Belington progressive. [volume] (Belington, W. Va.) 1912-1927, 1924-01-17
frankness---Ia man,s man.

With jerky, elaborate bow to
Jack. the young preacher turned to
Texie.
Il was Just hunting for you, Miss
Texie. They want you at the punch
bowl"
The girl must have known the
woodsman was about to speak to her,
His face was as easy to READ as the
signs of spring. She glanced at him;
dropped her eyes; laughed--a trifie
uneasily he thought, knowing her so
well--and walked away beside the
minister.
The woodsman stood. looking after
them, queer sense of emptiness In
his breast--a man nursed by nature,
untaught to juggle with the hearts
emotions.
The voice Of the gray-haired gentle
woman In the rocking chair recalled
his straying thoughts.
Aren't they fine-looking coupler
she was saying.
"Uh-huh."
GAS l look back over the years since
we came to Buckeye, remember that
you and she have always been play
mates My dear husband so often
used to speak of the beautiful COM
panionship between you. Long associ-
alton with one 90 sweet and innocent
must have had most ennobling infiu-
ence upon you"
Mt didn't hurt me none"
Dear me but you are laconic this
evening, my lad Do you always speak
with such Spartan brevityr
She might ms well have said It In
Latin. Jack was frowning hard In an
effort to make out her meaning when
Zeke Pollok. officiously omnipresent,
stopped at the old iady's chair.
The woodsman was saved. He
walked away In the crowd, while Aunt
Liza. few seats away, never back
ward about airing her views. leaned
over toward the postmasters wife and,
In hoarse halfwhispers. laid down her
vastly positive opinion on the very sub
ject he had just escaped discussing.
Amt 1t a burnin' shame the way
Texie lets the new parson carry on
with Ter, an leavin' Big Jack out n
the cold IAN him wo'th any two O.
the parson, the best breath e ever
drawed. She'll rue it. Mark my
words. Hammer Pollok, she'll rue II"
saw, shucks, Aunt Liza, you're jist
jealous f'r Big Jack, him bein' about
y'u s. much, an Uncle Nick a-teachin'
i'm all about the woods an boxin an
SIGH"
nNick Nick pit would be utterly
impossible to commit to paper the ul-
innate contempt in the stified tones
..f'r the Ian sakes What d y'u s'pose
i care who the oil man teaches is
fool truck an boxih' tricks to? She'll
rue the day she draps fine lad like
Big Jack-bound though e bean
takes up with teetotal furriner, jist
b'cayse e happens t be a mite slicker-
1ookin mebbe-though, fr my part
don't consait i'm one iotum better
lookin than Big Jack is. She'll rue It,
Hammer Pollok, she'll rue 1t. That par
son hain't got all that PLAYER an
meechin' ways FIR nothin', now there's
the business of it, I-jeeminy r
| The postmaster's wife had her lips
set ready for her reply when there
came sudden connection al the door.
A strange man, tall and powerfully
| built, SLOUGH hat pulled low over his
! head. swart face covered by heavy
stubble of black beard, and apparently
Just drunk enough to he dangerous,
was roughly ,elbowing the crowd aside
as he stalked back toward the table
Gimme some cake" he growled.
| Miss Martin, trembling on the verge
Of panic, passed plate of cake to
| him. He snatched off "a piece held II
up contemptuously for moment and
| then slammed 1t back with force that
dashed the plate from the timid little
teachers hand and scattered its con
tents all about the table.
Jaw, hill, gimme some cake y
The preachers shoulders lifted
where he stood stopped among the
women around the punch bowl. A
spark of anger leaped into the eyes
behind the spectacies, and his fingers
/ curled toward his palms. movement
that the others were. too intent upon
the intruder to notice. But the flash
passed with the instant; his shoulders
dropped; to his eyes came back the
look Of peering benevolence.
"Friend," he called. still keeping MI
place among the women, do you MOI
realize that you are intimidating these
ladies and spelling this-ah-most en-
joyabIe EVENING" VIII you not please
-"
The Aswart-faced man stared inso
iently at the preacher, a curiously be-
wildered look crossed his, heavy face
He seemed to study the dropping
shoulders, the studious eyes behind the
spectacles.
"Say. ycu pore devil Of gospel
singer" he snarled, who's runnin'
this show? Dry up. r might take a
notion t. sa'nter over and twist y'ur
ear"
Turning back to the table, he took