Part 12

It was now not so hard. The other spellers on the opposite side went down quickly under the hard words which the Squire gave out. The master had mowed down all but a few, his opponents had given up the battle, and all had lost their keen interest in a contest to which there could be but one conclusion, for there were only the poor spellers left. But Ralph Hartsook ran against a stump where he was least expecting it. It was the Squire's custom, when one of the smaller scholars or poorer spellers rose to spell against the master, to give out eight or ten easy words, that they might have some breathing-spell before being slaughtered, and then to give a poser or two which soon settled them. He let them run a little, as a cat does a doomed mouse. There was now but one person left on the opposite side, and, as she rose in her blue calico dress, Ralph recognized Hannah, the bound girl at old Jack Means's. She had not attended school in the district, and had never spelled in spelling-school before, and was chosen last as an uncertain quantity. The Squire began with easy words of two syllables, from that page of Webster, so well known to all who ever thumbed it, as "baker," from the word that stands at the top of the page. She spelled these words in an absent and uninterested manner. As everybody knew that she would have to go down as soon as this preliminary skirmishing was over, everybody began to get ready to go home, and already there was the buzz of preparation. Young men were timidly asking girls if "they could see them safe home," which was the approved formula, and were trembling in mortal fear of "the mitten." Presently the Squire, thinking it time to close the contest, pulled his scalp forward, adjusted his glass eye, which had been examining his nose long enough, and turned over the leaves of the book to the great words at the place known to spellers as "incomprehensibility," and began to give out those "words of eight syllables with the accent on the sixth." Listless scholars now turned round, and ceased to whisper, in order to be in at the master's final triumph. But to their surprise "ole Miss Meanses' white nigger," as some of them called her in allusion to her slavish life, spelled these great words with as perfect ease as the master. Still not doubting the result, the Squire turned from place to place and selected all the hard words he could find. The school became utterly quiet, the excitement was too great for the ordinary buzz. Would "Meanses' Hanner" beat the master? beat the master that had laid out Jim Phillips? Everybody's sympathy was now turned to Hannah. Ralph noticed that even Shocky had deserted him, and that his face grew brilliant every time Hannah spelled a word. In fact, Ralph deserted himself. As he saw the fine, timid face of the girl so long oppressed flush and shine with interest; as he looked at the rather low but broad and intelligent brow and the fresh, white complexion and saw the rich, womanly nature coming to the surface under the influence of applause and sympathy--he did not want to beat. If he had not felt that a victory given would insult her, he would have missed intentionally. The bulldog, the stern, relentless setting of the will, had gone, he knew not whither. And there had come in its place, as he looked in that face, a something which he did not understand. You did not, gentle reader, the first time it came to you.

The Squire was puzzled. He had given out all the hard words in the book. He again pulled the top of his head forward. Then he wiped his spectacles and put them on. Then out of the depths of his pocket he fished up a list of words just coming into use in those days--words not in the spelling-book. He regarded the paper attentively with his blue right eye. His black left eye meanwhile fixed itself in such a stare on Mirandy Means that she shuddered and hid her eyes in her red silk handkerchief.

"Daguerreotype," sniffed the Squire. It was Ralph's turn.

"D-a-u, dau--"

"Next."

And Hannah spelled it right.

Such a buzz followed that Betsey Short's giggle could not be heard, but Shocky shouted: "Hanner beat! my Hanner spelled down the master!" And Ralph went over and congratulated her.

And Dr. Small sat perfectly still in the corner.

And then the Squire called them to order, and said: "As our friend Hanner Thomson is the only one left on her side, she will have to spell against nearly all on t'other side. I shall therefore take the liberty of procrastinating the completion of this interesting and exacting contest until to-morrow evening. I hope our friend Hanner may again carry off the cypress crown of glory. There is nothing better for us than healthful and kindly simulation."

Dr. Small, who knew the road to practice, escorted Mirandy, and Bud went home with somebody else. The others of the Means family hurried on, while Hannah, the champion, stayed behind a minute to speak to Shocky. Perhaps it was because Ralph saw that Hannah must go alone that he suddenly remembered having left something which was of no consequence, and resolved to go round by Mr. Means's and get it.

MYOPIA

BY WALLACE RICE

As down the street he took his stroll, He cursed, for all he is a saint. He saw a sign atop a pole, As down the street he took a stroll, And climbed it up (near-sighted soul), So he could read--and read "FRESH PAINT," ... As down the street he took a stroll, He cursed, for all he is a saint.

