Justice started to reply, but was seized with a violent fit of coughing that left him leaning weakly against the door. I looked at him in some alarm. I knew it was throat trouble that had kept him out of the army, but it hadn’t seemed to be anything to worry about—just a dry, hacking cough from time to time. Now, standing out there in the brilliant sunshine, he looked very white and haggard.
“You’re all tired out, you’ve been working too hard,” I said, remembering how he had been putting in time after school hours working in Elijah Butts’ cotton storehouse, because it was impossible to get enough men to handle the cotton. Then, by drilling my boys and girls by the hour in military marching and running countless errands for me—poor Justice was in danger of being sacrificed on the altar of my ambition.
“I’m a selfish thing!” I said vehemently.
“Nonsense!” said Justice, holding up his head and beginning to fold up the flag. “I got choked with dust, that’s all.” Manlike, he hated to display any sign of physical weakness before a girl. I decided to say no more about it, but I knew he needed rest.
“Sit down a minute,” I said artfully, sinking down on the doorsill, “and keep me ’mused. I’m tired to death. Tell me all the news in the Metropolis of Spencer.”
Justice fell into the trap. He sat down beside me and launched into a lively imitation of Elijah Butts convincing the school board that the old school books were better than the new ones some venturous soul had suggested.
“If he only knew how you took him off behind his back, he wouldn’t confide in you so trustingly,” said I.
“That’s what comes of being a bargain,” replied Justice loftily. “Great ones linger in my presence, anxious to breathe the same air. The Board coddles me like a rare bit of old china and proudly exhibits me to visitors.
“Oh, by the way,” he added, “I hear there’s a stranger in town.”
I looked up with interest. “Fine or superfine?” I asked.