OL' WILL ROGERS
Beth had her folding table out in the rose garden where Kenneth was
working at his easel, and while the boy painted she wrote her campaign
letters and "editorials."
At first Ken had resented the management of his campaign by his three
girl friends; but soon he was grateful for their assistance and proud of
their talents. It was at their own request that he refrained from any
active work himself, merely appearing at the meetings they planned,
where he made his speeches and impressed his hearers with his
earnestness. He was really an excellent speaker, and his youth and
enthusiasm counted much in his favor.
He protested mildly when Louise invited the Women's Political Club to
meet at Elmhurst on Thursday afternoon, but Mr. Watson assured him that
this was an important play for popularity, so he promised to meet them.
Tables were to be spread upon the lawn, for the late October weather was
mild and delightful, and Louise planned to feed the women in a way that
they would long remember.
Patsy had charge of the towns and Louise of the country districts, but
Beth often aided Louise, who had a great deal of territory to cover.
The automobiles Uncle John had ordered sent down were a great assistance
to the girls, and enabled them to cover twice as much territory in a day
as would have been done with horses.
But, although they worked so tirelessly and earnestly, it was not all
plain sailing with the girl campaigners. Yet though they met with many
rebuffs, they met very little downright impertinence. Twice Louise was
asked to leave a house where she had attempted to make a proselyte, and
once a dog was set upon Beth by an irate farmer, who resented her
automobile as much as he did her mission. As for Patsy, she was often
told in the towns that "a young girl ought to be in better business than
mixing up in politics," and she was sensitive enough once or twice to
cry over these reproaches when alone in her chamber. But she maintained
a cheerful front; and, in truth, all the girls enjoyed their work
immensely.
While Beth and Kenneth were in the garden this sunny afternoon James
came to say that a man wanted to see "one of the politics young ladies."
"Shall we send him about his business, Beth?" asked the boy.
"Oh, no; we can't afford to lose a single vote. Bring him here, James,
please," said the girl.
So presently a wizened little man in worn and threadbare garments, his
hat in his hand, came slowly into the garden. His sunken cheeks were
covered with stubby gray whiskers, his shoulders were stooped and bent
from hard work, and his hands bore evidences of a life of toil. Yet the
eyes he turned upon Beth, as she faced him had a wistful and pleading
look that affected her strangely.
"Afternoon, miss," he said, in a hesitating voice. "I--I'm Rogers, miss;
ol' Will Rogers. I--I s'pose you hain't heerd o' me before."
"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Rogers," replied the girl in her pleasant
voice. "Have you come to see me about the election?"
"It's--it's sump'n 'bout the 'lection, an' then agin it ain't. But I run
the chanct o' seein' ye, because we're in desprit straits, an' Nell
advised that I hev a talk with ye. 'Frank an' outright,' says Nell.
'Don't beat about the bush,' says she. 'Go right to th' point an'
they'll say yes or no."
Beth laughed merrily, and the boy smiled as he wielded his brush with
delicate strokes.
"Ye mustn't mind me, miss," said Will Rogers, in a deprecating tone.
"I'm--I'm sommut broke up an' discouraged, an' ain't th' man I used to
be. Nell knows that, an' she orter came herself; but it jes' made her
cry to think o' it, an' so I says I'll come an' do the best I kin."
Beth was really interested now.
"Sit down on this bench, Mr. Rogers," she said, "and I'll listen to
whatever you have to say."
He sat down willingly, bent forward as he rested upon the garden bench,
and twirled his hat slowly in his hands.
"'Taint easy, ye know, miss, to say some things, an' this is one o' the
hardest," he began.
"Go on," said Beth, encouragingly, for old Will had suddenly stopped
short and seemed unable to proceed.
"They say, miss, as you folks is a-spendin' uv a lot o' money on this
election, a-gittin' votes, an' sich like," he said, in an altered tone.
"It costs a little to run a political campaign," acknowledged Beth.
"They say money's bein' poured out liken water--to git votes," he
persisted.
"Well, Mr. Rogers?"
"Well, thet's how it started, ye see. We're so agonizin' poor, Nell
thought we orter git some o' the money while it's goin'."
The girl was much amused. Such frankness was both unusual and
refreshing.
