XV
The Peace of Minnie
That night the two avoided each other. Yan ate but little, and to Mrs.Raften's kindly solicitous questions he said he was not feeling well.
After supper they were sitting around the table, the men sleepilysilent, Yan and Sam moodily so. Yan had it all laid out in his mindnow. Sam would make a one-sided report of the affair; Guy wouldsustain him. Raften himself was witness of Yan's violence.
The merry days at Sanger were over. He was doomed, and felt like acondemned felon awaiting the carrying out of the sentence. There wasonly one lively member of the group. That was little Minnie. She wasbarely three, but a great chatterbox. Like all children, she dearlyloved a "secret," and one of her favourite tricks was to beckon tosome one, laying her pinky finger on her pinker lips, and then whenthey stooped she would whisper in their ear, "Don't tell." That wasall. It was her Idea of a "seek-it."
She was playing at her brother's knee. He picked her up and theywhispered to each other, then she scrambled down and went to Yan. Helifted her with a tenderness that was born of the thought that shealone loved him now. She beckoned his head down, put her chubby armsaround his neck and whispered, "_Don't tell_," then slid down,holding her dear innocent little finger warningly before her mouth.
What did it mean? Had Sam told her to do that, or was it a mererepetition of her old trick? No matter, it brought a rush of warmfeeling into Yan's heart. He coaxed the little cherub back andwhispered, "No, Minnie, I'll never tell." He began to see how crazy hehad been. Sam was such a good fellow, he was very fond of him, and hewanted to make up; but no--with Sam holding threats of banishment overhim, he could not ask for forgiveness. No, he would do nothing butwait and see.
He met Mr. Raften again and again that evening and nothing was said.He slept little that night and was up early. He met Mr. Raftenalone--rather tried to meet him alone. He wanted to have it over with.He was one of the kind not prayed for in the Litany that crave "suddendeath." But Raften was unchanged. At breakfast Sam was as usual,except to Yan, and not very different to him. He had a swelling on hislip that he said he got "tusslin' with the boys somehow or nuther."
After breakfast Raften said:
"Yahn, I want you to come with me to the schoolhouse."
"It's come at last," thought Yan, for the schoolhouse was on the roadto the railroad station. But why did not Raften say "the station"?He was not a man to mince words. Nothing was said about his handbageither, and there was no room for it in the buggy anyway.
Raften drove in silence. There was nothing unusual in that. At lengthhe said:
"Yahn, what's yer father goin' to make of ye?"
"An artist," said Yan, wondering what this had to do with hisdismissal.
"Does an artist hev to be bang-up eddicated?"
"They're all the better for it."
"Av coorse, av coorse, that's what I tell Sam. It's eddication thatcounts. Does artists make much money?"
"Yes, some of them. The successful ones sometimes make millions."
"Millions? I guess not. Ain't you stretchin' it just a leetle?"
"No, sir. Turner made a million. Titian lived in a palace, and so didRaphael."
"Hm. Don't know 'em, but maybe so--maybe so. It's wonderful whateddication does--that's what I tell Sam."
They now drew near the schoolhouse. It was holiday time, but the doorwas open and on the steps were two graybearded men. They nodded toRaften. These men were the school trustees. One of them was Char-lessBoyle; the other was old Moore, poor as a church mouse, but a genialsoul, and really put on the Board as a lubricant between Boyle andRaften. Boyle was much the more popular. But Raften was always madetrustee, for the people knew that he would take extremely good care offunds and school as well as of scholars.
This was a special meeting called to arrange for a new schoolhouse.Raften got out a lot of papers, including letters from the Departmentof Education. The School District had to find half the money; theDepartment would supply the other half if all conditions were compliedwith. Chief of these, the schoolhouse had to have a given number ofcubic feet of air for each pupil. This was very important, but howwere they to know in advance if they had the minimum and were notgreatly over. It would not do to ask the Department that. They couldnot consult the teacher, for he was away now and probably would cheatthem with more air than was needed. It was Raften who brilliantlysolved this frightful mathematical problem and discovered a doughtychampion in the thin, bright-eyed child.
"Yahn," he said, offering him a two-foot rule, "can ye tell me howmany foot of air is in this room for every scholar when the seats isfull?"
"You mean cubic feet?"
