At last the Women's Temperance Workers' Union of Smyrna became
thoroughly indignant, in addition to being somewhat mystified.
Twice they had "waited on" Landlord Ferd Parrott, of the Smyrna
tavern--twelve of them in a stern delegation--and he had simply
blinked at them out of his puckery eyes, and pawed nervously at his
weazened face, and had given them no satisfaction.
Twice they had marched bravely into the town office and had faced
Cap'n Aaron Sproul, first selectman, and had complained that Ferd
Parrott was running "a reg'lar rum-hole." Cap'n Sproul had nipped
his bristly beard and gazed away from them at the ceiling, and said
he would see what could be done about it.
Mrs. Aaron Sproul, a devoted member of the W.T.W.'s, was appointed
a committee of one to sound him, and found him, even in the sweet
privacy of home, so singularly embarrassed and uncommunicative that
her affectionate heart was disturbed and grieved.
Then came Constable Zeburee Nute into the presence of the town's
chief executive with a complaint.
"They're gittin' worse'n hornicks round me," he whined, "them
Double-yer T. Double-yers. Want Ferd's place raided for licker. But
I understood you to tell me--"
"I hain't told you northin' about it!" roared the Cap'n, with mighty
clap of open palm on the town ledger.
"Well, you hain't give off orders to raid, seize and diskiver, libel
and destroy," complained the officer.
"What be you, a 'tomatom that don't move till you pull a string, or
be you an officer that's supposed to know his own duty clear, and
follow it?" demanded the first selectman.
"Constables is supposed to take orders from them that's above 'em,"
declared Mr. Nute. "I'm lookin' to you, and the Double-yer T.
Double-yers is lookin' to you."
"Well, if it's botherin' your eyesight, you'd better look t'other
way," growled the Cap'n.
"Be I goin' to raid or ain't I goin' to raid?" demanded Constable
Nute. "It's for you to say!"
"Look here, Nute," said the Cap'n, rising and aiming his forefinger
at the constable's nose as he would have levelled a bulldog revolver,
"if you and them wimmen think you're goin' to use me as a pie-fork
to lift hot dishes out of an oven that they've heated, you'd better
leave go--that's all I've got to say."
"You might just as well know it's makin' talk," ventured the
constable, taking a safer position near the door. A queer sort of
embarrassment that he noted in the Cap'n's visage emboldened him.
"You know just as well as I do that Ferd Parrott has gone and took
to sellin' licker. Old Branscomb is goin' home tea-ed up reg'lar,
and Al Leavitt and Pud Follansby and a half a dozen others are settin'
there all times of night, playin' cards and makin' a reg'lar ha'nt
of it. If Ferd ain't shet up it will be said"--the constable looked
into the snapping eyes of the first selectman and halted
apprehensively.
"It ain't that I believe any such thing, Cap'n Sproul," he declared
at last, breaking an embarrassing silence. "But here's them wimmen
takin' up them San Francisco scandals to study in their Current
Events Club, and when the officers here don't act when complaint is
made about a hell-hole right here in town, talk starts, and it ain't
complimentary talk, either. Pers'n'ly, I feel like a tiger strainin'
at his chain, and I'd like orders to go ahead."
"Tiger, hey?" remarked the Cap'n, looking him up and down. "I knowed
you reminded me of something, but I didn't know what, before. Now,
if them wimmen--" he began with decision, but broke off to stare
through the town-office window. Mr. Nute stepped from the door to
take observation, too.
Twelve women in single file were picking their way across the mushy
street piled with soft March snow.
"Reckon the Double-yer T. Double-yers is goin' to wait on Ferd ag'in
to give him his final come-uppance," suggested the constable. "Heard
some talk of it yistiddy."
The Smyrna tavern into which they disappeared was a huge hulk, relic
of the old days when the stage-coaches made the village their
headquarters. The storms of years had washed the paint from it; it
had "hogged" in the roof where the great square chimney projected
its nicked bulk from among loosened bricks scattered on the shingles;
and from knife-gnawed "deacon-seat" on the porch to window-blind,
dangling from one hinge on the broad gable, the old structure was
seedy indeed.