ANATOLE DUBOIS AT DE HORSE SHOW

BY WALLACE BRUCE AMSBARY

My vife an' me ve read so moch In papier here of late, About Chicago Horse Show, ve Remember day an' date. Ve mak' it op togedder dat Ve go an' see dat show, Dere's som't'ing dere ve fin' it out Maybe ve vant to know.

Ve leave de leddle farm avile, Dat's near to Bourbonnais; Ve're soon op to Chicago town For spen' de night an' day; I nevere lak' dat busy place, It's mos' too swif for me,-- Ve vaste no tam', but gat to place Dat ve is com' for see.

Ve pay de price for tak' us in, Dey geeve me _deux_ ticquette; Charlotte an' me ve com' for see De Horse Show now, you bet. Ve soon gat in it veree moch, "De push," I t'ink you call, To inside on de beeg building, Ve're going to see it all.

De Coliseum is de place, Dey mak' de Horse Show dere, Five tam's so beeg dan any barn At Bourbonnais, by gar! I'm look aroun' for place dey haf' For dem to pitch de hay. "I guess it's 'out of sight,' I t'ink," Dey's von man to me say.

An' den ve valk aroun' an' 'roun' Som' horses for to see; Dere's pretty vomans, lots of dem, But, for de life of me, I can not see de trotter nag, Or vat's called t'oroughbred, I vonder if ve mak' mistake, Gat in wrong place instead.

But Charlotte is not disappoint', Her eyes dey shine so bright, It's ven she sees dem vimmens folks, Dey dance vit moch delight; I den vos tak' a look myself On ladies vit fin' drass, Dere's nodding else in dat whol' place Dat is so interes'.

I say, "Charlotte," say I to her, "Dat ladee in box seat-- Across de vay vos von beeg swell, Her beauty's hard to beat; De von dat's gat fon_ee_ eyeglass Opon a leddle stek, I'm t'ink she is most' fin' loo_kin_' Wen she bow an' spe'k.

"It's pretty drass dat she's got on, I lak' de polonaise, Vere bodice it is all meex op Vit jabot all de vays. Dat's hang in front vit pleats all roun'-- It is von fin' tableau." An' den Charlotte she turn to me An' ask me how I know

So moch about de Beeg Horse Show, W'ich we are com' for see; An' den I op an' tol' her dere Dat I had com' to be Expert on informatione, Read papier, I fin' out Vat all is in de Horse's Show, An' vat's it all about.

I point to ladee in nex' box, She's feex op mighty vell, I vish I could haf' vords enough Vat she had on to tell; De firs' part it vas nodding moch, From cloth it vas quite free, Lak' fleur-de-lis at Easter tam', Mos' beautiful to see.

An' den dere is commence a line Of fluffy cream soufflé, My vife it mak' her very diz', She's not a vord to say. An' den com' yard of _crêpe de chine_, Vit omelette stripe beneadt', All fill it op vit fine guimpe jew'ls An' concertina pleat.

Mon Dieu! an' who vould evere t'ink Dat Horse Show vas lak' dese! A Horse Show dere vidout no horse, I t'ink dat's strange beez_nesse_. But I suppose affer de man De dry-goods bill dey pay, Dere's nodding lef' to spen' on horse Ontil som' odder day.

I tell you every hour you leeve, You fin' out som't'ing new; An' now I haf' som' vords to tell, Som' good it might do you; It's mighty fonny, de advise I'm geeve to you, of course, But never go to Horses Show Expecting to see horse.

THE CHAMPION CHECKER-PLAYER OF AMERIKY

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

Of course as fur as Checker-playin's concerned, you can't jest adzackly claim 'at lots makes fortunes and lots gits bu'sted at it--but still, it's on'y simple jestice to acknowledge 'at there're absolute p'ints in the game 'at takes scientific principles to figger out, and a mighty level-headed feller to _dim_onstrate, don't you understand!

