Captain Pott's Minister Part 10

said the seaman, dangerously pleasant.

"M-Man, t-take your h-hand off m-me! H-How dare y-you a-a.s.sault m-me!

I'll h-have the law on y-you!"

"That's all right, Harry." The expression on the Captain's face contrasted sharply with his quiet words. "There'll be plenty of time for that. I've been feeling real slighted because you ain't been to see me for some time. Cal'late a little conversation will do us both a heap of good, and clear up the air a mite."

Mr. Beaver again started for the door, but the Captain reached it first.

He closed it, turned the key in the lock, and put the key in his pocket.

"Now, suppose you spin the yarn to me that you've been spreading round town," he said, slowly filling his pipe and offering the pouch to Harry Beaver.

Mr. Beaver spurned the weed of peace with a ferocious glare. With a little coaching the Captain brought out the story. The gist of the matter was that Mr. Beaver considered McGowan morally lax in the free way he was mixing with the boys at the Inn.

"Let's get this straight. Who is the feller you're talking about? Just repeat his name to me."

"M-McGowan!" defiantly repeated Mr. Beaver.

"When mentioning him to me,"--requested the Captain in a tone that made the other man start with apprehension,--"you'll call him _Mr._ McGowan.

Understand that?"

Mr. Beaver seemed fully to understand, for he obeyed. When he had finished his yarn of sheer nonsense, Captain Pott slowly laid his pipe on the table and his hand on the little man's collar. He led him to the door, and opened it. Harry tugged like a bull-pup on the end of a leash, so that when the Captain released his hold--with ever so slight a shove--Mr. Beaver described a spread-eagle on the cinder path.

"If you repeat that rotten truck to another soul, I ain't going to be responsible for what happens to you!" He shot each word at the kicking figure from between set teeth, and brushed one hand over the other as though to clean them of filth.

Mrs. Beaver ran to her husband, lifted him out of the cinders, and patted the ashes from his clothing. Harry Beaver stood irresolutely for a moment, and violently shook his fist at the man standing in the door.

"Y-You'll p-p-pay for this!" He spit out words and cinders with gasping breath.

Captain Pott went inside. He washed his breakfast dishes. He was by no means as calm as he appeared. The whole day through he fed the fires of his anger. That night he urged the minister to stay at home. He even begged him not to go to the Inn. Mr. McGowan asked the reason for his deep concern. The Captain could give none, except to say that the microbes were working overtime. But duty called more loudly than his friend's fears, and Mr. McGowan went that evening to the Inn. An hour later the Captain's intuition got the upper hand of his judgment, and he followed.

CHAPTER V

An ominous murmur of voices, with a deep growling undertone, floated up from the improvised gymnasium in the bas.e.m.e.nt as Captain Pott entered the swinging doors of Willow-Tree Inn. This was followed by a more ominous silence. The seaman bounded down the steps. The sight that met his gaze caused him to stop short. On each side of the low room men and boys were drawn up in lines, and the division was as clean cut as though chosen for a tug of war. The doors at the far end of the gymnasium swung back, and a stranger, stripped to the waist, stepped gingerly into the room. Sim Hicks met the man, and began to tie a pair of boxing gloves to his hands. While the Captain looked on in utter amazement, the doors again swung back, and Mack McGowan entered. He did not appear surprised at sight of the crowd, as large audiences had become quite the common thing during his boxing lessons. Hank Simpson came from out the shadows and reluctantly tied another pair of gloves to the hands of Mr.

McGowan.

"What in tarnation is the meaning of this d.a.m.n exhibition?" demanded the Captain, turning to Jud Johnson, the plumber.

"It means there's dirty work on."

"You mean there's been a crooked deal put over on Mack?"

The plumber nodded.

"Who in h.e.l.l----"

"Swearing ain't going to do no good, Cap'n. The parson don't stand for it down here," cut in Jud.

"Whose doing is this?"

"We've got a pretty good idea who the cur is, but we ain't exactly sure."

"Where'd he come from?"

"The city."

"Who brung him in here?"

"We ain't just sure of that, yet."

"What in h---- What's he cal'lating to do?"

"He figures to lick the tar out of the parson. And by the blazes of the inferno, if he does----"

It was plain that civil war was to ensue if the contest went against Mr.

McGowan.

"How'd he git into such a sc.r.a.pe?"

"It looks like the work of that d--I wish the parson would let me swear for once--Sim Hicks."

"You mean Hicks brought him in?"

"He come in here more'n a week ago and asked Mr. McGowan to give him some lessons. Now the devil's to pay, and if we ain't 'way off Hicks happens to be that devil."

"How----"

"For G.o.d's sake stop asking me questions or I'll cut loose and turn the air blue round here."

"There ain't a feller living that can fight Mack on a week of training,"

declared the seaman.

"No one said he'd had no more'n a week of training."

"I don't give a tinker's dam if he's had all the training in creation, he can't lick Mack McGowan and do it fair."

Jud shot the Captain a look of approval. "Them kind don't fight fair."

"But, Jud, I don't see the meaning of it, anyway."

"Then you're a heap sight blinder'n I thought. This thing's all fixed up to help Hicks get the parson out of town. When the news of this fight gets out into the church, they'll oust him like a shot from a cannon."

"Then why don't you fellers stop it afore it starts?" blazed the Captain.

"Stop nothing. Hank's tried it, already."