Tess of the Storm Country. Grace Miller White
voice.
"Yes," Billy heard Hall answer in heartbroken tones, "and please, doctor, do the best you can for him."
"Oh, we'll fix him alright in just about a minute," responded the strange voice. "Mr. Hall, will you please hold his arms, for when patients are excited they sometimes forget themselves, and … now … my instruments, please."
Billy's arms were held tightly behind him, and for a moment he heard nothing—then came to his ears the sound of a box being unclasped and—horror of horrors—the rattle of surgical instruments.
Would they dare cut his face? Why his father would—
Billy felt the cold blade of the knife touch his flesh, and hot blood run down to his chin.
Upon this he became possessed by the strength of a giant. Jerking his hands loose he struck out with all his might, his fist hitting something with the force of a kicking donkey. There was a sound of some one falling and a roar of laughter went up from the students as Billy was grasped by what seemed a thousand hands. The bandage was snatched from his eyes and he looked upon a sorry sight. Manchester, the expert wielder of the Mazuka, had failed as a surgeon. He lay a few feet away amid pieces of broken ice, which he had pretended was a surgical knife—his coat bespotted with hot milk which represented poor Billy's blood, and his left hand clasped tightly over a swollen eye.
"What hit me?" gasped the fictitious Dr. Wallace.
"What hit Manchester, fellows?" one of the seniors managed to howl out to the convulsed fraternity members.
"I believe that rascally freshman did it," exclaimed Manchester excitedly, "bring me the 'Mazuka,' and I'll put a bunch on him that never will come off."
"Gee Whiz! Look at his eye," some one called out.
This brought Manchester to a standstill.
"What's the matter with it," he groaned, putting his hand again to his face, "is it gone?"
The lids were puffed shut, and were rapidly darkening. Richard Hall, laughing uproariously, held a pocket mirror for the young sophomore to peep into. After a moment's contemplation of his bruised face, Manchester came forth in a hoarse whisper,
"That freshman's got to die—If I only … had an ax," and his one eye gazed wildly around in search of a weapon.
"Come, come, Teddy Manchester," soothed a tall senior, "we'll arrange with the freshman alright. Don't work yourself into unnecessary excitement."
"And he shall use all his spending money for your tobacco, Teddy, for the entire year," cajoled Hall, "and black your boots and brush your clothes, into the bargain, and besides you will get a chance to get even at the Freshmen's Banquet," he whispered.
"Gentlemen," he concluded, turning with a winning smile upon the assembled society, "we have five new members in the 'Cranium' Fraternity."
CHAPTER X
Minister Graves' city home, the Rectory, was a magnificent house, covered with a thick growth of ivy; one bay window ornamenting it on the west, another looking on the street.
The first evening in November, the family was seated about the table, the minister reading the evening paper. "Babe" was arguing with her mother that all little girls should be allowed to roller skate upon the pavement; that "there wasn't a bit of danger in it."
Frederick was silently eating his dinner—Teola following his example. Suddenly the minister ejaculated:
"Ah, that's good."
"What's good, father?" inquired Mrs. Graves.
"Skinner is brought to trial to-morrow. The paper says there isn't the slightest hope for him to escape. And listen to this:
"Of all the happenings in the annals of the Ithaca courts the following is the most extraordinary. Orn Skinner, the squatter, who is to be tried this week for the murder of Emery Stebbins, the game warden, is the father of a girl some fifteen years old. The day after his incarceration the girl presented herself at the office of the sheriff, asking permission to see her father. The sheriff thought wiser not and refused the request. But the night before last the girl was discovered ascending, like a squirrel, the thick growth of ivy that covers the stone structure of the jail. For nearly a month she has been tramping the Lehigh Valley railroad tracks after dark, reaching the jail at midnight, and holding converse with her father on the stone sill of his cell window, two stories above the ground. The girl was closely questioned but refused to answer, probably fearing the consequences of visiting a prisoner without the consent of the sheriff. Skinner has been removed to an inner cell, the authorities fearing some plan of escape. The girl is very pretty, with long red hair, and brown eyes, and those who have seen her say that she is like a frightened rabbit, refusing to talk with any, save a few of her kind."
The Dominie grunted, as he finished reading.
"I should think they would remove him to an inner cell," said he. "Such goings on! The girl ought to have a taste of the rawhide."
"Maybe she loves her father and wanted to see him," ventured Babe, who had no reverence for paternal opinions.
"Love, love," retorted the Dominie, "all the love those people have in their lives you could put in a nutshell."
"Her father's trial comes up to-morrow—I wonder if they will allow the girl to attend."
This was from Frederick—he had not seen Tessibel since the night he had told her how to help her father. His face gathered a crimson shade as he remembered that he had promised her that he, too, would pray for her Daddy. The sympathy he had felt in his heart, throbbed again as he thought of her lonely grief—and the dead toad. He would keep his promise to Tess—pray that something might come into her life if somebody went out.
"Mother," said Teola, changing the subject abruptly, "why can't we have a toffy pull. I want one so badly."
"It's such a messy thing," sighed Mrs. Graves, looking about upon the tidy home, "and not one of you young people can keep your sticky hands from the curtains and furniture. But I suppose, if you will have it, nothing I can say will alter it. But remember this: I won't have those boys and girls tramping through my house and mussing up everything."
As they rose from the table Teola followed her brother into the hall.
"Frederick, if I arrange the toffy pull, do you suppose Mr. Jordan would come?"
She dropped her eyes—the blood curling to the edge of the tiny ringlets that clung to her forehead. Her brother gave a low laugh.
"He would be only too pleased, Sis, and he is a capital chap. He's a great favorite at the frat with all the boys. Shall I invite him?"
"Yes … for day after to-morrow evening. Will that suit you?"
"Let me see," reflected Frederick, "we are having a meeting at the fraternity, but we might come down afterward, unless we are kept too late."
"Don't let them keep you," pleaded Teola, flashing her brilliant eyes into Frederick's face, "you and Mr. Jordan have influence enough to get away, even if you are freshmen."
The student stooped and kissed his sister fondly.
"I'll arrange it to suit you, Sister … I want to go to the Skinner trial to-morrow. I suppose father will go, too?"
"Everybody will be there," rejoined Teola. "I wonder if his daughter will be permitted to see him after she has been discovered breaking the law."
This time it was Frederick who flushed—it suddenly dawned upon him that he was going to the court simply to see the squatter girl again. He explained his embarrassment by exclaiming:
"Poor little soul! She is the loneliest child in the world. I wish we could do something