Checkers is a' _old_ enough game, ef age is any rickommendation; and it's a' evident fact, too, 'at "the tooth of time," as the feller says, which fer the last six thousand years has gained some reputation fer a-eatin' up things in giner'l, don't 'pear to 'a' gnawed much of a hole in Checkers--jedgin' from the checker-board of to-day and the ones 'at they're uccasionally shovellin' out at _Pom_p'y-_i_, er whatever its name is. Turned up a checker-board there not long ago, I wuz readin' 'bout, 'at still had the spots on--as plain and fresh as the modern white-pine board o' our'n, squared off with pencil-marks and pokeberry-juice. These is facts 'at history herself has dug out, and of course it ain't fer me ner you to turn our nose up at Checkers, whuther we ever tamper with the fool-game er not. Fur's that's concerned, I don't p'tend to be no checker-player _myse'f_,--but I know'd a feller onc't 'at _could_ play, and sorto' made a business of it; and _that_ man, in my opinion, was a geenyus! Name wuz Wesley Cotterl--John Wesley Cotterl--jest plain Wes, as us fellers round the Shoe-Shop ust to call him; ust to allus make the Shoe-Shop his headquarters-like; and, rain er shine, wet er dry, you'd allus find _Wes_ on hands, ready to banter some feller fer a game, er jest a-settin' humped up there over the checker-board all alone, a-cipher'n' out some new move er 'nuther, and whistlin' low and solem' to hisse'f-like and a-payin' no attention to nobody.

And _I'll_ tell _you_, Wes Cotterl wuz no man's fool, as sly as you keep it! He wuz a deep thinker, Wes wuz; and ef he'd 'a' jest turned that mind o' his loose on _preachin'_, fer instunce, and the 'terpertation o' the Bible, don't you know, Wes 'ud 'a' worked p'ints out o' there 'at no livin' expounderers ever got in gunshot of!

But Wes he didn't 'pear to be cut out fer nothin' much but jest Checker-playin'. Oh, of course, he _could_ knock round his own woodpile some, and garden a little, more er less; and the neighbers ust to find Wes purty handy 'bout trimmin' fruit-trees, you understand, and workin' in among the worms and cattapillers in the vines and shrubbery, and the like. And handlin' bees!--They wuzn't no man under the heavens 'at knowed more 'bout handlin' bees'n Wes Cotterl!--"Settlin'" the blame' things when they wuz a-swarmin'; and a-robbin' hives, and all sich fool-resks. W'y, I've saw Wes Cotterl, 'fore now, when a swarm of bees 'ud settle in a' orchard,--like they will sometimes, you know,--I've saw Wes Cotterl jest roll up his shirt-sleeves and bend down a' apple tree limb 'at wuz jest kivvered with the pesky things, and scrape 'em back into the hive with his naked hands, by the quart and gallon, and never git a scratch! You couldn't _hire_ a bee to sting Wes Cotterl! But _lazy_?--I think that man had railly ort to 'a' been a' Injun! He wuz the fust and on'y man 'at ever I laid eyes on 'at wuz too lazy to drap a checker-man to p'int out the right road fer a feller 'at ast him onc't the way to Burke's Mill; and Wes, 'ithout ever a-liftin' eye er finger, jest sorto' crooked out that mouth o' his'n in the direction the feller wanted, and says: "_H-yonder!_" and went on with his whistlin'. But all this hain't Checkers, and that's what I started out to tell ye.

Wes had a way o' jest natchurly a-cleanin' out anybody and ever'body 'at 'ud he'p hold up a checker-board! Wes wuzn't what you'd call a _lively_ player at all, ner a competiter 'at talked much 'crost the board er made much furse over a game whilse he _wuz_ a-playin'. He had his faults, o' course, and _would_ take back moves 'casion'ly, er inch up on you ef you didn't watch him, mebby. But, _as a rule_, Wes had the insight to grasp the idy of whoever wuz a-playin' ag'in' him, and _his_ style o' game, you understand, and wuz on the lookout continual'; and under sich circumstances _could_ play as _honest_ a game o' Checkers as the babe unborn.

