CHAPTER XXV
At the "Cranium" Fraternity, Dan Jordan was closeted with three little freshmen. Swipes looked downcast.
"I want to do something to help," he wailed; "I feel as if it were all my fault that the parson is gone. We can't have any fun without him. It's tedious, too, being cooped up here not being able to go anywhere for fear of being taken ourselves."
Dan cleared his throat preparatory to speaking.
"If you fellows won't peach," said he in an eager undertone, "I'll tell you something and you can help."
"What?"
"We'll have Graves if you will all do as I tell you."
"Watch me," cried Swipes, turning a somersault. When he was in the most harrowing position, Brown gave him a swift kick.
"Give him one for me, Shorts," whispered Spuddy, but Swipes was on his feet again, ready to listen.
There was a general hurrah when Jordan in subdued tones had outlined the plan.
"Where are Graves' evening clothes," demanded Dillon; "we must smuggle them into the opera-house some way."
"They'll be there all right," replied Jordan; "they've gone in with the caterer's stuff. You'd better send your own best togs in a barrel or the sophomores will see to it that you won't have them when you want them.... Now mind, mum's the word."
The fishermen of squatter's row did not recognize the stranger who slouched along by the side of Tessibel, the night of the freshman banquet. She was on her way to the city with her fish. One after another women poked frowsy heads from the hut windows at the barking of their dogs. But Tess went steadily on, not even heeding her companion who hurried his footsteps to keep close to her.
"Ye sells yer fish for a shillin' a pound," said she after a few minutes' walk.
The man nodded. Once only did he raise his eyes. They were passing a dingy-looking empty house, with a large broken window.
Just then, Ben Letts, accompanied by Ezra Longman, met them. The red head of the squatter girl rose a little higher, the lines growing deeper about the narrowed lids. To the fisherman she deigned no good-morrow, nor had she a thought of them after they had passed.
"He air a new squatter," said Ben laconically, turning to look at the queer pair.
"He air her uncle," added Ezra pompously; "he air here to help her pappy out of his scrape."
Ben did not answer, but stepped to the tracks with another evil backward look at Tess and her squatter friend.
Forty or fifty sophomores loafed about the opera-house watching the caterers buzz to and fro. Tables had been spread inside for several hundred guests, and the president's chair was decorated with roses and winter ferns. Three little freshmen and Dan Jordan, surrounded by many juniors went calmly in to inspect things.
Several underclassmen stood disconsolately inside.
"Be on your guard," whispered Dan, passing them.
The fifty sophomores outside were waiting for something to happen. Graves would be produced—how, they could not tell. The strangeness of the actions of Frederick's fraternity brothers made the affair more unsolvable. Threatening looks were showered upon them as freshman after freshman, guarded by juniors, filed in. Dan Jordan slouched to the door of the opera-house, his eyes falling mechanically upon Tessibel Skinner across the street. He heard her arguing with the man from the café about her fish. Tessibel then crossed to the opera-house.
"Does ye want any fish?" she smiled, showing her white teeth.
"No," replied Jordan. "What have you?... Eels?"
"No, nothin' but bullheads and suckers."
Dan looked about, grinning upon the sophomores.
"There's enough of them here already.... I want some eels—"
The sophomores pretended not to hear. They were not interested in fishermen, but kept their eyes open for a carriage that would dash in from the main street with the rescued president within it.
"Sling them eels over here," commanded Tessibel, beckoning to the slouching squatter across the way. The man with the basket offered the contents to Dan.
"I'll take what you have, too, girl," said Jordan in a loud voice, "how much do they weigh?"
"Don't know," replied Tess.
"Take them in and get them weighed," said Swipes, innocently coming to Dan's side.
"Hey there, you old guy," chuckled Spuddy; "drag your fish into the opera-house and dump them out.... We're going to have some fun.... If we can't have our president, eels will have to do."
The squatter disappeared inside the building.
"A pile of fun they'll have without their president," grunted a sophomore.
Tessibel gathered her empty basket upon her arm and amid the smiling looks of the students who stood watching her she walked away with her head high in the air.
But Dan Jordan, with a mighty yell, triumphantly taken up by his classmen, grasped the hat from the squatter's head. The smiling, open face of Frederick Graves was before them. The sophomores never quite puzzled out how the freshman president was in his chair at the banquet, and directly in front of him in the place of honor was a huge dish of eels.
Shaking the snow from her shoulders like a great dog in a storm, Tess knocked softly on the Longman shanty door. Mrs. Longman had gone to the city with Satisfied, and Myra, with the whining brat in her arms, welcomed her.
One whole week had passed since Tess had seen the student—seven long interminable days since—and now she had come to ask Myra Longman some of the mysterious questions about the kiss that Frederick had given her. Myra relinquished the child to her and the little fellow sank to sleep under Tessibel's crooning voice. His regular breathing told her that he slept; she placed him in the box and sat thoughtfully down.
