THE MURDER
At half past one that afternoon a messenger appeared at Grandoken's
with a letter for Jinnie.
Peggy called the girl to the shop.
"Boy's got something for you," she declared. "It's a letter, I
guess."
Jinnie held out her hand with thumping pulses, took the extended
pencil, and signed her name to a blank page. Then the boy held out the
missive. Of course it was from Theodore, thought Jinnie. She had
scarcely slept the night before, fitfully dreaming of him. Throwing a
shy smile at Peg, she went into her bedroom and shut the door. With a
long, ecstatic breath, she set herself to the delightful task of
slowly perusing the beloved epistle.
"My darling," Jinnie read, and she kissed those two words, each one
separately. Then she whispered them again, "My darling," and read on:
"I'm coming this afternoon at three to see your uncle, and I thought
you might like me to talk with him alone. It will be a simple matter
for you to take the little blind boy and go away for an hour or so,
but be sure and return at four. By that time I'll have our
arrangements all made, but I won't go until I see you.
"I send all my love to you, my sweetheart.
"Your own,
"THEODORE."
Jinnie kissed the words "my sweetheart" too, and then joyfully slipped
the letter inside her dress. She daren't speak of his coming, for how
could she conceal her happiness from Lafe?
At two o'clock, she said to Peggy:
"May I take Bobbie for a little walk, dear?"
The blind child heard the request and scrambled up.
"Can I go, Peggy?" he pleaded.
Peg glared at the girl.
"I thought you always fiddled in the afternoon," she queried.
"I do generally," acquiesced Jinnie, "but--to-day----"
"Well, go 'long," said Peg, not very graciously. "I'm goin' over to
Miss Bates' a while. Maudlin come by just now, an' said would I come
over.... Get back early!"
Jinnie dressed Bobbie with trembling fingers. The boy noticed she
could scarcely button his jacket.
"What's the matter, Jinnie dear?" he whispered.
Jinnie was just slipping on his cap as he spoke. She bent and kissed
him passionately.
"Nothing, honey, only Jinnie's happy, very happy."
"I'm so glad," sighed Bobbie, with a smiling wag. "I'm happy too.
Let's go on the hill, and take Petey."
"It'd be lovely, dear," replied the girl.
A few minutes later, with the little dog at their heels, they were
wending their way up the board walk to the hill.
Mr. Grandoken, alone in his shop, worked with contented vigor. The
days, those beautiful summer days, were bringing untold joy to him.
Peggy seemed in brighter spirits, and Jinnie's radiant face made Lafe
rejoice. Little Bobbie's stars were always shining nowadays, so what
more could the dear man want? As he sat tip-tapping, he took himself
in fancy to that day ahead when Heaven would unfold another blessing
for Peg--for him. He put down his hammer and glanced out of the
window, and suddenly Maudlin Bates loomed up, with all his hulking
swagger obliterating the shoemaker's mental bliss.
Lafe nodded as Maudlin stepped into the shop. There was an unusually
aggressive expression upon the young wood gatherer's face, and Mr.
Grandoken refrained from asking him to sit down. Instead he
questioned:
"Brought some cobblin'?"
"No," said Bates. "Wanted to talk to you; that's all."
"Hurry up, then, 'cause I'm busy."
"Where's Jinnie?" queried Maudlin.
Swift anger changed the cobbler's face.
"What's that to you?" he demanded. "And you needn't be drippin'
tobacco juice around my shop."
"Won't hurt it, I guess," answered Maudlin insolently, sitting down
heavily.
With every passing minute, Lafe was growing more and more enraged.
"Yap me your business and get out," he ordered, picking up his
hammer.
He settled his eyes on the sodden face before him, and for a minute or
two each plumbed the strength of the other.
"I'm goin' to marry Jinnie," announced Maudlin, drawing his large feet
together and clasping his fingers over his knees.
The cobbler deliberately placed the hammer beside him once more and
leaned back against the wall.
"Who said so?" he asked.
"I do," defied Maudlin, swaggering.
"Is that what you come to say to me?"
"Yep."
"Well, now you're done with your braggin', get out, an' get out
quick."
But Maudlin didn't move.
"I said to scoot," said Lafe presently, in suppressed tones. He was
magnificent in his ferocity.
"I heard you!" observed Maudlin, still sitting, though a little cowed
in his former egotistical spirit.
Lafe picked up the hammer and pounded frantically on the sole of a
shoe.
"I'm goin' to have money," muttered Maudlin when the cobbler paused
for a few nails.
As Lafe proceeded with his work silently, Maudlin said:
"I'll marry Jinnie and take the empty shack next to pa's. I got money,
I said."
Lafe's lips were moving rapidly, but the other could not hear what he
was saying. The fact was, the cobbler was asking for strength and
self-control.
