Chapter XVI: The Mountain Congress

IT was several days before Lalla saw Abner alone. He was certainly working like a tiger. He rushed over to meals, and when the boys were dismissed, was gone like a shot, not waiting to join the groups who visited in the yard.

It wanted a week of the Mountain Congress when she followed him into the library one day and straight back to the stack room. There was a long table in one corner and piles of reference books on it. Abner had snatched his cap off and was digging for the bottom one of the nearest pile when Lalla touched his shoulder.

“Working on your debate?” she whispered. “I hope you’ll win.”

Abner looked up gratefully. “I don’t reckon on it much—Raphael’s an old hand, they tell me—but I’m learnin’ a lot, that’s one sure thing.”

“I’ve thought of some points which will be likely to help you.” Lalla pushed a sheet his way. “You can never tell what they’re going to spring on you just at the last.”

Abner took it with a look of surprise. “I didn’t know that you even knew the subject of the debate; we’ve tried to keep it a secret.” Lalla reddened—she had not thought of this emergency. “Of course I told Gincy,” Abner continued, “and I know she trusts you, so it’s all right.”

He had misconstrued her evident embarrassment, and was trying to reassure her. For one moment Lalla’s courage failed, but she was sure Abner stood little chance of winning without some help, and there was almost no risk of discovery, not even if Gincy told her brother that she had kept the secret.

Lalla’s impetuous nature was capable of a good deal of self-sacrifice—mistaken at times, but nevertheless genuine in motive. She had a warm feeling of gratitude toward the girl who had not, by even so much as a look, hinted at her adventures with the master key. Indeed, Lalla felt that Gincy had entire confidence in her assurance that she would be perfectly straightforward from that time on.

It was the mountain warfare over again, and Lalla did not feel any real compunction about the methods. She knew instinctively, however, that Gincy and Abner would look at it differently and was prepared for questions.

However, they did not come. “These seem like dandy points; they might do me a heap of good when it comes to the final touchdown.” Abner showed her the result of his digging for the last few weeks—a whole tablet full of notes, disorderly enough but right to the point.

Lalla glanced over them with a shrewd eye, and nodded. “Abner, they’re splendid! But won’t you be scared half to death in front of that crowd?”

He shook his head resolutely. “I’m going to bluff it if I am; it doesn’t do to show one’s feelings.”

“No, and Goose Creek folks aren’t the scary kind.”

“You bet they aren’t—not the girls, anyhow.” Abner spoke with conviction.

Devotional exercises the next morning were brief. Then the excitement began. Banners went up all over the chapel, and nominations were made for governor of Appalachian America. There were speeches and special music to arouse enthusiasm for the Mountain Congress.

The girls from Clay sat in the gallery—a row of bright faces keenly watching every movement below to see what counties were represented.

“There’s Pike, and Letcher, and Magoffin!” whispered Gincy excitedly.

“And Floyd, and Knott, and Breathitt!” added Talitha.

“Perry, Harlan, Leslie, and—Oh, look at Clay! Goody! Goody!” Mallie almost lost her balance and fell into the crowd below. Nancy Jane pulled her back and kept a firm grip on the excited girl for some time.

“It’s awfully interesting!” sighed Lalla, her eyes growing bigger as she watched the platform. “But I suppose the congress itself will be twice as exciting.”

There were funny speeches from the candidates, each vying with the other in promising favour to his particular section of the country. The applause was frequent, and the college band played “Dixie.” Every one filed out full of enthusiasm; they would know the result of the election by evening.

Lalla and Gincy walked over to Memorial Hall behind Abner and Martin. There was a grand rally out in front—practising yells and singing class songs. The noise was deafening.

“I’m saving my voice until Friday night,” Lalla told Abner in the first lull. “I know you’re going to beat and then you’ll hear me yell!”

Gincy smiled happily. “Abner’s going to do his best; that’s the main thing. I’m proud to think he’s even got a chance to do it, without his beating.”

“Of course it’s an honour to have the chance,” said Lalla, “but, Gincy, just think how proud Goose Creek will be to have Abner come home with the medal.”

In spite of himself Abner flushed with pleased anticipation. He was making the fight of his life for a public honour and did not intend to be beaten. Every word of his speech was photographed upon his brain, ready for instant use, if—and here was the hard part—if his opponent did not think of some entirely new line of argument.

Friday evening found the Hall alive with excitement. The girls were divided into factions. Raphael Sloan was the best debater Bentville had had for some time, and while Abner was popular, he was too new to inspire general confidence. Nearly everybody—except the Goose Creek folks—was sure of the boy who had never been defeated.

The chapel was in an uproar when the girls arrived. Occupying the centre and front were delegates from each county to the Mountain Congress. Class colours were everywhere in evidence. Pennants were fluttering, and yell after yell went up when the Governor of Appalachian America—one of the senior boys—took his seat on the platform.

Afterwards the whole thing seemed like a dream to Lalla. Raphael, tall, dark-eyed, with the flush of anticipated victory on his face. Abner, intense, pale at first and somewhat hesitating, but warming up with fiery eloquence toward the last and meeting every argument with growing confidence.

