Ginsy Shalloway, who, by virtue of “sewing around,” had gained a shrewd knowledge of human nature and was prone to sharp criticism, voiced the general verdict when she admitted that “the artist man’s friendliness rang true.
“Seems as if he honestly liked folks and was real set on their liking him,” she said, when the matter came up for discussion at the ladies’ aid society. “I don’t know as I ever saw a city fellow with as few trimmings. He’s pleased as can be when he gets an invite to dinner and he eats so hearty, you’d think he didn’t get the right kind of victuals at home, if you didn’t know Peg. He was eating dinner up at Nelsons’ the other day when that big storm came up so sudden; and, if he didn’t pull off his coat and go out into the hay field with Martin and help to hustle the hay in. Real good help he was too, Martin says—stronger than you’d think and quick as a cat. And then the boys got to wrestling out in the barn; and if he didn’t lay them all out on their backs, as easy as rolling off a log. They were some surprised and ashamed; but he said he’d taken lessons of a Japanee and that the Japs beat the world for wrestling and that, if the boys would like to learn, he’d teach them all the tricks he knew.
“So now he’s got a sort of class down in an empty loft at Jim Neal’s and a lot of the boys go there twice a week. Mis’ Dawes says their Jim’s plumb crazy about it.”
Jimmy wasn’t the only boy who was crazy about the class in the barn loft. One by one they came trooping in, shyly and awkwardly at first; but soon with glad confidence and unbounded enthusiasm. Lem Tollerton dropped in one evening to learn the knock-out that had laid him low, and, in his wake, the young men of the Valley found their way to the loft. Archibald added gloves and foils to his equipment; and within a few weeks, wrestling, boxing, fencing and jiu-jitsu were epidemic.
“It beats all,” Martin Nelson, the father of four husky lads, confided to Mr. Colby. “My boys are poking and pounding each other all over the place, the minute they ain’t at work; but I don’t know as I ever saw them so good-natured. Seems as if they thought being knocked endways was a treat and they’re always and everlastingly talking about playing fair and not taking advantage and not losing temper and not poking here or punching there. I don’t know but what teaching them to fight’s going to take the fighting out of them. Anyway they ain’t hanging around the stores every evening cooking up trouble. They do say Lem Tollerton and his crowd are cutting out booze, because it gets at them and spoils their fighting.”
Now and again, one of the older men, drawn by curiosity, came to the class to look on. He seldom went away without having a bout with the gloves or a wrestling lesson and he usually came again. The crowd soon outgrew its quarters and Archibald went to Dr. Fullerton with a plan.
“The Valley needs a men’s and boys’ club,” he said. “Where can we have it and how will we run it? You know this community better than I do.”
“I’m not so popular with it, when it’s healthy,” the doctor said dryly. “You’re working as hard to make yourself solid as if you were running for office. Pity not to stand for something, with the pull you’ve got.” He dropped his banter and laid a friendly hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“It’s a bully work, man. You’re doing more to humanize the Valley than the doves of peace could if they came in flocks. Nothing like beating an idea of honest sport into a fellow’s head for making a decent citizen of him. When he’s grasped the idea that there are some things no fellow can do, he’s got something to work on. I’m inclined to think that boxing will grip a boy’s soul when Sunday school fails. Now about this club, How much money will it take?”
“Oh, I’ll put up the money.” Dr. Fullerton shook his head.