By that time they’d got along to Hart’s store, and Hart said: “Here’s where I live, Aunt Maria. You see what sort of a place it is. But I’ve done my best to fix things for you as well as I know how. Come right along in––and when we’ve had supper we’ve got to have a talk.”
Along about ten o’clock that night Hart come down to the Forest Queen looking pale and haggard, and he was that broke up he had to get three drinks in him before he could say a word. Everybody was so interested, wanting to hear what he had to tell ’em, he didn’t need to ask to have the game stopped––it just stopped of its own accord.
When he’d had his third drink, and was beginning to feel better, he said he couldn’t thank everybody enough for the way they’d behaved; and that his aunt had gone to bed tired out; and he’d been talking with her steady for two hours getting things settled; 104 and she’d ended by agreeing she’d start back East with him the next night––he having made out he’d smash in his business if he waited a minute longer––and they was going by the Denver train. And he’d got her fixed he said, so she’d keep quiet through the morning––as she was going right at mending his stockings and things the first thing when she got up; and after that she was full of getting to work with canned peaches and making him a pie.
“But what’s going to happen in the afternoon,” he said, “the Lord only knows! That blasted fool of a Ben Hill”––Hart spoke just that bitter way about it––“hasn’t had no more sense ’n to go and tell her this town’s full of kindergartens, and she’s so worked up there’s no holding her, as kindergartens happens to be the fullest hand she holds. I’ve allowed we have one––things being as they was, I had to––but I’ve told her it’s out of order, and the children laid up with whooping-cough, and the teacher sick a-bed, and the outfit damaged by a fire we had, and––and the Lord knows what I haven’t told her 105 about the damn thing.” (Hart was that nervous he couldn’t help speaking that way.) “But all I’ve said hasn’t made no difference. She’s just dead set on getting to what’s left of that kindergarten, and I can’t budge her. See it she will, she says; and I guess the upshot of Hill’s chuckle-headed talk’ll be to waste all the trouble we’ve took by landing us in the biggest give-away that ever was!” And Hart called for another drink, and had to set down to take it––looking pale.
All the boys felt terrible bad about the hole Hart was in; and they felt worse because none of ’em hadn’t no notion what a kindergarten did––when it did anything––and that made ’em more ashamed Palomitas hadn’t one to show. Only Becker––Becker’d happened to come over from Santa Cruz that night––sized it up right; and Becker shook his head sort of dismal and said there wasn’t no use even thinking about it––and that looked like a settler, because Becker seemed to know. Nobody didn’t say nothing for a minute or two; and then Ike Williams spoke up––he was the boss carpenter on the freight-house 106 job, Ike was––and said if what was wanted could be made out of boards, and made in a hurry, he’d lay off the freight-house gang the next morning and engage to have one ready by noon.
Santa Fé Charley’d been sitting still thinking, not saying a word. He let out a big cuss––and Charley wasn’t given to cussing––when Ike made his offer; and then he banged his hand down on the table so hard he set the chips to flying, and he said: “Mr. Hart, don’t you worry––we’re going to put this job through!”
Everybody jumped up at that––some of ’em scrambling for the dropped chips––asking Santa Fé what he meant to do. But Charley wouldn’t answer ’em. “Just you trust to Ike and me, Bill,” he said. “We’ll fix your kindergarten all right––only you keep on telling your aunt it ain’t a good one, and how most of it got burned up in the fire. It’s luck you let on to her there’d been a fire––that makes it as easy as rolling off a log. All you’ve got to do is to bring her down here at four o’clock to-morrow afternoon––you’d 107 better till then keep her in the house, mending you up and making you all the pies she has a mind to––and when she gets here the kindergarten’ll be here, too!”
“Bring her here––to the Forest Queen?” Hart said, speaking doubtful.
“Bring her here––right here to the Forest Queen,” Santa Fé said back to him. “You know pretty well I do things when I say I’ll do ’em––and this thing’ll be done! Come to think of it,” he said, “maybe it’ll be better if I go to your place and fetch her along myself. It’ll help if I do a little talking to her on the way down. Yes, we’ll fix it that way. You and she be ready at four o’clock, and I’ll come for you. That’ll give her an hour here, and an hour to go home and eat her supper––and that’ll get us to train-time, and then the circus’ll close down. Now you go home and go to bed, Bill. You’re all beat out. Just you leave things to Ike and me and go right home.”