Lögberg-Heimskringla - 25.02.1994, Blaðsíða 5

Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 25. febrúar 1994 • 5
neat, with dark, wavy, copper-
tinted hair, a pair of big brown
eyes, a cream-and-peaches
complexion, and the most
adorable dimples that came and
went as she spoke.
Ed took the school steps in
one jump and was through the
lobby in one stride. Helen was
sitting at her desk, those won-
derful brown eyes full of tears.
One big, silver tear was just in
the act of rolling down her vel-
vety-smooth cheek, and anoth-
er had delayed for a moment at
the dp of her nose.
“I’m soriy,” Ed stammered,
“I should have knocked.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Buckley,”
said Helen with a brave, though
tremulous, smile. To Ed it
seemed like a flood of sunlight
over a rain-washed world. “I’ve
just been rehearsing the tear-
scene in ‘Alice in Wonderland’.
Lucky you came or anything
might have happened.”
“Excuse me, Miss
Aylesworth, I known I’ve no
right to ask, but who’s the vil-
lain?”
“I’m the villainess, Mr.
Buckley.”
“How come?”
“Refused to pass Clarence
Brown, the laziest and probably
the brightest boy in school, but
undoubtedly the most hopeless-
ly spoiled.”
“Are you weeping over the
future career of Clarence?
Lucky Clarence. I call it casting
pearls before swine.”
“I should, but I’m not. I’m
weeping over the ruined career
of one Helen Aylesworth. Joe
Brown has just told me I need
not expect to come back here
next year.” The tears had been
duly wiped away, the eyes were
still red, and the tilted nose
pink, but the smile she
bestowed on Ed was genuine
and brave.
“But that isn’t fair, you are
only doing your duty.”
“I was expecting this.
Clarence has been boasting to
the other boys that he needn’t
Work. ‘My old man is the chair-
tuan of the school board’, I
overheard him saying one
Worning, ‘and if the teacher
does not pass me, he’ll make
her, or she’ll lose her job’. I
shall not pass Clarence on the
w°rk he is doing. The trustees
are meeting here tonight, and
^ h get my walking papers in the
moming. You’ll see.”
“But one man can’t speak
ror the whole district.”
“Yes, Joe Brown runs the
school. Sam Hartney and Tom
Jones, the other two trustees,
are more interested in their
farms than school affairs.
They’ve always left everything
|o Joe Brown. This school has
been open for seven years, and
there have been seven teach-
ers.”
I thought Fred Stevens was
a trustee,” commented Ed.
“He’s the secretaiy, but not a
trustee. He hasn’t a vote. The
Stevens are my friends, they
won’t like it, but . . .” she
shrugged expressively. Then she
added quietly: “I’ve been laying
a foundation this term on
which I hoped to build some-
thing worthwhile next year.
School teaching is like that.
Besides, I like the people here.”
A soft blush crept into her
cheeks as she said the last
words, and Ed’s heart missed a
beat. Could it be that he was
included?
“I’m on my way to Joe
Brown’s now to get my mail,
and I’ll surely tell him what I
think of him,” insisted Ed
pugnaciously. “It’s outrageous
to treat you so, and all for one
youngster who’s too lazy to
work.”
“You can’t budge Joe
Brown, especially when Mrs.
Brown is of the same opinion,”
Helen answered, “and why
should you bother?”
Again she blushed exquisite-
ly, but, not waiting for an
answer which did not seem to
be forthcoming, busied herself
with her coat and hat.
When Ed and Helen parted
at her boarding place, she
seemed to have regained her
gay spirits, while Ed was feeling
very much as Saint George
must have felt when he went
forth to meet the dragon.
He felt himself definitely
pledged to do something, but,
after leaving Helen and when
he began to think coolly and
dispassionately of ways and
means to make good his boast,
his heart sank. He was a new-
comer in the district, a stranger
to most of the people, and Joe
Brown was a fighter.
It seemed to him a good
omen when he came upon Joe
Brown and Clarence and their
broken-down buggy half a mile
from Joe’s farm. They had
struck a stump in the road and
smashed the whiffletrees. Joe
Brown, short, stout, lacking the
lean look of the tiller of the soil,
and reminding one more of a
successful grocer, was tiying in
vain to patch things. When Ed
came up it was decided that Joe
go home with him, while
Clarence was to follow at
leisure with the horses.
“Phew! It’s hot!” complained
Joe as he wiped off the sweat.
“But there’ll be no rest for me.
I’ve got to go right back to the
school for a trustees’ meeting at
five o’clock.”
“Is that important?” asked
Ed, feeling his way.
“Yes, we’re dismissing that
smart aleck of a teacher. She
isn’t passing half the pupils. For
what does she think we’re pay-
ing her?”
Mrs. Brown, a pale, slight
woman with sandy-colored hair
and a mania for cleanliness,
greeted them on their arrival.