"I kind of pity Ferd," mumbled the constable, his faded eyes on the
cracked door that the last woman had slammed behind her. "Hain't
averaged to put up one man a week for five years, and I reckon he's
had to sell rum or starve."
Cap'n Sproul made no observation. He still maintained that air of
not caring to discuss the affairs of the Smyrna tavern. He stared
at the building as though he rather expected to see the sides tumble
out or the roof fly up, or something of the sort.
He did not bestow any especial attention on his friend Hiram Look
when the ex-circus man drove up to the hitching-post in front of the
town house with a fine flourish, hitched and came in.
"Seems that your wife and mine have gone temperancin' again to-day
with the bunch," remarked Hiram, relighting his cigar. "I don't know
what difference it makes whether old Branscomb and the other soshes
round here get their ruin in an express-package or help Ferd to a
little business. They're bound to have it, anyway."
"That ain't the p'int," protested Constable Nute, stiffly, throwing
back his coat to display his badge. "Ferd Parrott's breakin' the law,
and it hurts my feelin's as an officer to hear town magnates and
reprusentative citizens glossin' it over for him."
The Cap'n stared at him balefully but did not trust himself to retort.
Hiram was not so cautious. He bridled instantly and insolently.
"There's always some folks in this world ready to stick their noses
into the door-crack of a man's business when they know the man ain't
got strength to slam the door shut on 'em. Wimmen's clubs is all right
so long as they stick to readin' hist'ry and discussin' tattin', but
when they flock like a lot of old hen turkeys and go to peckin' a
man because he's down and can't help himself, it ain't anything but
persecution--wolves turnin' on another one that's got his leg broke.
I know animiles, and I know human critters. Them wimmen better be
in other business, and I told my wife so this mornin'."
"So did I," said Cap'n Sproul, gloomily.
"And mine up at me like a settin' hen."
"So did mine," assented the Cap'n.
"Gave me a lecture on duties of man to feller man."
"Jest the same to my house."
"Have any idea who's been stuffin' their heads with them notions?"
inquired Hiram, malevolently.
"Remember that square-cornered female with a face harder'n the
physog of a wooden figurehead that was here last winter, and took
'em aloft and told 'em how to reef parli'ment'ry law, and all such?"
asked the Cap'n. "Well, she was the one."
"You mind my word," cried Hiram, vibrating his cigar, "when a wife
begins to take orders from an old maid in frosted specs instead of
from her own husband, then the moths is gettin' ready to eat the
worsted out of the cardboard in the motto 'God bless our home!'"
"Law is law," broke in the unabashed representative of it, "and if
the men-folks of this town ain't got the gumption to stand behind
an officer--"
"Look here, Nute," gritted the Cap'n, "I'll stand behind you in about
two seconds, and I'll be standin' on one foot, at that! Don't you
go to castin' slurs on your betters. Because I've stood some talk
from you to-day isn't any sign that I'm goin' to stand any more."
Now the first selectman had the old familiar glint in his eyes, and
Mr. Nute sat down meekly, returning no answer to the Cap'n's
sarcastic inquiry why he wasn't over at the tavern acting as convoy
for the Temperance Workers.
Two minutes later some one came stamping along the corridor of the
town house. The office door was ajar, and this some one pushed it
open with his foot.
It was Landlord Ferd Parrott. In one hand he carried an old glazed
valise, in the other a canvas extension-case, this reduplication of
baggage indicating a serious intention on the part of Mr. Parrott
to travel far and remain long. His visage was sullen and the set of
his jaws was ugly. Mr. Parrott had eyes that turned out from his nose,
and though the Cap'n and Hiram were on opposite sides of the room
it seemed as though his peculiar vision enabled him to fix an eye
on each at the same time.
