The Chronic Loafer stretched his legs along the counter and rested his back comfortably against a pile of calicoes.
“I allus held,” he said, “that they hain’t no sech things ez a roarinborinallus. I know some sais they is ’lectric lights, but ’hen I seen that big un last night I sayd to my Missus, an’ I hol’ I’m right, I sayd that it was nawthin’ but the iron furnaces over the mo’ntain. Fer s’pose, ez the Teacher claims, they was lights at the North Pole—does you uns believe we could see ’em all that distance? Well now!”
He gazed impressively about the store. The Patriarch, the Miller and the G.A.R. Man were disposed to agree with him. The School Teacher was sarcastic.
“Where ignorance is bliss ’twere folly to be wise,” he said. He tilted back on two legs of his chair and adjusted his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, so that all eight of his long quivering fingers seemed to be pointing in scorn at the man on the counter.
The Loafer rolled slowly over on one side and eyed the pedagogue.
“Ben readin’ the almanick lately, hain’t ye?” he drawled.
“If you devoted less time to the almanac and more to physical geography,” retorted the Teacher, “you’d know that the Aurora Borealis hain’t a light made on terra firma but that it is a peculiar magnetic condition of the atmosphere. And the manner in which you pronounce it is exceedingly ludicrous. It’s not a roarinborinallus. It is spelled A-u-r-o-r-a B-o-r-e-a-l-i-s.”
The Loafer sat up, crossed his legs and embraced his knee, thus forming a natural fortification behind which he could collect his thoughts before hurling them at his glib and smiling foe. He gazed dully at his rival a moment; then said suddenly, “My pap was a cute man.”
“He hasn’t left any living monument to his good sense,” said the Teacher.
The Loafer looked at the Storekeeper, who was sitting beneath him on an empty egg-crate. “Do you mind how he use to say that Solerman meant ‘teacher’ ’hen he sayd ‘wine’; how Solerman meant, ‘Look not upon the teacher ’hen he is read,’ fer a leetle learnin’ leaveneth the whole lump an’ puffs him up so——”
The pedagogue’s chair came down on all four legs with a crash. His right thumb left the seclusion of his waistcoat, his right arm shot out straight, and a trembling forefinger pointed at the eyes that were just visible over the top of the white-patched knee.
“See here!” he shouted. “I’m ready for an argyment, but no callin’ names. This is no place for abuse.”
The Loafer resumed his reclining attitude and fixed his gaze on the dim recesses of the ceiling.
“I hain’t callin’ no one names,” he said slowly, “I was jest tellin’ what my pap use to say.”
“Tut-tut-tut, boys,” interrupted the Patriarch, thumping the floor with his stick. “Don’t git quarrelin’ over sech a leetle thing ez the meanin’ o’ a word. Mebbe ye’s both right.”
The Tinsmith had hitherto occupied a nail keg near the stove, unnoticed. Now he began to rub his hands together gleefully and to chuckle. The Teacher was convinced that his own discomfiture was the cause of the other’s mirth.
“Well, what are you so tickled about?” he snapped.
“Aurory Borealis. Perry Muthersbaugh spelled down Jawhn Jimson on that very word. Yes, he done it on that very word. My, but that there was a bee, Perfessor!”
“Now ’fore you git grindin’ away, sence you’ve got on spellin’,” said the Chronic Loafer, “I want to tell a good un——”
“Let him tell us about Perry Muthersbaugh,” said the Teacher in decisive tones. The title “professor” had had a softening effect, and he repaid the compliment by supporting the Tinsmith’s claim to the floor.
Compelled to silence, the Chronic Loafer closed his eyes as though oblivious to all about him, but a hand stole to his ear and formed a trumpet there to aid his hearing.
“Some folks is nat’ral spellers jest ez others is nat’ral musicians,” began the Tinsmith. “Agin, it’s jest ez hard to make a good speller be edication ez it is to make a good bass-horn player, fer a felly that hain’t the inborn idee o’ how many letters is needed to make a word’ll never spell no better than the man that hain’t the nat’ral sense o’ how much wind’s needed to make a note, ’ll play the bass-horn.”
“I cannot wholly agree with you,” the Teacher interrupted. “Give a child first words of one syllable, then two; drill him in words ending in t-i-o-n until——”
“We won’t discuss that, Perfessor. It don’t affect our case, fer Jawhn Jimson was a nat’ral speller. You never seen the like. Give him a word o’ six or seven syllables an’ he’d spell it out like it was on a blackboard right before him. ’Hen he was twenty he’d downed all the scholars in Happy Grove an’ won about six bees. Then he went to Pikestown Normal School, an’ ’hen he come back you never knowd the beat. He hed stedied Lating an’ algebray there, but I guesst he must also ’a’ spent considerable time a-brushin’ up his spellin’, fer they was only one felly ’bout these parts could keep with him any time at all. He was my frien’ Perry Muthersbaugh, who tot up to Kishikoquillas.
