7. CHAPTER VII.
OMINOUS REMARKS OF MR. JONES.
THE school-master's mind was like ancient Gaul—
divided into three parts. With one part he
mechanically performed his school duties. With
another he asked himself, What shall I do about
the robbery? And with the third he debated about
Bud and Hannah. For Bud was not present, and it was
clear that he was angry, and there was a storm brewing. In
fact, it seemed to Ralph that there was storm brewing all
round the sky. For Pete Jones was evidently angry at thought
of having been watched, and it was fair to suppose that Dr.
Small was not in any better humor than usual. And so, between
Bud's jealousy and revenge and the suspicion and resentment
of the men engaged in the robbery at “the Dutchman's”
(as the only German in the whole region was called), Ralph's
excited nerves had cause for tremor. At one moment he
would resolve to have Hannah at all costs. In the next his
conscience would question the rightfulness of the conclusion.
Then he would make up his mind to tell all that he knew
about the robbery. But if he told his suspicions about Small,
nobody would believe him. And if he told about Pete Jones,
he really could tell only enough to bring vengeance upon himself.
And how could he explain his own walk through the
pasture and down the road? What business had he being out
of bed at two o'clock in the morning? The circumstantial evidence
was quite as strong against him as against the man on
the horse with the white left forefoot and the white nose.
Suspicion might fasten on himself. And then what would be
the effect on his prospects? On the people at Lewisburg? On
Hannah? It is astonishing how much instruction and comfort
there is in a bull-dog. This slender school-master, who had
been all his life repressing the animal and developing the finer
nature, now found a need of just what the bull-dog had. And
so, with the thought of how his friend the dog would fight in
a desperate strait, he determined to take hold of his difficulties
as Bull took hold of the raccoon. Moral questions he postponed
for careful decision. But for the present he set his teeth
together in a desperate, bull-dog fashion, and he set his feet
down slowly, positively, bull-doggedly. After a wretched supper
at Pete Jones's he found himself at the spelling-school,
which, owing to the absence of Hannah and the excitement
about the burglary, was a dull affair. Half the evening was
spent in talking in little knots. Pete Jones had taken the afflicted
“Dutchman” under his own particular supervision.
“I s'pose,” said Pete, “that them air fellers what robbed
your house must a come down from Jinkins Run. They're
the blamedest set up there I ever see.”
“Ya-as,” said Schroeder, “put how did Yinkins vellers know
dat I sell te medder to te Shquire, hey? How tid Yinkins
know anyting 'bout the Shquire's bayin' me dree huntert in te
hard gash—hey?”
“Some scoundrels down in these ere parts is a-layin' in with
Jinkins Run, I'll bet a hoss,” said Pete. Ralph wondered
whether he'd bet the one with the white left forefoot and the
white nose. “Now,” said Pete, “ef I could find the feller that's
a helpin' them scoundrels rob us folks, I'd help stretch him
to the neardest tree.”
“So vood I,” said Schroeder. “I'd shtretch him dill he baid
me my dree huntert tollars pack, so I vood.”
And Betsey Short, who had found the whole affair very funny,
was transported with a fit of tittering at poor Schroeder's English.
Ralph, fearing that his silence would excite suspicion,
tried to talk. But he could not tell what he knew, and all that
he said sounded so hollow and hypocritical that it made him
feel guilty. And so he shut his mouth, and meditated profitably
on the subject of bull-dogs. And when later he overheard
the garrulous Jones declare that he'd bet a hoss he could p'int
out somebody as know'd a blamed sight more'n they keer'd to
tell, he made up his mind that if it came to p'inting out he
should try to be even with Jones.
