Sandy

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE COUNTY FAIR

  The big amphitheater at the fair grounds was filled as completely andevenly as a new paper of pins. Through the air floated that sweetestof all music to the childish ear--the unceasing wail of expiringballoons; and childish souls were held together in one sticky ecstasyof molasses candy and pop-corn balls.

  Behind the highest row of seats was a promenade, and in front of thelowest was another. Around these circled a procession which, thoughconstantly varying, held certain recurring figures like the chargingsteeds on a merry-go-round. There was Dr. Fenton, in his tightConfederate suit; he had been circling in that same procession atevery fair for twenty years. There was the judge, lank of limb andloose of joint, who stopped to shake hands with all the strangers andinvite them to take dinner in his booth, where Mrs. Hollis reveled ina riot of pastry. A little behind him strutted Mr. Moseley, sendingsearch-lights of scrutiny over the crowd in order to discover theacademy boys who might be wasting their time upon unletteredfemininity.

  At one side of the amphitheater, raised to a place of honor, was thecourting-box. Here the aristocratic youth of the country-side met tomeasure hearts, laugh at the rustics, and enjoy the races.

  In previous years Sandy had watched the courting-box from below, butthis year he was in the center of it. Jests and greetings from theboys, and cordial glances from maidens both known and unknown, badehim welcome. But, in spite of his reception, and in spite of hisirreproachable toilet, he was not having a good time. With hands inpockets and a scowl on his face, he stared gloomily over the crowd.Twice a kernel of pop-corn struck his ear, but he did not turn.

  Above him, Annette Fenton was fathoms deep in a flirtation with CarterNelson; while below him, Ruth, in the daintiest of gowns and thelargest of hats, was wasting her sweetness on the desert countenanceof Sid Gray.

  Sandy refused to seek consolation elsewhere; he sat like a Spartanhero, and calmly watched his heart being consumed in the flames.

  This hour, for which he had been living, this longed-for opportunityof being near Ruth and possibly of speaking to her, was slipping away,and she did not even know he was there.

  He became fiercely critical of Sid Gray. He rejoiced in his stoutnessand took grim pleasure in the fact that his necktie had slipped up atthe back. He looked at his hand as it rested on the back of the seat;it was plump and white. Sandy held out his own broad, muscular palm,hardened and roughened by work. Then he put it in his pocket again andsighed.

  The afternoon wore gaily on. Louder grew the chorus of balloons andstickier grew the pop-corn balls. The courting-box was humming withlaughter and jest. The Spartan hero began to rebel. Why should heallow himself to be tortured thus when there might be a way of escape?He recklessly resolved to put his fate to the test. Rising abruptly,he went down to the promenade and passed slowly along thecourting-box, scanning the occupants as if in search of some one. Itwas on his fourth round that she saw him, and the electric shockalmost lost him his opportunity. He looked twice to make sure she hadspoken; then, with a bit of his heart in his throat and the rest inhis eyes, he went up the steps and awkwardly held out his hand.

  The world made several convulsive circuits in its orbit and the bassdrum performed a solo inside his head during the moment thatfollowed. When the tumult subsided he found a pair of bright browneyes smiling up at him and a small hand clasped in his.

  This idyllic condition was interrupted by a disturbance on thepromenade, which caused them both to look in that direction. Some onewas pushing roughly through the crowd.

  "Hi, there, Kilday! Sandy Kilday!"

  A heavy-set fellow was making his way noisily toward them. His suit ofbroad checks, his tan shoes, and his large diamond stud werestrangers, but his little close-set eyes, protruding teeth, and bushyhair were hatefully familiar.

  Sandy started forward, and those nearest laughed when the strangerlooked at him and said:

  "My guns! Git on to his togs! Ain't he a duke!"

  Sandy got Ricks out of the firing-line, around the corner of thecourting-box. His face was crimson with mortification, but it neveroccurred to him to be angry.

  "What brought you back?" he asked huskily.

  "Hosses."

  "Are you going to drive this afternoon?"

  "Yep. One of young Nelson's colts in the last ring. Say," he added,"he's game, all right. Me and him have done biz before. Know him?"

  "Carter Nelson? Oh, yes; I know him," said Sandy, impatient to be ridof his companion.

  "Me and him are a winnin' couple," said Ricks. "We plays the racesstraight along. He puts up the dough, and I puts up the tips. Say,he's one of these here tony toughs; he won't let on he knows me whenhe's puttin' on dog. What about you, Sandy? Makin' good these days?"

  "I guess so," said Sandy, indifferently.

  "You ain't goin' to school yet?"

  "That I am," said Sandy; "and next year, too, if the money holds out."

  "Golly gosh!" said Ricks, incredulously. "Well, I got to be hikin'back. The next is my entry. I'll look you up after while. So-long!"

  He shambled off, and Sandy watched his broad-checked back until it waslost in the crowd.

  That Ricks should have turned up at that critical moment seemed awilful prank on the part of fate. Sandy bit his lip and ragedinwardly. He had a wild impulse to rush back to Ruth, seize her hand,and begin where he had left off. He might have done it, too, had notthe promenade happened to land Dr. Fenton before him at that moment.

  The doctor was behaving in a most extraordinary and unmilitary way. Hehad stepped out of the ranks, and was performing strange manoeuversabout a knothole that looked into the courting-box. When he saw Sandyhe opened fire.

