come to claim that child,
first tried to buy him off and then turned him out of the house? Yes,
and offered violence to him. And done it--mark what I say--for reasons
which--which--well, we can only guess 'em, but the guess may not be so
awful bad. Is THAT the kind of man we want to honor or to look out for
our own children's schoolin'?”
Mr. Simpson undoubtedly meant to cause a sensation by his opening
remarks. He certainly did so. The stir and whispering redoubled. Asaph,
his mouth open, stared wildly down at Captain Cy. The captain rose to
his feet, then sank back again. His listlessness was gone and, paying no
attention to those about him, he gazed fixedly at Tad.
“Gentlemen,” continued the speaker, “last night I had an experience that
I shan't forget as long as I live. I met a poor man, a poor, lame man
who'd been away out West and got hurt bad. Folks thought he was dead.
His wife thought so and died grievin' for him. She left a little baby
girl, only seven or eight year old. When this man come back, well again
but poor, to look up his family, he found his wife had passed away and
the child had been sent off, just to get rid of her, to a stranger in
another town. That stranger fully meant to send her off, too; he said so
dozens of times. A good many of you folks right here heard him say it.
But he never sent her--he kept her. Why? Well, that's the question. _I_
shan't answer it. _I_ ain't accusin' nobody. All I say is, what's easy
enough for any of you to prove, and that is that it come to light the
child had property belongin' to her. Property! land, wuth money!”
He paused once more and drew his sleeve across his forehead. Most of
his hearers were silent now, on tiptoe of expectation. Dimick looked
searchingly at Captain Cy. Then he sprang to his feet.
“Order!” he shouted. “What's all this got to do with nominatin' for
school committee? Ain't he out of order, Alvin?”
The moderator hesitated. His habitual indecision was now complicated
by the fact that he was as curious as the majority of those before him.
There were shouts of, “Go ahead, Tad!” “Tell us the rest!” “Let him go
on, Mr. Moderator!”
Cy Whittaker slowly rose.
“Alvin,” he said earnestly, “don't stop him yet. As a favor to me, let
him spin his yarn.”
Simpson was ready and evidently eager to spin it.
“This man,” he proclaimed, “this father, mournin' for his dead wife and
longin' for his child, comes to the town where he was to find and take
her. And when he meets the man that's got her, when he comes, poor and
down on his luck, what does this man--this rich man--do? Why; fust of
all, he's sweeter'n sirup to him, takes him in, keeps him overnight,
and the next day he says to him: 'You just be quiet and say nothin' to
nobody that she's your little girl. I'll make it wuth your while.
Keep quiet till I'm ready for you to say it.' And he gives the father
money--not much, but some. All right so fur, maybe; but wait! Then it
turns out that the father knows about this land--this property. And
THEN the kind, charitable man--this rich man with lots of money of his
own--turns the poor father out, tellin' him to get the girl and the land
if he can, knowin'--KNOWIN', mind you--that the father ain't got a cent
to hire lawyers nor even to pay for his next meal. And when the father
says he won't go, but wants his dear one that belongs to him, the rich
feller abuses him, knocks him down with his fist! Knocks down a poor,
weak, lame invalid, just off a sick bed! Is THAT the kind of a man we
want on our school committee?”
He asked the question with both hands outspread and the perspiration
running down his cheeks. The meeting was in an uproar.
“No need for me to tell you who I mean,” shouted Tad, waving his arms.
“You know who, as well as I do. You've just heard him praised as bein'
all that's good and great. But _I_ say--”
“You've said enough! Now let me say a word!”
It was Captain Cy who interrupted. He had pushed his way through the
crowd, down the aisle, and now stood before the gesticulating Mr.
Simpson, who shrank back as if he feared that the treatment accorded the
“poor weak invalid” might be continued with him.
“Knowles,” said Captain Cy, turning to the moderator, “let me speak,
will you? I won't be but a minute. Friends,” he continued, facing the
excited gathering--“for some of you are my friends, or I've come to
think you are--a part of what this man says is so. The girl at my house
is Emily Thomas; her mother was Mary Thomas, who some of you know, and
her father's name is Henry Thomas. She came to me unexpected, bein' sent
by a Mrs. Oliver up to Concord, because 'twas either me or an orphan
asylum. I took her in meanin' to keep her a little while, and then send
her away. But as time went on I kept puttin' off and puttin' off, and at
last I realized I couldn't do it; I'd come to think too much of her.