"Have you a vote to sell?" she asked.
He did not answer at once, but sat slowly twirling his hat.
"That's jet' what Nell thought ye'd ask," he said, finally, "an' she
knew if ye did it was all up with our plan. Guess I'll be goin', miss."
He rose slowly from his seat, but the girl did not intend to lose any of
the fun this queer individual might yet furnish.
"Sit down, Mr. Rogers," she said, "and tell me why you can't answer my
questions?"
"I guess I'll hev to speak out an' tell all," said he, his voice
trembling a little, "although I thought fer a minnit I could see my way
without. I can't sell my vote, miss, 'cause I've been plannin' t'vote
fer Mr. Forbes anyhow. But we wanted some uv th' money that's being
wasted, an' we wanted it mighty bad."
"Why?"
"Thet's the hard part uv it, miss; but I'm goin' to tell you. Did ye
ever hear o' Lucy?"
"No, Mr. Rogers."
"Lucy's our girl--the on'y chick er child we ever had. She's a pretty
girl, is Lucy; a good deal liken her mother; wi' the same high spirits
my Nell had afore she broke down. Mostly Nell cries, nowadays."
"Yes. Go on."
"Lucy had a schoolin', an' we worked hard to give it her, fer my land
ain't much account, nohow. An' when she grew up she had more boys comin'
to see her than any gal this side o' Fairview, an' one o' 'em caught
Lucy's fancy. But she was too young to marry, an' she wanted to be
earnin' money; so she got a job workin' fer Doc Squiers, over to
Elmwood. He's the dentist there, an' Lucy helped with the housework an'
kept the office slicked up, an' earned ev'ry penny she got."
He stopped here, and looked vacantly around.
Beth tried to help the old man.
"And then?" she asked, softly.
"Then come the trouble, miss. One day ol' Mis' Squiers, the Doc's
mother, missed a di'mon' ring. She laid it on the mantel an' it was
gone, an' she said as Lucy took it. Lucy didn't take it, an' after
they'd tried to make my gal confess as she was a thief they give 'er
three days to hand up the ring or the money it was worth, or else they'd
hev her arrested and sent t' jail. Lucy didn't take it, ye know. She
jes' _couldn't_ do sech a thing, natcherly."
"I know," said Beth, sympathetically.
"So she comes home, heartbroken, an' told us about it, an' we didn't hev
th' money nuther. It were sixty dollars they wanted, or th' ring; an' we
didn't hev neither of 'em."
"Of course not."
"Well, Tom come over thet night to see Lucy, hearin' she was home,
an'--"
"Who is Tom?"
"Thet's Tom Gates, him thet--but I'm comin' to thet, miss. Tom always
loved Lucy, an' wanted to marry her; but his folks is as poor as we are,
so the young 'uns had to wait. Tom worked at the mill over t'
Fairview--the big saw-mill where they make the lumber an' things."
"I know."
"He was the bookkeeper, fer Tom had schoolin', too; an' he took private
lessons in bookkeepin' from ol' Cheeseman. So he had got hired at the
mill, an' had a likely job, an' was doin' well. An' when Tom heerd about
Lucy's trouble, an' thet she had only two days left before goin' to
jail, he up an' says: 'I'll get the money, Lucy: don' you worry a bit.'
'Oh, Tom!' says she, 'hev you got sixty dollars saved already?' 'I've
got it, Lucy,' says he, 'an' I'll go over tomorrow an' pay Doc Squiers.
Don' you worry any more. Forget all about it.' Well o' course, miss,
that helped a lot. Nell an' Lucy both felt the disgrace of the thing,
but it wouldn't be a public disgrace, like goin' to jail; so we was all
mighty glad Tom had that sixty dollars."
"It was very fortunate," said Beth, filling in another pause.
