The Battle of Town and Gown
Jean had come about a mile from Riveredge before encountering her
unwelcome escort, and a mile for old Baltie was considered a good
distance by Mammy who always blanketed him carefully and gave him a
long rest after such exertion. The sight of the old woman's care for
her horse had won her more than one feminine customer in South
Riveredge and not infrequently they entered into conversation with her
regarding him. Mammy needed no greater encouragement to talk, and
Baltie's history became known to many of her customers.
Could Mammy have witnessed Baltie's wild careerings as he pounded
along to escape his tormentors, while Jean strove desperately to beat
them off, she would probably have expired upon the spot.
But Baltie's strength was not equal to any long-sustained effort and
his breath soon became labored. The shouting cavalcade had gone about
half a mile at its wild pace and Jean had done her valiant best, but
the numbers against her had been steadily augmented as she proceeded,
and the situation was becoming really dangerous. She stood up in the
phaeton, hat hanging by its elastic band, hair flying and eyes
flashing as she strove to beat off her pursuers. Most of them, it must
be admitted, were good-natured, and were simply following up their
prank from a spirit of mischief. But two or three had received
stinging lashes from the whip and the sting had aroused their ire.
Jean's strength as well as old Baltie's was giving out when from the
opposite side of a high arbor-vitae hedge arose a cry of:
"Gown to the rescue! Gown to the rescue!" and the next second the road
seemed filled with lads who had apparently sprung from it, and a
lively scrimmage was afoot. The boys who had so lately been making
things interesting for Jean and Baltie, turned to flee precipitately,
but were pretty badly hustled about before they could escape; he of
the stick being captured red-handed as he launched a blow that came
very near proving a serious one for Jean since it struck the whip from
her hands and landed it in the road. The poor child collapsed upon the
seat, and strove hard to suppress a sob, for she would have died
sooner than cry before the boys of the "Irving Preparatory School."
Baltie needed no second hint to make him understand that the time had
come to let his friends take up the battle, and bracing his trembling
old legs he stood panting in the middle of the road.
"I say, what did this fellow do to you, little girl?" demanded a tall,
fine-looking lad, whose dark gray eyes were flashing with indignation,
and whose firm mouth gave his captive reason to know that he meant
whatever he said. At any other time Jean would have resented the
"little girl," but during the past fifteen minutes she had felt a very
small girl indeed.
"He's a coward! A great, hulking coward!" she blazed at the hapless
youth whom her champion held so firmly by his collar as he stood by
the phaeton. The other lads who had now completely routed Jean's
tormentors were gathering about her, some with looks of concern for
her welfare, some with barely restrained smiles at her plight and her
turnout.
"What'll I do to him? Punch his head?" demanded knight errant.
"No, shake it most off!" commanded Jean. "He nearly made mine shake
off," she concluded, as she pushed her hair from her eyes and jerked
her hat back into place. "My goodness just look at the state I'm in
and look at Baltie; I don't know what Mammy will say. Aren't you
ashamed of yourself, you great big bully, to torment a girl and a poor
old blind horse. Oh, I _wish_ I were a boy! If I wouldn't give you
bally-whacks."
A smile broke over knight errant's face, but his victim trembled in
his boots.
"All right then, here goes, since you won't let me punch it," and
Jean's injunctions to shake her tormentor's head "most off" seemed in
a fair way to be obeyed, for the next second its owner was being
shaken very much as a rat is shaken by a terrier and the head was
jerked about in a most startling manner.
"Now get out! Skiddoo! And if we catch you and your gang out this way
again you'll have a pretty lively time of it, and don't you forget it
either," said knight errant with a final shake, and Long Stick was
hustled upon his way toward his friends who had not paused to learn
his fate.
This boy who acted as spokesman, and who appeared to be a leader among
his companions, then said:
"I say, your old horse is pretty well knocked up, isn't she? How far
have you come? Better drive into the school grounds and rest up a bit
before you go back. Come on!" and going to Baltie's head the lad took
hold of the rein to lead him through the gateway.
Baltie never forgot his manners, however great the stress under which
he was laboring, so turning his sightless eyes toward his new friend,
he nickered softly, and rubbed his muzzle against him. The lad laughed
and raising his hand stroked the warm neck as he said:
"Found a friend at last, old boy? Well, come on then, for you needed
one badly."
"Guess he _did_!" said Jean. "My gracious, I don't know what we would
have done if you boys hadn't come out to help us. How did you happen
to hear us?"