Not once did he fail in the rebuttal, nor even hesitate, and Lalla saw an amazed look creep over Joe Bradshaw’s face as Abner answered with a glibness born of knowledge, sweeping the very foundation from under his opponent’s feet.

There could be but one verdict, and the Goose Creek girls saw Abner hoisted upon strong, young shoulders and borne in triumph around the room. Once more the pennants waved and pandemonium broke loose. This time they joined in the yells. Lalla, in the centre of the circle of girls, never stopped until her voice gave out.

Joe Bradshaw took his roommate’s defeat quite philosophically. He was fond of Abner and Martin, but somewhat puzzled at the former’s quick replies to every argument. “You did splendidly!” he said, wringing Abner’s hand. “Clay County is right to the front to-night.”

Abner gave Lalla a quick glance of gratitude. She was watching him as he talked to Joe and the surrounding boys, not forgetting to wave at the home girls who found it impossible to reach him. Gincy’s eyes were full of tears—proud ones. If her father and mother could only have been here to see Abner beat the best debater in all the mountain counties. It would have rewarded them for every sacrifice.

There was to be a spread in the Industrial Building for the winner. Talitha and Martin held frequent conferences all the next day, and by four o’clock a constant procession of boys and girls were busy carrying parcels, bunting, and branches of pine for decoration, and making the rooms of the Agricultural Department attractive for the evening crowd. It was to be a great event for the Goose Creek folks, and they had prepared accordingly. Pete Shackley guarded the chickens. “I knew Abner’d beat, those roosters have been crowing under my bed for two nights. I toted the box into my room the minute I bought them; there’s no telling where they’d be to-day if I hadn’t.”

Gincy and Mallie kept the door of Number 4 securely locked, but that precaution did not prevent savoury odours from escaping which the boys sniffed eagerly.

“Cake!” exclaimed Martin delightedly. “Tally said Miss Browning was going to let them use the cooking room all day. I smell fruit cookies, too. My, but it’s going to be a spread! I wonder what Piny Twilliger’s doing ’round here; she likes good eating, I suppose.”

“Of course, but didn’t you know she’s Abner’s cousin from Redbird?” and Isaac Shackley grasped a big pot of ferns and moved on, leaving Martin staring in astonishment.

Piny was so tall and snappy and altogether loud—such a contrast to Gincy—Martin had taken a special dislike to her the very first time she came to Harmonia. That was at the opening of the spring term and now it was getting pretty well along toward Commencement. But the girl’s voice did not seem to improve—it was still coarse and penetrating—she wore the gayest colours, and Martin couldn’t enumerate all the reasons why he disliked her, but he did.

It was growing dusk when everything was ready for the spread. They were to serve it in the Domestic Science room at eight o’clock. Nancy Jane had the key and was instructed to remain in charge until the ice cream arrived, then hurry over to the Hall to dress. Nancy Jane turned on the lights and surveyed the room with satisfaction; there was a good deal to show for all their work. The cake was delicious, the chicken fried to a turn. There were great plates of rolls and plenty of pickles. The long table down the centre of the room was decorated with Abner’s class colours, while all around, in festoons, were the orange and black of the Mountain Society—the first typifying the brilliant autumn colouring of the hills; the second, the wealth of coal found in their mines.

The building was far from deserted. There was a clatter of feet up and down the bare stairs—fully a dozen boys roomed on the third floor—and Nancy Jane locked the door to secure herself from unceremonious callers. “They’d like to play some game on us—those seniors,” she thought. “They’re pretty sore because a new pupil carried off the honours.”

It was seven o’clock, but the cream had not come, and Nancy Jane was in a quandary. Some one rattled the door knob. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Piny, Piny Twilliger. Let me in; I’ve come to take your place and let you get dressed. Martin had a message that the cream wouldn’t be here for half an hour yet. There wasn’t another soul ready, so Gincy asked me to come.”

Nancy Jane unlocked the door to let in—was it really Piny? The tall figure was attired in a bright red muslin much beruffled. A brilliant bow with generous outstanding loops surmounted the dozen or more puffs of hair, and excitement lent additional colour to cheeks that were always flushed.

Nancy Jane hurried over to the Hall and up to her room. She didn’t even take time to ask Gincy why she had sent Piny Twilliger to guard the precious cream. It wouldn’t do to say much about kinfolk. But all the time she was hurrying into her white dotted lawn, she wondered if anything would happen to their eatables. Surely some of the girls would be ready in a few minutes.

It was almost a quarter of eight when Nancy Jane ran down the front stairs. She rapped lightly at several doors, but there was no response. Evidently everybody who belonged to the Mountain Society had gone. It was only a short distance to the Industrial Building, and she ran across the campus toward the lights. There was the buzzing of excited voices—the front walk seemed thronged with students. What could have happened? Nancy Jane felt an awful premonition of disaster. Of course it was the cream. Piny must have left her post and some of the boys carried it off.