“You uns mind the winter we hed the big blizzard, ’hen the snow covered all the fences an’ was piled so high in the roads that we hed to drive th’oo the fiel’s. They was a heap sight goin’ on that year—church sosh’bles, singin’ school an’ spellin’ bees. Me an’ Perry Muthersbaugh was buddies, an’ not a week passed ’thout we went some’eres together. Fore I knowd it him an’ Jawhn Jimson was keepin’ company with Hannah Ciders. She was jest ez pretty ez a peach, plump an rosy, with the slickest nat’ral hair an’ teeth you uns ever seen. She was fond o’ edication, too, so ’hen them teachers was after her she couldn’t make up her min’. She favored both. Perry was good lookin’ an’ steady an’ no fool. He’d set all evenin’ along side o’ her an’ never say nawthin’ much, but she kind o’ thot him good company. It allus seemed to me that Jimson was a bit conceity an’ bigitive, but he was amusin’ an’ hed the advantage of a normal school edication. He kind o’ dazzled her. She didn’t know which of ’em to take, an’ figured on it tell well inter the winter. Her color begin to go an’ she was gittin’ thin. Perry an’ Jawhn was near wild with anxiousness an’ was continual quarrelin’. Then what d’ye s’pose they done?”
“It’ll take a long time fer ’em to do much the way you tells it,” the Chronic Loafer grumbled.
“She give out,” continued the Tinsmith, not heeding the interruption, “that she’d take the best edicated. That tickled Jawhn, an’ he blowed around to his frien’s how he was goin’ to send ’em invites to his weddin’. Perry jest grit his teeth an’ sayd nawthin’ ’cept that he was ready. Then he got out his spellin’ book an’ went to sawin’ wood jest ez hard an’ fast ez he could.”
“That there reminds me o’ my pap.” The Chronic Loafer was sitting up again.
“Well, if your pap was anything like his son,” said the Teacher, “I guess he could ’a’ sawed most of his wood with a spellin’ book.”
The author of this witticism laughed long and loud, having support in the Miller and the G.A. R. Man. The Patriarch put his hand under his chin and dexterously turned his long beard upward so that it hid his face. In the seclusion thus formed he had a quiet chuckle all to himself, for he was a politic old person and loath to offend.
“Boys, boys,” he said when the mirth was subsiding, “remember what the Scriptur’ sais——”
“Pap didn’t git it from the Scriptur’,” said the Loafer complacently. “He use to give it ez a text tho’, somethin’ like this, ‘He that goeth at the wood-pile too fast gen’rally breaketh his saw on the fust nail an’ freezeth all winter.’”
“Not ef he gits the right kind o’ firewood—the kind that hasn’t no nails,” said the Miller hotly.
“Huh!” exclaimed the Loafer, and he sprawled out upon the counter once more.
The Tinsmith took up the narrative again.
“It was agreed that the two teachers ’ud hev it out at the big spellin’ bee ’tween their schools the follyin’ week. The night set come. Sech a crowd ez gathered at the Happy Grove school house! They was sleighin’, an’ fer a quarter of a mile in front o’ the buildin’ they was nawthin’ but horses hitched to the fences. The room was decorated with greens an’ lighted with ile lamps fer the occasion, an’ was jest packed. All the seats was filled with girls. The men was lined three deep along the walls an’ banked up on top of one another at the back. On one side o’ the platform, settin’ on a long bench under the blackboard, was the sixteen best scholars o’ Happy Grove school led be Jawhn Jimson. He was smilin’ an’ conferdent, an’ gazed longin’ at Hannah Ciders, who was on one o’ the front seats an’ ’peared rather nervous.
“Perry Muthersbaugh come up to me ez I was standin’ be the stove warmin’ up, an’ I whispered him a few words of encouragement, tho’ I felt sorry fer him. He was a leetle excited but ’lowed it ’ud come out all right. Then he tuk his place on the other side o’ the platform with his sixteen scholars, an’ the proceedin’s begin.
“Teacher Long from Lemon township give out the words, while me an’ another felly kep’ tally. The first word was soupeny. Perry missed it. He spelled it s-u-p-e-n-a. It jest made me sick to hev to mark down one agin his side. Jimson tuk it, spelled it all right, an’ commenced to smile. Muthersbaugh looked solemn. The next felly on his side spelled supersedes correct, while the girl beside Jawhn missed superannuation. Happy Grove and Kishikoquillas was even.
“I tell you uns it was most excitin’ to see them trained spellers battlin’. They kep’ it up fer half an hour, an’ ’hen they quit Happy Grove hed two misses less than Kishikoquillas. Jimson was smilin’ triumphant. Perry didn’t do nawthin’ but set there quiet like.
