“Well, I’m glad we received it, at any rate,” said Azalea. “Did you think we were getting into mischief? The truth is, all had been perfectly quiet till you arrived on the scene.”
“But it was a dishonorable peace,” roared Mr. Thompson. “The enemy had you. You were in league with the powers of darkness. Now, freedom and honor sit upon your banners.”
“So they do,” said Miss Zillah. “I declare, whenever I thought of that poor little boy who honed to come to school and wasn’t allowed, it seemed to me I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to go out and do something about it, but I didn’t know how.”
“I picked him up down the road a piece,” explained Mr. Thompson. “He was playing with a little snake—both of ’em having a nice pleasant time—and I up and said: ‘Why are you playing with snakes instead of studying up at Ravenel School with the young misses?’ And what do you think the little cuss said? ‘It ain’t as dangerous,’ said he. ‘Not as dangerous?’ said I. ‘How is that?’ So he up and told me the whole story.”
“There’s a story whichever way you turn here,” said Azalea. “Just listen, Mr. Thompson, while I tell you the story of Paralee Panther.”
So she told the tale of Paralee, of how her name was no name, of her father, paralyzed, in need of every comfort, and far from all physicians’ aid and all neighborly service. Mr. Thompson listened with deep interest.
“Troubles,” he said, “is divided into two kinds. There’s the kind you can’t help and that you’d best forget; and there’s the kind you can help and that you want to get after. It looks to me as if this is something to get after.”
“We all think so,” said Azalea. “And we propose going to-morrow to see. There’s a nice boy up here named Keefe O’Connor, an artist—he helps us in our school, too, almost every day—and he’s going with us.”
“You-all don’t have no call to go,” said Mr. Thompson. “Not now, at any rate. Here I be, a lazy old coot, with nothing else to do. Just let me go and investigate these here Panthers.”
But Azalea shook a finger at him.