"I'm glad I found you here both together," he snarled. "I can tell
you both at one whack. I ain't got northin' against you. You've used
me like gents. I don't mean to dump you, nor northin' of the sort,
but there ain't anything I can seem to do. You take what there
is--this here is all that belongs to me." He shook the valises at
them. "I'm goin' to git out of this God-forsaken town--I'm goin' now,
and I'm goin' strong, and you're welcome to all I leave, just as I
leave it. For the first time in my life I'm glad I'm a widderer."
After gazing at Mr. Parrott for a little time the Cap'n and Hiram
searched each the other's face with much interest. It was apparent
that perfect confidence did not exist between them on some matters
that were to the fore just then.
"Yours," said Mr. Parrott, jerking a stiff nod to the Cap'n, "is a
morgidge on house and stable and land. Yours," he continued, with
another nod at Hiram, "is a bill o' sale of all the furniture, dishes,
liv'ry critters and stable outfit. Take it all and git what you can
out of it."
"This ain't no way to do--skip out like this," objected Hiram.
"Well, it's _my_ way," replied Mr. Parrott, stubbornly, "and, seein'
that you've got security and all there is, I don't believe you can
stop me."
Mr. Parrott dropped his valises and whacked his fists together.
"If the citizens of this place don't want a hotel they needn't have
a hotel," he shrilled. "If they want to turn wimmen loose on me to
run me up a tree, by hossomy! I'll pull the tree up after me."
"Look here, Ferd," said the Cap'n, eagerly, forgetting for the moment
the presence of Constable Nute, "those wimmen might gabble a little
at you and make threats and things like that--but--but--there isn't
anything they can do, you understand!" He winked at Mr. Parrott. "You
know what I told you!"
But Mr. Parrott was in no way swayed or mollified.
"They _can't'_ do anything, can't they?" he squealed. "They've been
into my house and knocked in the head of a keg of Medford rum, and
busted three demijohns of whiskey, and got old Branscomb to sign the
pledge, and scared off the rest of the boys. Now they're goin' to
hire a pung, and a delegation of three is goin' to meet every train
with badges on and tell every arrivin' guest that the Smyrna tavern
is a nasty, wicked place, and old Aunt Juliet Gifford and her two
old-maid girls are goin' to put up all parties at half-price. They
_can't_ do anything, hey! them wimmen can't? Well, that's what
they've done to date--and if the married men of this place can't keep
their wives to home and their noses out of my business, then Smyrna
can get along without a tavern. I'm done, I say. It's all yours."
Mr. Parrott tossed his open palms toward them in token of utter
surrender, and picked up his valises.
"You can't shove that off onto us that way," roared Hiram.
"Well, your money is there, and you can go take it or leave it,"
retorted the desperate Mr. Parrott. "You'd better git your money
where you can git it, seein' that you can't very well git it out of
my hide." And the retiring landlord of Smyrna tavern stormed out and
plodded away down the mushy highway.
Constable Nute gazed after him through the window, and then surveyed
the first selectman and Hiram with fresh and constantly increasing
interest. His tufty eyebrows crawled like caterpillars, indicating
that the thoughts under them must be of a decidedly stirring nature.
"Huh! That's it, is it?" he muttered, and noting that Cap'n Sproul
seemed to be recovering his self-possession, he preferred not to wait
for the threats and extorted pledge that his natural craftiness
scented. He dove out.
"Where be ye goin' to?" demanded Hiram, checking the savage rush of
the Cap'n.
"Catch him and make him shet his chops about this, if I have to spike
his old jaws together."
"It ain't no use," said Hiram, gloomily, setting his shoulders
against the door. "You'd only be makin' a show and spectacle in front
of the wimmen. And after that they'd squat the whole thing out of
him, the same as you'd squat stewed punkin through a sieve." He bored
the Cap'n with inquiring eye. "You wasn't tellin' me that you held
a morgidge on that tavern real estate." There was reproach in his
tones.