“Then come the final test—the spellin’ down. After a recess o’ ten minutes the sides lined up agin, an’ ’henever one missed a word he hed to go sit in the aud’ence. They spelled an’ spelled tell they was no one left but Jawhn Jimson an’ Perry Muthersbaugh, standin’ glarin’ at each other an’ singin’ out letters. It was a grand sight. Hannah Ciders was pale an’ tremblin’, fer she knowd the valley of an idle word then. The aud’ence was most stretchin’ their necks outen joint they was so interested. Two lamps went out an’ no one fixed them. The air was blue with steam made be the snow meltin’ offen the fellys’ boots, the stove begin to smoke, an’ the room was suffocatin’, yit no one thot to put up a winder, the excitemen’ was so bad.
“Sech words ez penultimate, concatenation, pentateuch an’ silhouette come dead easy to them teachers. They kep’ glarin’ at each other an’ spellin’ like their life depended on it. Poor Long’s voice got weaker an’ weaker givin’ out words, an’ I was that nervous I could hairdly see. They spelled all the ations an’ entions, all the words endin’ in i-s-m, d-l-e an’ ness, tell it seemed they’d use up the book. Perry was gittin’ more excited. Jimson’s knees was tremblin’ visible.
“Then Rorybory Allus was give out. You could ’a’ heard a pin drop in that room. Jimson he begin slow, ez ef it was dead easy: ‘A-r-o-r-a, Aurora; b-o-r, Aurora Bor; e-a-l-i-s, Aurora Borealis.’
“A mumble went over the room. He seen he was wrong an’ yelled, ‘A-u, I mean!’
“‘Too late,’ sais Long. ‘Only one chancet at a time. The gentleman who gits it right first, wins.’
“Jawhn was white ez a sheet, an’ his face an’ han’s was twitchin’ ez he stood there glarin’ at Perry. Muthersbaugh looked at the floor like he was stedyin’. I seen Hannah Ciders lean for’a’d an’ grip the desk with her han’s. Then I knowd she’d made up her min’ which she favored.
“He begin, ‘A-u, au; r-o-r, ror, Auror; a, Aurora; B-o-r-e, bore, Aurora Bore; a-l, al, Aurora Boreal—’ Then he stopped, an’ looked up at the ceilin’, an’ stedied.
“I seen tears in Hannah Ciders’ eyes ez she leaned for’a’d, not breathin’. I seen Jimson grin, an’ knowd he remembered he’d left out the u an’ ’ud spell it jest ez quick ez he got a chancet. I believed Perry was goin’ to say a, that it was all up with him an’ that Hannah Ciders knowd too late who she favored.
“All o’ a sudden the door flew open an’ they was a cry: ‘Hoss thief! thieves! Some un’s run off with Teacher Jimson’s sleigh.’
“You uns never seen sech a panic. The weemen jumped up an’ yelled. The men all piled outen the door. Jawhn Jimson climbed th’oo the winder, an’ Teacher Long dropped his spellin’ book an’ followed. To my surprise Perry Muthersbaugh never moved. He jest stood there lookin’ at Hannah Ciders an’ smilin’ while she gazed back. I was gittin’ outen the winder among the last an’ turned to see ef Perry was ahint me—that’s how I noticed it. Fer three minutes them two stared at each other an’ I stared at them, not knowin’ what to make of it. Meantime the room was cleared. Outside we heard the sleigh-bells ringin’ ez the boys started off after the thieves; we heard Jawhn Jimson an’ Teacher Long callin’ to ’em to go in this an’ that direction; we heard the weemen complainin’ because so many’d hev to walk home.
“Jest then the rear winder, right back o’ where Perry was standin’, slid up an’ his young brother Sam stuck in his head. He looked ’round, an’ he seen the coast was clear. Then he whispered, ‘I give that ’larm in time,’ Perry, didn’t I? Teacher Jimson’s horse is hitched right here ahint the school-house, an’ you can take her home jest ez soon ez the last o’ these fools gits away.’
“Perry wheeled round an’ run at the youngster, ketchin’ him be the collar an’ draggin’ him inter the room.
“‘What you mean,’ sais he, shakin’ him like a rat. ‘What you mean be spoilin’ the bee?’
“Sam begin to yowl. ‘I seen ye was stuck,’ he sais, ‘an’ I thot I’d help ye out.’
“With that Perry th’owed his brother off into a corner o’ the room. Then he stood up straight an’ looked Hannah Ciders right in the eye.
“‘He thot I was stuck,’ he sayd, steppin’ off the platform an’ walkin’ up to the girl. ‘But I ain’t. The last syllable’s e-a-l-a-s!
“‘No,’ she answers quiet like. ‘It’s e-a-l-i-s—but that ain’t no difference.’”