CHAPTER XXIII
HEPSEY CALLS A MEETING
For the next few days Hepsey’s mind worked in unfamiliar channels, for her nature was that of a benevolent autocrat, and she had found herself led by circumstances into a situation demanding the prowess and elasticity of the diplomat. To begin with, she must risk a gamble at the meeting: if the spiritual yeast did not rise in old Bascom, as she hoped it would, and crown her strategy with success, she would have to fall back on belligerent tactics, and see if it were not possible to get his duty 284 out of him by threatened force of public opinion: and she knew that, with his obstinacy, it would be touch and go on which side of the fence he would fall in a situation of that kind—dependent, in fact, upon the half turn of a screw, more or less, for the result. Furthermore, she concluded that beyond the vaguest hint of her call on Bascom and the object of the meeting, she could not show her hand to Maxwell; for he would feel it his duty to step in and prevent the possibility of any such open breach as failure on Hepsey’s part would probably make in the parish solidarity. For once she must keep her own counsel—except for Jonathan, whose present infatuated condition made him an even safer and more satisfactory source of “advice” than he normally was. But the evening before the meeting, as he sat on Hepsey’s porch, he began to experience qualms, perhaps in his capacity as Junior Warden. But Hepsey turned upon him relentlessly:
“Now see here! You know I don’t start somethin’ unless I can see it through; and if it means a scrap, so much the better. Next to a good revival, a good hard scrap in a stupid parish has a real spiritual value. It stimulates the circulation, increases the appetite, gives people somethin’ to think about, and does a lot of good where peaceful ways would 285 fail. The trouble with us is that we’ve always been a sight too peaceful. If I’ve got to do it, I’m goin’ to make a row, a real jolly row that’ll make some people wish they’d never been born. No-no-no! Don’t you try to interfere. We’ve come to a crisis, and I’m goin’ to meet it. Don’t you worry until I begin to holler for first aid to the injured. A woman can’t vote for a vestryman, though women form the bulk of the congregation, and do most all of the parish work; and the whole church’d go to smithereens if it weren’t for the women. But there’s one thing a woman can always do: She can talk. They say that talk is cheap; but sometimes it’s a mighty expensive article, if it’s the right kind; and maybe the men will have to settle the bills. I’m going to talk; perhaps you think that’s nothing new. But you don’t know how I can talk when once I get my dander up. Somebody’s goin’ to sit up and pay attention this time. Bascom’ll conclude to preside at the meetin’; whichever way he means to act; and I’ve fixed it so Maxwell will be engaged on other duties. No; go ’way. I don’t want to see you around here again until the whole thing’s over.”
“All right Hepsey, all right. I guess if it goes through the way you want you’ll be that set up you’ll be wantin’ to marry old Bascom ’stead of me,” 286 chuckled Jonathan, as the lady of his choice turned to enter the house.
She faced round upon him as she reached the door, her features set with grim determination:
“If I get the whole caboodle, bag and baggage, from the meetin’ and from Bascom, there’s no knowin’ but what I’ll send for the parson and be married right there and then. There isn’t a thing I could think of, in the line of a real expensive sacrifice, that’d measure up as compensation for winnin’ out—not even marryin’ you, Jonathan Jackson.”