"No, and you wasn't tellin' me that you had a bill of sale of the
fixin's and furniture," replied the Cap'n with acerbity. "How much
did you let him have?"
"Fifteen hunderd," said Hiram, rather shamefacedly, but he perked
up a bit when he added: "There's three pretty fair hoss-kind."
"If there's anything about that place that's spavined any worse'n
them hosses it's the bedsteads," snorted the other capitalist. "He's
beat you by five hundred dollars. If you should pile that furniture
in the yard and hang up a sign, 'Help yourself,' folks wouldn't haul
it off without pay for truckin'."
"Le's see!" said Hiram, fingering his nose, "was it real money or
Confederate scrip that _you_ let him have on _your_ morgidge?"
"Thutty-five hunderd ain't much on the most central piece of real
estate in this village," declared the Cap'n, in stout defence.
"It's central, all right, but so is the stomach-ache," remarked Hiram,
calmly. "What good is that land when there ain't been a buildin' built
in this town for fifteen years, and no call for any? As for the house,
I'll bet ye a ten-cent cigar I can go over there and push it down--and
I ain't braggin' of my strength none, either."
The Cap'n did not venture to defend his investment further. He stared
despondently through the window at the seamed roof and weather-worn
walls that looked particularly forlorn and dilapidated on that gray
March day.
"I let him have money on it when the trees was leaved out, and things
look different then," he sighed.
"And I must have let him have it when I was asleep and dreamin' that
Standard Ile had died and left his money to me," snorted the showman.
"I ain't blamin' you, Cap, and you needn't blame me, but the size
of it is you and me has gone into partnership and bought a tavern,
and didn't know it. If they had let Parrott alone he might have
wiggled out of the hole after a while."
"It ain't wuth a hoorah in a hen-pen if it ain't run as a tavern,"
stated the Cap'n. "I ain't in favor of rum nor sellin' rum, and I
knew that Ferd was sellin' a little suthin' on the sly, but he told
me he was goin' to repair up and git in some summer boarders, and
I was lettin' him work along. There ain't much business nor
look-ahead to wimmen, is there?" he asked, sourly.
"Not when they bunch themselves in a flock and get to squawkin',"
agreed his friend.
"I don't know what they are doin' over there now," averred the first
selectman, "but before they set fire to it or tear the daylights out,
and seein' as how it's our property accordin' to present outlook,
I reckon we'd better go over and put an eye on things. They prob'ly
think it belongs to Ferd."
"Not since that bean-pole with a tin badge onto it got acrost there
with its mouth open," affirmed Hiram, with decision, "and if he ain't
told 'em that we bought Ferd out and set him up in the rum business,
he's lettin' us out easier than I figger on."
The concerted glare of eyes that fairly assailed them when they
somewhat diffidently ventured into the office of the tavern
indicated that Hiram was not far off in his "figgerin'." The
embarrassed self-consciousness of Constable Nute, staring at the
stained ceiling, told much. The indignant eyes of the women told
more.
Mr. Parrott's brother was a sea-captain who had sent him "stuffed"
natural-history curios from all parts of the world, and Mr. Parrott
had arranged a rather picturesque interior. Miss Philamese Nile,
president of the W.T.W.'s, stood beneath a dusty alligator that swung
from the ceiling, and Cap'n Sproul, glancing from one to the other,
confessed to himself that he didn't know which face looked the most
savage.
She advanced on him, forefinger upraised.
"Before you go to spreadin' sail, marm," said the Cap'n, stoutly,
"you'd better be sure that you ain't got holt of the down-haul instead
of the toppin'-lift."
"Talk United States, Cap'n Sproul," snapped Miss Nile. "You've had
your money in this pit of perdition here, you and Hiram Look, the
two of you. As a town officer you've let Ferd Parrott fun a cheap,
nasty rum-hole, corruptin' and ruinin' the manhood of Smyrna, and
you've helped cover up this devilishness, though we, the wimmen of
this town, have begged and implored on bended knee. Now, that's plain,
straight Yankee language, and we want an answer in the same tongue."