"We were out on the field with the ball. I guess it's lucky for you we
were, too, for there's a tough gang up there near Riveredge. We're
always on the lookout for some new outbreak, and we make it lively if
they come up this way, you'd better believe. They don't try it very
often, but you were too big a chance for 'em this time, and they
sailed right in. But they sailed at the wrong time for we are never
happier to exchange civilities with them than when we have on our
togs," ended the lad, as he glanced at the foot-ball suits which he
and a number of his chums were wearing.
"Oh, are you playing foot-ball? I wish I could see you," cried Jean
eagerly, all thoughts of her late plans flying straight out of her
head.
"Better come over to the field then," laughed her escort.
"I'd love to but I guess I can't to-day. I'm on important business.
I'm going to South Riveredge," she said, suddenly recalling her
errand.
"South Riveredge!" echoed a lad who walked at the other side of the
phaeton. "Why it's nearly four miles from here. It's almost two to
Riveredge itself. What brought you out this way if you were going to
South Riveredge?"
But to explain just why she had turned off the direct road to South
Riveredge would be a trifle embarrassing, so Jean decided to give
another reason:
"I thought I knew my way but I guess I must have missed it, those boys
tormented me so."
"I guess you did miss it, but I don't wonder. Well, rest here a little
while, and then we'll start you safely back. Guess one of us better go
along with her hadn't we, Ned?" he asked of the gray-eyed boy.
"If we want her to get back whole I guess we had," was the laughing
answer, as Baltie's guide led him up to a carriage step and stopped.
Baltie's coat was steaming. "Got a blanket? Better let me put it on
your horse. He's pretty warm from his race and the day is snappy."
Jean bounded up from the seat and pulled the blanket from it. It was
not a very heavy blanket and when the boy had put it carefully upon
the old horse, it seemed hardly thick enough to protect him. "Let me
have the rug too," he ordered, and without a second's thought jerked
up the rug and gave it a toss. Up came the box of candy with it, to
balance a second upon one end as daintily as a tight-rope dancer
balances upon a rope, then keel gracefully over and land
bottom-side-up, upon the tan-bark of the driveway, the packages of
candy flying in twenty different directions.
Jean's cry of dismay was echoed by the boys' shouts as their eyes
quickly grasped the significance of those dainty white parcels. A wild
scramble to rescue her wares followed, as Jean was plied with
questions.
"Are they yours? What are you going to do with them?" "Are they for
sale?" "Can we buy some?" "How much are they?" "Lend me some cash,
Bob?"
Never was an enterprising merchant so suddenly plunged into a rushing
business. Jean's head whirled for a moment. How much were the packages
of candy? She hadn't the vaguest idea, and circumstances had not made
it convenient to ascertain before she set forth. However, her wits
came to her rescue and she recalled the little packages which
Constance had made for the fair, and which had sold for ten cents
each. So ten cents _she_ would charge, and presently was doling out
her rescued packages of fudge and dropping dimes into her box to take
the place of the packages which were so quickly disappearing from it.
Given four dozen packages of exceptionally delicious home-made candy,
and twenty or thirty boys, after an hour's foot-ball exercise, upon a
crisp January morning, each more or less supplied with pocket money,
and it is a combination pretty sure to work to the advantage of the
candy-maker.
Jean's eyes danced, and her face was radiant. Her business was in its
most flourishing stage when she became aware that another actor had
appeared upon the scene, and was regarding her steadily through a pair
of very large, very round, and very thick-lensed eye-glasses, and with
the solemn expression of a meditative owl. How long he had been a
silent observer of her financial operations Jean had no idea. His
presence did not appear to embarrass the boys in any way; indeed, when
they became aware of it two or three of them promptly urged him to
partake of their toothsome dainties. This he did in the same grave,
absorbed manner.
"Great, aint they, Professor?" asked one lad.
"Quite unusual. Who is the juvenile vender?" he asked.
"We don't know. She was out yonder in the road with half McKim's
Hollow after her when we fellows rallied to the rescue. She was as
plucky as any thing, and was putting up a great standoff when we got
in our licks."
"Ah! Indeed! And how came she to have such a feast along with her.
I'll take another, thank you, Ned. They are really excellent," and
instead of "another" the last three of "Ned's" package were calmly
appropriated and eaten in the same abstracted manner that the other
pieces had been. Ned looked somewhat blank and turning toward one of
his companions, winked and smiled slyly, then said to the Professor:
"Better buy some quick. They are going like hot cakes."