One thing in _Wes's_ favor allus wuz the feller's temper.--Nothin' 'peared to aggervate Wes, and nothin' on earth could break his slow and lazy way o' takin' his own time fer ever'thing. You jest _couldn't crowd Wes_ er git him rattled anyway.--Jest 'peared to have one fixed principle, and that wuz to take plenty o' time, and never make no move 'ithout a-ciphern'n' ahead on the prob'ble consequences, don't you understand! "Be shore you're right," Wes 'ud say, a-lettin' up fer a second on that low and sorry-like little wind-through-the-keyhole whistle o' his, and a-nosin' out a place whur he could swap one man fer two.--"Be shore you're right"--and somep'n' after this style wuz Wes's way: "Be shore you're right"--(whistling a long, lonesome bar of "Barbara Allen")--"and then"--(another long, retarded bar)--"go ahead!"--and by the time the feller 'ud git through with his whistlin', and a-stoppin' and a-startin' in ag'in, he'd be about three men ahead to your one. And then he'd jest go on with his whistlin' 'sef nothin' had happened, and mebby you a-jest a-rearin' and a-callin' him all the mean, outlandish, ornry names 'at you could lay tongue to.

But Wes's good nature, I reckon, was the thing 'at he'ped him out as much as any other p'ints the feller had. And _Wes 'ud allus win, in the long run_!--I don't keer _who_ played ag'inst him! It was on'y a question o' time with Wes o' waxin' it to the best of 'em. Lots o' players has _tackled_ Wes, and right at the _start_ 'ud mebby give him trouble,--but in the _long run_, now mind ye--_in the long run_, no mortal man, I reckon, had any business o' rubbin' knees with Wes Cotterl under no airthly checker-board in all this vale o' tears!

I mind onc't th' come along a high-toned feller from in around In'i'nop'lus somers.--Wuz a _lawyer_, er some _p'fessional_ kind o' man. Had a big yaller, luther-kivvered book under his arm, and a bunch o' these-'ere big en_vel_op's and a lot o' suppeenies stickin' out o' his breastpocket. Mighty slick-lookin' feller he wuz; wore a stovepipe hat, sorto' set 'way back on his head--so's to show off his Giner'l Jackson forr'ed, don't you know! Well-sir, this feller struck the place, on some business er other, and then missed the hack 'at _ort_ to 'a' tuk him out o' here sooner'n it _did_ take him out!--And whilse he wuz a-loafin' round, sorto' lonesome--like a feller allus _is_ in a strange place, you know--he kindo' drapped in on our crowd at the Shoe-Shop, ostenchably to git a boot-strop stitched on, but _I_ knowed, the minute he set foot in the door, 'at _that_ feller wanted _comp'ny_ wuss'n _cobblin'_.

Well, as good luck would have it, there set Wes, as usual, with the checker-board in his lap, a-playin' all by hisse'f, and a-whistlin' so low and solem'-like and sad it railly made the crowd seem like a _religious_ getherun' o' some kind er other, we wuz all so quiet and still-like, as the man come in.

Well, the stranger stated his business, set down, tuk off his boot, and set there nussin' his foot and talkin' weather fer ten minutes, I reckon, 'fore he ever 'peared to notice Wes at all. We wuz all back'ard, anyhow, 'bout talkin' much; besides, we knowed, long afore he come in, all about how hot the weather wuz, and the pore chance there wuz o' rain, and all that; and so the subject had purty well died out, when jest then the feller's eyes struck Wes and the checker-board,--and I'll never fergit the warm, salvation smile 'at flashed over him at the promisin' discovery. "_What!_" says he, a-grinnin' like a' angel and a-edgin' his cheer to'rds Wes, "have we a checker-board and checkers here?"

"We hev," says I, knowin' 'at Wes wouldn't let go o' that whistle long enough to answer--more'n to mebby nod his head.

"And who is your best player?" says the feller, kindo' pitiful-like, with another inquirin' look at Wes.

"Him," says I, a-pokin' Wes with a peg-float. But Wes on'y spit kindo' absent-like, and went on with his whistlin'.

"Much of a player, is he?" says the feller, with a sorto' doubtful smile at Wes ag'in.

"Plays a purty good hick'ry," says I, a-pokin' Wes ag'in. "Wes," says I, "here's a gentleman 'at 'ud mebby like to take a hand with you there, and give you a few idys," says I.

"Yes," says the stranger, eager-like, a-settin' his plug-hat keerful' up in the empty shelvin', and a-rubbin' his hands and smilin' as confident-like as old Hoyle hisse'f,--"Yes, indeed, I'd be glad to give the gentleman" (meanin' Wes) "a' idy er two about Checkers--ef _he'd_ jest as lief,--'cause I reckon ef there're any one thing 'at I _do_ know more about 'an another, it's Checkers," says he; "and there're no game 'at delights me more--_pervidin'_, o' course, I find a competiter 'at kin make it anyways inte_rest_in'."