  "Look at her! Look at her!" he whispered. "Whenever I pass she talksto Jimmy Reed on this side; but the moment she thinks I'm not looking,sir, she talks to Nelson on the other! Kilday," he went on, shakinghis finger impressively, "that little girl is as slick as--a blameYankee! But she'll not outwit me. I'm going right up there and takeher home."

  Sandy laughingly held his arm. It was not the first time the doctorhad confided in him. "No, no, doctor," he said; "I'll be the watch-dogfor ye. Let me go and stay with Annette, and if Carter Nelson gets aword in her ear, it'll be because I've forgotten how to talk."

  "Will you?" asked the doctor, anxiously. "Nelson's a drunkard. I'drather see my little girl dead than married to him. But she's wilful,Kilday; when she was just a baby she'd sit with her little pink toescurled up for an hour to keep me from putting on her shoes when shewanted to go barefoot! She's a fighter," he added, with a gruffchuckle that ended in a sigh, "but she's all I've got."

  Sandy gripped him by the hand, then turned the corner into thecourting-box. Instantly his eager eyes sought Ruth, but she did notlook up as he passed.

  He unceremoniously took his seat beside Annette, to the indignation oflittle Jimmy Reed. It was hard to accept Carter's patronizingtolerance, but a certain curve to his eyebrows and the turn of hishead served as perpetual reminders of Ruth.

  Annette greeted Sandy effusively. She had found Jimmy entirely toolimber a foil to use with any degree of skill, and she knew from pastexperience that Sandy and Carter were much better matched. If Sid Grayhad been there also, she would have been quite happy. In Annette'sestimation it was all a mistake about love being a game for two.

  "Who was your stylish friend?" she asked Sandy.

  "Ricks Wilson," said Sandy, shortly.

  Carter smiled condescendingly. "Your old business partner, I believe?"

  "Before he was yours," said Sandy.

  This was not at all to Annette's taste. They were not even thinkingabout her.

  "How m-many dances do you want for to-night?" she asked Sandy.

  "The first four."

  She wrote them on the corner of her fan. "Yes?"

  "The last four."

  "Yes?"

  "And the four in between. What's that on your fan?"

  "Nothing."

  "But i
t is. Let me see."

  "Will you look at it easy and not tell?" she whispered, takingadvantage of Carter's sudden interest in the judges' stand.

  "Sure and I will. Just a peep. Come!"

  She opened the fan half-way, and disclosed a tiny picture of himselfsewed on one of the slats.

  "And it's meself that you care for, Annette!" he whispered. "I knewit, you rascal, you rogue!"

  "Let g-go my hand," she whispered, half laughing, half scolding."Look, Carter, what I have on my fan!" and, to Sandy's chagrin, sheopened the fan on the reverse side and disclosed a picture of Nelson.

  But Carter had neither eyes nor ears for her now. His whole attentionwas centered on the ring, where the most important event of the daywas about to take place.

  It was a trial of two-year-olds for speed and durability. There werefour entries--two bays, a sorrel, and Carter's own little thoroughbred"Nettie." He watched her as she pranced around the ring under Ricks'sskilful handling; she had nothing to fear from the bays, but thesorrel was a close competitor.

  "Oh, this is your race, isn't it?" cried Annette as the band struck up"Dixie." "Where's my namesake? The pretty one just c-coming, with theugly driver? Why, he's Sandy's friend, isn't he?"

  Sandy winced under her teasing, but he held his peace.

  The first heat Nettie won; the second, the sorrel; the third broughtthe grand stand to its feet. Even the revolving procession haltedbreathless.

  "Now they're off!" cried Annette, excitedly. "Mercy, how they g-go!Nettie is a little ahead; look, Sandy! She's gaining! No; the sorrel'sahead. Carter, your driver is g-going too close! He's g-going to smashin--Oh, look!"

  There was a crash of wheels and a great commotion. Several womenscreamed, and a number of men rushed into the ring. When Sandy gotthere, the greater crowd was not around the sorrel's driver, who layin a heap against the railing with a broken leg and a bruised head; itwas around Ricks Wilson in angry protest and indignation.

  The most vehement of them all was Judge Hollis,--the big, easy-goingjudge,--whose passion, once roused, was a thing to be reckoned with.

  "It was a dastardly piece of cowardice," he cried. "You all saw whathe did! Call the sheriff, there! I intend to prosecute him to the fullextent of the law."

  Ricks, with snapping eyes and snarling mouth, glanced anxiouslyaround at the angry faces. He was looking for Carter Nelson, butCarter had discreetly departed. It was Sandy whom he spied, andinstantly called: "Kilday, you'll see me through this mess? You knowit wasn't none of my fault."

  Sandy pushed his way to the judge's side. He had never hated the sightof Ricks so much as at that moment.

  "It's Ricks Wilson," he whispered to the judge--"the boy I used topeddle with. Don't be sending him to jail, sir. I'll--I'll go his bailif you'll be letting him go."

  "Indeed you won't!" thundered the judge. "You to take money you'vesaved for your education to help this scoundrel, this rascal, thishalf murderer!"

  The crowd shouted its approval as it opened for the sheriff. Ricks wasnot the kind to make it easy for his captors, and a lively skirmishensued.

  As he was led away he turned to the crowd back of him and shook hisfist in the judge's face.

  "You done this," he cried. "I'll git even with you, if I go to hellfer it!"

  The judge laughed contemptuously, but Sandy watched Ricks depart withtroubled eyes. He knew that he meant what he said.