Anderson Crow, Detective Part 9
"No, she ain'd," replied Otto. "She's twendy-nine."
"Come, come," put in Anderson sternly. "None o' this now! Move on, Alf!
No sc.r.a.ppin' on the public thoroughfares o' Tinkletown. You're gettin'
more and more rambunctious every day, Alf."
"He ought to be ashamed of himself, speakin' by a lady when he knows he's in such a condition," said Otto, turning from the unfortunate Alf to Miss Crow. "Ain'd that so, Susie?"
"Don't answer, Susie," said Mr. Crow, quickly. "This is no time to side in with Germany."
"I'm as good an American as you are already," cried Otto, goaded beyond endurance.
Mr. Crow smiled tolerantly. "Git out! Let's hear you say 'vinegar'."
"Winegar," said Otto triumphantly. "I can say it as good as you can yet."
Anderson nudged Mr. Reesling, and chuckled.
"That's the way to spot 'em," he said significantly.
"There's a better way than that," said Alf.
"How's that?"
Alf whispered in the marshal's ear.
Anderson shook his head. "But where are you goin' to get the weenywurst, Alf?"
"Come on, Otto," said Susie, impatiently. "I have an engagement."
They moved off rapidly, pa.s.sing the ice-cream parlour without hesitating.
"D'you hear that?" said Alf, after a moment. "She said she was engaged."
That night Anderson Crow, town marshal, superintendent of streets, chief of the fire department, post-commander of the G. A. R., truant officer, dog-catcher, member of the American Horse-thief Detective a.s.sociation, member of the Universal Detective Bureau, chairman of Tinkletown Battlefield Society, etc., lay awake until nearly nine o'clock, seeking a solution to the astonishing problem that confronted Tinkletown and its environs.
Late reports, received by telephone just before retiring, ran the number of prospective marriages up to twenty-eight. His daughters, Susie and Caroline--the latter the eldest of a family of six and secretly approaching the age of thirty-two--confided to him that they had had eleven and three proposals respectively. A singular feature of the craze was the unanimity of impulse affecting men between the ages of twenty and thirty, and the utter absence of concentration on the part of the applicants. It was of record that some of them proposed to as many as five or six young women before being finally accepted. Rashness appeared to be the watchword. The matrimonial stampede swept caution and consequences into a general heap, and delivered a community of the backwardness that threatened to become a menace to posterity.
As Anderson Crow lay in his bed, he tried to enumerate on his fingers the young men who remained unpledged. Starting with his thumb he got as far as the third finger of his left hand and then, being sleepy and the effort a trying one, he lost track of those already counted and had to begin all over again, with the maddening result that he could go no further than the second finger. One of the eligibles had slipped his mind completely. The whole situation was harrowing.
"Fer instance," he ruminated aloud, oblivious of the fact that his wife was sound asleep, "what is a feller like Newt Blossom goin' to keep a wife on, I'd like to know. He c'n hardly keep himself in chewin'
tobaccer as it is, an' as fer the other necessities of life he wouldn't have any of 'em if his mother wasn't such a dern' fool about him. The idee of him tryin' to get our Susie to marry him--an' Carrie too, fer that matter--w'y, I git in a cold sweat every time I think of it."
He shook his wife vigorously.
"Say, Ma," he said, yawning, "I just thought o' somethin' I want you to remember in the mornin'. Wake up."
"All right," she mumbled, sleepily. "What is it?"
But Mr. Crow was now fast asleep himself.
Early the next morning he entered the kitchen, where he found Caroline helping her mother with the breakfast.
Mrs. Crow paused in the act of paring slices from a side of bacon. She eyed her husband inimically.
"See here, Anderson, you just got to put a stop to all this foolishness."
"Don't bother me. Can't you see I'm thinkin'?" said he.
"Well, it's time you did somethin' more than think. That Smathers boy was here about ten minutes ago, red as a beet, askin' fer Susie. Carrie told him she wasn't up yet, and what do you think the little whipper-snapper said?"
Anderson blinked, and shook his head.
"He said, 'Well, I guess you'll do, Caroline. Would you mind steppin'
outside fer a couple of minutes? I got somethin' I want to say to you in private.'"
Caroline sat down and laughed unrestrainedly.
"Well, by geminy crickets!" gasped Anderson, aghast. Then he added anxiously: "You--you didn't go an' do anything foolish, did you, Carrie?"
"Not unless you'd call throwing a pail of cold water on him foolish,"
said Carrie, wiping her eyes.
"Somethin's got to be done, Anderson," said his wife, compressing her lips.
Susie came in at that juncture. She was the apple of Anderson's eye--the prettiest girl in town. Mr. Crow hurried to the kitchen door.
"Go back upstairs," he ordered, casting a swift, uneasy glance around the back yard.
"What's the matter, Pop?"
Mr. Crow did not respond. His keen, roving eye had descried a motionless figure at the mouth of the alley.
Caroline explained.
"Can you beat it?" cried Susie, inelegantly, but with a very proper scorn. "I told him yesterday he ought to be ashamed of himself, trying to coax f.a.n.n.y Burns away from Ed Foster."
"Ed Foster?" exclaimed Mr. Crow sharply, turning from the doorway. "Why, he's not goin' to be married till after the war, an' that's a long ways off. Ed's around in his uniform an' says the National Guard's likely to be called 'most any day now. He--"
"That's one of the arguments Joe Smathers put up to f.a.n.n.y," said his youngest daughter. "He said maybe the war would last five years, and he thought she was a fool to wait that long. What's more, he said, if Ed ever does get to France he's likely to be killed--or fatally wounded--and then where would she be?"
Anderson suddenly lifted his right leg and slapped it with great force.
"By the great Jehoshaphat!" he shouted. "I've got it! I've solved the whole derned mystery. Come to me like a flash. Of all the low-down, cowardly--"