"Got much of a rickord on Checkers?" says I.

"Well," says the feller, "I don't like to brag, but I've never _ben_ beat--in any _legitimut_ contest," says he, "and I've played more'n one o' _them_," he says, "here and there round the country. Of course, _your friend_ here," he went on, smilin' sociable at Wes, "_he'll_ take it all in good part ef I should happen to lead him a little--jest as _I'd_ do," he says, "ef it wuz possible fer him to lead _me_."

"_Wes_," says I, "_has_ warmed the wax in the yeers of some mighty good checker-players," says I, as he squared the board around, still a-whistlin' to hisse'f-like, as the stranger tuk his place, a-smilin'-like and roachin' back his hair.

"Move," says Wes.

"No," says the feller, with a polite flourish of his hand; "the first move shall be your'n." And, by jucks! fer all he wouldn't take even the advantage of a starter, he flaxed it to Wes the fust game in less'n fifteen minutes.

"Right shore you've give' me your best player?" he says, smilin' round at the crowd, as Wes set squarin' the board fer another game and whistlin' as onconcerned-like as ef nothin' had happened more'n ordinary.

"'S your move," says Wes, a-squintin' out into the game 'bout forty foot from shore, and a-whistlin' purt' nigh in a whisper.

Well-sir, it 'peared-like the feller railly didn't _try_ to play; and you could see, too, 'at Wes knowed he'd about met his match, and played accordin'. He didn't make no move at all 'at he didn't give keerful thought to; whilse the feller--! well, as I wuz sayin', it jest 'peared-like _Checkers_ wuz _child's-play_ fer him! Putt in most o' the time 'long through the game a-sayin' things calkilated to kindo' bore a' ordinary man. But Wes helt hisse'f purty level, and didn't show no signs, and kep' up his _whistlin'_, mighty well--considerin'.

"Reckon you play the _fiddle_, too, as well as _Checkers_?" says the feller, laughin', as Wes come a-whistlin' out of the little end of the second game and went on a-fixin' fer the next round.

"'S my move!" says Wes, 'thout seemin' to notice the feller's tantalizin' words whatsomever.

"'L! _this_ time," thinks I, "Mr. Smarty from the _me_trolopin deestricts, _you're_ liable to git _waxed_--_shore_!" But the _feller_ didn't 'pear to think so at all, and played right ahead as glib-like and keerless as ever--'casion'ly a-throwin' in them sircastic remarks o' his'n,--'bout bein' "slow and shore" 'bout things in gineral--"Liked to _see_ that," he said:--"Liked to see fellers do things with plenty o' _deliberation_, and even ef a feller _wuzn't_ much of a checker-player, liked to see him _die_ slow _anyhow_!--and then 'tend his own funeral," he says,--"and march in the p'session--to his own _music_," says he.--And jest then his remarks wuz brung to a close by Wes a-jumpin' two men, and a-lightin' square in the king-row.... "Crown that," says Wes, a-droppin' back into his old tune. And fer the rest o' _that_ game Wes helt the feller purty level, but had to finally knock under--but by jest the clos'test kind o' shave o' winnin'.

"They ain't much use," says the feller, "o' keepin' _this_ thing up--'less I could manage, _some_ way er other, to git beat _onc't 'n a while_!"

"Move," says Wes, a-drappin' back into the same old whistle and a-_settlin'_ there.

"'Music has charms,' as the Good Book tells us," says the feller, kindo' nervous-like, and a-roachin' his hair back as ef some sort o' p'tracted headache wuz a-settin' in.

"Never wuz '_skunked_,' wuz ye?" says Wes, kindo' suddent-like, with a fur-off look in them big white eyes o' his--and then a-whistlin' right on 'sef he hadn't said _nothin'_.

"_Not much!_" says the feller, sorto' s'prised-like, as ef such a' idy as that had never struck him afore.--"Never was 'skunked' _myse'f_: but I've saw fellers in my time 'at _wuz_!" says he.

But from that time on I noticed the feller 'peared to play more keerful, and railly la'nched into the game with somepin' like inter'st. Wes he seemed to be jest a-limber-in'-up-like; and-sir, blame me! ef he didn't walk the feller's log fer him _that_ time, 'thout no 'pearent trouble at all!