"Where's Jinnie?" demanded Maudlin again.
"She ain't here," said Lafe, "an' I want you to get out before she
comes."
He said this more gently, because his muttered prayers had somewhat
assuaged his rage.
Just then a motor car dashed into the little lane at the side of the
house, and Maudlin knew that Morse had arrived.
"I'll go when I see Jinnie," he insisted, sinking deeper into his
chair, "I want to tell 'er somethin' about a party."
"Ain't no show o' your seein' 'er to-day," replied Lafe. "I bargained
with your pa about you lettin' my girl alone, and that's all there is
to it."
"Pa's cobblin' ain't nothin' to do with me," observed Maudlin darkly.
"I'll wait for 'er!"
At that minute Theodore King's car drew up in front of the shop, and
he stepped out. Maudlin caught a glimpse of him and set his teeth
sharply. He'd have it out with this man, too. They might as well all
understand what his intentions were. He wondered if Morse, from his
point of vantage, had seen Mr. King arrive.
When Theodore swung into the shop, he paused at the sight of Bates and
frowned. He brought to mind the chastening he had given the fellow,
and how Jinnie had suffered through his brutality.
Lafe smiled cordially at the young man and asked him to be seated.
"Jinnie's out," stated the cobbler.
"I know it!" responded Theodore, taking a chair. "I've come to have a
talk with you." Then looking from Mr. Grandoken to Maudlin, he
queried, "Will you soon be disengaged?"
Lafe nodded.
"I hope so," he said disinterestedly.
Lafe always disciplined himself after a siege with his temper.
"He won't be alone till I get through with 'im," grunted Maudlin, with
an ugly expression. "I been tellin' 'im I'm goin' to marry Jinnie."
Lafe straightened with a throat sound that boded no good for the
speaker, and Theodore got swiftly to his feet.
"Don't repeat what you've just said," the latter gritted between his
teeth, whirling on Maudlin.
Bates shot out of his chair at this command.
"My tongue's my own," he roared, "and Jinnie'll be glad to marry me
before----"
Theodore's big fist swept out, striking the man full in the face, and
Maudlin dropped like an ox hit with an axe, but he was on his feet in
another minute. His rapidly swelling face was blanched with rage.
"Damn you, twicet and three times damn you----"
Lafe made an ejaculation, and neither one of the three men noticed
that the door to the little hall at the back had opened a trifle.
Jordan Morse was peering in upon the enraged trio. He saw the man he'd
hired to help him take the first knock down and get up swiftly. He saw
Theodore King make another dive at the wood gatherer. The cobbler was
in direct range of Jordan's vision, and he slipped his hand into his
pocket, from which he took a revolver. Two quick, short cracks, and
the pistol came flying through the room and landed near the cobbler's
bench. Then the kitchen door slammed suddenly. Theodore staggered
forward and sank slowly to the floor, while Maudlin fell headlong
without a cry.
As in a maze Lafe heard a motor leap away like a mad thing. Through
the window he could see Theodore's car where the young man had left
it. He made a desperate effort to rise, but sank back with a
shuddering groan. He forced his eyes to Bates, who was close to the
shop door, then dragged them backward to Mr. King, whose head was
almost under his bench. Each had received a bullet, and both lay
breathing unconsciously. The cobbler stooped over and placed his hand
under Theodore's head to straighten it a little. For a full minute
nothing was heard but the loud rattling in Maudlin's throat and the
steady, laborious breath of the man at his feet.
Sudden tears diffused the cobbler's eyes, and he leaned over and
tenderly touched the damp forehead of Jinnie's friend.
"He's given His angels charge over thee, boy," he murmured, just as
Jinnie, leading Bobbie by the hand, walked in.
The girl took one impetuous step forward and noted Lafe's white,
agonized face. Then she caught a glimpse of the stricken men on the
floor. Her tongue refused its office, and dropping the blind child's
fingers, she came quickly forward.
"Call help! Hurry! Get a doctor!" gasped Lafe, and Jinnie, without
saying a word, rushed out.
Afterward she could not measure with accuracy the events of that
afternoon. Peggy came home and put the terrified Bobbie in bed,
telling him curtly to stay there until she allowed him to get up.
Several doctors rushed in and examined both Theodore and Maudlin. Not
one word had escaped Jinnie's pale lips until the wounded men were
removed from the shop. Then she sank at the cobbler's feet.
"Will he die?" she whispered, in awe-stricken tones.
"Maudlin's dyin'," replied the cobbler, with bowed head, "an' Mr.
King's awful bad off, the doctor says."
Jinnie went to Lafe's side and put her arm about his neck, and as if
it had never been, their joy was blotted out by the hand of a bloody
tragedy.