"Air Ben Letts been here lately?" she asked after a pause.
Myra shook her head.
"He ain't got no time for such as the brat and me," she replied bitterly.
Tess waited until Myra had ceased scattering the shanty chairs in her rage.
"Did he say as how he loved ye that night in the storm on the ragged rocks?" she asked presently.
"Yep, he did say it, he did," answered Myra.
"Air he—air he a-knowin'—how to kiss?"
The very word slipping from her lips brought back with a sudden joy that night a week ago, and the never-to-be-forgotten kiss of the student. She could feel again the warm, strong lips pressed to hers—the long muscular arms enfolding her.
Myra scanned her face closely.
"To kiss—yep; but he ain't never kissed the brat."
There was wonderful longing and passion in her tones.
This was a new thought for Tess. The "Pappy" should kiss his brat—but were they one and the same kisses? She remembered the sweetness of that first caress "Daddy" had given her on the stone window ledge of his cell. It was tinged with bittersweet—bitter because Daddy was going away, sweet because she had desired it so fondly. But it had not been like the student's kiss. She was going to ask Myra Longman to solve the first great problem of her life.
"Air the kisses what ye had from Ben Letts—burnin' ones? Did ye lose the thought of the night and the night things on the ragged rocks?... Did ye want 'em again and again—more and more kisses till they scorched yer face like the bread oven in the spring?"
Tess had risen to her feet, had whitened to the small ears covered with the tawny hair. Myra had risen also. Both girls were eying each other with intentness. Tess started to speak again, coming forward a step toward the other squatter.
"Did ye forget the storm, the wavin' trees and all 'cept—Ben Letts?"
"Ye air been to the ragged rocks," moaned Myra, sinking down upon the floor in a heap.
In a twinkling the meaning of Myra's words dawned upon Tessibel.
"I ain't been there with Ben Letts," she replied suddenly. "I ain't got no likin' for the brat's Pa's kisses—"
"But ye hev been to the ragged rocks," insisted Myra, settling back with a sob against the box where the child slept.
"Nope, I ain't; but I had a kiss, and Myra, it were—like the singin' in the heavens what the song tells about—like the feelin' in here," she placed her hand upon her heart, her eyes flashing golden, "when the world air filled with flowers and the birds air a singin'.... Were it like that with Ben Letts? Were it?"
"Nope," replied Myra sulkily, "Ben Letts ain't got no singin' kisses."
She rose languidly, tucked the blanket closer about the sleeping child's head.
"Tessibel," she broke forth hoarsely, "for all women folks there air brats a cryin' for their Pa's to tell 'em yep or nope. And there air men a-walkin' on the ragged rocks with singin' kisses for yer pretty face and tangled hair. There air a brat sleepin' till it's dead in the box." The tired young mother allowed her hungry gaze to fall upon the quiet infant. "Tessibel, yer brat—"
But Tessibel bounded out of the door, over the snow-covered rocks like a deer. She would not lose the sweetness of the kiss in Myra's warning words—that penetrating holy kiss she had treasured for seven long days and nights.
The torturing thoughts that had filled the mind of Professor Young at finding Frederick Graves in the cabin of the fisher-girl were new sensations to him. He loved Tessibel, and in her lay his future happiness. Her stolid indifference to his endeavors to aid her through her father had blasted his hopes somewhat. Then again he would feverishly reason that she had been born to overlook all save those whom she desired and for whom she fought. It was like her kind. Excuses for the girl in the aid she had given the student ran willingly through his brain. If Tess had seen the young fellow in the storm, it was but like the tender, loving heart to aid him. It was no proof that Frederick had found a place in her affections. With these thoughts in his mind he had worked for several days, quietly hoping that the girl might seek him.
Tess found him waiting at the shanty door for her one afternoon after returning from town. She smiled a welcome as she recognized her visitor.
"It air about Daddy ye comed," she said, lifting the padlock from the staple.
"Yes, child, I wanted to tell you of some new friends your father has made in Ithaca—strong friends to aid him."
"Friends," echoed Tess wonderingly. "Daddy Skinner had fishermen for his friends—and not people of Ithacy—come in," she added. The fire crackled on the hearth and Tess sat down to listen with open lips.
"I can't explain just how this came about," said Young, "but some of the people who were in the court-room the day your father was convicted have risen to befriend him."
Professor Young did not add that he himself had urged that money should be raised for a second defense.
"So last night," he went on, "there was a meeting of several prominent men and money has been placed in my hands for another trial for your father."
Tess tried to understand the long words, and blinked knowingly. The import of it was plain. Daddy was coming back—but how soon?
"When air he comin' home, then?" she demanded.