Neither the Cap'n nor Hiram found any consolation at that moment in
the countenances of their respective wives. Those faces were very
red, but their owners looked away resolutely and were plainly
animated by a stern sense of duty, bulwarked as they were by the
Workers.
"We've risen for the honor of this town," continued Miss Nile.
"Well, stay up, then!" snorted the short-tempered Hiram. "Though as
for me, I never could see anything very handsome in a hen tryin' to
fly."
"Do you hear that?" shrilled Miss Nile. "Aren't you proud of your
noble husband, Mis' Look? Isn't he a credit to the home and an
ornament to his native land?"
But Hiram, when indignant, was never abashed.
"Wimmen," said he, "has their duties to perform and their place to
fill--all except old maids that make a specialty of 'tending to other
folks' business." He bent a withering look on Miss Nile. "Cap'n
Sproul and me ain't rummies, and you can't make it out so, not even
if you stand here and talk till you spit feathers. We've had business
dealin's with Parrott, and business is business."
"And every grafter 'twixt here and kingdom come has had the same
excuse," declared the valiant head of the Workers. "Business or no
business, Ferd Parrott is done runnin' this tavern."
"There's a point I reckon you and me can agree on," said Hiram, sadly.
He gazed out to where the tracks of Mr. Parrott led away through the
slush.
"And it's the sense of the women of this place that such a dirty old
ranch sha'n't disgrace Smyrna any longer."
"You mean--"
"I mean shut up these doors--nail 'em--and let decent and respectable
women put up the folks who pass this way--put 'em up in a decent and
respectable place. That's the sense of the women."
"And it's about as much sense as wimmen show when they get out of
their trodden path," cried Hiram, angrily. "You and the rest of ye
think, do ye, that me and Cap'n Sproul is goin' to make a present
of five thousand dollars to have this tavern stand here as a
Double-yer T. Double-yer monnyment? Well, as old Bassett said,
skursely, and not even as much as that!"
"Then I'd like to see the man that can run it," declared the
spokeswoman with fine spirit. "We're going to back Mis' Gifford.
We're going to the train to get custom for her. We're going to warn
every one against this tavern. There isn't a girl or woman in twenty
towns around here who'll work in this hole after we've warned 'em
what it is. Yes, sir, I'd like to see the man that can run it!"
"Well, you look at him!" shouted Hiram, slapping his breast. He noted
a look of alarm on the Cap'n's face, and muttered to him under his
breath: "You ain't goin' to let a pack of wimmen back ye down, be
ye?"
"How be we goin' to work to run it?" whispered the Cap'n.
"That ain't the p'int now," growled Hiram. "The p'int is, we're goin'
to run it. And you've got to back me up."
"Hiram!" called his wife, appealingly, but he had no ears for her.
"You've made your threats," he stormed, addressing the leader of the
Workers. "You haven't talked to us as gents ought to be talked to.
You haven't made any allowances. You haven't shown any charity.
You've just got up and tried to jam us to the wall. Now, seein' that
your business is done here, and that this tavern is under new
management, you'll be excused to go over and start your own place."
He opened the door and bowed, and the women, noting determination
in his eyes, began to murmur, to sniff spitefully, and to jostle
slowly out. Mrs. Look and Mrs. Sproul showed some signs of lingering,
but Hiram suggested dryly that they'd better stick with the band.
"We'll be man and wife up home," he said, "and no twits and no hard
feelin's. But just now you are Double-yer T. Double-yers and we are
tavern-keepers--and we don't hitch." They went.
"Now, Nute," barked Hiram, when the constable lingered as though
rather ashamed to depart with the women, "you get out of here and
you stay out, or I'll cook that stuffed alligator and a few others
of these tangdoodiaps here and ram 'em down them old jaws of yours."
Therefore, Constable Nute went, too.