"To-morrow is Jap's birthday," announced Ellis, one noontide early in
July. "Jap, you are a joy-spoiler. With the Fourth yet smoking in the
air, we must be upset by your birthday."
"Dad allus cussed that day," remarked Jap, 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 stitch.
"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 Jap cheerfully.
"How dreadfully inhuman," exclaimed Flossy, scraping the scraps to the
chickens. "Well, Jappie," 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 Jap, excitedly.
"Why, certainly, Jappie. That is, if we can afford it."
"Well--well," floundered Jap, 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 Jap 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.
Jap 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 Jap 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 Jap
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.
Jap was so interested in himself that these things passed 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
Jap's appearance further. Jap pressed him for reply.
"Once," he admitted gloomily. "I wanted to eat musherroons."
"Did you like 'em--when you got them?" asked Jap wanly.
"Naw! Tasted nasty. Never could see why folks keened after 'em."
Jap 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 Jap 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.
Jap 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 hell 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 God!" cried Wat, "what can I do?"
Jap 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."
Jap 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 Jap, 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 Jap 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 Jap 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 Saturday
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.
Jap 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 Association add to
their Hall of Fame, they will shroud me in the folds of that dad-blamed
bit of art!"