The Contralto

Rev. Charles Maloy, C. M.
St. Joseph's Parish, Emmitsburg, Md.

Chapter 18  | Chapter 17 | Chapter 1

Not withstanding the happy termination of an evening full of varying sensations, the Professor did not find it easy to woo elusive slumber. The clock tolled off the earlier morning hours while he lay the victim of never satisfied questioning. How far might his action on the porch be construed as a declaration, and how seriously would the girl take it? All that soul possessing joy which accompanied such moments, as he had read in books, was conspicuously absent in him now, as he debated whether he had been right. It did not seem to be a square deal for the girl, who was ten years his junior, who might be the victim of the first motion of love, who might be reckless of the cost of ultimate collapse in all that makes life worth living. The thinking made the blood stay in his brain, heating the pillows which periodically he turned in an effort to cool the fever. He was on the verge of rising to get a cracker and a glass of milk to draw the blood from his head, when he thought of the Rector's advice to pray. The best effort brought nothing more philosophic than "Now I lay me" with thoughts of his mother, and sleep.

The square looking East ~ 1910

The Professor looked at the awe-stricken black-guard for half a minute, then walked slowly out of the bank. As the door closed behind him the cashier stood for a time in terror, then turned the pages of his ledger to the account of the Emmitsburg Syndicate, and later to the personal deposits of Seabold and Galt. After this he took his hat, called to a clerk to attend to customers, and went out into the street. Stepping from the porch, he shuddered, seeing Tom Greavy in earnest conversation with the Professor, and well he might for the ex-wrestler was at that moment answering a hypothetic question which boded no good for Mr. Annan:

"What would you do to a scoundrel who would spread a calumny about a pure, sweet, lovable young girl?"

"Lynch him," answered Tom, his jaws snapping. "Or help him to an overcoat of tar and feathers." "That's me, Professor, when do we begin?"

"I merely wanted your opinion, Tom, I may count on you?"

"Sure, just pass me the word."

At lunch and at the office in the afternoon the Professor was moody, not even the glowing account of the dance read by Higbee, the author, could raise him for long from his fits of abstraction. He knew he would not be called on to carry out his threat, for probably Sharpe and his family, did they learn the story, would never resent it, lest financial difficulties with the bank might ensue. The other people knew it by this time and were waiting to see what he should do. The editor, by some telepathic communication, seemed to know his line of thought.

"We have done nothing with Annan’s check-shaving."

"I would enjoy blowing him and his blasted bank to blazes," fiercely.

"What new count in the indictment?"

"Never mind, how are we going to proceed?"

"Through the only way to reach him; send an ultimatum that he stop it or we do business at Rocky Ridge for the present and eventually open a national bank here."

"Will that bring him to time?"

"You bet it will, he would sooner lose his soul than a nickel."

"Let us spare him the ultimatum and proceed to action at once; he deserves it, damn him, he deserves it."

"As you say," agreed the editor, for he too knew through Forman the cause of Harry's anger against Annan; "we shall see Seabold and arrange for the transfer of the factory money tonight."

"Do you know, Galt, that fellow is the meanest coyote on God's footstool? He battens on reputations as he waxes rich on the poverty of this people. If I never do any other good I shall break his power here and have one score on the book of the Recording Angel."

Main Street looking West ~ 1909

On the street he met Marion talking to her Uncle Bennett, who, as he approached, said:

"Did you know I sold my shop, Professor?" "Have you?"

"Yes, I didn't need the money but they said it was the best location for the new factory, and I guess the carpentry business is about dead in this town. Can't compete with their machine-turned stuff though it's a fraud and delusion at that. You ever been inside the shop? Come down and see it." "I'm going, too," announced Marion.

"Come along, though you've been in it many a time since you were little. Golly, Professor! it seems only like yesterday when she used to run around under the men's feet getting long shavings for curls, though they didn't fit, for her hair was always black as a nigger's."

They wandered over the shop, the Professor asking questions on the names and uses of many tools which were strange to him. The girl knew them all and handled them almost affectionately. The old man pottered about, eloquently denouncing the degeneracy which had set in amongst the newer followers of his beloved avocation. Near the rear door he came upon something carefully boxed. Placing his hand upon the top, he turned:

"Been reading in the newspaper about some university up in your country where they been installing a sun-dial with great ceremony. I knowed they'd come back to their senses sooner or later, and discover they can't improve on God's sun. The Gov'ment will learn some day too. Now here's mine that I made over fifty years ago, it's black walnut and I cut the tree and dried the piece myself. I know she's as true as steel, not a warp of a hundredth of an inch. She's stood outside that door for fifty years, but she's got to go now, and I thought maybe you would find use for it at the school where you teach. She's yours if you want her."

The Professor expressed his gratitude but was afraid his acceptance of the gift would mean too great deprivation on the old man's part, especially in view of his duties as caretaker of the town clock. Marion urged him to accept, while affectionately makings his demur plain to Bennett.

"I don't need it, Professor. They've quit gaffing about the clock since I showed them what I learned in Washington. Besides, there's a crack in my shed door that tells me just what the sun-angle is."

The gift was made and the old man insisted on carrying it up to the Rectory and depositing it in safety with injunctions that when it was to be shipped he be called to make it secure for travel.

That evening Bob Crittendon reported at Peter's a very stormy interview between Isaac Annan and Bob's idol, the Professor, after which the banker had left the rectory in a highly nervous state. Several railroad men were also seen to enter and leave the place, but from that day the influence of the house of Annan began to wane.

The assembly talked of the dance, the new factory, the coming play. Whitmore wanted to know what brought Maggie Sharpe to the city, his request for information falling on deaf ears. At rehearsal Greavy told Dr. Forman something which made the dentist laugh hilariously and exclaim: "A coat of tar and feathers eh? and by Gad! he'll do it, too."

Chapter 19

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