“Fellers,” he went on, slowly, “I--I hardly know how to tell you what
that little girl's come to be to me. When I first struck Bayport, after
forty years away from it, all I thought of was makin' over the old place
and livin' in it. I cal'lated it would be a sort of Paradise, and HOW I
was goin' to live or whether or not I'd be lonesome with everyone of my
folks dead and gone, never crossed my mind. But the longer I lived there
alone the less like Paradise it got to be; I realized more and more
that it ain't furniture and fixin's that make a home; it's them you love
that's in it. And just as I'd about reached the conclusion that 'twas a
failure, the whole business, why, then, Bos'n--Emily, that is--dropped
in, and inside of a week I knew I'd got what was missin' in my life.
“I never married and children never meant much to me till I got her.
She's the best little--little . . . There! I mustn't talk this way. I
bluffed a lot about not keepin' her permanent, bein' kind of ashamed,
I guess, but down inside me I'd made up my mind to bring her up like
a daughter. She and me was to live together till she grew up and got
married and I . . . Well, what's the use? A few days ago come a letter
from the Oliver woman in Concord sayin' that this Henry Thomas, Bos'n's
father, wan't dead at all, but had turned up there, havin' learned
somehow or 'nother that his wife was gone and that his child had been
willed a little bit of land which belonged to her mother. He had found
out that Emmie was with me, and the letter said he would likely come
after her--and the land.
“That letter was like a flash of lightnin' to me. I was dismasted and
on my beam ends. I didn't know what to do. I'd learned enough about this
Henry Thomas to know that he was no use, a drunken, good-for-nothin'
scamp who had cruelized his wife and then run off and left her and the
baby. But when he come, the very night I got the letter, I gave him a
chance. I took him in; I was willin' to give him a job on the place;
I was willin' to pay for his keep, and more. I DID ask him to keep his
mouth shut and even to use another name. 'Twas weak of me, maybe, but
you want to remember this had come on me sudden. And last night--the
very second night, mind you--he went out somewhere, perhaps we can guess
where, bought liquor with the money I gave him, got drunk, and then
insulted one of the best women in this town. Yes, sir! I say it right
here, one of the best, pluckiest little women anywhere, although she and
I ain't always agreed on certain matters. I DID tell him to clear out,
and I DID knock him down. Yes, and by the big dipper, I'd do it again
under the same circumstances!
“As for the property,” he added fiercely, “why, darn the property, I
say! It ain't wuth much, anyhow, and, if 'twas anybody's else, he should
have it and welcome. But it's Bos'n's, and, bein' what he is, he SHAN'T
have it. And he shan't have HER to cruelize, neither! By the Almighty!
he shan't, so long as I've got a dollar to fight him with. I say that to
you, Tad Simpson, and to the man--to whoever put you up to this. There!
I've said my say. Now, gentlemen, you can choose your side.”
He strode back to his seat. There was silence for a moment. Then Josiah
Dimick sprang up and waved his hat.
“That's the way to talk!” he shouted. “That's a MAN! Three cheers for
Cap'n Whittaker! Come on, everybody!”
But everybody did not “come on.” The cheers were feeble. It was evident
that the majority of those present did not know how to meet this
unexpected contingency. It had taken them by surprise and they were
undecided. The uproar of argument and question began again, louder than
ever. The bewildered moderator thumped his desk and shouted feebly for
order. Tad Simpson took the floor and, in a few words and at the top of
his lungs, nominated Alonzo Snow. Abel Leonard seconded the nomination.
There were yells of “Question! Question!” and “Vote! Vote!”
Eben Salters was recognized by the chair. Captain Salters made few
speeches, and when he did make one it was because he had something to
say.
“Mr. Moderator,” he said, “I, for one, hate to vote just now. It isn't
that the school committee is so important of itself. But I do think that
the rights of a father with his child IS pretty important, and our vote
for Cap'n Whittaker--and most of you know I intended votin' for him
and have been workin' for him--might seem like an indorsement of his
position. This whole thing is a big surprise to me. I don't feel yet
that we know enough of the inside facts to give such an indorsement. I'd
like to see this Thomas man before I decide to give it--or not to give
it, either. It's a queer thing to come up at town meetin', but it's up.
Hadn't we better adjourn until next week?”
He sat down. The meeting was demoralized. Some were shouting for
adjournment, others to “Vote it out.” A straw would turn the scale and
the straw was forthcoming. While Captain Cy was speaking the door had
silently opened and two men entered the hall and sought seclusion in a
corner. Now one of these men came forward--the Honorable Heman Atkins.