"Le's see," and Raften and Moore, after stabbing at the plans withhuge forefingers and fumbling cumberously at the much-pawed documents,said together: "Yes, it says cubic feet." Yan quickly measured thelength of the room and took the height with the map-lifter. The threegraybeards gazed with awe and admiration as they saw how _sure_he seemed. He then counted the seats and said, "Do you count theteacher?" The men discussed this point, then decided, "Maybe yebetter; he uses more wind than any of them. Ha, ha!"
Yan made a few figures on paper, then said, "Twenty feet, ratherbetter."
"Luk at thot," said Raften in a voice of bullying and triumph; "jestagrees with the Gover'ment Inspector. I _towld_ ye he could. Nowlet's put the new buildin' to test."
More papers were pawed over.
"Yahn, how's this--double as many children, one teacher an' thebuildin' so an' so."
Yan figured a minute and said, "Twenty-five feet each."
"Thar, didn't I tell ye," thundered Raften; "didn't I say that thatdhirty swindler of an architect was playing us into the conthractor'shands--thought we wuz simple--a put-up job, the hull durn thing. Lukat it! They're nothing but a gang of thieves."
Yan glanced at the plan that was being flourished in the air.
"Hold on," he said, with an air of authority that he certainly neverbefore had used to Raften, "there's the lobby and cloak-room to comeoff." He subtracted their bulk and found the plan all right--theGovernment minimum of air.
Boyle's eye had now just a little gleam of triumphant malice. Raftenseemed actually disappointed not to have found some roguery.
"Well, they're a shcaly lot, anyhow. They'll bear watchin'," he added,in tones of self-justification.
"Now, Yahn, last year the township was assessed at $265,000 an' weraised $265 with a school-tax of wan mill on the dollar. This year thenew assessment gives $291,400; how much will the same tax raise ifcost of collecting is same?"
"Two hundred and ninety-one dollars and forty cents," said Yan,without hesitation--and the three men sat back in their chairs andgasped.
It was the triumph of his life. Even old Boyle beamed in admiration,and Raften glowed, feeling that not a little of it belonged to him.
There was something positively pathetic in the simplicity of the threeshrewd men and their abject reverence for the wonderful scholarship ofthis raw boy, and not less touching was their absolute faith in hisinfallibility as a mathematician.
Raften grinned at him in a peculiar, almost a weak way. Yan had neverseen that expression on his face before, excepting once, and thatwas as he shook hands with a noted pugilist just after he had won amemorable fight. Yan did not know whether he liked it or not.
On the road home Raften talked with unusual freeness about his plansfor his son. (Yan began to realize that the storm had blown over.) Heharped on his favourite theme, "eddication." If Yan had only known,that was the one word of comfort that Raften found when he saw his bigboy go down: "It's eddication done it. Oh, but he's fine eddicated."Yan never knew until years afterward, when a grown man and he andRaften were talking of the old days, that he had been for some timewinning respect from the rough-and-ready farmer, but what finallyraised him to glorious eminence was the hip-throw that he served thatday on Sam.
* * * * *
Raften was all right, Yan be
lieved, but what of Sam? They had notspoken yet. Yan wished to make up, but it grew harder. Sam had gotover his wrath and wanted a chance, but did not know how.
He had just set down his two buckets after feeding the pigs whenMinnie came toddling out.
"Sam! Sam! Take Minnie to 'ide," then seeing Yan she added, "Yan, youmate a tair, tate hold Sam's hand."
The queen must be obeyed. Sam and Yan sheepishly grasped hands to makea queen's chair for the little lady. She clutched them both aroundthe neck and brought their heads close together. They both loved thepink-and-white baby between them, and both could talk to her thoughnot to each other. But there is something in touch that begetscomprehension. The situation was becoming ludicrous when Sam suddenlyburst out laughing, then:
"Say, Yan, let's be friends."
"I--I want--to--be," stammered Yan, with tears standing in his eyes."I'm awfully sorry. I'll never do it again,"
"Oh, shucks! I don't care," said Sam. "It was all that dirty littlesneak that made the trouble; but never mind, it's all right. Theonly thing that worries me is how you sent me flying. I'm bigger an'stronger an' older, I can heft more an' work harder, but you throwedme like a bag o' shavings, I only wish I knowed how you done it."
PART III
IN THE WOODS
Two Little Savages Page 31
