This was a mistake — a real “John Bull” blunder, Mercer was a large, muscular man. With a single pass he knocked the Englishman cold right there in the school room. Ashton fell almost at my feet. When he had come up out o f his stupor, still blinking and grimacing, Ashton bellowed, “I shall see a solicitor about this!”
“See him and bedamned,” bawled Mercer. “Now get out!”
After he had become seasoned, Ashton was really a fine fellow, rather above the average of his countrymen in intelligence. And he reared a fine family of boys and girls — Clifford, Anna, Eva, Stanley, Horace, and Vincent. Ashton was a carpenter.
At another time, James Neville rushed unceremoniously into the schoolroom and hurled a big rock at Mercer’s head, barely missing. The rock tore a big hole in the blackboard back of the teacher. Neville was a powerful man. Just what the grievance was, and how a lively fight was averted, has slipped my memory—though I rather suspect Neville did not tarry long after he had failed to make a hit with the rock.
These two infractions, and many more, passed as being only by-plays incidental to a good school, as interpreted by those pristine patrons.
Andy Maxwell’s home was on the hill west of the shack. But Andy did not live there long after we came—in fact, he was off the place for keeps even before our house in town was ready for occupancy. Mary Massey, unmarried sister of Mrs. Maxwell, as well as the estranged wife of Elisha Maxwell, was at this time in the home—altogether too many Women to be in one man’s home. Mary, a close observer, had said she’d see a man of her’s and that other woman both in h — l before she’d play second fiddle in her own home.
“Second fiddle” in this sense was of course a figurative term having dire implications. Then, too, Lou Hazeltine, a sister-in-law by reason of a first marriage with a brother of the Massey sisters, had her say. It was critical.
It occurs to me that I have seen in print a recent version of an old quotation or saying, often expressed then, which, in line with Mary’s blow-off, defined the situation admirably. It read: “Hell hath no music like a woman playing second fiddle.” For the text of the original quotation, ask any oldtimer—or you may substitute “fury” for music, and “scorned” for playing second fiddle, and you will have it.
These facts were gleaned while spending the day with my mother in Lou Hazeltine’s home. Lou had said to my mother, as was customary at the time, “Bring the children and stay all day.” So we were duly scrubbed and dressed up for the occasion. I think Lou wanted to unburden herself. But how she could have thought the children would be interested in such topic of conversation is beyond me. True, there was her daughter Lizzie Massey, about my age, for company—but Lizzie behaved as though she thought she might miss something, and paid no attention to her mother’s frequent admonitions, “You children run along outside and play.” I think Lou was unduly worked-up over the matter. She would look at us children, and then put her hand up to the side of her mouth, come down momentarily off her “high-horse” almost to a whisper, and channel the choice bits to mother. I think my mother would have been satisfied with less than was said—and certainly, as a newcomer in town, she did not want to be the one to spread gossip. However, she repeated it all, with apparent relish, to my father, adopting Lou’s adept manner of, shielding it from the children with her hand.
The Massey women decided that Andy’s sympathies for his estranged sister-in-law were simply “outlandish”—and Mrs. Andy invoked the law on him.