"The nex' day Tom were as good as his word. He paid Doc Squiers an' got
a receipt an' giv it to Lucy. Then we thought th' trouble was over, but
it had on'y just begun. Monday mornin' Tom was arrested over t' the mill
fer passin' a forged check an' gettin' sixty dollars on it. Lucy was
near frantic with grief. She walked all the way to Fairview, an' they
let her see Tom in the jail. He tol' her it was true he forged th'
check, but he did it to save her. He was a man an' it wouldn't hurt fer
him to go to jail so much as it would a girl. He said he was glad he did
it, an' didn't mind servin' a sentence in prison. I think, miss, as Tom
meant thet--ev'ry word uv it. But Lucy broke down under the thing an'
raved an' cried, an' nuther Nell ner I could do anything with her. She
said she'd ruined Tom's life an' all thet, an' she didn't want to live
herself. Then she took sick, an' Nell an' I nursed her as careful as we
could. How'n the wurld she ever got away we can't make out, nohow."
"Did she get away?" asked the girl, noting that the old man's eyes were
full of tears and his lips trembling.
"Yes, miss. She's bin gone over ten days, now, an' we don't even know
where to look fer her; our girl--our poor Lucy. She ain't right in her
head, ye know, or she'd never a done it. She'd never a left us like this
in th' world. 'Taint like our Lucy."
Kenneth had turned around on his stool and was regarding old Will Rogers
earnestly, brush and pallet alike forgotten. Beth was trying to keep the
tears out of her own eyes, for the old man's voice was even more
pathetic than his words.
"Ten days ago!" said Kenneth. "And she hasn't been found yet?"
"We can't trace her anywhere, an' Nell has broke down at las', an' don't
do much but cry. It's hard, sir--I can't bear to see Nell cry. She'd
sich high sperrits, onct."
"Where's the boy Tom?" asked Kenneth, somewhat gruffly.
"He's in the jail yet, waitin' to be tried. Court don't set till next
week, they say."
"And where do you live, Rogers?"
"Five miles up the Fairview road. 'Taint much of a place--Nell says I've
always bin a shif'les lot, an' I guess it's true. Yesterday your hired
men painted all the front o' my fence--painted it white--not only where
th' signs was, but th' whole length of it. We didn't ask it done, but
they jes' done it. I watched 'em, an' Nell says if we on'y had th' money
thet was wasted on thet paint an' labor, we might find our Lucy. 'It's a
shame,' says Nell, 'all thet 'lection money bein' thrown away on paint
when it might save our poor crazy child.' I hope it ain't wrong, sir;
but thet's what I thought, too. So we laid plans fer me to come here
today. Ef I kin get a-hold o' any o' thet money honest, I want to do
it."
"Have you got a horse?" asked Kenneth.
"Not now. I owned one las' year, but he died on me an' I can't get
another nohow."
"Did you walk here?" asked Beth.
"Yes, miss; o' course. I've walked the hull county over a-tryin' to find
Lucy. I don' mind the walking much."
There was another pause, while old Will Rogers looked anxiously at the
boy and the girl, and they looked at each other. Then Beth took out her
purse.
"I want to hire your services to help us in the election," she said,
briskly. "I'll furnish you a horse and buggy and you can drive around
and talk with people and try to find Lucy at the same time. This twenty
dollars is to help you pay expenses. You needn't account for it; just
help us as much as you can."
The old man straightened up and his eyes filled again.
"Nell said if it was a matter o' charity I mustn't take a cent," he
observed, in a low voice.
'"It isn't charity. It's business. And now that we know your story we
mean to help you find your girl. Anyone would do that, you know. Tell
me, what is Lucy like?"
"She's like Nell used to be."
"But we don't know your wife. Describe Lucy as well as you can. Is she
tall?"
"Middlin', miss."
"Light or dark?"
"Heh?"
"Is her hair light or dark colored?"
"Middlin'; jes' middlin', miss."
"Well, is she stout or thin?"
"I should say sorter betwixt an' between, miss."
"How old is Lucy?"
"Jes' turned eighteen, miss."
"Never mind, Beth," interrupted the boy; "you won't learn much from old
Will's description. But we'll see what can be done tomorrow. Call James
and have him sent home in the rig he's going to use. It seems to me
you're disposing rather freely of my horses and carts."
"Yes, Ken. You've nothing to say about your belongings just now. But if
you object to this plan--"
"I don't. The girl must be found, and her father is more likely to find
her than a dozen other searchers. He shall have the rig and welcome."
So it was that Will Rogers drove back to his heartbroken wife in a smart
top-buggy, with twenty dollars in his pocket and a heart full of wonder
and thanksgiving.