“Is that you, Nancy Jane?” It was Mallie’s voice. “The cake’s gone—every scrap! Some one rapped on the door and Piny went out; it was the boys with the cream, and while they were talking some one tore the screen and jumped in the side window and took every smitch of cake off the table. Piny’s rushing ’round like a hornet and vows she’ll find out who did it before she sleeps a wink to-night. But I don’t believe she can; it’s either eaten up or hidden by this time.”

Nancy Jane listened in dismay. All their lovely frosted cake gone! She ran into the room looking for Piny—somehow she wanted to hear the whole story from her lips.

But among the babel of voices Piny’s could not be heard. She had disappeared completely and did not hear Martin’s angry comment. “I shouldn’t wonder if she had hidden it herself; she’d think that was a great joke.”

“Hush, Martin,” said Talitha, “Piny isn’t mean if she is fond of a joke.” But Martin’s eyes continued to flash as he walked out into the dark, around the building, and looked up at the outside stairs. They were built more as a fire-escape, but the boys on the upper floor often used them. Martin stood in the shadow of the wood-working department and eyed the row of lighted windows. A dark object was crouched on the upper step and as he eyed it intently, it rose and began a noiseless descent.

Martin edged as close as he dared. It passed the lower window and he saw, to his utter amazement, that it was Piny Twilliger, who seemed in great haste to get down. He intercepted her as she reached the ground. “What is it, Piny?” he whispered.

“I’ve found them!” she gasped, “and the cake isn’t eaten yet. Get all the boys together you can. Some will have to watch the door of their room—it’s Seth Laney and that crowd. You’d better get the Shackley boys and go up on the outside—that’s the only way you’ll get in. While the rest are making an awful racket in the hall to attract their attention, you can climb in the window.”

“You do beat everything!” exclaimed Martin, quite conscience-smitten to think he had ever suspected Piny. “You’re a regular general! You bet we’ll get that cake,” and he ran around the building and into the big front entrance like a shot.

It took only a minute to plan the campaign as outlined by Piny. There was an instant siege—within ten minutes an unconditional surrender—and the cake was saved. Borne down in triumph by Martin and Abner, they paused in front of her with a low bow. “Madam,” they said, “the honour belongs to you. Have a piece.”

But Piny laughingly refused to be made a heroine of, and waited until every one else was served. She blushed furiously when they toasted her in lemonade for her presence of mind and courage. “I reckon hit wan’t much,” she said, modestly disclaiming all honours. “I’d promised to watch things, an’ I wan’t goin’ to be beaten nohow.”

The spread was a great success. Afterwards, Abner walked back to the Hall with Gincy and Lalla. “You helped me a lot,” he assured the latter. “I worked up all those notes you gave me and they seemed to strike the nail on the head. I don’t see how you ever thought of them.”

“That wasn’t anything,” said Lalla, “you had a dozen points a good deal better than mine. I’m glad the decision was unanimous for you, though; it was a bigger honour.”

“I didn’t know you helped Abner,” remarked Gincy as they sat in her room waiting for the warning bell to ring. “I’m so proud of him and grateful to you. Miss Howard says you do splendidly in your work this term, Lalla.”

“You always say such nice things,” answered Lalla, evading Gincy’s eye. “There isn’t another girl in Bentville who has encouraged me the way you have. I guess I remember, and—” She broke off suddenly. Perhaps after all she would better tell Gincy the truth about the debate.

Gincy listened, her hard-working hands tightly clasped, and a sinking at her heart. It was just plain cheating and the Gooch family had never done anything like that. Of course Abner didn’t know or he never would have used the paper Lalla gave him—that was one comfort. Then Gincy thought of Raphael. Perhaps after all the medal really belonged to him; but how could she straighten it all out? Why were there so many tangles in life, anyhow?

“Gincy,” said Lalla, abruptly changing the subject, “that Mr. Gantley has come back. Talitha told me this evening and I forgot to tell you. The college folks found him up in that shack on the mountain, and they told him he’d got to go to work or they’d lock him up, and then they gave him a job in the garden. You needn’t worry about the family any more.”

Lalla ran to her room at the sound of the bell, leaving Gincy in a brown study. If she told it might get Lalla and Abner into all kinds of trouble. Perhaps they would even have the debate all over again with a new subject, or Abner might have to give up the medal in disgrace. There were so many terrible possibilities, Gincy slept little that night. Early the next morning she arose fully decided on a course of action. Miss Howard should settle it; she could hardly wait to find her.

The little teacher listened patiently. “I’ll tell you this evening. Come to my room at half-past seven; meanwhile don’t worry.”

Somewhat comforted, Gincy went about her work. Promptly at seven she presented herself at Miss Howard’s door. “I just couldn’t wait another minute,” she said by way of apology.

“You don’t need to,” was the assurance. “It’s all right. Professor Ames says the decision might not have been unanimous, but Abner would have received the medal anyhow on his main argument. It isn’t necessary that anything be said about it except to Lalla. We want her to cultivate higher ideas of honour than those she has been used to at home.”

Gincy left the room jubilant; a great burden had rolled off her mind. She could go to bed with a clear conscience and make up the sleep she had lost the night before.