Her first question, “Where is
Clarence?” being answered,
caused an outburst: “It’s like
you, Joe, making the poor boy
bring the horses home in this
heat and ride home in comfort
yourself.”
“Why, woman, I have to get
back to the school meeting at
five o’clock,” apologized Joe.
“Yes, and don’t you be late,
Joe. Have you ever heard the
like, Mr. Buckley, not passing
our Clarence. And with all that
Joe has done for that school. If
it were not for him they would
have no school. But do come
in, Mr. Buckley, while Joe gets
your mail. You must excuse the
looks of the place. It’s filthy. It’s
simply impossible to keep these
farmhouses clean. Now in the
city . . .” and Mrs. Brown lifted
her eyes in silent ecstasy as she
thought of the sanitaiy possibili-
ties of the homes in the city.
“If you ever want to seíl, Mr.
Brown, and move to the city,
give me first chance,” Ed broke
in. In his mind a faint outline of
a plan was taking shape.
“He’d sell tomorrow if I’d
any say in the matter,” Mrs.
Brown kept on while Joe main-
tained he was needed just
where he was, hinting strongly
that the whole district would go
to the dogs if he wasn’t there to
run things.
“It’d be better for your boy.
A bright lad has better opportu-
nities in the city. There’s more
healthy competition,” insisted
Ed.
“What with the teachers one
gets too,” was Mrs. Brown’s
spiteful comment.
“I thought Miss Aylesworth
was a good teacher,” Ed spoke
up.
“So did I,” said Joe. “We had
spoken of keeping her for
another year, and Fred Stevens
is coming to the meeting to
draw up the contract. But I’ve
just found out that she’s not
capable of teaching.”
“Now, don’t you go and be
late for that meeting, Joe. I don’t
want that red-headed woman
lording it over Clarence for
another year. He’ll be refusing
to go to school next,” Mrs.
Brown interrupted as she
flicked an imaginary speck of
dust off the already spotless
desk.
Ed’s fair boyish face flushed
to the veiy roots of his brown,
wavy hair, and he felt an almost
uncontrollable urge within his
six-foot frame to shake some-
body then and there. Instead he
only said quietly, though some-
what grimly:
“Let me drive you, Mr.
Brown. I’m doing nothing in
particular tonight” — an offer
which Joe accepted without
hesitation.
Mrs. Brown’s high, strident
voice followed them when they
drove off. “But don’t start him
talking about horses, Mr.
Buckley, or he’ll forget the
meeting and all.”
Ed stepped on the gas, and
the car lurched heavily forward.
“Joe-must-not-get-to-the-
meeting-tonight,” beat and
hammered inside his brain like
the refrain of some old, half-for-
gotten song.
“Great convenience some-
times to have a car, but too
expensive. Any little thing goes
wrong and it costs you twenty-
five to thirty dollars.” Joe was
speaking, his voice seemed to
come from afar. Ed tried to pull
himself together and listen.
One-half of his brain must keep
Joe interested and the other half
work at his plan to thwart his
wicked designs against Helen.
“Now, a horse is different,” Joe
droned on. “Give him plenty of
feed and water and he’s always
there, provided you treat him
decent.”
“Yes, they tell me you’re a
great hand with horses,” Ed
rejoined brightly. “Sam was
telling me about the time you
won the hamess-racing event at
the county fair some years ago.
Wouldn’t mind hearing the
details.”
Joe beamed all over his face.
It was his one glorious moment,
and he had not told about it for
a long time—it was getting hard
to find a listener. But it was a
long story, and only half fin-
ished when they reached the
schoolhouse. Ed did not slack-
en speed but drove right on,
keeping up the small exclama-
tions and interjections of the
perfect listener. They were a
mile past the school when Joe,
with a long reminiscent sigh,
concluded, “Yes, those were the
days—but, my gosh! Ed, we’ve
passed the school!”
“Yes, Mr. Brown, I’d
promised to pick up Sam
Hartney.”
Sam Hartney lived four
miles from the school.
“Why the devil didn’t you
tell me?”
“Well, I guess I was too
interested in your story.
Besides, I figured you needn’t
arrive before Sam.”
“That puddin’ head, we
wouldn’t have missed him,”
snorted Joe. “Well, drive like ...
and we’ll make it yet.”
Ed did, but within a mile of
Hartney’s the engine began to
behave badly, and he got out to
investigate the matter.
“Seems we’re out of luck,
Mr. Brown. The coil is broken
and the car won’t run another
yard.”
“That’s a deuce of a fix. It’s
after five now,” and old Joe
blinked his eyes and blew his
nose, greatly excited.
“Too bad I offered to drive
you, but that car will have to be
taken out with a team or a
tmck. The coil is snapped clean
and another will have to be put
in. Guess it’ll all cost me a pret-
ty penny,” said Ed, glancing
ruefully at the car.
“You sure have got me into a
mess, too,” snapped Joe. “You
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Ragnhildur Guttormsson with her three daughters in Winnipeg.
L