"After another trial.... See if you can read this?"
From a long envelope the lawyer took a piece of paper. Tess examined it carefully for some moments. Young eyeing her with a sense of happiness. He would fight for this child as man never before fought for woman. She would love him out of gratitude if for nothing else. He took the paper she was holding out to him.
"Can't read a damn word—can't read writin' anyway. Tell me what it says about Daddy."
"It's a list of names," replied Young, "mostly members—"
"Of Graves' church?" put in Tess eagerly.
Hadn't the student been praying for just this? she thought.
"Yes; they are all desirous to see your father home again with his little daughter."
"Air the minister givin' money for Daddy?" was the anxious demand.
Young shook his head. He felt a sudden swift-coming desire to tell her enough about the minister's family to make her hate them all. Deforest Young realized for the first time that he was jealous of the student, of a tall dark lad of whom in the past he had taken no more notice than of many other students.
He drew a long breath.
"Not exactly the minister," said he, flushing with shame. "Here—let me read the names to you. William Hopkins of the toggery shop, one hundred dollars. Do you know him?"
Tess shook her head in the negative.
"Deacon Hall and his wife Augusta gave one hundred dollars."
"I know her," Tess cried, "and I knows him a little, too. I tooked them berries and fish—they has a cottage below the ragged rocks."
"And there's the druggist, Mr. Bates—he did not put down his name on the list, but he gave fifty dollars."
Tessibel listened to the explanations as Young read on, making it all plain to her as he proceeded.
She was leaning far over toward him, her chin resting on her open palm.
"They be dum good blokes, to give their money to a squatter, ain't they?"
The professor started perceptibly. She did not understand that all had been done under his supervision; he had tried to impress upon her his great desire to help her, but no words of praise fell from her lips for him. He would have willingly given worlds had she said that he was "a dum good bloke."
"They are all sorry for you and your father," he ended lamely.
"It was the student, Graves, what brought Daddy the money," she burst out with a vivid blush.
"No, the student, Graves, had nothing to do with it," was the grim reply.
"He's a-been prayin' since Daddy went away—that air somethin'," Tess said stubbornly.
Professor Young rose—then seated himself again. He had come for something else, something that meant work and satisfaction for him.
"Now that your father is sure to be saved, will you leave this hut?" he asked peremptorily.
"Nope!"
"But it's not fit for you to be here alone, Tessibel. Listen ... I'll save your father's squatter rights, if you will study in some good school until he returns."
"Aw, cuss! Who air to pay all the money?" Tess got to her feet with effort.
"I will," deliberately answered Young.
"Nope, I air goin' to stay here," snapped Tess. "I can fish and live likes I have been doin' till Daddy comes. I promised him I'd stay. I can read the Bible now," she ejaculated, promptly producing the book from under the blankets of the bed. "I's a-readin it every day.... If ye don't believes, ye can listen and see."
She tossed back the curls from her shoulders as she ended emphatically: "I air a goin' to bring Daddy home through this here book—the student says."
Again the terrible jealousy of the handsome student flashed alive in the professor. Tess had opened the Bible to a chapter she had never read before.
"And straightway in the morning," she spelled, "the chief priests—Aw, that ain't no good! Wait till I find about Daddy."
Then suddenly she threw the Bible down upon the floor.
"There air places what says as how Daddy air a comin' home. The student says it air there. I ain't found it yet but I air a-lookin' for it every day. 'Tain't in that place where I just read about them geezers, the priests."
The lawyer stood up. A pain seized him. He would save this ignorant girl in spite of herself, marry her in spite of Frederick Graves. It would be as difficult as scaling the icy mountains, but he would force her to love him more than the whole world.
"You understand," he said shortly, "that these good people have given money toward helping your father come home. It will be some time before the trial will come up, but when it does—I will bring him back to you."
The assurance in his tones brought Tess to his side.
"Ye be a lawyer," she said abruptly, "and the squatters says as how lawyers air liars and tramps, but ye ain't no tramp, and ye ain't no liar, ye ain't—and when I sells a lot of fish I air bringin' ye the money for what ye air a doin' for Daddy and me. I says once and I says again as how ye air Daddy's friend, and I air glad that the student's meeting-house folks gived ye a little money to help us."
Mist had gathered in her eyes and she slipped her fingers into Professor Young's. She laid her lips upon his hand, covering it with tears and kisses. Opening the shanty doors, she said:
"I likes ye, I likes ye, but how much a squatter's brat likes don't make no difference. Ye go now, for the tracks get dark about five."
"I have my horse at the top of the hill," replied Young, confusedly.
The sensation from the moist lips upon his flesh prompted him for one brief moment to take the girl to him. He was filled with a strange desire to force this rude shanty maid from her surroundings and place her in another life with him.