Mr. Atkins walked solemnly to the front, amidst a burst of recognition.
Many of the voters rose to receive him. It was customary, when the great
man condescended to attend such gatherings, to offer him a seat on the
platform. This the obsequious Knowles proceeded to do. Asaph was
too overcome by the disclosure of “John Smith's” identity and by Mr.
Simpson's attack on his friend to remember even his manners. He did not
rise, but sat stonily staring.
The moderator's gavel descended “Order!” he roared. “Order, I say!
Congressman Atkins is goin' to talk to us.”
The Honorable Heman faced the excited crowd. One hand was in the breast
of his frock coat; the other was clenched upon his hip. He stood calm,
benignant, dignified--the incarnation of wisdom and righteous worth. The
attitude had its effect; the applause began and grew to an ovation.
Men who had intended voting against his favored candidate forgot their
intention, in the magnetism of his presence, and cheered. He bowed and
bowed again.
“Fellow townsmen,” he began, “far be it from me to influence your choice
in the matter of the school committee. Still further be it from me to
influence you against an old boyhood friend, a neighbor, one whom I
believe--er--had believed to be all that was sincere and true. But,
fellow townsmen, my esteemed friend, Captain Salters, has expressed a
wish to see Mr. Thomas, the father whose story you have heard to-day.
I happen to be in a position to gratify that wish. Mr. Thomas, will you
kindly come forward?”
Then from the rear of the hall Mr. Thomas came. But the drunken rowdy
of the night before had been transformed. Gone was the scrubby beard
and the shabby suit. Shorn was the unkempt mop of hair and vanished the
impudent swagger. He was dressed in clean linen and respectable black,
and his manner was modest and subdued. Only a discoloration of one eye
showed where Captain Cy's blow had left its mark.
He stepped upon the platform beside the congressman. The latter laid a
hand upon his shoulder.
“Gentlemen and friends,” said Heman, “my name has been brought into
this controversy, by Mr. Simpson directly, and in insinuation
by--er--another. Therefore it is my right to make my position clear. Mr.
Thomas came to me last evening in distress, both of mind and body. He
told me his story--substantially the story which has just been told
to you by Mr. Simpson--and, gentlemen, I believe it. But if I did not
believe it, if I believed him to have been in the past all that his
opponent has said; even if I believed that, only last evening, spurned,
driven from his child, penniless and hopeless, he had yielded to the
weakness which has been his curse all his life--even if I believed that,
still I should demand that Henry Thomas, repentant and earnest as you
see him now, should be given his rightful opportunity to become a
man again. He is poor, but he is not--shall not be--friendless. No! a
thousand times, no! You may say, some of you, that the affair is not
my business. I affirm that it IS my business. It is my business as a
Christian, and that business should come before all others. I have not
allowed sympathy to influence me. If that were the case, my regard for
my neighbor and friend of former days would have held me firm. But,
gentlemen, I have a child of my own. I know what a father's love is, as
only a father can know it. And, after a sleepless night, I stand here
before you to-day determined that this man shall have his own, if
my money--which you will, I'm sure, forgive my mentioning--and my
unflinching support can give it to him. That is my position, and I state
it regardless of consequences.” He paused, and with raised right hand,
like the picture of Jove in the old academy mythology, launched his
final thunderbolt. “Whom God hath joined,” he proclaimed, “let no one
put asunder!”
That settled it. The cheers shook the walls. Amidst the tumult Dimick
and Bailey Bangs seized Captain Cy by the shoulders and endeavored to
lift him from his seat.
“For the love of goodness, Whit!” groaned Josiah, desperately, “stand up
and answer him. If you don't, we'll founder sure.”
The captain smiled grimly and shook his head. He had not taken his eyes
from the face of the great Atkins since the latter began speaking.
“What?” he replied. “After that 'put asunder' sockdolager? Man alive! do
you want me to add Sabbath breakin' to my other crimes?”
The vote, by ballot, followed almost immediately. It was pitiful to see
the erstwhile Whittaker majority melt away. Alonzo Snow was triumphantly
elected. But a handful voted against him.
Captain Cy, still grimly smiling, rose and left the hall. As he closed
the door, he heard the shrill voice of Uncle Bedny demanding justice for
the Bassett's Hollow road.
It had, indeed, been a “memoriable” town meeting.